An Inspector's Testimonial by Jordan Link (animal farm read txt) 📕

This is my written testimonial, to record and confess to the events that took place on the 4th of July. I realize that this piece will not alter the way I am viewed under the strict eye of the law and at the conclusion of any court proceedings I may attend.

The scene was silent. All I could hear was the patter patter

of cold water as it hit the floor and echoed around the room. It was quite distracting, really, especially when a crime could be taking place anywhere in the mansion, at any time. Haha

. But that’s what I was there for. Anyways, I might as well introduce myself during this monotonous reminiscence. They call me Inspector “X”, simply because they did not know my gender, name, or origin, not until now. There was no need for them to know, anyways. I responded to their calls and ‘corrected’ their situations—sharing details with clients was of no use to me. But it was my job to catch the right criminal just before they did anything that they might regret.

Something was ticking nearby me, and instantly I froze. Wild, unrealistic thoughts began to pop into my crowded mind. They were quite forced, really, but I am still amused by them to this day. Is it a bomb?

No, why in the world would a thief or robber destroy a place of such wealth? Perhaps it is a greedy relative that seeks the inheritance of one of the mansion’s owners.

I dismissed that idea as well. Everyone knew that the Lawrence family was diving deep into the clear ocean waves to explore coral reefs while they relaxed at their luxury, Bahamas resort. I ran down the endless list of possibilities in my mind, as I always did, knowing that none of the theories lead to the true conclusion.

The ticking stopped suddenly, halting my train of thoughts. No matter how many times I had gone over the house, I refused to believe that the cause of these strange, spontaneous events was spiritual. I did not believe in ghosts, or magic for that matter. Foolishness and superstitions had no place in my cases. So I edged towards the sound fearlessly, knowing that I would appear in the nick of time.

I turned the corner, and there were no ghosts. Slowly, I made my way towards the center of this new room, running a gloved hand alongside one of the walls to keep my sense of direction. Eventually, I found a light and flicked it on to look around. And oh

did those riches look fantastic. There were antique plates, carvings, and sculptures sitting atop marble pedestals. There were jewelry boxes stuffed with glittering golden and diamond pieces. My eyes grew wide and one of my gloved-hands flew to my mouth in astonishment. I would say I was in heaven, just for a moment.

A phone that was ringing down the hallway snapped me out my dazed mood. I quickly tugged a large leather bag free from my suitcase, emptying the glass cases and jewelry boxes into its depths. It would be a tangled mess to sort later on, I knew, but a very expensive, tangled mess at that.

I went through several other rooms throughout the day, methodically. I opened safe upon safe, dusting for fingerprints and laughing with glee. This was one of my best days, oh yes

. This was my first multi-millionaire client, and I had to be amused at their lack of security. I mean, come on

. If you’re going to have a large ivory mirror and original who-knows-what-era paintings, at least secure them to the wall properly.

And just like that, I was gone with the Lawrence riches, a feather in the afternoon breeze. There were benefits to having no name, no face. What foolish parent would name their child “X”. And what a clever idea it would be to use a faux name to conceal ones true identity—I should probably explain.

Hello, this is my alias, Inspector “X”, known as something quite different for every case, signing out. I am a convicted criminal who is serving sixty-years in jail for involvement in the mansion robbery. This ‘case’ was not my first crime. I have come to the aid of many desperate, paranoid, pathetic fools in the past. While I laugh at their stupidity, claim that I will face down their ghosts or catch whatever thief may be lurking in the shadows of their homes, I also rob the riches right from their hands. You might call me a philanthropist, yes. I believe I am, in a twisted way. Oh, it is so

interesting how I always manage to arrive at the scene before the police, deafeningly silent and extremely effective. I guess you could call me a super-villain.

The name thing is simple, probably the most laughable part of the whole disguise. I have been doing this for quite a long time, longer than you might imagine, and others have begun to pick up the legacy that I left behind. I resumed a different fake name and identification for every client, and when I had departed with their riches the police referred to me as an “X” criminal—the “X” being the unknown identity. It caught on.

I know what you’re thinking right now, and I will take my last minutes of break to answer your burning question. The Lawrence family consisted of several more intelligent policemen and women who had tracked this so-called Inspector “X” day in and day out and had hired him to do their dirty work. But there was no Bahamas for these dedicated law-enforcers. It had been a trap, a sham, the whole thing. A trap—what a cowardly thing to do!

But I will always know, no matter what anyone tells me, that I was one of the most successful, clever criminals to ever be incarcerated. Once again, this is Inspector “X”, signing out.

Publication Date: 07-05-2012

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