The young sergeant left the interview room and happened to meet a male colleague coming out of the room next door.
He stopped. "Find anything?"
"Her account mostly matches the famous writer's." The officer closed his notebook and moved closer. "But she left something out."
At this point, he instinctively lowered his voice:
"The day before the theft, yesterday afternoon, an unfamiliar gas worker came to inspect the pipes. He went into the study on the second floor.
"She wasn't sure whether it had anything to do with the theft that night. She was afraid her employer would blame her if he found out, so she didn't tell him.
"I think it's a lead worth following. I was planning to take some men to the gas company responsible for that street at dawn and check it out."
The young sergeant fell silent for a few seconds, then shook his head slightly.
"There's no need to investigate that. It was probably one of our people. I'll ask him about it and recover the stolen goods."
"Huh?" The officer's mouth fell open in bewilderment.
The young sergeant offered no explanation. Instead, he changed the subject. "Remember to take that famous writer to the interrogation room later."
The officer looked even more confused.
Lock up the man who reported the crime?
The young sergeant gave a quiet chuckle.
"He just admitted to another kind of theft. The details are in the notebook. You'll understand once you read it.
"Also, bring in that Miles the famous writer mentioned.
"He lives at 63 Iris Street."
With that, he patted his colleague on the shoulder and walked down the corridor.
Back in his temporary office, he took off his uniform and hung it on the coat rack, then picked up his black trench coat and draped