The Thief Within

“What happened?”

“Sorry to disturb you at this hour, ma’am, but we caught a burglar,” a guard said.

“What? What did they try to steal?”

“We’re not sure about that yet, ma’am. He didn’t have anything on him when we captured him, but there is an exhibit that has gone missing.”

“Which one?”

“The sword of King Sri Vikrama Rajasinghe.”

“Oh, no!”

“We’re looking into it right now, ma’am.”

“And what were you doing when all this went down? Sleeping?”

“They broke into the museum without tripping the alarm.”

“Alright, so where’s the suspect now?”

“He’s being questioned by the police as we speak.”

 

“Okay, I’ll go check how it’s going. You guys keep an eye out for now,” I said, rushing out of the room. Just a moment later, I stepped on something leathery; it was chewing gum. I questioned the guards about it, but they denied having any.

Perhaps it was the burglar’s?

I put the chewing gum in my handbag and left the museum to go to the police station. As I arrived there, I was greeted by the officer-in-charge.

“Hello, I’m Rita de Silva, the curator. How’s the interrogation going so far, officer?”

“Hello, Mrs. de Silva, I’m Inspector Ranasinghe. It's going slow… I believe he has a partner since the sword hasn't been recovered yet. I also believe that they got in through the narrow passage in the ladies’ room.”

The officer then led me to a room across the hall, in which we stood, watching through a one-way mirror as two officers grilled the suspect.

“Do you know who this man is? And did he give you any information about an accomplice, or the sword?” I asked.

“No, he hasn't said a word yet,” Ranasinghe replied.

“By the way, I found this on the floor at the museum. Could you check it for DNA?” I asked, handing over the chewing gum I had found not long ago. 

“Sure, but first, let’s see what he has to say about it when he sees it,” he said, leaving the room.

A couple of minutes passed, and what the suspect said next made me furious—he said the gum was my husband’s. I stormed into the room, yelling, “How dare you? He was with me at the President’s gala tonight!”

“But was he there with you all night?” he asked.

“He had a stomach bug, so he spent a lot of time in the bathroom.”

“Which bathroom? The one in your private room?” the officer asked.

“Yes, but still, he wouldn't… I’m sure of it!”

“Check the gum… It’ll be a match,” the thief said.

Akalanka, my husband, recently started chewing gum as an alternative to smoking. When I confronted him about the issue when he was brought to the station, he looked at me with eyes stung by betrayal. He denied having anything to do with it. Later, there were delays in the DNA report, so Akalanka was granted bail. He would not say a word to me on our way home, and we went to bed without even saying ‘goodnight’. When I woke up the next morning, he was gone. I was spooked.

Is he guilty? Am I overthinking this? Maybe he's in the bathroom, or just downstairs. 

I knocked on the bathroom door, calling out to him, but there was no response. I opened it; it was empty. Panicking, I rushed downstairs. I checked every room in the house, but he was nowhere to be found.

I went back to the room and checked for his clothes, but they were all gone. My eyes then caught a letter on a closet hanger. It was from Akalanka. My hands shook as I opened it. The letter read:

Dear Rita,

I’m sorry, love, but I had to leave. I’m sure by now you understand why, but what you don't understand is the reason I stole the sword. You didn't know me as well as you thought you did; I was a thief when I met you. I got close to you because of your job, but then I fell in love with you and decided to change. That's why I got into sales. I didn't want you to know, but change didn't work well for me; without the necessary skills (other than the ones I had for stealing), I was lost. Nothing I did yielded any success, and I was tired of being a trophy husband.

I saw the glances people gave me at your galas and charity events when they heard what I did for a living. I was always in your shadow and, though it's not your fault, I needed to feel special—and the only time I felt it was during a score.

I didn't mean to get you in trouble, I promise. I just need to get away because I can’t go to prison. I know you’ll hate me when you read this, and I know you’ll never want to see me again, too. I’m sorry for all the pain I caused you. I wish you good luck with your future endeavours. Produce this letter to the authorities to clear your name. Goodbye…

Love,

Akalanka

As I finished the letter, I felt my world come crumbling down. I sat down and reread it. What should I do? Should I hand over the letter to the authorities, or should I destroy it?

My thoughts were interrupted by the ringing of the doorbell. As I rushed downstairs to check the door, I wondered whether Akalanka had come back to hand himself over, but it was just the police. 

“Hello, Mrs. de Silva, the DNA results are back, and we are here for your husband,” Ranasinghe said. “We also got a warrant to search your premises.”

“There’s no point now… He's long gone,” I said, handing over the letter. “I just finished reading that when you rang the bell. For a moment there, I thought Akalanka had come back to hand himself over, but I guess that would never happen. Anyway, if you still want to check my house, go ahead. I have nothing to hide.”

I was devastated that day. I hated myself for not knowing better—for not seeing the signs beforehand. Akalanka had tarnished my reputation, and there was no going back.