Chapter 78: Who Did It
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Detective Lukal rubbed his temples, his headache worsening as he stared at the file on Kent.
Kent’s brother was a senior member of the Camille Gang, and Kent had used this familial protection to cause plenty of trouble in the Imperial District.
Casinos were a breeding ground for conflict, and Kent’s underhanded dealings only made matters worse. Informants had reported that Kent had been recruiting “skilled” dealers from Overlis State for years—a euphemism everyone understood.
Though his underground casino only operated four or five tables, those tables generated significant monthly profits.
This meant anyone who had lost money there could be a potential suspect in Kent’s murder. That wasn’t even accounting for the possibility of rival gangs targeting him to send a message to his brother.
Detective Lukal hated cases involving gang ties. The motives were often murky, requiring extensive time, resources, and manpower to investigate, only for the case to be dropped when it came too close to certain truths.
Jingang City, like the entire Federation, had an intricate web connecting the underworld and politics. The gangs didn’t just occupy a place in this network—they were integral to it.
Lukal found the situation messy and frustrating.
—
As he mulled over potential leads, someone knocked on the door. It was an officer from his unit.
“Sir, a man named Will is here to see you. He says he’s Kent’s brother.”
The officer lowered his voice. “It’s *that* Will—from Camille.”
Lukal’s expression shifted into one of contemplation. After a few seconds, he nodded, a faint smile forming. “Let him in.”
Tidying the files on his desk, he placed them neatly into a tray as Will entered.
—
Will made an excellent first impression, his warm demeanor disarming to those who didn’t know him. However, those familiar with him understood this was just one facet of his multifaceted personality.
“Detective Lukal,” Will greeted, his voice calm but firm. “I’m Kent’s brother. They said I needed to see you if I wanted to identify him.”
Lukal stood and handed Will a form. “Yes, this is the paperwork for claiming the body. Do you need a moment to prepare yourself?”
Will shook his head. “I’ve known him for thirty years. Nothing about his condition will surprise me.”
The simplicity of his words carried a weight that silenced Lukal.
“This way,” the detective said, leading him out. He gave a few instructions to another officer before guiding Will toward the morgue.
—
The morgue was located behind the police station, using a cold storage facility. These units were noisy, so they were kept at a distance to avoid disrupting the station’s operations.
The walk to the morgue provided an opportunity for conversation.
“You’re full brothers?” Lukal asked casually.
Will pulled out a cigarette. “Want one?”
Lukal didn’t refuse, accepting the high-quality cigarette with a faint smile.
As they walked, Will lit his cigarette. “We were close.”
“Strictly speaking, our parents were among the first official Imperial immigrants. They started a business here before we were born,” he explained, noticing Lukal’s curiosity. “They were fur traders.”
Lukal nodded knowingly. Fur had long been a symbol of status and power, valued in both the Federation and the Empire.
The detective recalled a previous case involving a rare albino lion in a neighboring state’s zoo. A wealthy man had tried to buy the lion for its fur, but the zoo’s director refused, calling the lion a treasure of humanity. Two weeks later, the lion was killed and smuggled to Jingang City, sparking an investigation Lukal had been part of.
Fur trading remained lucrative, and Lukal could easily picture Will’s father as a successful businessman—until something went wrong.
—
Will continued. “We were close as kids. Being Imperial immigrants, even though we were born here, we were often bullied. So we stuck together.”
“Then our father, who traveled frequently, encountered pirates and disappeared.”
“Since they never officially declared him dead, the company’s shareholders drained the business before we could inherit anything. In the end, we got nothing but debts, and the bank took our house.”
He took a deep drag on his cigarette. “One night, our drunk neighbor came over, offering to take us in—on the condition that our mother paid a ‘price.’ She refused, and when he tried to force himself on her, Kent and I smashed his head with a baseball bat.”
Their mother took the blame for the crime. A lawyer, a friend of their father’s, defended her for free. Citing the intrusion on private property, the court acquitted her.
“After that, things spiraled. She started abusing medication and eventually took her own life a year later. It was just me and Kent against the world after that.”
—
Listening, Lukal sensed Will’s words served two purposes: to express his bond with Kent and to remind himself of the deep loss of his last remaining family.
“I was tough on him sometimes,” Will admitted, his voice breaking. “I just didn’t want him doing anything stupid.”
His lips quivered. “But he did, didn’t he? And now he’s dead.”
—
The rest of the walk was silent. At the morgue, Lukal opened the door and glanced at Will. Seeing no hesitation, he led him inside.
Sliding open one of the refrigerated drawers, Lukal revealed Kent’s body.
—
Kent’s pale, bloodless skin was mottled with severe decomposition. The sight was almost unrecognizable, and Will immediately vomited.
Despite his status as a gang lieutenant who had committed and witnessed atrocities, this sight left him retching.
The stench of vomit mixed with the already unpleasant odor of decay, forcing Lukal to step back. After wiping his mouth, Will stood, his face ashen.
He clenched his fists and approached the drawer again, his body trembling from both grief and revulsion.
“Is this your brother?” Lukal asked gently.
Will didn’t respond immediately. After a long pause, he nodded. “Yes. That… that’s him.”
His voice cracked as he muttered a curse and slammed his fist into the metal cabinet, denting it and cutting his hand. Blood trickled down his knuckles, but he didn’t seem to notice.
“Who did this?” he demanded, his voice rising. His eyes, glinting with fury, locked onto Lukal. “WHO KILLED HIM?”
