He walked silently through the peaceful woods. He seemed oblivious to the twittering birds or the paddling of the beaver's tail. Emerging at the back of the house, he crept quietly towards it. No need to pick the lock. The door had been conveniently left open.
The house kept his secret. No sound shattered the neighborhood's tranquility as he quickly finished his work. His crime was perfect. No one would ever know.
The detective thought otherwise, as he quickly followed a trail of blood to the assassin. The criminal was a wally. Only an amateur would neglect to wipe the cleaver before placing it back inside his jacket.