Melton squatted pressing his two fingers cautiously into Julia’s neck. There was no pulse. Shoving his gun into his waistband holster he stood and closed the kitchen curtains. He had seen Julia jogging in the neighborhood, smiling and waving as she passed, and wondered what it would be like to have her. Stepping around the widening pool of blood he unfurled a blanket beside her body. Rolling her up, he slung the pile over his shoulder, “One down, two to go” he muttered. Laying her under a pile of her own clothes in Rick’s, her husband, trunk, Melton opened her cell phone, and dialed 911. Waiting until the neighborhood dogs wailed, in pain, as police sirens approached, Melton crept out. Slithering two-hundred feet down a privacy fence he slipped into his backyard home office and waited. Soon Rick burst from Melton’s back patio as his wife April peeked from the upstairs window. “Two,” he whispered. Melton exited in one hour finding detectives inside his home. Melton defended April vigorously before she finally exposed her affair in heavy sobs and their plans to leave. Feigning defeat, Melton stood transfixed as April was handcuffed. Kissing her on the neck, he sobbed, “Three.”