The perfect murder is done right, by someone smart. People on the… slower side tend to get caught. I sigh to myself. I hate sloppy people.

I mean, would it really have taken that much effort to put on some gloves and a hairnet, wipe away the blood spatter, incinerate the weapon and rearrange some crucial evidence? No, it wouldn’t have. But people get sloppy and leave things, things that get them caught and locked away forever.

Humming to myself, I turn back to my masterpiece. Executed by your truly, there’s not a single thing left out of place.

Besides the dead body artfully arranged on the floor, of course. I fix my hairnet, ensuring not a single strand will fall. I gently wipe the blood splatter from around the body, holding a Clorox wipe in my latex gloved hand. Inhaling and exhaling through my KN95 mask, I give the apartment one final look around to make sure there’s not a speck of evidence remaining.

Though some who practice my craft might get panicky, I am always calm. I take all the time I need, rather than rushing things. I’ve been in this apartment for over an hour, killing, then cleaning. Over that whole time I hear not one person walk by, nor a single siren race down the street. With satisfying precision, I throughly wipe and disinfect my beautiful knife, then lay it at a 45 degree angle over my masterpiece’s bloodied chest.

I step back, admiring my hard work. Masterpiece number 14, arguably my best work yet. Then, I smoothly exit the apartment, stripping off my hairnet and gloves, tossing them into a garbage can on the side of the hallway. I step through the lobby doors and into the parking lot.

My phone begins to ring in my pocket. I pick up and place the phone to my ear.

“Hello?” I ask.

“Hello Officer Calsco. Someone said you were gonna be a bit late to work today. Are you still coming in?”

I slide smoothly into the driver seat of my patrol car and glance back at the apartment building.

“Yes sir.”