Misora slowly peeled herself off the bed, intending to shower away the sweat of the night before, but then she noticed the laptop on her desk was, for some reason, turned on. She had no recollection of turning it on—after all, she had just woken up. Had she hit the switch on her way in last night? And then fallen asleep without shutting it down again? She didn’t remember doing that, but since the screen saver was working, there seemed to be no other explanation. One would assume that if she had enough energy left to turn on her computer, she would have had enough energy to undress. Misora peeled off her jacket and pants, and with her body feeling much lighter, got off the bed, moved over to her desk, and jiggled the mouse. This was enough to clear the screen saver, but at this point Misora became even more confused. The main e-mail program was running and flashing a “new mail” message. It was possible she’d fallen asleep with her computer on, but to fall asleep in the middle of checking her e-mail? While she was still wondering about that, she clicked on her inbox. There was one new message, from Raye Penber. This was the name of Misora’s current boyfriend, also an FBI agent. He was the most obvious example of the agents who had a high opinion of her (not that this stopped him from begging her to transfer to a less dangerous department every time something happened). Since her leave was almost over, this might well be just business, so Misora went ahead and opened the message...
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Naomi Misora-sama
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I apologize for contacting you like this.
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I would like to request your help in solving a certain case.
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If you are willing to assist me, please access the third block of the third section of the Funny Dish server on August 14th at nine am. The line will be open for exactly five minutes (please break through the firewall yourself).
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L
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PS: In order to contact you, I took the liberty of borrowing your friend’s address. This was the simplest and safest way to contact you, so please forgive me. Regardless of whether you agree to help me or not, I need you to destroy this computer within twenty-four hours of reading this message.
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When she finished reading, Misora immediately reread the entire message and finally checked the sender’s name again.
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L.
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She might be suspended, but she was still an FBI agent, and obviously she recognized the name—it would have been unforgivable had she not. She briefly considered the idea that Raye Penber, or someone else, was playing a practical joke on her, but she found it hard to believe anyone would be so bold to sign their name as such. L never revealed himself in public or in private, but Misora had heard several horror stories about what had happened to detectives who had tried passing themselves off as L.
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It was safe to say that no one would dare use his name, even in jest.
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So.
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“Aw, dang,” she grumbled, and proceeded to take her shower, washing away the exhaustion of the night before. She dried her long black hair and drank a cup of hot coffee.
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But she was only pretending to consider the matter—she did not really have a choice. No FBI agent, particularly a low-ranking one, could ever consider turning down a request from L. But at this time Misora did not have a particularly favorable opinion of the great detective L, so she had to pretend to hesitate, if only to make herself feel better. If you consider Misora’s personality, the reasons for this are clear. It seemed obvious that the reason her laptop had been turned on was that L had hacked it, and she was more than a little depressed that she would now have to randomly destroy the new computer she had just purchased a month before.
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“I don’t mind… I mean, I do, but...”
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She didn’t have a choice.
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At just past 8:50, Misora sat down in front of her laptop, which now had less than twenty three hours left to live, and began following L’s instructions. She was not an expert hacker, but she had been taught the basics as part of her FBI training.
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Just as she successfully gained access to the server, her entire screen went white. Misora was momentarily alarmed, but then she noticed a giant calligraphic L floating in the center of the screen, and relaxed.
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“Naomi Misora,” came a voice from the laptop speakers, after a brief pause. It was obviously a synthetic voice. But this was the voice recognized as L’s by every investigative department in the world. Misora had heard it several times before—but this was the first time it had ever addressed her directly It felt weird, like she was hearing her name on TV—not that she had ever had that experience, but this was what she imagined it would be like.
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“This is L.”
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“Hi,” Misora started to say, but then realized how pointless that was. Her laptop did not have a microphone installed, and there was no way for him to hear her.
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Instead, she typed in, “This is Naomi Misora. It’s an honor to speak to you, L.” If her connection was sound, he should be able to receive this.
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“Naomi Misora, are you familiar with the murder investigation going on in Los Angeles as we speak?” L got right down to business, without acknowledging her words at all. Presumably this was because he had to complete this communication by 9:05, but his manner and attitude rubbed Misora the wrong way Like it was a given that she would cooperate with him— which was true, but acting like it showed no respect for her pride. Misora allowed herself to bang on the keyboard rather loudly
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“I am not so skilled that I can keep track of all the murder investigations happening in Los Angeles.”
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“Oh? I am.”
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He’d returned her sarcasm with a boast.
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L continued, “I’m referring to the serial killings—-the third victim was found yesterday. I believe there will be more victims to come. HNN news is calling it the Wara Ningyo Murders.”
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“The Wara Ningyo Murders?”
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She had not heard about it. She was on leave and had been deliberately avoiding that kind of news.
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Misora had lived in Japan until she graduated high school and was familiar with the term, but hearing it pronounced in English gave it an edge of unfamiliarity.
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“I would like to solve this case,” L said. “I need to arrest the killer. But your help in this matter is vital, Naomi Misora.”
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“Why me?” she typed. This could be taken to mean either “Why do you need my help?” or “Why should I help you?” but L took the first meaning without a moment’s hesitation. Sarcasm appeared to be lost on him.
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“Naturally, because you are a skilled investigator, Naomi Misora.”
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“I’m on a leave of absence...”
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“I know. Isn’t that convenient?”
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Three victims, he’d said.
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Obviously, it depended on the victims, but from what L had told her this case had not yet reached the kind of scale required for the FBI to get involved. She would normally have assumed that this was why he had approached her instead of going through the FBI director, but this was much too sudden. And she had been given almost no time to think things through. But it had been enough time for her to wonder why L would be involved in a case too small for the FBI to notice. She did not imagine he would answer that question over her computer, however.
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She glanced at her clock.
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She had one more minute.
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“Okay. I’ll help in any way I can,” Misora typed.
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L answered instantly, “Thank you. I knew you would agree.” He did not sound very thankful.
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But perhaps that could be blamed on the synthetic nature of his voice.
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“Let me explain how you will contact me in the future. We have no time, so I will be brief. First..
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First, she had to know the basic details of the Los Angeles BB Murder Cases. On July 3 1st, 2002, in the bedroom of a small house on Hollywood’s Insist Street, a man named Believe Bridesmaid was killed. He lived alone, working as a freelance writer. He had written articles for dozens of magazines under many different names and was relatively well known in the industry—-which means exactly nothing, but in this case appears to have been fairly accurate. He was strangled. He was first knocked out with some sort of drug and then strangled from behind with some sort of string. There were no signs of struggle—all things considered, a smoothly executed crime. The second murder occurred four days later, on August 4th, 2002. This time it was downtown, in an apartment on Third Avenue, and the victim was a female named Quarter Queen. This time the victim was beaten to death, her skull caved in from the front by something long and hard. Once again, the victim appeared to have been drugged first and was unconscious at the time of death. As for why it was determined that these two murders were committed by the same killer... well, anyone who saw the scene of the crime instantly noticed the connection.