He loved spending time in his garden, especially at the front.
The rose bushes that formed a hedge along the front of his property were his pride and joy; probably more pride than joy. For him, putting on his gloves and taking up his special pruning shears, made him a man with a purpose. These beautiful bushes, were, after all, what passers-by saw. They made a statement. He had planted them all himself and it was this pruning routine that gave him the greatest pleasure. This precious activity was brought to a halt when the man appeared.
“I should turn myself in,” was the first thing he said, looking around nervously. He went on with a crazed look in his eyes. “I know I should. It’s only a matter of time.”
The man waved his shears. “Sorry. Do I know you?”
“Probably not, I live a couple of streets over from here. But, that doesn’t matter. What matters is that I’ve killed her! I finally did it. I could see it coming. I knew it would happen eventually if she kept seeing… him!”
“Ehm. You’re not making much sense.”
The man lifted two bloody hands. “I’m on the run, you see,” he said. “Well, I think I am.” He stood thinking. “Maybe not. I know where he lives. Two murders? What’s the difference? I’m going out of my mind. Two murders or one, what difference could it make? Yes, I know where he lives. He caused all this!” He pulled a large, stained kitchen knife from the back of his belt and held it up. “Yes. I know what to do now, thank you.” With this, he ran off laughing maniacally, and shouting, “Yes! Yes!”
The gardener leaned forward, parting the thorny stems and watched the man racing up the street at great speed. As he did this, he noticed something that horrified him. The blood ran cold in his veins as he pulled on the stem with a trembling hand to inspect the leaf.
With a short cry of, “Black Spot!” he dropped his pruners and ran to the shed for his fungicide spray.