Conan’s Toast Does Not Eat Fine Wine

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Shopping center underground parking lot

The "Da Da" sound from high heels echoed in the quiet and empty space.

If Police Officer Mumu were here, he would find that the missing hostage lady was walking towards a yellow high-end sports car calmly.

She took out the key, unlocked the sports car's car, and was about to get in the car—

"Is it really appropriate to just leave like this?" A young boy's voice sounded behind her, "You have something to find that man, don't you?"

The woman's movement towards the handlebar of the car paused slightly, and her glasses glowed with white light.

"Ah." The woman said lightly, "No way, isn't the person who drove me away is you?"

The woman turned around, her expression on her face suddenly changed, becoming something familiar to Conan: "And that man is not a murderer, right?"

"Yes." Conan smiled confidently. "He has a wound on his right shoulder. This can be seen from the way he held you."

Belmode tilted his head and made no secret of his appreciation: "And a person with an upper limb injury, of course, can't have so much strength to attack with a dagger, unless he was injured after the crime."

Immediately Belmode laughed again: "It's really amazing to say, you can actually recognize me."

Conan closed his eyes slightly and said, "I can see from your trouser legs, right ankle is bulging, right?"

"Ankle?" Belmode looked at it and saw a bulge, "Ah, that's how it is."

It turned out that the pistol she had tied there for backup exposed her identity.

"You probably want to wait for that man to hold you to a place where there are only two people, and then use that gun to solve him? However, I don't think you need a pistol at all." Conan guessed.

Conan's trust in her strength made Belmode very useful. She tore off the mask attached to her headgear and said with emotion: "I didn't expect to receive your compliment."

"Belmod." Conan asked with a sullen expression, "Why did the organization investigate this murder case?"

I don't know why, Conan just thinks Belmode will answer him.

In fact, Belmode did not disappoint him.

She was slightly surprised at first: "It's really straightforward."

"tell me."

"Because of noc." Belmode continued in Conan's slightly surprised eyes. "A certain noc of the organization is probably for self-preservation. It even copied the list of noc privately and carried the memory card with the list. Carry. This matter has been found out. The organization planned to get rid of that person in the near future, but..."

"He is dead, and the memory card with the list was taken away by the murderer." Conan finished the rest of the sentence for her.

Everything suddenly became clear, and Conan understood the purpose of the organization at once: "If the prisoner is caught by the police first, the police is very likely to check the contents of the memory card. That's bad."

Belmod didn't laugh, she took out a cigarette and lit it in her mouth.

Conan thought for a while, and his expression suddenly became more solemn: "You are here to show that the Metropolitan Police Department should still have your undercover, no, it should be you who sent someone to turn into a certain police officer to learn about the progress of the police investigation, right? Who is that man, Mezcal? Who is he pretending to be?"

"Ah, it's a familiar code name." Belmode laughed, "I didn't expect you to think of him."

"Tell me, Belmode." Conan said eagerly.

Belmode leaned on the sports car and stared at Conan. After a few seconds, she said, "Ireland."

"Irish whiskey?"

"Yes, it's the kind of whiskey with very little odor and mildness." Belmode said, "As for the bottle of tequila in your mouth, he is the person in charge of this operation."

Conan frowned.

Is Mezcal the person in charge? It turns out that his position in the organization is so high.

"Watch out for you, there have always been amazing people around you." Belmode said suddenly.

Conan was about to ask, but he saw Belmode raised his hand and said loudly: "Mr. Guard, this little kid seems to be lost!"

"No, I didn't..."

Belmode had already been seated in the sports car, and with a kick of the accelerator, the sports car galloped towards the exit of the parking lot, frightening the guards.

Conan stared at the direction the sports car was leaving, with a serious expression.

Belmode was not the first to remind him to pay attention to those around him. Mr. Akai had said similar things before. And Belmode moved to this after mentioning Ireland and Mezcal. What did she want to tell him?

Is Ireland or Mezcal by his side?

Following this line of thought, Ireland is a code name that has only recently appeared, and it is not realistic to stay with him all the time. So, is it Mezcal?

Does anyone around him seem suspicious?

Conan's thoughts inadvertently fell on the gentle and jade-like manager of the music classroom. He was originally very reluctant to doubt Mr. Asano, but the serial murder case Mr. Asano called before made him unable to ignore it.

Conan suspected that the case Nobuhiro Asano was talking about at the time was the one they are pursuing, but the police were highly confidential about this case. Even Kogoro Moori didn't learn about it until the day of the joint meeting. How did Nobuhiro Asano know about it?

...

"Didn't you already send someone to sneak into the Metropolitan Police Department? Why do you still need me to provide information?"

In a simple bachelor's apartment in Mihuacho, Toru Amuro is sitting at a computer desk making a phone call. While dealing with gin, he is typing on the keyboard, not knowing what he is doing.

"Mezcal has no time to check the information? Didn't he come to Japan on vacation? Why is he busier than you? Let me see, is Shindōjin..." Amuro quickly cut out the website and entered Shindōjin's name on another platform. .

While waiting for the data to load, the screen of another mobile phone that Amuro put aside suddenly lit up. He picked it up and frowned.

The Gin on the other side urged impatiently, "Isn't it all right, Bourbon?"

Amuro said he turned his attention to the screen: "Shindojin, a painter, lives in Hachioji City. I will send you the detailed information by email ~ www.readwn.com~ I see." Gin decisively hung up the phone.

Toru Amuro, who was rudely cut off the call, didn't care about these trivial matters. He quickly typed on another mobile phone with one finger:

[What's wrong? ]

Press the send button, and the recipient's number belongs to his comrade-in-arms—Nobuhiro Asano.

After dozens of seconds, Xinfan wrote back:

[Belmod may once again suspect Nobuhiro Asano's relationship with Mescal, and would like you to help confuse her. ]

Seeing this email, Amuro secretly breathed a sigh of relief, and a little smile burst into his eyes.

Belmode, the witch of a thousand faces, used to fool others, but now she finally has a chance to fool her.

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