"The people in the lobby are unharmed, but four robbers armed with guns held up the place after half-past five. They dragged the bank's manager into the vault; it looks like they got away with cash and valuables from the private safety deposit boxes. I managed to wound one of them, which is why they dropped a bag of goods—that pile over there," Elyon explained as Captain Kappa's arrival eased his tense nerves.
"You have more incidents in a month than I see in a year, and just as I'm nearing retirement, too," Garrick chuckled.
"I wish I didn't. Who would've thought someone would dare to rob a state bank?"
"Garrick, take Rumm, William, and Brownie to take statements from these folks. Elyon, you're with me to check the scene."
As Captain Kappa began delegating tasks, a man from the group of victims stood up. It was the same man whom the robber had struck across the face.
Approaching Captain Kappa, the man spoke with a voice tinged with anger, "Are you the one in charge here? I want to protest. Your officer failed to protect our safety, leading not only to the loss of our property but also my humiliation at the hands of the robbers."
Elyon nearly laughed, but Kappa intervened, "May I ask what time you were robbed?"
"After half-past five in the afternoon."
"Our officer finished his duty at five o'clock. At that point, he was just like you, a citizen."
"That's evasive! The money you police spend comes from our taxes. How can you claim to be just another citizen after hours?"
"And who might you be, sir, and what is your position?"
"I am Mr. Webberlen, business manager at Sunshine Import and Export Co. What about it? Are you going to investigate my background now?"
"Mr. Webberlen, if your boss asked you to work overtime at five or six in the evening without extra pay, would you be happy to?"
"Why should I? I'm entitled to my time off."
"Well, Mr. Webberlen, our officers are naturally not obliged to work overtime to ensure your safety after their shift. Another question, sir. How much is your weekly salary? Do you have a tax bill to show?"
"I... why do you care about my salary?" Mr. Webberlen's face flushed with anger.
"I'm merely reminding you, gentlemen, that only those with a weekly wage above six pounds are obliged to pay the 5% personal tax. Anyone earning less doesn't have the right to accuse us of wasting their taxes."
"Haha, indeed, some 'gentlemen' do overestimate their status," Garrick added.
"You—I want to complain about all of you," Mr. Webberlen became nearly hysterical.
"Mr. Webberlen, there were armed criminals and about a dozen hostages. How could you guarantee that a single officer could take down all the robbers without harming any hostages? Let's make it fair—I won't take advantage of you. Would you dare to have a live duel with the officer you're complaining about? You don't have to shoot three or four, just use our standard-issue revolver, and our officer will use the criminal's weapons. How about a shootout from thirty yards? Elyon, do you dare to duel with this brave soul?" Captain Kappa's challenge was thinly veiled with menace.
"No problem, but before we duel, Mr. Webberlen, can we sign a life and death agreement? The loser can't demand funeral expenses or compensation from the winner. And if I recall correctly, the lead robber had a sawed-off shotgun. I'm afraid cleaning up your remains might be troublesome. Too many pellets lodged in the flesh might turn you into lead ash when cremated," Elyon said, half-mocking.
"How dare you insult me?"
"Mr. Webberlen, we have no intention of insulting any gentlemen. But if you keep hindering our investigation, I'll have to inform our chief and the bank's shareholders that you're intentionally delaying the case. Then, a few days at the precinct might be necessary, and I doubt your company would want to employ an accomplice to a bank robber," Captain Kappa said coldly.
The previously assertive Mr. Webberlen wilted like a frosted eggplant, his bravado vanishing as he shuffled back to the waiting area, muttering under his breath.
"Let's go and take a look in the vault," Captain Kappa beckoned to Elyon, leading him through the thick steel door. Inside the vault, cash drawers had been ransacked, with small bills scattered on the floor. On the right, several private safety deposit boxes were open and emptied, with the bank manager's keys still in one of them.
A man in a black suit lay on the floor, shot in the head, surrounded by a pool of dark crimson blood mingling with the smaller banknotes.
The sight of the man's head, shattered like a burst melon, whites and reds intermixed, made Elyon's stomach churn. He rushed to a trash bin.
"Ugh..." Elyon felt like he was expelling last night's dinner.
"Are you alright? Want to step out for a bit?" Captain Kappa asked.
"No need, I don't think this was just a simple robbery."
"What makes you say that?"
"The fourth robber, the one with the bag, seemed subordinate to the others at first, but his demeanor changed later. He also didn't seem to have the physique for heavy lifting."
"So?"
"I want to examine the body."
Suppressing the urge to vomit, Elyon looked first at the hands. The dead man's hands were large, calloused, with black dirt under the nails—an indication of manual labor.
"Captain Kappa, take a look at this," Elyon pointed to the corpse's palms.
"It's strange for a manager to have so many calluses."
"Please check his body. I'll go ask the bank staff."
Elyon stepped out of the vault and approached the tellers. He went straight to the girl who had assisted him with his deposit.
"Excuse me, miss, may I ask you a few questions?"
"Hello, officer. Just call me Jacqueline. What would you like to know?"
"I'd like to know more about the manager on duty today. Are you familiar with him?"
"Do you mean Mr. Davies?"
"I don't know his name. Could you tell me more about him?"
"What exactly happened? Did he come to harm?"
"It's possible that Mr. Davies met with misfortune. I'm interested in his work and financial status."
"Oh no, that's terrible. Mr. Davies was responsible for the vault and for receiving major clients. As for his finances, he seemed quite affluent, always arriving at work in a rented carriage, dressed in fine clothes. He also had a fiancée, but you might need to wait for our branch manager to ask about that."
"So there's no heavy lifting at the bank?"
"Are you joking, sir?"
"No, it's fine. Thank you, miss."