The Best Revenge
He'd never forget the blood spattering that college girl's apartment. He worked so hard to find the killer it destroyed his marriage. When he succeeded, the man escaped prosecution on a technicality. Maxwell hadn't delivered justice then, and he'd needed ten years to find his quarry again, but today he would close that case.
He stepped out of the pines, opened the door, and darted inside. A dank, musty reek choked him. His Colt heavy in his hand, he turned slowly to study the fallen curtain. He glared at the rusty cans by the sink. He'd been so sure this was the end of the trail.
A board creaked, and he whirled to face a massive heap of quivering, panting flesh. A shotgun sagged in the man's hand. Maxwell quickly twisted it away.
The man squinted. When he thrust his head forward to peer into Maxwell's face, his breath stank worse than he did.
"Maxwell? Is that you? I thought...." He broke off, wheezing helplessly.
"I was going to shoot you. But I've changed my mind."
The man whimpered.
Maxwell stepped back outside. "Of course, I might change it again." He started down the path, whistling. Death was too good for him.