The Master's Child
The corpse ransacked, with the toe of a foot, giggling, she pushes what's left over the edge of the channel and into the fetid water.
I've seen more than my share of murders, committed enough myself, but Juliana's peculiar brand of hyena-edged lunacy sets my scalp prickling.
She watches the body sink slowly into bowel-blackness. "One more corpse from the world of organised crime," she says brightly. She could be commenting that it might rain. "Even if he's ever found and identified, the cops know him. They won't give a shit about finding him dead..." She rummages in the bag, producing, of all things, a packet of baby wipes. With finicky, fussy movements, she swipes her hands clean of blood a
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