A Fishy Alibi

The script

• Detective Whisker: A lean, grizzled gray tabby cat in his late thirties. Sharp emerald eyes, scarred pink nose, and twitching white whiskers. Wears a battered beige trench coat with an upturned collar and a bruised brown felt fedora pulled low. A distinct jagged notch marks his left ear.
• Sal: A massive, middle-aged bulldog with sagging jowls, furrowed brow, and a prominent underbite. Pale brindle fur, small bead-like dark eyes. Wears a grease-stained white butcher's apron over a dingy yellow tank top, with rolled-up sleeves showing thick forearms and flour dusting his paws.

1. Panel 1

   Detective Whisker steps from the rainy alley shadows into the dim, neon-lit back kitchen of Sal's Fish Market. Wet asphalt glistens outside while overhead pipes drip slowly.

   Midnight in the Wharf District. Rain fell like cold lead, washing away everything except crime.

2. Panel 2

   Inside the freezer room, Sal wrings his paws in panic beside an empty steel ice tray surrounded by melting slush. Detective Whisker observes with narrowed eyes.

   Sal: My prize King Salmon is gone, Whisker! Swiped right before the Mayor's gala!

   Detective Whisker: Calm down, Sal. Fish don't grow legs and walk out.

3. Panel 3

   Detective Whisker kneels low on the damp tile floor, using a small brass magnifying glass to inspect an oily smudge and a trail of coarse salt granules.

   Detective Whisker (thinks): Fish oil. Dill seasoning. And high-grade rock salt from the private reserve.

4. Panel 4

   Detective Whisker stands tall, staring up intently at Sal, whose forehead is covered in nervous sweat under the harsh glare of a swinging fluorescent bulb.

   Detective Whisker: No forced entry. The padlock was unlocked with a key. An inside job.

   Sal: W-what are you getting at, Detective? I'm the victim here!