I entered the small apartment tentatively, knowing the pungent odor of a 5-day corpse would be waiting.  It was always a bother, dealing with these hit and run murders.  No doubt a lovers spat, so many of these cases were.  There was something disrespectful about thinking about the end of a life this way, so I cleared my head and examined the crime scene.

The first thing I noticed was the cleanliness.  The apartment was, by no stretch of the imagination, pristine, what with dirty cutlery and dime-a-dozen “philosophy” books (“If god created the universe who created god?” shouted the first one) that were typical to houses of those who are trying too skip the ladder to class, because they are looking for an elevator.,  but it was nowhere near the calamity of other scenes of a similar ilk.  There was clearly not much of a struggle.  In fact the only sign that a struggle had even occurred was the corpse sitting in the other room, almost completely drained of blood.  The most rattling part, however, was that the floor was spotless.  This person, almost completely empty of blood, and not a drop spilled.  My mind gravitated towards the Merchant of Venice.

I walked over to the body.  This part was never pleasant.  I took out a recording device hit “record”, put on sterile gloves, and began the inspection.  All I recited was very basic, until I reached the arms.  I turned the right arm up, to expose writing.  “Do not  be frightened of whatever daemon did this, simply look.  Look to your left, your right, even behind you, but don’t look up.  I can’t stand being seen.”