The LG Burglar had become the strangest criminal in the city.

Nobody knew what the initials stood for. Some newspapers claimed they meant “Little Girl,” because the burglar had developed a peculiar habit: whenever he broke into a house, he wore the apparel of a little girl. He had been seen fleeing through backyards, slipping beneath porch lights, and racing down quiet residential streets in outfits that were deliberately childish and conspicuous. Yet somehow, despite numerous sightings, he had always escaped before the police arrived.

Then, at last, there was a break in the case.

A homeowner on Maple Street had surprised the burglar in the middle of a robbery. The man had stared at her for one astonished second before bolting through the kitchen and out the back door. She had gotten an excellent look at him. Two neighbors had seen him as well. Their descriptions were remarkably consistent: an adult man wearing a little girl's dress, tights, Mary Jane shoes, and an oversized hair bow.

Detective Harold Mercer decided that was enough to arrange a lineup.

Four adult male suspects stood behind a glass partition at the police station. The detectives had deliberately dressed all four in similarly conspicuous children's apparel so that the witnesses could identify the man by his face and mannerisms rather than simply selecting the only person wearing such an outfit.

On the far left stood Man 1. He wore a white polyester taffeta empire-waist dress covered in a subtle heart pattern. Short puffed sleeves and a ruffle collar gave it an unmistakably youthful appearance, while red piping traced the edges. A thick red sash was tied into a bow behind his waist. Pink tights patterned with red hearts disappeared into shiny red patent Mary Jane shoes, and a red hair bow completed the deliberately childish disguise. He looked deeply uncomfortable.

Center-left was Man 2, bundled in a plush white quilted pile coat with a hood. Its acrylic-modacrylic exterior made it look more like a winter garment for a young child than something an adult would ordinarily wear. A zipper ran down the front, and a tie belt was fastened around his waist. Pinkish-purple tights decorated with hearts showed below the coat, ending in white Mary Jane shoes. Unlike the first suspect, he seemed almost amused by the ridiculous situation.

Center-right stood Man 3. His bright red panné velvet dress immediately caught the eye, especially its enormous white sailor-style collar edged with lace. Matching lace accents appeared at the cuffs, with red ribbon details adding to the costume. Solid white tights and red Mary Jane shoes completed the outfit, while a white lace hairband with a red bow sat across his neatly combed hair. He kept his eyes fixed on the floor.

Far right was Man 4, wearing a plaid drop-waist party dress made from acetate taffeta. It had long sleeves with white cuffs and a white lace-trimmed sailor collar decorated with taffeta heart appliqués. A red ribbon sash crossed his waist, while pale-blue tights and red patent Mary Jane shoes completed the outfit. A large red hair bow made the whole ensemble particularly conspicuous.

Behind the observation glass, the three witnesses entered one at a time.

The first witness stared at the four men for nearly a minute.

“Take your time,” Mercer said. “There's no rush.”

The witness walked slowly along the glass. Man 1 looked nervous. Man 2 stared straight ahead. Man 3 shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Man 4 remained perfectly still.

Then the witness stopped.

“Number three.”

Mercer immediately looked toward the lineup.

“You're certain?”

“I am. That's him.”

The second witness was brought in.

She studied all four men carefully, refusing to be influenced by the first identification. She examined their faces, then their posture, then walked back toward the beginning of the line.

When she reached the third man, she stopped.

“Number three,” she said quietly.

Mercer's expression hardened.

A third witness entered.

This time, the witness needed only a few seconds.

“Number three.”

Behind the glass, Man 3 suddenly looked alarmed.

“Wait,” he protested. “This is ridiculous! You can't possibly know it's me just because I'm standing here dressed like-”

“Save it,” Mercer interrupted.

The detective entered the lineup room.

Man 3's nervousness increased.

“Your name?”

“Leonard Gable.”

Mercer raised an eyebrow.

“Gable.”

“Yes.”

“Interesting initials.”

Leonard stared at him.

Mercer pulled a photograph from his folder. It showed the interior of the Maple Street house after the robbery: drawers emptied, jewelry boxes opened, electronics missing, and cabinets left hanging open.

“We found fingerprints,” Mercer said. “And we found a partial shoe impression outside the back door.”