One Kill Too Many

It was the bodies that were always the problem for Elmer Zakk. Long after death, his targets could still finger him. If he spit on an enemy's corpse the DNA would track him down. The bullets were just as bad and could point lead fingers right back to his favorite weapons, a brace of 9 MM pistols never far from reach. He loved those guns and couldn't throw any away. The art of forensic science had been sharpened to the point where the long-term career potential for a contract killer was beco...