DCMK: Heavy Silences (2/10)

[what_we_dream]

Title: Heavy Silences (2/10)
Series: Magic Kaitou/Detective Conan
Pairing: None
Rating: PG-13
Notes: Follows Slip and Fall/Pride Goeth Before

Summary: "We would like Kid delivered by the 24th. For every day you're late, one bright face vanishes from the world." Children kidnapped, Nakamori has only one place to turn for help. Kaitou Kid.

To the Principals, Vice-Principals and Head Teachers of all public and higher private High Schools in Ota-ku Shinagawa-ku, Minato-ku, Chuuou-ku, Koutou-ku and Edogawa-ku,

We are conducting a vital test of information-passing in relation to kaitou 1412 (nicknamed Kaitou Kid) heists. We ask you to please read the following announcement to all students on the morning of April 3rd. Your cooperation is appreciated.

The Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department has received information that Kaitou Kid will attempt to steal the Forest's Tear on April 23rd at 10pm from the roof of Tokyo Metropolitan Police main branch. They request that students avoid the area.

Sincerely,

Inspector Nakamori Ginzo, Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department Section Two, Kaitou 1412 Task Force Chief

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Almost the only things Nakamori inherited were pride and his name. The house – and the money to keep it – came from his wife, whose parents would almost certainly have objected to her marriage with a nearly destitute detective if they had been alive to do so. It was probably the Nakamori pride that had ensured the family's one treasure remained in the family: in hard times even the fixtures and furniture were sold, the adults went hungry and the children poorly clothed, but the Forest's Tear never knew the pawn broker's shameful hands. He has always thought it aptly named.

As emeralds go, it's nothing extraordinary. A good depth of hue, maybe even an unusually beautiful cut, but it has no size or particularly eye-capturing gleam. It graces no pages in prominent gem encyclopaedias, it has never adorned a member of royalty, and its smooth surface has never been darkened with spilt blood. Kid, who likes the carats of his stones in the triple digits and even then is fastidiously concerned with their splendour or at least their notoriety, would have absolutely no interest in it. No interest, except for the fact that it is owned by Nakamori.

It's sitting in his pocket now, nestled in a cheap velvet box he pilfered from Aoko's room. Compared to her life, it's weightless and valueless – might as well be a box of sand.

The roof is a large empty space, flat except for the stairwell exit, with a two-foot safety wall running around the edges. In any other circumstance he would have had lights set in each corner, spotlights on the bordering roofs as well as back-up, and a man on the stairwell's roof. Tonight, mild spring wind playing through his unbrushed hair, he has done none of these things. Has taken no precautions. Has in fact done the opposite.

He's not happy with his men. Not happy with their plan, their insistence, their involvement. Their argument is good – Nakamori standing alone on the roof looks damn suspicious, while Nakamori standing with the rest of the squad looks incompetent but par for the course – but it's in Kid's job description to walk into traps. Risking their positions unnecessarily damn well isn't in theirs.

They're bunched up around the stairwell, backs to the metal door, in what Nakamori thinks might be an attempt at presenting a non-threatening front but in fact makes them look like they're preparing to bolt back down the stairs. Standing in a smaller group in front of them are Oogawa, Sawara, Yamamoto, Washio and Takarai, dressed in civilian clothes. They've been stood down, as has he, are all supposedly leaving the investigation in the hands of Section One. Just the fact that they're fellow cops, not to mention the personal contacts they all hold between them, is ensuring them the best efforts of the Force, but that's just not enough. And to make matters worse he's conscious of Higashiyama's eye on the Squad and him in particular, has had to leave two men in the office to keep anyone from finding it suspiciously empty.

The question now is: will he have anything to hide? Has his plan even worked? So many possible ways it could fail – the Kid could be home sick, could be late to school, could after all attend a school in a different ward, could have a school with staff too ornery to read the fax.

"It's ten o'clock, Inspector," says a quiet voice behind him, Hoshino.

"And I must say, Inspector, it is heart-warming the way you're never late. Although I suppose it's only to be expected that you'd be on time for your own trap."

The entire squad swivels on its heels, Nakamori – who has been half-expecting that careless tone for the past ten minutes – faster than most.

Kaitou Kid is standing on top of the stairwell roof, looking down at them with one eye shadowed by the brim of his hat, the other a bright reflection of moonlight. The breeze is batting his mantle about his ankles, not strong enough to pull it out behind him. A bad night for the glider, for the moonlight, for Kid. And still, he showed up. His only concession to the situation, as far as Nakamori can tell, is that his hands are hanging loosely by his sides rather than in his pockets.

"Really, I'm disappointed in you, Inspector," continues the Kid. He inclines his head slightly and the moonlight falls from the glass in his eye, lets them see him raking his gaze over them.

"It's not a trap," barks Nakamori gruffly, throat dry from a day's worth of chain-smoking. He reaches into his pocket and wraps his hand around the box, pulls it out into the poor light of the roof and flips the over-tight hinge open. He takes the gem in his finger and thumb and holds it up so that what little light there is will pick it up. It's the size of a peach-stone, cold and sharp in his fingers. "A trade. You give us some help, and I'll give you the stone. A bargain, for you."

"Most stones come free for me, Inspector."

"After hours of planning and running the heist, and thousands spent on equipment. All you have to do is answer a question." He sees his men fidget, sees Oogawa turn to glance at him. This wasn't what they agreed to. They need Kid's help, but almost certainly Kid's prolonged help. The odds of him being able to identify a voice are slim, although the kid does have a damn good ear. But now, with him standing here in front of them, he can't do it. Can't put another kid in danger.

The kid who's currently watching him, silently.

"Do you know who this is?" continues Nakamori, and nods to Yamamoto. The man picks the CD player up off the ground by his feet and presses play, holding it facing the Kid and dialling up the volume when it's not immediately loud enough.

"A man with a request… For each day you go over deadline… You don't say… We'll be in contact, Inspector. Better step up your performance."

He stood over Hoshino while the man cut and edited the recorded conversation, chose the vaguest parts while trying to put in enough to be identifiable. Because, damn it, he doesn't want to get Kid involved. Doesn't want the thief's life to be at risk again. Doesn't want to be the one to force the choice of his life or Aoko's. Again.

But, he doesn't want to lose Aoko either. Can't.

There's a moment of silence. Then Kid says, quietly, "What is this?"

The squad shifts at his tone, at the cold flatness there. He's dropped his usual theatricality, his carefree attitude, and is suddenly sharp as a knife.

"Do you know who it is?" Nakamori repeats, own voice hard. He nods at Yamamoto who replays the tape.

"A man with a request… For each day you go over deadline… You don't say… We'll be in contact, Inspector. Better step up your performance."

Nakamori's expecting an answer, expecting it with 20 years of experience to back him up – although granted only one of them matters in this case – and so is shocked when instead Kid bunches and leaps, without much apparent effort, to land beside Yamamoto. Not as shocked as his men, however, who draw back as though a tiger had jumped down from the roof instead of a man. A boy, in fact, who for all his mannerisms and abilities and tall hats is shorter than all of them.

Standing beside Yamamoto, eyes on Nakamori rather than the man with the CD player, Kid says in the same tone, "Play it again."

Yamamoto does, gruff voice ringing out over the roof for the third time.

"Play the entire thing," says the thief, still looking at Nakamori. Paying absolutely no attention to the group of policemen standing right behind him.

"Do you know who it is?"

"I might, if you played all of it."

Nakamori shakes his head, heart sinking. "Your ear is sharper than that." Sharp enough to imitate anyone after only a few words. Certainly sharp enough to recognize a voice from a few short sentences, if he knew it.

And now we come to the crux. Just how good a person are you, really, Nakamori Ginzo? Can you really protect the Kid at the cost of all those lives? At the cost of her life?

And, worse, the question all policemen must ask themselves, and one he had thought he'd answered years ago: Just who are you supposed to be protecting?

He tosses the emerald up in the air once, and to his surprise it catches a far-off light for an instant and shines bright clover green. He catches it and then, with a stiff movement, tosses it at the Kid who plucks it out of the air easily despite the lack of warning.

"Then you can go," he says, throat full of cement. There's a muttering from the squad and, worse, from directly behind him. This is why victims don't run investigations.

Kid, without examining the stone, without even glancing at it, tosses it back. Nakamori fumbles, but manages to catch it. "I haven't done anything worth that." He turns to the squad, and then to Oogawa and the rest, before finally turning back to Nakamori. The Inspector can see the hard suspicion in his eyes, and when he speaks he hears it in his sharp tones. "What the hell's going on here? What were you going to ask me before I got here? One question isn't worth that stone."

The Kid's trying to stare him down, and Nakamori knows he understands. Knows why the Inspector's veered off course, and doesn't approve. But there's an undertone of stark fear – some slight tenseness or change Nakamori recognises from that night four months ago without being able to put his finger on it – that he can't account for. But Nakamori's made his decision and he's sticking to it with all the determination his overly-proud family ever instilled in him, and it'll take a hell of a lot more than a kid in a top hat and cape to move him.

His men, however, are a different question. And Kid's not above pulling punches. He's swivelled to face them before Nakamori can see it coming, and even if he could – then what? Order them not to talk to the thief?

He's been backed into a corner and there's no way out. He knew it would end like this, knew it the minute he proposed the plan. But if there's one thing he's proven himself an expert at, it's ignoring inconvenient truths.

Nakamori's expecting it to be Takarai who spills, him or maybe Washio.

It's Sawara, speaking in a harsh whisper, and that burns. Burns all the deeper because he can understand why.

"Children have been kidnapped," he says. "Children, and my wife. We need you to help us find them."

For a minute Kid stands still, still as a statue, while the wind waves his cape like a flag. It's the only sound on the roof, the quiet shuffle of fabric. Then Kid steps forward, eyes flashing over the foremost men. "Your children?" he asks, in a tone that betrays absolutely nothing.

"And the Inspector's," says Yamamoto, with an apologetic glance at his superior.

Kid is standing with his back to Nakamori, and so the Inspector can't see his face, although he's sure even if he could it would be its usual mask. But he pauses longer than the conversation warrants, longer than a detached man would have. Nakamori isn't sure, but he thinks he hears a slight edge in the Kid's next question.

"What do they want?"

This time, Sawara doesn't answer. Neither does Oogawa, nor Yamamoto. Nakamori waits to see who breaks first, Takarai or Washio, is surprised Washio hasn't already, can see Takarai almost shaking.

In the end, before the axe drops, Kid answers it himself. Nakamori feels a rush of gratitude, quickly buried by regret.

"So, they want me. And you have no idea who it is." He turns to Nakamori. "Let them play the whole tape. It's my business now."

Beaten, and sickened that somewhere inside he's glad, he nods to Yamamoto. The man changes the track on the CD and presses play. The entire conversation comes out, Nakamori's cursing, the child's high-pitched rambling to his father, the ultimatum. For each day you go over deadline, one more bright face vanishes from this world.

Through it all Kid stands stock still, a pillar of white in the darkness. The answer to their prayers, if they could swallow it. If Nakamori would allow it, if the men would follow through. He never will, and can only hope… But hope has never served him in good stead.

"Better step up your performance." Click.

The scratching white noise between the call's end and the deceptively quiet click of Nakamori's own receiver is much shorter than it is in his memory, where the furious silence twists on suffocatingly for minutes, hours.

He wonders whether that's how Kid feels now. But why should he?

"How many?" says Kid at last, and there is a painful brittleness there. An unprecedented slipping of the mask.

"Six," says Nakamori quietly. "But Sawara's wife is eight months pregnant."

"Seven," says Kid, tilting his head so his brim shadows his eyes. The Squad shifts slightly, both in sympathy with Sawara and in surprise to see it in the thief. "Section One has no clues?" asks Kid, finally, without looking up. His hands are resting on his hips and Nakamori's not sure why, but his instincts tell him it's to hide something. Quite possibly emotion.

"Teams were sent to all houses. No traces have been discovered. No prints, no DNA. A neighbour remembered seeing a cleaning crew on Takarai's apartment's floor. Nothing on tape in any of the apartment elevators – they took the stairs or tampered with the tapes."

"Most likely stairs," says Kid. "If they're newer buildings, elevators might stop on every floor at night as a safety precaution – more risk for them."

Nakamori, who knows that but didn't expect the thief to, raises his eyebrows. But then, it's not as though Kid knowing the most efficient get-away route from any situation is surprising.

"No surveillance in the apartment lobbies?"

"Only one had a camera; it showed nothing in the time frame."

"And the phone call?"

"Wasn't mentioned to Section One." He says it without pause, brisk and blank and clean as a knife over bone. There will be time to feel their wounds later. "It came from down by the docks. I sent two men and a forensics team who know how to keep their mouths shut." Two of his lost ships, Old Squad relocated far from their original positions but still afloat, and still behind him. "They checked the scene: nothing. I haven't had a sound-tech check the tape, but odds are the call was made from inside a car."

"And the phone?"

He doesn't mean to pause. It's the obvious next question, he saw it coming. It's more that the world goes on without him for a few seconds. He doesn't even recognize it until he sees Kid look up, eyes bright even in shadow. Cutting into him.

"It was Aoko's," he says through a mouthful of marbles.

Kid looks away. After a heartbeat he turns to face the side of the roof, his back to them, cape fluttering out with the movement.

"So now you have no options left. You want to arrest me? Make the trade?" There's a light-heartedness that fools no one: it is thin and amateurish. A black and white contrast from Kid's usual tones. Nakamori sighs heavily, feels the weight of dropping this burden on a teenager dragging him down as well.

"But how can you not know who it is? They want to kill you – to kill you so badly they're willing to murder kids. How can you not know who hates you that much?" Of all people it's Takarai; Takarai whose fear and suffering and horror has boiled down to rage.

"If there were any real justice – any real justice – officer Takarai, the stones I steal would be black with the blood that's been spilt over them. Imagine what people who would kill for the chance to get one would do if they lost it."

The breeze is still warm, fanning softly across the roof, but his voice is tundra-cold, empty and icy. The child is gone. He shifts slightly, more a shrug than anything else. "That's my look-out. It shouldn't be yours. If you want to take me into custody, lock me up in a room, or just leave me up here –" There's a mechanical click and he reaches back under his cape. The thief turns and pulls his hands back out; they come away carrying his glider apparatus like a rabbit pulled from a hat. He holds it out to Nakamori. Offers it. "– I give you my word I won't try to escape."

For the first time since he landed his head is tipped back enough that his face is no longer in shadow. Nakamori sees nothing there, absolutely nothing, but complete sincerity.

"No," he says, flatly. Waits for the shuffling, the whispering. There is none. The Squad stands united behind him. "We need your help. That does not and will not include trading you for the hostages."

"Inspector –"

"It's not negotiable, Kid." It's not an option. "Any help you can give – any information, anything. But no trades."

Kid stands frozen, considering, frosty in the moonlight. The glider remains in the space between them, an option on either side that the other won't agree to. Then, finally, the thief sighs and drops his arms to his side. "Fine. We'll play it your way for the next 24 hours. But if we have nothing by 11 tomorrow, all agreements are off." It's the kind of enthusiasm Nakamori would expect from someone saving his own life, not offering it up.

"Fine," echoes Nakamori, not meaning it. He nods to his men, who begin to turn towards the stairs. "Let's get started; we can figure your top enemies and run checks on … the most… Kid?"

The thief has clipped his glider back on, and is not following. Is heading for the roof's edge.

"I know nothing you don't already. Run your checks." He doesn't turn, walks with no sign of hurry, no apparent concern. Just as cocky as always. Nakamori wishes he could believe the kid wasn't shaken. Wishes even more he'd damn well stay put.

"Where are you going?"

"To see someone who might."

"But – wait –"

It's too late. The thief's up on the ledge and, in the sliver of a second, has tipped forward off the roof. Nakamori doesn't even bother running after him; he'll be halfway down the street by now.

"Crap," he hisses through his teeth, turning wrathfully toward the group at the stairwell, bunched up around the door. "Well?" he snarls.

"Uh, sir," Yamamoto, trying frantically to catch his eye.

"What?"

Two of the men nearest the door stumble away as if pushed from behind. Which, in fact, they were. A man in a suit emerges from the shadows of the stairwell, two uniforms behind him. The men he left behind in the office, faces painted over with dismayed guilt. But Nakamori's not watching them.

"Well, well, Inspector," says Superintendent Higashiyama. "What do we have here?"