After leaving Dr. Agasa's house, Tsuneo, dressed in gray work clothes and carrying a toolkit, arrived at the Kitagawa household and rang the doorbell.
Mrs. Kitagawa's drain was clogged again.
The frequency of this drain clogging surpassed even Dr. Agasa's wall explosions.
Tsuneo could tell that Mrs. Kitagawa, nearing forty, was very interested in him—a twenty-three-year-old standing at one meter eighty-five.
Though she was beautiful, she had too many "boats" under her feet, and he'd get dizzy.
He refused her advances many times, but Mrs. Kitagawa didn't care.
She still greeted him in revealing clothes, knowing she'd never succeed but enjoying the chase.
"It's Tsuneo, come in."
A thin middle-aged man opened the door.
Mr. Kitagawa?
Was the drain actually clogged this time?
Tsuneo slipped on house slippers and followed Mr. Kitagawa inside.
In the living room, he saw not only Mr. and Mrs. Kitagawa but also three men in suits—colleagues, judging by their conversation.
Mrs. Kitagawa, in homewear and an apron, gave him a nod, then focused on washing vegetables, silent.
Tsuneo ignored her and followed Mr. Kitagawa to the bathroom.
He donned rubber gloves, grabbed his tools, and crouched by the toilet.
Mr. Kitagawa stood by, chatting idly as Tsuneo worked.
They lived on the same street and had met before, so small talk came easily.
"A rag fell in; tough to fish out, huh?"
"It's fine," Tsuneo replied, hooking a white rag with a thick wire.
In under ten minutes, without heavy tools, he'd earn two to three thousand yen.
The Kitagawa jobs, real or not, were always the easiest.
"Inoue, what's wrong, Inoue!"
"Kitagawa, come quick!"
Tsuneo tossed the rag in the trash and was washing his gloves when shouts echoed from outside.
Mr. Kitagawa bolted out.
"Inoue's not breathing! Where's Tomoko?"
"Tomoko!"
Tsuneo packed his gloves and wire, pulled out his phone, and dialed the police.
"Crude, too crude."
Soon, police cars and an ambulance arrived, and Inspector Megure appeared in his orange coat.
Besides the deceased, Kazuki Inoue, Mrs. Kitagawa was poisoned too, collapsing in the kitchen.
She was rushed off, unconscious.
A bitter almond smell—cyanide, no doubt.
As a witness, Tsuneo, the repairman, stayed for questioning.
He was barely a suspect; he'd only passed through the living room to the bathroom, never stopping, and worked by the toilet until the death occurred.
Inspector Megure asked a few questions, glanced at the toolkit, and was ready to let him go.
Tsuneo noticed Mr. Kitagawa and the two colleagues bickering in the living room, airing each other's dirty laundry.
Then he spotted a small, sneaky figure in the yard and smirked.
Two minutes later, his phone rang.
Tsuneo pulled a bulky, brick-like mobile from his bag and answered.
Phones from this era were clunky, limited, and absurdly expensive.
He'd snagged a broken second-hand one cheap, had Dr. Agasa fix it, and now it worked better than new.
On the line was the deduction-obsessed kid, holed up in a phone booth.
"Hey, Kudo, talk to Megure yourself."
If another officer were on the case, Tsuneo wouldn't have handed over the phone.
But Inspector Megure was a rare honest one.
"Inspector Megure, I heard about a case near my house. What's up?"
"Kudo, here's the deal…"
As expected, Megure spilled everything to the God of Death.
In short: Mr. Kitagawa, the team leader, brought three subordinates.
They finalized a deal that morning, then held a dinner party at his house that afternoon.
It ended with one dead and one unconscious.
Cyanide was found in the water glasses of Kazuki Inoue and Tomoko Kitagawa, pending further tests.
The three suspects were now squabbling, each venting their grudges against Inoue.
Megure casually handed the phone to them.
"Kitagawa, your wife and Inoue had a special relationship, didn't they?"
You don't hit a man's face, curse his mother, or expose his shame.
Publicly cuckolded, Mr. Kitagawa snapped.
"Ishizu, you fought Inoue in the stairwell two days ago, and he decked you. Why not mention that?"
"And Tamiya, that last deal—you and Inoue worked on it, but he stole the credit. You said you hated him, didn't you?"
Mr. Kitagawa went berserk, pointing and cursing.
The water glasses sat on the table, unwatched, so anyone could've slipped in the poison.
"Megure, give the phone to Tsuneo," Conan said, clutching his bow tie in the phone booth, glasses glinting.
"Got the culprit, Kudo?" Tsuneo asked, grinning.
"Mr. Kitagawa, no question. He hid the poison in the bathroom."
"Anything else?"
"You think there's more?"
"Just as you guessed—there's another culprit."
Tsuneo recalled Mrs. Kitagawa's hesitant, uneasy glance when he arrived.
"Is she an idiot?"
"Basically. She poured poison from Inoue's cup into hers to throw off suspicion, then took a sip."
"Way too risky," Conan muttered, crouching in the grass, shaking his head.
"She probably studied the dose to survive it, but it's still nuts."
Tsuneo handed the phone back to Inspector Megure.