"And you know this," he said, a touch of irony, "and you react so strongly to it, because it has nothing to do with you."

He looked straight into the boy's eyes. Utterly disbelieving. Grim, unsatisfying satisfaction.

It was true. An incorrect theory would have produced indignation; a correct one, shock. Either could have provoked an outburst, and not everyone can control them.

"Given your age, you could only know that if you were, in fact, Mamoru Takatori. And you're also an assassin who took orders from the police chief, your uncle, up until his death."

He's got the pieces, still trying to fit together the puzzle.