Looking on from the flies vantage point it was plain to see who the murderer was.
Too bad it would be dead before the victim.
The sleuth walked into a crowded room, with flashbulbs going off, a silent echo to capture the nonexistence that took place. " What we got chief?' he asks with one hand on his corn cob pipe, the other in his worn overcoat. " Murder. The fifth one this week." The chief replied with nonexistent lips due to an overwhelmingly bushy walrus sleeping beneath his nose. " This ones younger than the rest." Shucks, the detective said to himself, the smell of Cavendish twirling about in the air, arcing, circling, ceasing to be. "Scenes been ruined by the press, got here first. Might as well charge them for it and call a day." Its never that easy, the no name detective quipped to no one in the room, it never is. The body was in a chair , turned to a window in the corner of the room. The victims face was serene, almost peaceful, at least that's what the Mr. No Name hoped. Things are never that simple though. "What's the time of death?" Mr.No asks without any particular care, in that moment he's far from there.