In the snow on the ground, running parallel to the flintstone wall, lay a track. It was hardly noticeable; the snow had fallen once again in the night, and were it not for a broken fence post, as much a victim as the frozen corpse in the ditch, then the track may have been completely lost.
The man in the hat waited; he was the first one there, and he knew better than to disturb the scene of the crime. Besides, he was the killer, so why should he rush?
It was a beautiful morning. Staggering. Breathtaking. The man in the hat waited. He felt calm. If he was to be found out, then it would take many months, and he held a secret;
He didn’t have months to live.