She giggled and began to strip off her blood-soaked gown. The music stopped and the silence filled with dread. I wiped my bloody fingers on the lapels of my jacket and loosened my tie. Outside the night came down like spilled paint. I lit a cigarette and poured myself another drink. There were lights along both sides of the canal. Soon it would be time for Winterlude and beavertails. There would be no wreaths for the dead.