Tantei wa Mou, Shindeiru - Volume 6 - Chapter 3.3

May 2 Siesta

Early the next morning, we left the hotel and headed for the place where Krone had told us the artist lived.

It took us a bit over two hours after transferring between trains and buses. The place was located well outside the city, and as we made our way toward it on foot, a white building that looked like a church came into view on the other side of the grassy plain.

“It’s a children’s home,” Boy K. muttered behind me. “I can hear kids’ voices. It doesn’t seem like a regular school, though.”

I’d heard that he’d lived at a facility before Danny Bryant took him in. That was why he had jumped straight to that possibility. We had that in common; I’d once lived in a facility with other kids my age, too. During my days there, I’d—

“Gekka, what’s wrong?”

The next thing I knew, the boy had come up beside me and was staring at my face, seeming puzzled. “Do you feel sick? Did you eat too much?”

Somehow, he’d picked up on the fact that I wasn’t feeling well. He was worried, but I wasn’t happy that he immediately jumped to overeating.

“I don’t believe my disguise is so flimsy that you could pick up on changes in my complexion.”

“You slowed down a bit. I thought maybe you’d eaten too much, and it was weighing you down. Or maybe…” the boy said, walking slowly beside me. “Is there a reason you don’t want to reach that building?”

I didn’t think there was. …But could I be forgetting something?

Was I frightened of this shelter for children? —Why would I be?

“Let’s go.”

I didn’t know. Which was why there was nothing for it but to press forward.

I’d solve the mysteries in my life by myself.

“That has to be why I became a detective,” I murmured, too softly for anyone else to hear.

When we reached the white building, there was a man in a wheelchair out in the front yard, watering the flowers. I called out to him. “Excuse me. Can we have a moment?”

The man slowly turned around, wheelchair and all.

His features seemed European, and he might have been in his seventies. He had a dignified appearance, and his white hair had been carefully styled. The combination made him seem very refined. I could easily imagine him getting up out of that chair at any moment and drawing himself up to his full height, even if I knew he couldn’t now.

“We’re—”

“I thought you might come someday.”

Boy K. and I exchanged looks. The kid shook his head; he didn’t know this man, either.

Even so, the two of us gave our names, and the old man introduced himself as Jekyll. “Well, come in,” he said with a gentle smile. He turned and propelled his chair toward the front entrance, which was flush with the ground. He seemed to know why we were there.

“You think it’s a trap?” the boy whispered to me.

“I’d say the odds are fifty-fifty.”

“Great. Okay, what do we do?”

“There’s a fifty percent chance that we’ll get results and come out of this unscathed, and a fifty percent chance that we’ll get injured but still obtain results.”

“…So you’ve already decided we’re going.”

Exactly. I really like sharp kids.

Jekyll led us down a long corridor to a great hall of some kind. About a dozen children were inside, drawing pictures or putting puzzles together.

“Gekka, look.” Boy K. pointed at a spot high on the wall. Watercolors and oil paintings of landscapes and everyday objects hung there. The art styles were all different, but the motley look of the techniques made me think of the person we were searching for.

“Do Grete’s paintings interest you fine people?” Jekyll spoke to us politely, even though we were far younger than he was. “Grete” was the name of the artist we were looking for.

“Is she one of the children who live here?”

“She is indeed. Her parents abandoned her, although I won’t divulge the specifics. She’s been here since she was small.”

I could think of a few reasons parents might abandon a child, from their financial circumstances to an unwanted pregnancy. Either way, although Grete’s parents should have loved her unconditionally, they’d abandoned her at this facility.

“She has incredible skill, doesn’t she?”

The compliment I blurted out was a very common one. As a matter of fact, her pictures were so beautiful that her family and the circumstances she’d been born into just didn’t seem important.

“Well, according to Grete, those are originals and still quite unpolished.” Smiling a little, the old man gazed up at the landscapes on the wall. “Creating meticulously accurate copies is where her skills really shine. I doubt even the most keen-eyed art dealer could tell her paintings were a fake.”

That was exactly what we’d seen happen.

Jekyll continued. “Human faces are constantly changing, so she isn’t good at capturing them on canvas. On the other hand, when she uses a static model, she can re-create it perfectly. That’s her specialty.”

“…At that level, it’s basically a superpower,” Boy K. said, unsure what to believe. And then…

“Yes, most of these children have similar special abilities or skills. Are you familiar with the word gifted? It refers to individuals who are born with advanced intelligence, artistic ability, or creativity.”

From his wheelchair, Jekyll gazed at the children who were playing in the large room.

“Here at Sun House, we protect and foster children like that. I have the honor of serving as the facility’s representative. …Although, really, I’m just an old, retired soldier.” Jekyll smiled self-deprecatingly.

“You say ‘special ability,’ but you don’t mean things like teleportation or shooting flames from their palms, do you?” I asked.

Jekyll nodded quietly. “That’s correct. It’s all within the realm of common sense. Acquiring and using multiple languages in a short amount of time, or being able to instantly and accurately remember what they’ve seen… There are also children who excel at reading others’ mental states, or who can have lucid dreams voluntarily.”

“That seems plenty uncommon to me,” Boy K. retorted.

Still smiling, Jekyll elaborated. “No, they’re all quite real. The ability to read human emotions can be explained with psychology, and science is working to prove lucid dreams as we speak.”

“Then what about Grete?” I asked. How was she able to make counterfeits so perfect that even the experts were fooled?

“She has a rare gift for spatial awareness, and a superior talent for art. Together, they make it possible for her to re-create paintings perfectly. Grete perceives things as detailed schematics,” Jekyll explained.

I took another look at the large room, and the children who were in it. Their ages ranged from three to twelve or thirteen. From what we’d just heard, most of them had some sort of special ability, and this facility existed to protect them.

The average person probably would have had a hard time believing that. Even Boy K. was perplexed, with good reason, and he was constantly getting pulled into all sorts of odd things. However, I knew people like the children in this facility… People who were even more gifted, in fact. For example, there was a girl who foresaw events related to global crises. She had once been the prisoner of a certain organization. Did this facility have some other secret as well?

“Would it be possible for us to meet Grete?”

According to Krone, Danny Bryant had discovered the girl’s special ability. What was her connection to him? Grete might have information about Danny that we couldn’t learn from anyone else. On that thought, I—

“Jekyll! Look at this!” A lively voice interrupted our conversation.

I turned around. A red-haired girl in a white dress was coming toward us, practically dancing. She looked around eleven or twelve. Then she noticed Boy K. and I. “Oh, visitors…?” she said, and slowed down, seeming a little embarrassed.

“You’ve drawn a new picture?” Jekyll gave her a soft smile.

“Uh-huh! I drew Natalie’s portrait today!” Grete cheerfully showed Jekyll a picture of a friend who lived at the facility. It was an original painting of a girl’s smiling face. “I wonder if I could draw Danny now, too,” Grete murmured a little shyly.

So she really did know him.

“What’s your connection to Danny?” Boy K. asked.

For just a moment, Grete froze. Then she realized we were Danny’s friends, too. “Um…” she faltered, lifting the canvas so that it hid the lower half of her face. She seemed bashful by nature.

“Danny Bryant is the one who encouraged Grete to polish her art skills,” Jekyll explained.

“He worked to protect those like Grete, children with special circumstances. Since getting by in the regular world was going to be difficult for them, he taught them skills that would help them live independently once they left Sun House.”

I see: ways to earn money. It all made sense now. Danny must have bought Grete’s paintings in order to show her that her ability to create perfect counterfeits could help her earn a living. He’d had Krone, a real art dealer, serve as the middleman so that Grete wouldn’t think he was just being kind because he knew her.

“When do you suppose Danny’s coming back?” Grete looked down, her expression lonely. “Maybe he’s busy with work.” From what Ice Doll and Fuubi had said, Danny had disappeared a year ago. Hadn’t he visited Sun House since then, either?

“Well, that’s a good question.” Jekyll looked at us. …Or rather, at Boy K. “He might know.”

All our eyes focused on him.

“Do you know what Danny’s doing?” Grete asked Boy K. timidly, overcoming her shyness.

“Kid,” I said. He shot me a brief glance. “I think it’s about time you told me the truth, too, isn’t it?”

This was the black box Boy K. had been hiding all this time. I’d been dimly aware that he had some big secret, but I’d been waiting for it to come to the surface.

“You know where Danny Bryant is, don’t you?”

I wasn’t positive. I’d spent the past few days with him, however, and considering how he’d acted, it was a pretty solid guess.

Jekyll, Grete, and I were all watching him, but Boy K. didn’t turn a hair. He just drew one small breath, then filled us in.

“Yeah. Danny’s been dead for a year.”