A Criminal's Confession

A Criminal’s Confession

The winter play began with a gentle flurry of snow, delicate flakes joining the luminous stars in decorating the moonless, cloudless night sky. Wintergreens clothed in fine dresses of newborn snow waltzed to the soothing chorus of the wintry wind that cruised through the silent, slumbering town.
Then an unexpected player entered the ambiance of winter bliss—a lone figure, towering in height, skeletal in width, leisurely sauntering down the frosty walk.
Though temperatures continued to journey south, the man left his leather top coat unbuttoned, allowing the wind to embrace his slim body, and on occasion, a strong gust would clear the soft felt fedora off of its perch on the man’s bald head. But the man did not mind the cold. He, in fact, preferred such conditions. And though winter painted his nose and ears red, the man made a good effort to keep his hands warm. For a thief cannot function with dead hands.
The man strolled three blocks down the white boulevard toward the stop established adjacent the East corner of the village town center. He trudged on in this fashion until he reached the front steps of the museum. 

A central alarm system screened the entire building, eighty five closed circuit TV cameras planted eyes in every major hall. Motion-detection sensors and vibration sensors installed on every exhibit, every display, rendered all movement impossible. The museum was impenetrable.
But the man always enjoyed a good challenge. He had not been given the honor of staring down impossibility in quite some time.
His plan- he would walk in with nothing but a single briefcase and the contents within, and he would walk out with the entire collection of Leith gold salvaged from the central plateau of Puerto Limon and San José in 1892.

A police cruiser prowling the empty streets rambled slowly through the village town center and down the cobble stone street, the officer desperately fighting to keep his heavy eyelids from embracing sleep.
Then a sharp shrill knifed through the softness of the night sky. The sound of an alarm.
The officer, his senses abruptly revived, fumbled for the receiver and phoned for backup, his voice shaky and unstable.

Commissioner H. Grant, a short-tempered man by nature, was in a state of complete irritation, having gone from dreaming about cinnamon rolls, snoring and snug in his cozy bed, to braving winds of ice with nothing but an overcoat over his nightwear.
Unwilling to brave the punishment of winter, Grant locked himself in his car, doing everything in his power to entice warmth back into his iced body.
Then a rap on the window.
“Sir, an investigator here to see you, one J. Leavy.”
The irate commissioner made a face in reply, one that said, “I don’t what to see him but I guess I have to.” Leaving the warm confines of the car, the captain, with great difficulty, made his way to the front steps of the museum toward the lanky officer calmly sipping coffee.
“Detective J. Leavy, at your service,” the investigator said, arm extended in greeting.
“Chief Officer H. Grant, at yours,” the unkempt commissioner replied, glancing at the detective’s credentials before taking the hand set before him.
The handshake was singular, firm, but different. The detective used both hands.
The investigator brought out a pocket portfolio, papers protruding here and there.
“A report on the ensuing investigation, sir.”
“Let’s hear it.”
“The theft occurred some time between eleven last night and two this morning by a single individual. Sight of breach, the front entrance.”
Leavy paused to take a sip of his cappuccino.
“The thief ran through the front hall, took the right stairs up to the third floor. Once at the Historic Gold exhibit, he took possession of the entire Keith Gold display, that’s twelve articles of priceless gold.”
Another sip, the escaping heat furiously visible, as if on fire.
“In the place of the stolen gold, he left a single chocolate coin, perhaps his mark. He had no getaway. He simply walked out back through the front entrance. The End. Any questions?”
“Evidence?”
Leavy pulled out a thick plastic bag, inside a single chocolate coin.
“Want some chocolate my friend?”
The commissioner stared, shock overriding confusion.
“Nothing else? I mean, there’s gotta be, be more-”
“You’re looking at the only shred of anything we have of our friend.”
“You said he worked alone,” the police chief asked, his eyes still fixed upon the coin.
“You’ve got a good memory.”
“An awfully big job for one person, don’t you think?”
“Twelve golden miniatures aren’t that heavy.”
“What makes you think its just one guy? Why not a duo, trio, hell, a quartet?”
Leavy smiled.
“I know him.”

Grant stared, his eyes betraying his shock. Leavy simply smiled.
“At ease sir, I’ve been following our friend here for quite some time now. I’ve been chasing his tail for the better part of my life, always seeing his rear and never his face. Thirty years, my friend, chasing a ghost.”
The commissioner recovered, attempting to regain his composure.
“Have you now?”
J. Leavy took another sip whilst nodding. Using his sleeve the catch a dribble off his chin, he continued.
“He’s good, really good, isn’t he? Yes, he’s one of a kind, not like other thieves, oh no, he’s classier, more refined. Well, it’s simple really. The museum, as you know, is lockdown secure. But our friend knew that, better that anyone else. He knew every security feature in that museum, the man did his homework. He knew that sensors made entry from the outside, as well as movement from within, impossible.”
“You admit then that it was impossible,” the engrossed commissioner declared. “Then how?”
J. Leavy stifled a laugh, looking curiously at his empty plastic cup.
“How would you have done it my good man? How would you have penetrated into the most heavily protected museum in the state?”
“I wouldn’t have even tried,” the officer barked, “why, it’s impossible.”
Leavy’s face broke out into a smile, clearly delighted with the police captain’s reply.
“Impossible you say, well I don’t know. Tell me, if you don’t like the light, sir, what do you do?”
“I’m sorry?”
“If you don’t like the-”
“I turn it off,” the commissioner bluntly replied, slightly irritated.
“Our friend didn’t like the alarm, the cameras, the sensors. He didn’t like a lot of things.”
“You don’t mean-”
“Our thief found a way to shut down all activity, temporarily that is, inside the museum.”
“What could he have possibly used to have accomplished such a feat? And the- the alarm. Why did the alarm go off after the theft?”
“Circuit breakers, my friend,” Leavy countered, a smile etched on his face, “circuit breakers prevent current overflow. It’s a safety feature. Our thief here made his own mini blackout, and in response, the circuit breakers, detecting an overflow, stopped all flow of electricity. It is my belief that for the length of about ten minutes, our elusive thief owned this here museum. After the given time, the system would have recovered, thus triggering the alarm.”
Police Chief Grant took a minute, digesting all that the investigator had bestowed upon him.
“If what you say is true, which I highly doubt, what on earth would he have to create this blackout of his?”
“My apologies, sir, but I seem to have forgotten something. As it turns out, there happens to be one more piece of evidence.”
The investigator brought out another bag, slightly larger than that of the first.
“Would you happen to know what this is, Chief Officer Grant?”
Grant stared blankly at the assortment of metal and wire in the large, plastic evidence bag.
J. Leavy didn’t wait for a response.
“This is a capacitor taken from the inside of a TV wired to a timer circuit and a copper wire wrapped around an alloy, most likely an iron core. When charged and activated, this here device emits a magnetic field.”
Grant looked up at Leavy’s face, then to the capacitor, and back up to Leavy.
“You don’t mean that this-”
“Yes,” the worked up investigator said, his voice thinning to a whisper, “this device was used to temporarily cripple the entire museum.”
“By Jove,” gasped the astonished police chief, “that’s amazing sir, truly amazing.”

The time then nearing half past four in the morning, J. Leavy politely excused himself, the commissioner also retiring back to his car. But before they went their separate ways, they bid each other farewell with another handshake- firm, singular.
One by one, the squad cars crawled away from the museum, the police chief leaving last.
The drive back proved difficult, the light shower of snow, speckles of white, inducing sleep. Eyelids heavy, following a deep yawn, he glanced at his left hand dangling limp on the steering wheel.
Something was different.
His wedding ring, gold, was gone.
Shocked into full awareness, Grant stopped the car, buried his hands into his winter coat pocket, and stared in disbelief at the chocolate coin in his palm.

Stillness once again settled upon the small town, the only movements being the snow hovering off of treetops at the beckoning of the wind, and a lone figure trudging across the snow.