The scene had been reported as maintained, and the bake shop owner had taken to hiding in his quarters.  Barzo walked around the front of the shop, eyebrows furrowing and raising as she examined the outside.  “The attack occurred in the back…and the cameras were disabled.  That’s weird.”  She slipped out a tricorder and scanned the surveillance units, “They’re functional.  No sign of hacking or disturbance.  Weird.”

V’luth was behind the counter investigating the register and display cases.  “Weird is not a quantitive measurement of a situation, Lieutenant.  Feelings about evidence are not admissible in court. They are also illogical.”

“You keep reminding me.  You’re missing the emotion that played a part in this crime.  Someone broke into this bakery and brutalized the owner operator…but didn’t kill them.  Even you have to admit that counts.”

The Vulcan stood, “The emotional element I was referring was to you, Lieutenant.  Emotions are a quantitative and qualitative element in the motive and commitment of a crime.  They are a problematic element in an investigator.”

Barzo wanted to roll her eyes.  It was becoming a habit with her partner.  She had to be careful.  She’d nearly rolled her eyes at a superior officer two days ago but caught herself in time.  She pointed to the backroom, “I’m going to go emotionally investigate back there.” She vanished through the door as it slid open and then closed.  V’luth blinked, watching her leave.  Humans and Bajorans shared a similar emotional liability, one that she idly wondered could be helped by studying the Vulcan concept of Logic and IDIC.

The backroom where the attack had occurred still had dried blood stains on the floor, marked by a forcefield and crime scene markers.  Barzo went through the back room quietly, studying every rack, every drawer, and every surface. There were no cameras here, she observed.  The state of the place reminded her of her mother’s orderly and restrictive kitchen.  Her childhood on Bajor had been chaotic enough.  Her mother had attempted to bring order to the chaos through her home life.  It had half worked.  She turned to the PADD and the initial shots of the crime scene.  “Shit.”  The scene in the photos was chaotic – everything had been thrown to the floor with ingredients sprawled across the floor.  Glass littered the scene, and the counters had been smeared with what the report said were various ingredients.

V’luth entered to find a dumbfounded Barzo, “Something of note, Lieutenant?”

“Who cleaned up the scene?”  She showed the PADD photos.

“Curious.”  V’luth walked around the backroom, searching the ground with a cursory glance.  She pulled out a tricorder and scanned the various surfaces.  She concluded, “It was not a professional service.  It indicates a personal touch with the use of standard kitchen chemicals.”

“So our hermit of an owner-operator isn’t such a hermit after all?  It must have been a strong pull to have him risk being attacked again.  I think we need to interview Mr…,” she tapped at the PADD, “…Mr. Arthur Morris.”

V’luth raised an eyebrow, “He has repeatedly refused to be interviewed by Starfleet Security.”

“I can be very persuasive.”

“I suggest we find an alternative.”

Barzo pushed, “And an alternative might be…?”  V’luth was silent.  “Then let’s get to going.”

V’luth was beginning to understand the human concept of the eye roll.

“Look, I only let you in here because you said my life was at risk from a murderer.”  Arthur Morris was in his mid-60s. His wispy white hair proved that life had been a journey for him.

Barzo smiled at V’luth while she explained, “Look, Mr. Morris – whoever took a swing at you probably isn’t done.  They will come back.  They got you once.  They’ll do it again.”

Arthur groaned, “So I let you in on…oh what does it matter.”  He shook his head slowly, “No, they won’t be back.” The two security officers looked at each other and back to their witness. He felt their stares and crumbled a moment later, “I hid from you all because I knew I wouldn’t be able to hide the truth if I had to talk to someone in person.”  He sat on his plush couch, reaching for the tissues, “They took my yeast.  All of it.  I’m finished.”

Barzo frowned, “Your…your…yeast?  I’m sorry…what?”  She looked at the man as if there was something wrong with him.  This was about…yeast?”

V’luth said, “Yeast is a key ingredient in bread and bread products.  Yeast strains have been cultivated for hundreds, if not thousands, of years.  Those yeast strains are valuable as they are a key ingredient.  Their value can be priceless.”  She turned to Morris, “As we have now uncovered, his yeast was the object to be stolen.”

Arthur moaned as if in pain, “It was a longstanding family yeast.  We’ve kept it alive across the universe in our various shops.  The others have passed away…and I’m the youngest…I’ve kept the tradition going.  My son had hoped to step into the role soon.”

Barzo understood in some way.  “So, we just need to find the thief, yoink the yeast, and you can be back in business.”

Morris shook his head, “It’s not that easy.  Mandrake is a competitor…he’s probably already using it at his shop.”

The Bajoran recognized the name “Mandrakes Muffins?  They’re terrible!  That’s the guy?”  A forlorn nod of the head was her answer.  “Well, you can identify him in a photo lineup?”  Another nod of the head.  “Well, let’s start there.  Once we have ID, we can make sure Mandrake messes with nobody else.”  She felt V’Luth’s stare. “What?”

“Humans and their prediction with alliteration is fascinating.”

Barzo cackled, “You should have said amusing.”

Morris watched the two go back and forth, “Do you actually like each other?” He wasn’t he’d trusted the right security officers in this case.

Barzo responded, “Yes.”

V’luth remarked, “Like is a human emotional concept.  The lieutenant is my partner.”

It was Arthur’s turn to observe, “Fascinating.”