A Crime Investigation Story Inspired by True Events
Chapter 1 – A Morning Gone Wrong
The sun had barely risen over the narrow streets of Jojoran 3, a quiet neighborhood in Gubeng, Surabaya, when chaos erupted.
It started with a single, terrified scream.
“Maling! Maling motor!” — “Thief! My motorcycle!”
The cry came from Dian Mieke, a young mother who had just returned from picking up her son at school. She had parked her motorcycle in front of her small house, intending to go back inside for her purse. When she came out again, her bike — a silver matic scooter — was gone.
At the far end of the street, a man in a black jacket sped away on it.
Dian didn’t hesitate. She ran after him barefoot, screaming until her voice cracked. Her elderly mother, startled by the noise, rushed outside. The neighbors emerged too, their curiosity turning into fury as they realized what was happening.
Within seconds, the chase began.
Dozens of residents ran through the alleyways of Jojoran, shouting and blocking exits. The thief panicked, losing control of the stolen bike. The tires skidded on the uneven road before slamming into a lamp post.
He fell hard. Before he could get up, the angry mob surrounded him.
Someone shouted, “Tie him up! Don’t let him escape!”
Another yelled, “Serves him right! Too many of these thieves lately!”
A thick nylon rope was found, and the man was quickly tied to the very post he had crashed into. Someone brought out a small jerrycan of gasoline — perhaps from their workshop — and splashed it near his feet.
The intention, they later said, was only to scare him.
But fear, anger, and fire are a dangerous mix.
Chapter 2 – Flames in the Crowd
No one could agree on exactly how it started. Some claimed a police officer arrived and tried to cut the rope with a lighter. Others swore they saw a spark, a glimmer of blue light near the gasoline.
Then came the roar.
A sudden burst of fire engulfed the man’s chest and arms. The crowd screamed and scattered. Someone grabbed a bucket of water; another tore off his own shirt to smother the flames.
The man — later identified as Andri Sumarno — screamed as he ripped off his burning jacket, stumbling across the street half-naked, desperate to escape the inferno that clung to his skin.
By the time officers managed to douse the flames, it was too late.
He was alive, but barely.
An ambulance rushed him to the nearest hospital. The smell of burnt cloth and fuel lingered in the air like a curse.
Chapter 3 – The Arrival of Detective Rio
Later that afternoon, Detective Rio Santoso arrived at the scene.
He wasn’t part of the local police — not officially. But when cases became strange, when logic didn’t line up with reports, the police often called him.
A tall man in a beige jacket, his calm gaze swept over the chaos — the blackened asphalt, the half-melted nylon rope, the uneasy silence of guilt that hung over the neighborhood.
Standing beside him was Police Chief Eko Sudarmanto, his old friend from the academy.
Rio crouched near the base of the lamp post, brushing the soot with a gloved finger. The ground shimmered slightly, oily and dark.
“Eko,” Rio said quietly, “this wasn’t just gasoline from a bike tank. There’s something else here — maybe thinner or spiritus.”
Eko frowned. “The witnesses said it was an accident. A lighter sparked when one of my men tried to cut the rope.”
Rio looked up. “Maybe. Or maybe someone wanted to make sure the man never spoke again.”
Chapter 4 – The Woman Who Saw It All
Rio met Dian later that evening at her modest home. The house smelled faintly of jasmine and fear.
She sat on the couch, hands trembling, eyes swollen from crying. Her little boy hid behind her, clutching her sleeve.
“I didn’t want this, Sir,” she said softly. “I just wanted my motorbike back.”
“I believe you,” Rio assured her. “But tell me everything. From the beginning.”
She described how quickly it all happened — the theft, the chase, the capture. “Someone brought gasoline,” she added hesitantly. “They said just to scare him so he wouldn’t run. Nobody meant to burn him.”
Rio nodded, jotting notes in his small black notebook. “Do you remember who poured the gasoline?”
Dian shook her head. “It was chaos. Everyone shouting. I didn’t see.”
He could tell she was telling the truth. The tremor in her voice wasn’t from guilt, but shock — the kind that lingers long after the fire is gone.
Chapter 5 – The Forensic Trace
The next morning, Rio returned to the site with a forensic technician. Samples were collected — the melted rope, the scorched ground, and droplets of liquid residue found nearby.
Under the microscope, the chemical analysis confirmed Rio’s suspicion.
“It’s not regular gasoline,” said the technician. “It’s mixed with industrial solvent — probably toluene or thinner. Highly flammable.”
Rio sighed. “So someone came here with that mixture, poured it, and waited for the right spark.”
Eko crossed his arms. “You think someone planted it? Why would anyone go that far over a stolen motorcycle?”
Rio turned toward him. “Because maybe it wasn’t just a stolen motorcycle.”
Chapter 6 – The Hidden Message
Later, Rio reviewed the evidence collected from the thief’s possessions. Among them was a cheap smartphone, partly melted but still functional. The data recovery team managed to extract a few text messages.
One message caught Rio’s attention:
“Target Jojoran 3. Take it fast. Don’t be seen. If caught, burn the evidence.”
The phrase “burn the evidence” chilled him.
He looked at Eko. “This wasn’t random. Someone ordered him to steal that bike. And someone made sure he’d never tell us who.”
Chapter 7 – The Shadow in the Market
Tracing the sender’s phone number led them to Pasar Keputran, a busy local market two kilometers away. Rio and Eko visited the area, questioning shop owners and checking nearby CCTV footage.
Hours of footage revealed something disturbing. Just minutes before the fire started, a man in a black cap was seen loitering at the end of the Jojoran street. He lit something — possibly a long lighter — and walked away calmly as the blaze erupted.
Rio froze the frame. The man’s face was partly visible, enough to identify.
“That’s no random bystander,” he said. “That’s a hitman — someone cleaning up loose ends.”
Chapter 8 – Beneath the Surface
By cross-referencing police databases, Rio discovered that the thief, Andri Sumarno, was part of a larger motorcycle theft syndicate operating across Surabaya and Sidoarjo.
At the top of the chain was a man known as “Haji Darto” — a former mechanic turned black-market dealer. His operation specialized in dismantling stolen bikes, reassembling parts, and selling them overseas.
Andri had worked for Darto before. But he had become unreliable — sloppy, desperate for money, perhaps even willing to turn himself in for a lighter sentence.
So when he failed to complete the job at Jojoran 3, Darto decided to silence him permanently — by setting the stage for a “mob accident.”
Chapter 9 – The Raid
Armed with the new evidence, Rio and Eko led a joint operation that same night. They raided a small garage on the outskirts of Sidoarjo.
Inside, they found more than thirty dismantled motorcycles, dozens of fake license plates, and several containers filled with the same industrial solvent used in the burning.
At the back of the garage, they found Haji Darto himself — calm, smoking, as though he had been expecting them.
When Rio entered, Darto smiled faintly.
“Ah, Detective Rio,” he said. “You always come for the fires I didn’t mean to start.”
Rio looked at him coldly. “You didn’t start a fire, Darto. You started a war on human decency.”
Darto’s smile faded. The cuffs clicked around his wrists.
Chapter 10 – The Fire That Remains
A week later, the streets of Jojoran were quiet again. The black marks on the pavement were still there, faint but stubborn — a reminder of what anger and manipulation could ignite.
Rio returned one last time, standing beneath the same lamp post. The morning sun cast long shadows on the ground.
Sometimes, he thought, justice wasn’t about catching the thief or the killer. Sometimes it was about understanding why things burn — the anger, the fear, the lies.
As he walked away, he whispered to himself,
“Fire doesn’t just consume. It reveals. And in Jojoran 3, it revealed everything.”
He started his car, leaving the narrow street behind — but the smell of smoke, and the memory of a mother’s scream, would stay with him for a long time.
The End
(A Detective Rio Story — Surabaya, October 30, 2025)
