The officer stood guard. Behind him, a full-standing tarp of cloth, containing the crime scene.
People on their way to work slowed their pace as they neared the scene. Trying to catch a glimpse inside the white tarp.
“Come on, people,” commanded the officer, waving the pedestrians along. “Keep it movin’. Let’s go. Nothin’ to see here.”
When the sidewalk was clear, and there were no other people in sight, the officer opened the flap of the tarp. He snaked in, gazed upon the body of the man on the ground.
Kneeling at the side of the corpse, the officer smiled. He ran his fingers through the man’s hair. And touched his forehead. Fingers dancing gently across.
“All mine,” the officer whispered. “All mine.”
He lifted the dead man’s hand. Held it.
“Only mine to see.”
The officer stood. Left the tarp.
Back on the sidewalk, he waved his hand. Waved his hand. Waved his hand.
“Let’s go. Come on. Let’s go, people. Nothin’ to see here. Keep it movin’.”
He looked up the street, looked down the street. It was clear, once more. The officer filled with tears. Overflowed with euphoria. He felt sick. He felt so sick.