The Walls Come Tumbling Down

American Theatre – July 2013: The killer had fled upstairs. The victim, whose arms had been caught in his coat when he died, had blood seeping from his neck and chest. His body was soon carried off, and only the witnesses and the police officers were left. And me. I was there at the scene, pen and pad in hand, seeking out descriptions of the killer. “Was he skinny or fat?” I asked the crowd standing around me. “Skinny!” they replied unanimously. “It was the barber,” volunteered one witness. “He was wearing suspenders,” another chimed in. “He had on a bowtie.” “He had brown hair, was in his thirties, 5'6".” “He had a mustache.”