Yesterday I saw my brother kill a man. There was little fanfare to it. He just walked up to the man and shoved a screwdriver through his neck. The man had come to sell me something, and was standing on my front porch, and my brother killed him.
Then he looked at me, and he raised his bloody finger to his lip and smiled. Without a word, he walked away, and down the street, and was gone.
The police think I killed that man. I told them what happened, but they didn't believe. And why should they?
My brother has been dead for six years.