Wasn’t Me | Flash Fiction

Bomber jacket illustration - "Wasn't Me" flash fiction

Trev gnawed viciously at his stubby fingernails, which incited a curled lip of disgust from the detective.

“Don’t do that. Let’s have a chat, shall we?”

Trev wiped his moist fingertips on his tracksuit bottoms. “I didn’t do it.”

“But we have CCTV evidence which suggests you did.”

“Wasn’t me. There’s a bloke who looks a bit like me, y’know? You police are always getting me mixed up with him.”

“I’m sure. So where were you at around 9.15 p.m. last night?”

“At the shop.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“No, I mean, no. I was at home.”

The detective rolled his eyes.

“Alright,” Trev muttered. “I was at the shop. But I didn’t do it.”

“Didn’t do what?”

“Nothing. Nowt. Anything. Didn’t do nowt.”

“The CCTV shows you slipping three bottles of vodka into the waistband of your jeans and covering them up with your jacket.”

“Jacket’s not big enough to cover that sort of thing.”

“A typical jacket wouldn’t be, but yours was huge. Far too big for a scrawny kid like you. Smart, I suppose.”

Trev gave a dopey grin. “I’m not as daft as I look, my Mum always said.”

“So you put on your big coat to shoplift the vodka, eh?”

“What? No, I didn’t do it. It wasn’t me.”

The detective pinched the bridge of his nose. “Where’s the vodka now?”

“I dunno.”

“We searched your flat, found nothing.”

“Really? I mean, yeah. Course not. You won’t.”

“So you didn’t take it back to your flat?”

“Yes. I mean no. I mean yes. Wait – ask me again?”

“What did you do with the vodka you nicked?”

“Nothing. Didn’t take any vodka.”

The detective cracked his knuckles. “Listen, Trev. We’ve got you on CCTV hiding the vodka on your person. What we don’t have is footage of you leaving the store. We just need to determine the time you left. Fill in the blanks. And if you cooperate, we’ll make this whole thing easier on you. Maybe we’ll let you off with a caution.”

“You saw me taking the vodka, but you didn’t see me leaving the shop with it?”


“Then you can’t prove I nicked it. I just… carried it. From the shelf to the till.”

“In the waistband of your jeans, underneath your big coat?”


“Why would you do that?”

Trev shrugs. “Keep my hands free.”

“So you paid for it, did you?”


“But we’ve checked the CCTV from the camera over the till at the time you were in the store. You didn’t approach it once. How could you pay for it without going to the till?”

“I didn’t.”

“Didn’t what?”

“Pay for it.”

“You just said you did.”

“No, I didn’t.”

The detective flared his nostrils. “So, you put the vodka under your coat?”


“And you didn’t pay for it?”


“And then you left the shop.”


“With the vodka still on you?”


“So you put it back?”


“But that’s not on the CCTV.”

“I put it back on a different shelf.”

“The shop’s been searched. Stock’s been checked. They’re down three bottles of vodka.”

“That’s because I didn’t put it back.”

“So you did steal it?”


“Goddammit, Trev. Look, let’s do the basics. When did you leave the shop?”

“I didn’t.”

“You didn’t leave the shop?”

“No. It’s not on the CCTV is it?”


“Then I didn’t leave.”

“You just said you did.”

“Yeah, no. I forgot.”

“But you obviously did leave at some point.”

“Nope. You didn’t see me leave. I’m still there. Never stole it ‘cos I never left.”

“So how come you’re sat right here in front of me in the police station?”

“That’s a very good question, sir. You’re not as daft as you look.”

The detective clenched his fists and leaned back in his chair. “Well, Trev, you’ve got me. I can’t tell if you’re the thickest petty criminal in the country, or the cleverest. But I’m this far away from losing my mind and it’s not worth it over three measly bottles of vodka. If I let you go, I’d better never see you doing anything like this again, alright?”

“I can go?”


“You’re not charging me?”




“Cool! Didn’t think I’d get away with it.”


“Nothing. Nowt. Nothing.”

Stories that Sing

I write one new story each week inspired by a random song from my Spotify library. This week it was “Clever Trevor” by Ian Dury. What a bop!

Merry Bloody Christmas: A Short Story Collection by Ellie ScottFollow Ellie Scott on WordPress.com

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