Tag Archives: murder

2104. Blood stains

Wilfred had knocked his big toe on the leg of a chair and there was blood all over the wall to wall carpet. He managed to stem the dripping of blood with a plaster and then noticed he had some blood on his arm. How on earth did that happen? He had stubbed his toe, not his arm!

The clean-up turned into a major event. If blood isn’t fairly quickly cleaned it can be difficult to get rid of in carpet. He kept dabbing it with wet towels. Goodness, there wasn’t that much but what a mess! Why his wife had to choose light grey carpet was anybody’s guess.

Eventually all was done to satisfaction. Tomorrow his wife would be returning from visiting her mother in a distant town. Hopefully things will have dried sufficiently for her not to notice.

Next time he stabs a “hospitality call girl” he’ll make sure he’s in the kitchen with a linoleum floor.

2101. Murderous suburb

Gail’s husband of forty-two years had recently died. He had been a prominent lawyer in the city where they lived. Gail had never warmed much to the city, but her late husband was born and bred there, and his roots firmly and permanently placed them continuing to live there. Over the years the standard of living in their suburb had plummeted. It was now riddled with thieves and pimps, and homelessness was commonplace. Over Gail’s forty-two years of living in that suburb there had been roughly about the same number of murders. It came down to a murder a year. Disgraceful, and a little terrifying.

“At last you will be able to move away from that wretched hell-hole,” wrote one of Gail’s friends. Other friends agreed and voiced as much.

But Gail was adamant. She was staying put. “There may have been forty or so unexplained murders over the years,” said Gail, “but I’m pretty sure there won’t be any more.”

2095. Who was out to murder?

Urs was a tyrannical husband. Alice had long felt trapped in the relationship. She knew she should untangle herself from such a situation but really she didn’t know how. Her only time of peace was after the evening meal when she would take her coffee (Urs was watching the evening news) and wander down to the back of the garden where Urs kept his racing pigeons.

Urs was besotted with his pigeons. Alice found their gentle cooing both soothing and consoling.

The racing pigeons were worth a pretty packet. He would enter racing competitions with them regularly. He cared for them more than he cared for his wife.

One of his more tyrannical aspects was that Alice should prepare only healthy food. He regarded vegetable greens as a must to every meal, especially peas. “Peas are riddled with nutrients,” he would say. “That’s why they are so green.”

Alice hated peas. Part of her post-dinner evening walk was to take the peas she had hidden in her napkin and give them to the pigeons.

One early morning, Urs went down to see his pigeons and they were all dead. A veterinarian post-mortem showed that they had eaten poisoned peas.

2093. Oh what a tragedy!

Have you any idea how expensive it is to get a divorce? Raymond wanted to get rid of his wife but he wasn’t keen to lose almost half of what he’d worked for throughout his life. It was cheaper (and quicker) simply to get rid of her in a cunning and imperceptible way.

He devised a fabulous plan. As far as he could work out, it hadn’t been done before – at least he’d never heard of it. He had one of those cars whereby the driver had controls to lock the car doors. It was a child protection device. If the children in the back and passenger seats were messing around they couldn’t accidently open the door and fall out.

What Raymond would do was to stall the car on a rail crossing just as a train was hurtling towards them. Then he’d quickly press the button to lock his wife’s door, leap out his own door, and… Oh what a tragedy! Oh what a sadness! Why did it happen to me?

It wasn’t exactly something he could practise. After all, how many cars can one afford? But he drove the route several times and knew well the times the trains passed.

The day arrived. They were to visit great aunt Maude and bring her the usual weekly supply of chocolate and cat food. They were just about to leave (Raymond was actually wearing his running shoes!) when a message came that great Aunt Maud’s sister also wanted to visit Maude, and could they pick her up on the way? That ruined things. The request meant they would have to take another route. Murder would have to wait another day.

The following week off they went on their habitual visit. Raymond’s wife (goodness, as yet she is not introduced – her name was Fiona) had trouble dragging Raymond’s drugged body to the garage and into the car. Once done she drove to the rail crossing and stopped. She got out to watch.

Oh what a tragedy! Oh what a sadness! Why did it happen to me?

(P.S. A Happy Easter to all who wish to be wished such! I shall be hopefully back with a murder on the 5th, Easter Monday!)

2080. Clara’s wonderful garden

When Clara made a beautiful flower garden over the plot where she had buried her murdered husband she didn’t realize what attention it would attract. Her husband’s as yet unannounced disappearance had greatly enhanced the funds available to Clara, and she had splurged out on some very expensive and exotic flower plants.

She hadn’t been able to dig a very deep grave and it was difficult to see things in the dark. So it was almost inevitable that the roots of some of the plants were drawing nutrients from a fertile source.

“How do you get your plants to grow so healthy?” asked Rebecca. “The answer lies in the fertilizer,” responded Clara producing an as yet unopened bag of fertilizer. “Would you like some flowers?” And Clara cut the loveliest large bunch of flowers and handed them to Rebecca.

A little later Clara thought she would like to sell the house. There were too many unpleasant memories, and she wanted to rid herself of the garden plot. But she couldn’t sell because the new buyers might dig the garden up and discover her secret. So Clara stayed in the same house.

About three years later a man called in to ask directions to the local Flower Show and he couldn’t help but notice Clara’s garden. “Goodness me!” he said, and within a few weeks they were in love. He suggested that Clara move in with him, but Clara, thinking of her buried husband, insisted that the man do the moving. He moved in.

These days (did I forget to mention it?) Clara is extending her garden.

2076. A street of murders

There had been three murders on the street in as many weeks. Constable Carrington said they were unrelated. They have nothing in common with one another, and besides, we have arrested three individuals, one for each murder. What would he know? He spends most of his time down at the Archery Clubhouse practising archery.

 Another factor pointing to their disconnectedness was that each murder had been quite different; one was a gun shot, one was a knife stabbing, and the third was poisoning. So it was disconcerting for Constable Carrington when there were yet a further three murders, all in the same household at the same time; one from gunshot, one from stabbing, and one from poisoning. It was as if a single, as yet unarrested murderer, had heard the news of three different murder methods and performed all three at the same time.

Mrs Audrey Swineheart seemed to be the one able to glean the most information. She was the street’s gossip. Somehow she had an ear to the wall, and could furnish everyone (even those who pretended not to be interested) with details of each killing; in some cases with details that Constable Carrington hadn’t mentioned. For example, how did she know that Mrs Deidre Plonk had been shot just as she was whipping cream to put between two layers of her recently baked sponge cake? “You should have seen the blood in the whipped cream,” said Mrs Audrey Swineheart. “Apparently it looked exactly like she had whisked red food colouring into the cream.”

Then there was the case of Mr Dennis Druskovich. He had been stabbed in the back by a carving knife that his wife had given him for his birthday that very morning. “The handle still had its plastic on,” said Mrs Audrey  Swineheart.

“I have no idea how she knows so much,” said Constable Carrington. “One wonders how much else she knows.”

The street was living in fear. Who would be the next victim? Tension grew. Then it happened. Mrs Audrey Swineheart was found lying dead in her passageway with an arrow in her back shot from an archer’s bow.

Constable Carrington called for a street meeting. “Mrs Audrey Swineheart’s death is a terrible tragedy as is any death. However, I’m happy to announce that there will be no more murders on the street. The sole murderer involved has been permanently disarmed.”

2074. Evening classes

When Melba took evening classes in gardening it wasn’t exactly so she could learn how to pull out a weed. It was so she could devise a plan to rid herself of something noxious in her garden, namely her husband. He was more than annoying; he was a downright pest. Melba never got any rest from his bragging stupidity. For example, he couldn’t stop going on and on about the evening classes he was attending. That’s what had given Melba the idea to attend evening classes herself.

Specifically it was the section on organic weed killers that interested her. It would be a lot easier to construe death by organic weed killer as accidental. “Oh I had no idea, Officer, that that was poisonous. I thought it was an antioxidant.”

And indeed! Melba learned that a sturdy dose of toxicity would be enough to rid herself of her garden pest. Her course finished next Friday. She would perform the deadly deed on Saturday!

Her husband’s course finished on Thursday, just a day before hers, so he would be home and available for dosage.  His favourite part of his evening classes on Rifle Shooting was “How not to miss your mark”.

2058. Nest building

Norma had a saying which she oft cited: I’ve buried three husbands you know.  If the truth be known, all three had died unnatural deaths. They had all been murdered.

Norma was exceedingly rich. She lived in a big house (these days alone). Her sole interest appeared to be her two pet canaries. She had a yellow canary and one with bits of yellow but it looked more like a sparrow. Only the yellow one ever sang, and usually with a melancholic air.

Norma had tried to breed them but she wasn’t sure if she had two girls, two boys, or one of each. Whatever the case, neither had made any attempt at making a nest.

Norma belonged to the local Caged Birds Association. There she met and befriended Gordon, mainly because she thought he might know how to sex birds. He did, and so Norma invited him to her house. Well! One thing led to another, and before you knew it they were married, and Gordon’s two pet canaries went into the same aviary as Norma’s two. In the blink of an eye one of Norma’s and one of Gordon’s were creating a nest together.

Norma was delighted with the success of her breeding program! So interesting! There were four fledglings! All grew into a bold yellow and sang with a melancholic air. They were a great consolation to Norma when she came to bury her fourth husband.

2054. Lucas’ connections

Lucas had never been popular. At primary school he had tried to buy friends by giving them sweets and cookies; all without much success. At secondary school his attempts at friendship became more expensive; it was sodas and cigarettes.  Later he resorted to drugs – not big time drugs – but bits of stuff here and there.

These days he’s rather rich. He’s twice divorced. He drives a fancy car and lives in a fancy house. The house has a tennis court and pool. He neither plays tennis nor swims but who cares? Who cares when you have a gardener and a couple of servants? No one knows exactly where his money comes from.

He still doesn’t have any friends. He says he doesn’t need them. His favourite saying, as he gads about in torn shirt and comfy jeans, is: When you’re as rich as I am you dress how you like.

All that was last week.

This week he got shot in the head. Police said they thought he had mafia connections. They’re not doing much about it because nobody cares. Few attended his funeral. Who would want their name taken down  by an undercover agent?

2049. Bernice’s murderous plots

Bernice had spent ages (possibly years) plotting the undetectably best way to murder her brother. You see, their mother was old. And rich. Exceedingly rich. Bernice wanted it all.

Their mother – whose name was Hilda – lived in the most beautiful house on a beautiful hill with a beautiful garden and even more beautiful view. Bernice’s brother – whose name was Jules – had his eyes on the house. “You keep two thirds of the money and I’ll take a third of the money plus the house.” On the surface Bernice agreed, but… Bernice wanted it all.

Things were getting urgent. Hilda was all of fifty-nine – which to younger people seemed old. She still lived alone and managed well, but all it would take would be for an epidemic to sweep the world and she’d be packing her bags for eternity like there was no tomorrow. The urgent murder of Jules would not only cover Bernice in good fortune but would in all likelihood provide enough grief to finish Hilda off.

Jules was unmarried – in fact totally unattached. There would be no spouse or partner or kids challenging Bernice’s windfall. Then Lady Luck stepped in. Jules took ill and died without any prompting whatsoever from Bernice.

Mother Hilda was grief-stricken. But would Hilda die? Oh no! Bernice described her mother as “that old cow who was no good anymore for milking but who wouldn’t kick the bucket.”

Then the worst happened. Oh tragedy of tragedies. Some things are on a par with catastrophic viruses. Widow Hilda got married; this time to a man much younger than herself.

“Is there no justice in the world?” screamed Bernice. “Do I not matter? Under no circumstance will I ever consider that usurper to be any sort of stepfather. Great balls of fire, he’s about my age and riddled with covetous ambition.” She loathed him with a vengeance.

Bernice began to plot.