The sharp knock on the door startled Officer Lukar out of his half-asleep daze. Muttering a curse, he forced a smile as he looked at the duty officer standing outside. “So, the rebels have stormed the Presidential Office, have they?”
The recent uproar surrounding immigration issues had been intense. Protesters were gathering outside the Presidential Office, accusing the government of inaction on illegal immigration and smuggling. Some joked about “storming the Presidential Office” as a rallying cry for action against government apathy.
Waking up during his night shift to deal with yet another case warranted some sarcasm, even if it was just venting frustration at the system.
The duty officer, initially stern, couldn’t help but chuckle, quickly covering her mouth to regain composure. “There’s been a violent home invasion and robbery. The precinct needs you.”
In Jingang City, criminal investigations were overseen by the main headquarters. Precincts would handle immediate responses to crimes but forward all investigative work to the centralized Criminal Investigation Division (CID). This system optimized resources for solving cases citywide.
Officer Lukar was one of three CID officers on duty that night, though the other two had already left—Jingang’s nights were far from safe.
Stretching and groaning, Lukar rubbed his face, grabbed his cigarettes, and walked out the door. The duty officer handed him a slip of paper with preliminary details as she followed him to his car.
The crime scene was Johnny’s bakery. Donning gloves, Lukar crossed the police tape and entered the shop.
Several officers were already working the scene, collecting evidence. The precinct’s night-shift patrol officer in charge greeted Lukar with a nod.
“Hey,” Lukar said, offering a cigarette. The two lit up, sharing a smoke as Lukar asked, “What’s the story?”
The patrol officer summarized, “Someone called it in—violent home invasion and robbery. The hospital says the victim has over twenty fractures, and the suspects made off with more than a thousand dollars.”
Lukar noticed several labeled evidence bags on a table. One contained neatly packaged brown paper bags. “What’s in these?”
“Bread and ham.”
Opening one bag, Lukar let out a whistle. “Looks like they forgot their midnight snack.” He glanced back at the patrol officer. “What’s your take?”
“No signs of forced entry. Windows were locked, no evidence of climbing. The only usable doors were intact. They entered and exited through the front door.”
“The front door wasn’t damaged?”
“Could they have picked the lock?”
Lukar knew that with skill, many locks could be picked without leaving traces.
The patrol officer shook his head. “The lock was engaged from the inside.”
Lukar raised an eyebrow. “So someone inside let them in. There must’ve been a second person in the bakery when this happened.”
“Yeah,” the patrol officer nodded. “The apprentice.”
Examining the scene further, Lukar noted the neat packaging of the bread and ham. He frowned. Bread and ham packaged together would mix flavors—a mistake no professional baker or apprentice would make. This had been done after hours, unrelated to business.
His gaze fell on breadcrumbs scattered across the floor. He already had a rough idea of what had transpired.
“Where’s the apprentice?”
“He’s at the hospital with his boss.”
“This case shouldn’t have even come to us,” Lukar grumbled. “It’s obvious what happened. No need to waste our resources on this.”
The patrol officer chuckled. “I don’t disagree, but rules are rules.”
Lukar sighed, shook hands with his colleague, and left the scene. Calling for backup on his car radio, he headed back to headquarters. Catching the culprits wasn’t his job tonight. ℞𝔞ΝＯВƐş
At the hospital, Johnny had just fallen asleep. Both his arms were shattered, broken into multiple sections. The doctors estimated at least six months for recovery, though even then, his arms would likely remain deformed and incapable of heavy tasks like kneading dough.
The apprentice struggled to suppress a grin, though his face betrayed a subtle, inexplicable happiness.
“Your boss has insurance, which is good,” a hospital administrator informed him. “But there are some out-of-pocket expenses, like the ambulance fee. You should contact his family.”
Before long, Johnny’s daughter arrived with her boyfriend—a dark-skinned man in his thirties.
“How’s my dad?” she asked the apprentice anxiously.
He explained the situation briefly, trying to reassure her. Just then, two officers approached.
“Sir,” one of them said to the apprentice, “we need you to come with us to discuss the incident.”
The apprentice offered a few words of comfort to Johnny’s daughter before following the officers.
At headquarters, the apprentice was brought to an interrogation room. As the minutes ticked by in silence, unease settled over him. By the time Officer Lukar entered ten minutes later, clipboard in hand, the apprentice was visibly nervous.
When Lukar sat across from him, the apprentice instinctively stood, fumbling for words but saying nothing.
“Have a seat,” Lukar said, gesturing. “Smoke?”
The apprentice shook his head. “No, thank you.”
Lukar lit one for himself. “Mind if I do?”
“No.”
After taking a deep drag, Lukar exhaled and asked, “So, why did you assault your boss?”
The apprentice froze, then stammered, “I didn’t do it!” His exaggerated innocence made Lukar chuckle—it was a poor performance.
In his career, Lukar had seen all kinds of suspects. Some were masterful actors; others, like this boy, couldn’t hide their emotions.
“The lock was engaged from the inside,” Lukar said. “That means someone let the attackers in. There were two people in the bakery: you and your boss. Your boss is severely injured, but you’re fine. Coincidence?”
Sweat dripped down the apprentice’s face as his body began to tremble. He stammered weakly, “Maybe… we forgot to lock the door?”
Lukar smirked. “The attackers left behind packaged bread and ham with your fingerprints all over them—alongside theirs.”
The apprentice’s face went blank. Lukar shook his head, irritated that such a simple case had disrupted his night.
“Write down their names,” Lukar said flatly. “And explain how you planned this. Do that, and I’ll ask the judge for leniency—two, three years tops.”
“If we uncover the truth ourselves, armed robbery is a serious crime. If they claim you masterminded this, you could face over ten years.”
“This isn’t a complicated case. Even without your cooperation, I’ll find them through your social connections.” Lukar leaned forward. “You’re already guilty.”
The apprentice sat frozen, his mind racing. Weren’t the cops in movies supposed to be idiots? How had they caught him in under an hour?
After a few minutes of tense silence, he slumped in defeat, his body relaxing as his head hung low. He began confessing, naming his accomplices and explaining his motive.
When he revealed that his goal had been to learn Johnny’s recipes and techniques, Lukar was momentarily at a loss. This entire ordeal—a beating, a robbery, a ruined life—all for some baking secrets?
By the time the apprentice signed his statement, Lukar was rubbing his temples. Even with his cooperation, the boy faced over five years in prison as the mastermind of the crime.
From a legal perspective, the instigator was far more culpable than the others. The law viewed planners more harshly than mere participants.
Lukar offered the apprentice a final, pitying glance. “I hope this teaches you a lesson, kid.”