Synopsis:
“Look, this is insane.” I said, my patience fast wearing out, “Who do you think you are- a spokesperson for serial killers?”
“That is exactly who I am. You’ve got it at last.”
I snorted.
“And who appointed you to this post?”
“Oh no one. I appointed me myself.” He said, “You see, I’m a murderer.” He slipped his hand into the raincoat’s pocket and brought out a shiny kitchen knife.
“That’s not funny at all.” I said.
“No, it’s not. You think I’m joking? You don’t even know a murderer when he’s sitting right under your bloody nose, and you call yourself a crime novelist? How dare you?” He stood up, knife in hand.
