He ambled down the stairs to the dingy room in the farther corner of the basement. Shutting the door behind him, the janitor flexed his muscles as he stifled a yawn. The night would be long, with a topping of some backbreaking cleaning to do.
In an unbroken ritual of sorts, he cleaned his toolbox and reorganized his plumber’s kit.
Armed with his ‘briefcase’ (why, his trusty mop and duster)and a bucket of water, he climbed back to the second floor.
He had been sweeping the office floor for only a while when he felt water under his boots. He grunted listlessly: he always managed to ruin a good pair, pants or boots. He turned up the lights a little and discovered that it was a large pool of blood.
He called out, tip-toeing in the direction of the blood flowing free as a river.
He thought he saw the outline of a woman in the dark. She did not have one hand.
He quickly switched on the lights: there was no one in the men’s restroom.