I sauntered back. He was down on his knees and there was blood on his hands, and a big streak across his chin where he'd wiped it. He looked up at me, his mouth hanging open.
I laughed - I had to laugh or do something worse - and his eyes squeezed shut and he bawled. I yelled with laughter, bending over and slapping my legs. I doubled up, laughing and farting and laughing some more. Until there wasn't a laugh in me or anyone. I'd used up all the laughter in the world.
He got to his feet, smearing his face with his big flabby hands, staring at me stupidly.
"W-who did it, Lou?"
"It was suicide," I said. "A plain case of suicide."
"B-but that d-don't make-"
"It's the only thing that does make sense! It was the way it was, you hear me? Suicide, you hear me? Suicide suicide suicide! I didn't kill her. Don't you say I killed her. SHE KILLED HERSELF!"
I shot him, then, right in his gaping stupid mouth.