worry about were fingerprints and anything they could pull his DNA from.
They'd used condoms, that was good. He'd have to get rid of those. And the beer bottles. It'd probably be a good idea to wash the sheets and make the bed, too.
What else?
The book was full of helpful suggestions. First, he gathered up all the sheets and his clothes and stuck them in the washing machine. Then he went into the kitchen, found a pair of rubber dish gloves, a bottle of Lysol, some paper towels and a garbage bag.
Kevin dumped all the beer bottles and condoms into the Hefty bag, then sprayed Lysol on every surface he touched or might have touched, including the copies of Get Shorty and Blood Work , wiping them clean.
After that, he transferred the laundry to the dryer and vacuumed the entire house, removing the vacuum bag afterwards and putting it in the trash with everything else.
By then the laundry was done. Kevin emptied the lint tray into the garbage, got dressed and made the bed.
He'd never cleaned anything so thoroughly in his life. If Janine saw this, she'd put him to work in their house. Of course, she'd have to be dead, too, before he'd let that happen.
Now it was time to consider the murder weapon. That was a problem. Obviously, he couldn't leave the book. But if he took it, someone might notice it was gone, particularly if it was true that it was the only book she left by her bed. Her ex-boyfriend would certainly know it was missing.
There was a simple solution.
He dropped the book into the Hefty bag, cinched it closed and carried it to the front door, which he opened just a crack to see if anyone was on the street. There was no one around and nobody had their lights on, pretty much what he expected at 3 am.
Kevin hurried to his car, opened the trunk, and took a copy of Frost Bite from the box inside. Then he stuffed the Hefty bag into the car, closed the trunk as gently and quietly as he could, and crept back into the house.
Still wearing the rubber gloves, he searched the place until her found Megan's stash of plastic, Brodart jacket protectors, carefully folding one around the Frost Bite cover.
Kevin put the book back on her nightstand and was about to turn away, when a question occurred to him. Should he sign it?
If he didn't, there would be nothing tying him to her. He'd walk away totally clean. Then again, what if she told someone she was going to get it signed? What if someone saw her at the K-mart?
The more he thought about it, the safer, and smarter, it seemed to sign it. Besides, no killer would leave his autograph behind. That alone was almost like an alibi.
He started to pick up the book with his gloves when he realized that would be a big mistake. His fingerprints, and hers, should be all over the book. So Kevin picked up the book with bare hands, took her pen, and signed it.
To Megan, a true book lover.
Kevin pocketed the pen, to dispose of later with the rest of the trash, put on his gloves again, then crouched down beside Megan's corpse and slapped her hands on the book a few times.
He returned the book to the nightstand. There was no easy way to take his fingerprints off her diary, so he took it with him to destroy later.
Kevin put the handy Writers Guide to Crime Scene Investigation back in its place and left the house, pleased and a little bit proud of himself at having committed such a flawless murder. There might even be a book in the experience some day.
Rather than check into a hotel for the rest of the night, he drove on to the next town on his signing schedule, ditching most of the trash in scattered bins on his way out of the city. When he was a good hundred or so miles south of Spokane, he pulled off the highway and drove down a dirt road for a while, well out of sight of anyone, before stopping.
Kevin got out, dug a little hole, and burned the book and the diary, spreading the ashes in the wind like the remains of a cremated friend.
* * * * * *
"Attention K-Mart shoppers. It's
They'd used condoms, that was good. He'd have to get rid of those. And the beer bottles. It'd probably be a good idea to wash the sheets and make the bed, too.
What else?
The book was full of helpful suggestions. First, he gathered up all the sheets and his clothes and stuck them in the washing machine. Then he went into the kitchen, found a pair of rubber dish gloves, a bottle of Lysol, some paper towels and a garbage bag.
Kevin dumped all the beer bottles and condoms into the Hefty bag, then sprayed Lysol on every surface he touched or might have touched, including the copies of Get Shorty and Blood Work , wiping them clean.
After that, he transferred the laundry to the dryer and vacuumed the entire house, removing the vacuum bag afterwards and putting it in the trash with everything else.
By then the laundry was done. Kevin emptied the lint tray into the garbage, got dressed and made the bed.
He'd never cleaned anything so thoroughly in his life. If Janine saw this, she'd put him to work in their house. Of course, she'd have to be dead, too, before he'd let that happen.
Now it was time to consider the murder weapon. That was a problem. Obviously, he couldn't leave the book. But if he took it, someone might notice it was gone, particularly if it was true that it was the only book she left by her bed. Her ex-boyfriend would certainly know it was missing.
There was a simple solution.
He dropped the book into the Hefty bag, cinched it closed and carried it to the front door, which he opened just a crack to see if anyone was on the street. There was no one around and nobody had their lights on, pretty much what he expected at 3 am.
Kevin hurried to his car, opened the trunk, and took a copy of Frost Bite from the box inside. Then he stuffed the Hefty bag into the car, closed the trunk as gently and quietly as he could, and crept back into the house.
Still wearing the rubber gloves, he searched the place until her found Megan's stash of plastic, Brodart jacket protectors, carefully folding one around the Frost Bite cover.
Kevin put the book back on her nightstand and was about to turn away, when a question occurred to him. Should he sign it?
If he didn't, there would be nothing tying him to her. He'd walk away totally clean. Then again, what if she told someone she was going to get it signed? What if someone saw her at the K-mart?
The more he thought about it, the safer, and smarter, it seemed to sign it. Besides, no killer would leave his autograph behind. That alone was almost like an alibi.
He started to pick up the book with his gloves when he realized that would be a big mistake. His fingerprints, and hers, should be all over the book. So Kevin picked up the book with bare hands, took her pen, and signed it.
To Megan, a true book lover.
Kevin pocketed the pen, to dispose of later with the rest of the trash, put on his gloves again, then crouched down beside Megan's corpse and slapped her hands on the book a few times.
He returned the book to the nightstand. There was no easy way to take his fingerprints off her diary, so he took it with him to destroy later.
Kevin put the handy Writers Guide to Crime Scene Investigation back in its place and left the house, pleased and a little bit proud of himself at having committed such a flawless murder. There might even be a book in the experience some day.
Rather than check into a hotel for the rest of the night, he drove on to the next town on his signing schedule, ditching most of the trash in scattered bins on his way out of the city. When he was a good hundred or so miles south of Spokane, he pulled off the highway and drove down a dirt road for a while, well out of sight of anyone, before stopping.
Kevin got out, dug a little hole, and burned the book and the diary, spreading the ashes in the wind like the remains of a cremated friend.
* * * * * *
"Attention K-Mart shoppers. It's
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