Homicide scene number one hundred and seven. I keep count. After the first one hundred and six, I've gotten jaded. There used to be a nice little thrill in my belly. The good people of these United States have entrusted me to investigate the most heinous crime imaginable and bring the perpetrator to justice.

But the young cops are still excited by it. I see it in the face of the one guarding the crime scene. He's excited by his job, and by the idea of seeing the greatest forensic scientist ever go to work.

I set up just outside the bedroom where the murder occurred. Now, there are murders, and there are murders. As horrendously evil acts go, this was a work of art. Writing on the wall in blood. Religious symbolism everywhere. Horrible mutilation.

Someone will pay.

There's another forensics person in with me. I'm walking through the bedroom, surveying everything. She's on the other side of the room. I walk into the bathroom. There is a glass of water on the sink counter. When I'm done poking around, the edge of my cleansuit catches the glass and spills it all over the counter.

Crap. That's all I need. Some carelessness making me look like a novice. I walk out into the bedroom, but my opposing number is busy spraying ninhydrin looking for blood. What's that going to tell her? There's blood everywhere. I walk up to her.

"Can you give me a couple minutes alone in here? I want to think." This is unusual. But I'm that good. I get results, and I get people to go along with me. She nods. Being spoken to by the forensics god robs you of voice.

Twenty minutes later, I'm done. I've erased all evidence of my crime. My fingerprints are gone, lifted with tape. My footprints are smudged beyond identifiability. They kept ammonia in the bathroom for cleaning. I poured that where I cut myself with the knife.

I walk out, give orders. "OK. You can send in the photo team and the other analysts. I want every hair and trace of dirt off that floor too. Let's not screw this up. Let's get this bad boy."

Now, who should I frame for this? Oh, being bad is so deliciously good.

Learn more about this author, Alan Smith.
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