"The Clown of Sinister Smirk!" Lester sputtered, voice trembling as if it might break. His hands clutched his temples, eyes wild with terror. "He wore this...this clown mask! A grinning mask, like—like a deranged jester." He shivered, glancing down at the red pool on the floor, barely whispering, "And blood. So much blood."
All three officers stood around Lester, their uniforms spotless—well, except for the accidental splashes of blood on their boots, which they were all valiantly ignoring. Navy blue and charcoal black with burgundy stripes, these uniforms were supposed to command respect. But in this butchered assassin den, they looked like mismatched figures in a gory art exhibit.
One of the police officers, Officer Murphy, raised an eyebrow, nudging his partner. "Let me guess," he muttered, "our mystery man's got a flair for the dramatic?"
