Bob squinted as he read the note. “I’m having a hard time reading the handwriting.”
“Where’s your readers?”
“Left ‘em at home.”
“Again? I thought you bought a six pack of ‘em.”
“Lost them all. I’m telling you Al, my mind is like a sieve.”
I signed, leaned it and read the note aloud.
“This is your last warning. You have until the end of this week to get out of the apartment. If you’re still here when I’m back, I won’t be responsible for my actions. You broke my heart.”
It was signed “Malcolm.” The letter was dated two days earlier. Bob and I looked at each other. “Boyfriend? Relative?”
Bob shrugged. “Lovelorn landlord?”
“Sir?” The forensic technician was kneeling next to the body. “Come have a look.”
I crouched down next the to the tech. “Stop calling me sir. I’m not your girlfriend’s dad.” The tech had rolled the body slightly and pointed at a crumpled sheet of paper. The page was soaked in the victim’s blood. It was covered in type-written text. The tech gently pulled from the pool of congeal…
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