You probably already know what I’m going to write. I put the gun from evidence in his apartment before the bust. And I’d do it again if it put that mangy, yellow, good for nothing Kirkland Franzy in a cell until the justice system could work out how to release him.

He killed Gloria. He killed others. He led us to the bodies getting a paycheck as a “psychic investigator”. I hate to plead to the court that such a thing doesn’t exist, and so I refuse to be there myself. If you track me down, you’d have spent more money on me than the system will spend on him.

And given that the system won’t see a psychic detective as a psycho serial killer, here’s a prediction from a regular old schmuck. After he’s released, he’ll be careful until he’s not.

You wanted proof he’s the one? The girls will start coming up missing again, but this time, I won’t be there to bail you out. I’ll be sipping mojitos somewhere warm, hitting the beach daily, and having a grand old time thinking about how many lives I saved until you losers wrecked a good thing. Good luck putting him away without me.

Tootles,

George Watson