The police can’t catch me because there really isn’t any evidence. I burn the clothes I wear, and I’ve been good about cleaning up the blood. For the secretary, I managed to bleach away most of the stuff on the ground, and for the intern, I dug up the blood-stained grass and took it home.
Then get rid of the bodies. I’m not stupid enough to push them into a river or to bury them in my backyard. Instead, I cut them up, put the meat through a blender and then throw them away in various garbage cans and dumpsters across the city. It’s a relatively long process, and my house smells horrible, but it’s worth the freedom I have.