By the time they left Kowalski’s apartment, it was fully dark, the rain turning streetlights into hazy, shimmering halos.

Realizing he hadn’t eaten all day, Makishima stopped by the convenience store where they’d parked and grabbed a couple of pre-packaged burgers, a box of cream-filled pastries, and a bottle of cheap whiskey. He was starting to settle into this world.

Back in the car, the first thing he did was take a long swig straight from the bottle. As the warmth spread through his body, he decided life wasn’t so bad after all. I’m a full-blown alcoholic, and yet I still have the nerve to judge L for his cigarettes and donuts, he thought idly, taking another sip.

Deciding that two heads were better than one, he began thinking out loud.

“Here’s how I see it: Selena Johnson and Kowalski were working together from the start — probably hired by a rival clan. Selena cozied up to Vincent to extract information. But when Vincent started suspecting something, they panicked and took him out. Then Kowalski realized our clan would never forgive him for it, so he ran, leaving Selena behind. And she, being the resourceful type, decided to push forward — hired a private detective to gather intel for her. Someone smart enough to get results but dumb enough not to see through her act. No offense,” he added, glancing at L.

L, for once, wasn’t smoking. He was chewing on his thumb, a habit Makishima had noticed when he was deep in thought.

Finally, L spoke.

“It’s a decent theory, but there are gaps. First, why hire me at all? If she and Kowalski were working together, he had full access to Vincent’s place as his bodyguard. He could’ve gathered whatever intel they needed himself. And more importantly — why the wall of stalker photos?”

“Maybe they were lovers?” Makishima suggested.

“People don’t usually photograph their girlfriends in secret.”

Makishima nearly scoffed: Oh, and you’re an expert on relationships now? — but the truth was, L had a point.

“I don’t think Selena’s involved,” L continued. “She didn’t know about Vincent’s work, didn’t know about Kowalski. She was just dating a rich guy she liked and genuinely got worried when he vanished. Kowalski, though… He was tailing Vincent. He knew Vincent couldn’t be left unguarded — if anything happened to him, Big Nick would have his head. So he was always lurking nearby, just in case. Then he saw Selena. And he fell for her. Hard. You saw that apartment — guy’s not exactly stable. He became obsessed. Started following her, taking secret photos, maybe even stalking her.

“Vincent found out. Lost it. Told Kowalski to back off. Maybe they fought, maybe Kowalski ambushed him. Either way, he killed Vincent. Then realized he was as good as dead himself. Dumped the body in the bay and disappeared. I doubt he’s coming back. If he’s smart, he never will.”

Makishima sat in silence, turning it over in his head.

Out of sheer stubbornness, he tried to poke holes in L’s logic — but it all made too much sense.

How ridiculous, really — to be a key figure in the criminal underworld, only to be murdered by your own lovesick bodyguard.

Snapping upright in his seat, Makishima turned to L.

"Listen, if Kowalski's lost his mind so badly that he even took out Vincent, then he's not lying low. He's going to keep going."

L might have had a better grasp of a mad autistic man's motives, but Makishima was an expert in criminal psychology. He'd spent his entire life specializing in it — one might say he'd earned a doctorate in the subject with honors.

"What do you mean? He knows your clan will start hunting him sooner or later. And then the police will get involved."

"Yeah, the rational thing would be to hop on a plane and disappear somewhere in Australia. But you said it yourself — he's crazy, get it?" Makishima twirled a finger near his temple for emphasis. "He's already crossed the line and killed Vincent. Why not go even further and try to finally claim the woman this whole mess started over?"

For a moment, silence hung in the car.

"Shit. You're right," L muttered. "Selena. He went after Selena. And… I don't even have her address."

Makishima rifled through his knowledge of the mid-twentieth century — rich, but rather fragmented — and hesitantly suggested, "If Selena Johnson is her real name, we can find her address in a phone book."

L looked at him as if a halo had just lit up over his head. No wonder he hadn't thought of it himself — L, a child of the internet age, had never dealt with phone books. And unlike Makishima, he hadn't spent hours watching and reading period dramas.

Amazingly, Selena Johnson was, in fact, named Selena Johnson, and her address was right there in the directory.  

Her apartment was locked. No one answered the door. Makishima resorted to his usual lockpicking trick.

Selena wasn’t inside. Thankfully, neither was her corpse. No signs of a struggle, no blood. It looked like she hadn’t even been home, though it was close to midnight.

"Odds are, she's already dead," Makishima concluded. "But we still need to find Kowalski."

"What if she just hasn’t gotten back from work yet? What if we can still save her?"

"What does she do for a living?"

L furrowed his brow, trying to recall his conversation with Selena Johnson.

"She said she met Palermo at a club. Maybe she sings there… Not the most solid deduction, I admit. I just got the impression she looked like a jazz singer."

Makishima nodded. "That kind of logic works in books sometimes."

Besides, it was a Saturday — every club had live music on a Saturday. If Selena was a singer, that would explain why she wasn’t home yet. And if anyone was likely to have gotten tangled up with someone like Vincent Palermo, it was a broke but ambitious club singer with a taste for money and luxury.

Most apartments accumulate a pile of paper junk over time, and Selena’s place was no exception. They found business cards and flyers from all sorts of venues, but the most frequent name among them was a club called Blue Note — which, conveniently, was just a short drive from her place.

They got there in minutes.

The club was small, underground, accessible by a steep staircase. Wasting no time, L slipped the bouncers a generous stack of bills and asked if a girl named Selena Johnson worked there.

"She does," one of them said, "but you guys are late — her set's over, and she left, oh… maybe five minutes ago."

"Did she take a cab?"

"Nope. Left on foot."

Makishima and L ran back to the car and retraced their route, prepared to comb through every dark alley where a maniac might lurk. There were plenty of them between Blue Note and Selena’s apartment, but Kowalski, it seemed, hadn’t bothered looking for a discreet spot.

He had ambushed his obsession barely a hundred meters from the club.

The scene before them looked like something ripped straight from an old, cheap noir flick (then again, this was an old, cheap noir flick). Kowalski had twisted Selena’s arms behind her back, holding them with his left hand, while his right grabbed the lace neckline of her dress, pulling her closer. His face and hands were streaked with deep, bloody scratches — souvenirs from Selena’s well-manicured nails. But beyond those, she had no weapon. And if not for L and Makishima’s intervention, this would have ended badly.

L yanked Kowalski back by the shoulder, spun him around, and punched him square in the jaw.

Despite being half Kowalski’s size, L fought so well that within moments, the brute was on the ground.

Selena had scrambled to the wall, eyes wide with terror, watching the fight unfold.

Makishima was watching too, though with considerably more appreciation. A well-executed brawl was always a joy to behold — especially when he wasn’t the one getting hit.

He almost missed the moment Kowalski, realizing his fists weren’t enough, discreetly pulled a seven-shot Browning from his coat.

Makishima stomped down on the hand holding the gun. Fingers crunched. Kowalski let out a noise somewhere between a pained groan and an enraged snarl.

"Tsk, tsk! Dangerous toy," Makishima said, kicking the gun out of reach.

"You know," L remarked, "this whole mafia thug look really suits you. You seem to be enjoying yourself."

"Why, thank you," Makishima replied, genuinely pleased. "I kind of am."

Without another word, L picked up Kowalski’s gun, pressed it to the back of his head, and pulled the trigger.

"Hey!" Makishima protested. "I was gonna bring him in alive for Big Nick!"

"And then he’d tell Big Nick about Selena," L said flatly. "We didn’t save her just for your boss to decide she heard something she shouldn’t have."

With unexpected gallantry, he offered Selena a hand and helped her up. "Don’t worry, miss. We’ll get you home."

"Hmph." Makishima slid into the driver’s seat, took another swig from his now considerably lighter whiskey bottle, and scowled. He was already mentally composing the best way to spin this story for Big Nick — one that wouldn’t get him killed on the spot.

"We are taking her home, right?" L nudged him with an elbow.

Selena cast L a grateful look before her expression darkened. "Detective Lawliet, did you find out what happened to Jimmy?"

L hesitated, unsure how to break the bad news.

Makishima, impatient, cut in: "Jimmy’s dead, sweetheart. And if I were you, I’d be out of this city by morning — because thanks to that Jimmy, some very dangerous people might start looking for you."

L pulled out a not-so-clean handkerchief and silently handed it to her.

Selena nodded her thanks and dabbed at her eyes. "Yeah… I’ve heard things about Big Nick’s clan. I get it. I’ll leave…"

A few moments later, having somewhat composed herself, the blonde beauty leaned dreamily against "Detective Lawliet’s" shoulder and sighed.

"God, what a night. I could really use a smoke."

Then she cast a coquettish glance at Makishima. "And maybe a drink."

***

"So that’s the ending? A maniac and some petty crime of passion? That’s the dumbest damn novel I’ve ever read,"Makishima declared.

"It was a small, stupid case," L agreed. "But turns out, we make a decent team."

"I’ll admit, I got into it by the end," Makishima mused. "Maybe this is just the start of a long-running series. Maybe our two bumbling detectives will get a real case someday. And that blonde, Selena? She’s definitely turning out to be a femme fatale villain."

"No way!" L looked genuinely surprised. "You know, I actually liked it. Maybe we should check out more stories about them."

Then his eyes glinted.

"But later. I just got an idea. You know what else I like besides detective novels? Scary stories."