Luke and the others escorted Benjamin Nasi back to the detectives' bureau.

Deputy Chief Reid personally welcomed them downstairs.

"Luke, I've heard all about it, well done," Reid led the applause, "Once we get through these next couple of days, I definitely want to buy you a drink and hear about tonight's exploits."

Luke grinned, "One drink isn't going to cut it."

"Then we won't go home till we're drunk; you're my absolute favorite in the detective bureau," Reid said without stinting his praise.

"Wow..." Luke was genuinely taken aback.

Little Black stood by, visibly envious.

He truly wished that he had been the one to handle the situation.

The deputy chief smirked from the side, "Reid's not lying, Luke, you really are his type.

Being able to maintain a high case-solving rate without overtime pay, he absolutely adores you."

The ones who really want the team members to work overtime are usually the team leaders.

After all, their primary responsibility is to ensure the case-solving rate.

It's different at the chief level.

While the case-solving rate matters, so does the budget.

The Los Angeles Police Department has over ten thousand officers, and the overtime pay every year is astronomical, so figuring out how to save on expenses is a top concern for every department.

That's also why LAPD likes to engage in plea bargains, as the principal goal is to save money.

A very practical issue.

Reid was here not only to praise Luke but also to push the case forward.

This case was being closely monitored from above, and the sooner it was resolved, the better.

Under Reid's urging, they had to interrogate through the night.

After a half-hour rest.

Luke and Little Black entered the interrogation room with their cups of coffee.

In fact, Reid and Susan had hoped the deputy chief would join in the interrogation, as, despite his unpopularity, he was experienced and dependable.

The deputy chief was unwilling.

Previously, he had suspected Badman Pole was the murderer and had even argued with Luke about it.

Well, it hadn't even been a night, and Luke had apprehended Benjamin Nasi; though he didn't say it aloud, he was somewhat embarrassed.

Since Luke was so capable, it was decided that he would handle the interrogation.

What did his conducting the interrogation now amount to, if not seemingly trying to steal the credit?

At his age, how many more years could he work? Why bother?

Luke turned on the body camera and asked in a clear and concise manner, "Name?"

"Benjamin Nasi."

"Do you know why you were arrested?"

"No."

"Benjamin, you know what crimes you've committed.

These charges are enough to get you the electric chair; your only chance at a reduced sentence is to cooperate with the police."

Testing the waters, Benjamin Nasi asked, "Detective Luke, what exactly am I charged with?"

"You killed Haiyan Zhang, the owner of the white long-haired dog, as well as Layli Harry, Badman Pole, and Santos Mending.

The case against you is very clear; no point in denying it."

Benjamin Nasi closed his eyes, thought for a long while, and with the evidence against him, it was hard to deny, "You're right, I killed them."

After speaking, he also breathed a sigh of relief, slumping down in his chair.

Seizing the moment, Luke pressed, "Why did you kill them?"

Benjamin Nasi sighed deeply, "Because they don't belong in this city."

"You have an issue with the immigration policy?"

"Yes, the population in Los Angeles is already enough, we don't need more immigrants. Even if we do, we should bring in tech talents like Elon Musk, who can create jobs locally.

Instead of bringing in poorly educated, low-quality individuals, who only take away the already scarce social resources here."

Following his line of reasoning, Luke asked, "You are referring to Santos Mending."

"Exactly, don't be fooled by his seemingly honest appearance; he's actually a terrible guy. When he first started at the auto shop, his skills were mediocre at best, and he couldn't do many things well, often getting scolded by the shop owner, Carus.

I taught him a lot, and he was very attentive and polite to me.

Once he learned the ropes, I was dismissed from the auto shop."

"Do you believe you were dismissed from the auto shop because of Santos?"

"Santos worked hard, never slacked off during work hours, was humble and willing, and his salary was only a third of mine; Carus, that miser, loves such employees.

I know you might want to say, 'Hey, it's not Santos's fault, it's because you weren't diligent enough, so the owner dismissed you.'"

But I'm not alone. A massive influx of immigrants into Los Angeles has been displacing the locals from their jobs, leaving many natives like myself unemployed.

We could have had a good life, a stable job, a loving family, spending time with our spouse and children after work.

Now, things have changed; we must compete with immigrants, exert more effort, spend more time, and yet, our income has decreased.

It's just not fair, it shouldn't be like this.

Why can't they live well in their own countries? They could strive there. Why come to Los Angeles to steal our jobs?

I hate Santos Mending. I taught him the skills, and he caused me to lose my job.

My wife left me, and my daughter doesn't want to see me. Do I have nothing left?

Isn't this all his fault?

Shouldn't he be dead?"

Benjamin Nasi supported his forehead with his hand, covering his eyes, yet tears still streamed down his cheeks, "My family, my life, it's all been destroyed."

Luke waited for him to stabilize his emotions, then handed him a few tissues, "When did you kill Santos?"

"On the 29th at dawn, I was heading home from the bar. I saw that bastard's car, and the son of a gun honked at me. In a fit of rage, I stopped his car and killed him."

Luke could imagine the scenario, a drunk man staggering by the roadside; he might have honked too to alert him.

"How did you kill him?"

"With a gun."

Luke checked his notebook; the timing didn't match. According to the forensic doctor, Santos's estimated time of death was between the morning of March 30 and the early hours of April 1.

However, according to Benjamin Nasi's account, the time of the act was a full thirty hours earlier.

Luke made a note, and asked nonchalantly, "How did you handle the body?"

"After shooting him, I was startled myself; I sobered up and knew I was done for.

I shouldn't have drunk so much, let alone carried a gun. I screwed everything up.

Having had a conflict with Santos, the police would definitely suspect me now that he was dead.

Initially, I thought about burying the body right there, but I was afraid the police would find it and trace it back to me.

Lately, I decided to dispose of the body and create an alibi for myself.

For this, I even made two plans."

Benjamin Nasi sighed, as if he himself didn't want to recall, "I removed the bullets from Santos's body and put his corpse in a freezer. I had seen on TV that this could alter the body's temperature and delay the determination of time of death.

Then, I went out to have some fun and create some alibis.

By the time the body was found, I could have been cleared of the crime."

Luke nodded, "Smart idea. Why didn't it work?"

"There was a slight mishap.

On the evening of the 29th, I filled my schedule with dining, drinking, deliberately being loud, discussing politics with a crowd of disillusioned folks, criticizing the inactive slobbers in the White House, and Layli Hary.

She was vigorously advocating for the immigration bill, turning Los Angeles into a mess, a traitor and a disgrace."

So, I decided to teach her a lesson. Could there be a better alibi than that?"

Luke asked, "What sort of lesson? Kill her?"

"No, killing Santos was already an accident. I hadn't planned on killing another person; I just wanted to teach Layli Hary a lesson by smashing her windows with rocks and spray-painting her walls, nothing more.

But when I found Layli Hary's house and looked through the window, I saw something intriguing.

The woman was sitting on the driver, playing poker, wow... you should have seen her then, like a wild cat in heat.

Thinking of her pretentious speeches, I just found it ironic.

I knew that driver; she often mentioned this guy in her speeches, her big black trophy from Africa.

In her speeches, she talked nobly about helping the poor African people, advancing global common progress, having the whole world contribute to Los Angeles's development.

Bullshit, she just wanted a young slave to play poker with.

I saw right through her; she doesn't deserve to be a Los Angelean."

"So you filmed her to blackmail her?"

"No, I recorded it to expose her, let the citizens of Los Angeles see her true colors, so that no one would believe her lies again, and no one would support the immigration bill.

But I got too excited and was discovered.

I tried to run, but having drunk, I couldn't outsprint that black trophy.

The bastard stopped me, trying to grab my phone. I wouldn't let him. He even dared to hit me.

I threatened him, telling him I'd call people over and release the video to the public if he touched me again.

Layli Hary came out to stop the driver; she was well aware of the impact the video release would have on her.

She invited me to her house to talk.

I wasn't falling for it; stepping back into that yard would certainly get me shot.

These sneaky politicians love playing these games.

She would make a pretentious show on TV, and no one would sympathize with me."