I walked out of the house and closed the door. It was Sunday and
there was no one in the street. There was silence. Slowly, I walked
across the road and got into my blue sports car.
It was December but I felt very hot. I looked at the house. It was
quiet and very normal. It was exactly same as all the other houses
in the street. Except that the door was yellow and, inside the house,
a young woman was lying dead on the kitchen floor.
Carefully, I put the knife under the seat. Then, I looked into the car
mirror, smiled at myself and drove away.
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