Here is a piece of short fiction that spewed out of my pen during a write-in with a group of writers I often commune with. Our moderator suggested the prompt "Someone must have seen him ..." That hit some hidden creative cranny in my head and knocked loose the vignette you are about to read. Enjoy!

They say the perfect crime doesn’t exist. I’m now much closer to agreeing with them.

I thought I had an airtight plan. The place was closed for the weekend. Even the cleaning crew had the night off. No one should have been there, I had the skeleton key, the alarm codes, and the overrides for every security apparatus in use. The goodies were stowed right where I expected them to be, and collecting them was a piece of cake. Plus, I had a rock-solid alibi. How could I have been involved in a heist all the way across town when hundreds of people were watching me on stage at the Hippopotamus Theater? Nothing was left to chance.

Unless I had been spotted outside the gallery. The streets were empty, but it was possible that someone had been sitting, alone, in the dark, in one of the nearby office buildings. Unlikely, but possible. Even then, the fake moustache should have been enough of a disguise to keep any casual onlookers from recognizing me.

Nevertheless, someone must have seen me, because the police were at my door. I panicked for just a moment, then remembered that the heisted loot was nowhere in my apartment. There was nothing here that could link me to the theft earlier that evening. Except perhaps the fake moustache. I tucked that hastily under the armoire and went to the door as confidently as I could muster.

Officer Peterson stood outside and confirmed that I was who I am. Then he told me how a too-avid fan that I had gotten a restraining order on had somehow managed to get into the Hippopotamus Theater that night, and did I want to press charges?

Thanking Officer Peterson and saying goodnight, I mused that perhaps the perfect crime did exist after all.

16 April