Murder in Two Parts

He held the blood soaked towels away from his naked body as he walked quickly from the master bedroom to the bath just down the hall. Brushing the shower curtain aside with his forearm, he reached inside the tub and dropped the pile just in front of the drain. From the bathroom closet, he selected a clean wash cloth and returned to the master bedroom to retrieve the tools of his trade, wrapping them in the cloth and returning to the bathroom, he laid the cloth with its bloody contents in the ornate marble sink and returned to the tub where he turned on the single, water mixer control, carefully adjusting the water temperature–not too hot, not too cold. When he was satisfied, he swiveled the water selector from the bath spigot to the shower head. Taking care not to touch any part of the tub or walls, he stepped in and stood beneath the running water, both feet carefully placed on the pile of bloody bath towels. He let the pounding water wash his body clean of all traces of blood. No soap, no rubbing–eliminating the chances of leaving behind any traces of his skin. He’d pretty much solved the problem of body hair, by using a highly effective depilatory cream he purchased in a Hollywood department store. He smiled to himself as he fantasized police evidence technicians’ frustration at finding nothing. He’d employed this clean up technique several times in recent years, and it had proven a success–leaving him beyond detection.

When he could see no more traces of blood on his body, he shut off the water and stepped from the tub onto a clean towel. When the soles of his feet were dry, he tossed the towel into the tub with the rest of the bloody towels and went into the living room to retrieve a large dopp kit from his airline, carry-on bag. Returning to the bathroom, he removed a can of Drano crystals from the kit. He unscrewed the cap, and leaning over the edge of the tub, he carefully poured about half the can’s content into the drain. As the acrid smell rose and the foaming action began, he smiled with satisfaction. “Let them trace that!” Removing several sheets of toilet paper from the roll next to the stool, he began to carefully blot the water remaining on his skin. As each wad became soaked, he dropped it into the toilet. It took about half the roll to get his body nearly dry. He flushed the toilet, eliminating that link to his DNA.

Still damp, he searched the bath closet for something with which to complete the job–and leave no trace of his DNA. Catching sight of a hair dryer on the shelf–he’d found the answer. To further confuse any diligent police technician, he plugged the dryer in a hallway outlet and stood in the hall to dry himself. After several minutes of playing the warm air over his body–a sensation he found surprisingly pleasant–he was satisfied. In fact, it had proven so successful and sensuous, he made a mental note to include a hair dryer as a permanent addition to his “tool kit”.

Still naked, he carried the dopp kit and wash cloth that contained the surgical knives, which he’d used, to the kitchen, set them on the drain board next to the deep, stainless steel sink, and removed a velveteen, roll-up case with individual sleeves for each knife and surgical tool. He untied the binding ribbon, unrolled the case, and folded back the flap covering the sleeves. Taking great care not to cut or nick himself on the razor sharp blades, he unrolled the wash cloth and placed the knives and instruments he’d employed over the past several hours, in the bottom of the sink. He then washed each knife clean of all traces of blood. Using a tooth brush he carried for the task, he diligently brushed every nook and crevice clean. He then dried each instrument using the kitchen paper towels. Finally, he reached into his kit and withdrew a can of number 10 sewing machine oil, squeezed a few drops on a clean paper towel, and anointed each blade with the preserving oil. His clean up chores accomplished, he inserted each instrument into its designated sleeve, folded the flap over the tips of the instruments, and rolled the case into a tight package. As he tied the ribbon, he recalled how much this case with its instruments reminded him of his mother’s fine sterling silver. She kept it in just such cases between her Sunday family dinners. It was time to get dressed and take his leave. The remainder of the can of Drano went into the kitchen drain. The empty can went into his dopp kit. He walked to the living room and dressed.

Now, fully dressed, with credentials identifying him as a salesman for a major, California, surgical supply house resting nicely in his wallet, he attended to one final detail as he departed. Withdrawing a Nice N’ Clean packet from his kit, he carefully wiped his fingerprints from every surface and knob he might have touched. He paused in the living room giving the scene a final review in his mind, and with his experienced eye, he decided everything had been covered.