C: EVERYTHING CRIME, A - Z

Credibility

Time to talk about suspending your disbelief when it comes to mystery novels. This is especially the case when reading (or writing) cozy mysteries. After all, how many murders would you believe an amateur sleuth would experience in their lifetime? One? Maybe two? C’mon, your average baker, knitter, zookeeper, chef, novelist, midwife, nun, shopkeeper, hotel owner, postmistress, etc., etc. would never stumble over body after body after body in real life.

For instance, Jessica Fletcher of Murder, She Wrote fame has solved a boatload of murders. I wouldn’t want to be a resident of Cabot Cove—your odds of being a murder victim is off the charts! Later in the series, the setting moved to different locations to spare the whole town’s population from being wiped out. At that point, I wouldn’t want to be one of Jessica’s relatives—you’re more than likely gonna be accused of murder and hope Jessica comes to the rescue. If you put all that aside, it’s a fun show (and books).

Which brings us to Castle. Not exactly a cozy (the hero is a crime writer who rides along with the police detectives), but it definitely fits in this category. My friend, Lee Lofland (the driving force behind the Writers’ Police Academy) reviewed the show each week on his Graveyard Shift blog. The reviews are in two parts—fan versus expert. Melanie Atkins (she reviews the romance aspect of the show) gives her review from a fan’s perspective. She enjoys the show and talks about all the fun parts she enjoyed.

Then Lee Lofland (he reviews the police procedure) gives his review on the same show from an expert’s view (he’s a retired cop). He’s not enamored of the show’s evidentiary and procedural aspects. Lee will bash the coroner’s diagnosis (for instance-she couldn’t know at the scene that the victim was killed by three 9mm hollow-point rounds). He hates the nonsensical babble that spurts forth from the coroner’s mouth which he allows is the writers’ fault, not the actress’s. And he will point out inconsistencies and errors in the scripts (for instance, that one phone call you get is not a constitutional right. You’ll get to make it at the officer’s convenience).

As Lee says “believable make believe is the key to great fiction…”

The point is that a reader needs to believe these situations could happen and just go with it to fully enjoy the mysteries (novels or shows). However, writers should do their due diligence to be as accurate as they can.

B: EVERYTHING CRIME, A-Z

Buried Alive


Taphophobia - The fear of being being buried alive. (More on phobias when we get to "P")


This is not a new fear by any means, indeed, it seems to go way back to Biblical times. When Jesus raised Lazarus from the dead, it was common for dead bodies to be wrapped up and buried in caves. Days later, someone would go to check to see if they were alive (and occasionally they were).

Back through history, the way of determining if a person was dead or alive was not very precise. Diseases like typhoid which caused the pulse to be very weak led to some premature burials.

In Ancient Rome, mourners waited eight days to bury the body to give ample chance for the corpse to wake up. Bodies were laid out at home and not buried immediately so the family could see if the body decayed.

In 19^th century Germany, there were ‘waiting mortuaries’ where corpses were incubated until they were putrid which was a sure sign of really being dead.

Grave protectors and alarms have been patented since the 1800’s.

The security coffin (1868 patent) which included a rope, ladder and bell.

Device for indicating Life in Buried Persons (1887 patent) An air pipe that could be opened for an emergency airway if movement was detected in the coffin.

The easy-opener (1907 patent) so the presumed dead wouldn’t struggle trying to lift a heavy coffin lid.

 The fear of being buried alive might have diminished, but designs for coffins and instruments that claim to prevent premature burial have been submitted to the patent office as recently as 2013.

At the rate technology is advancing, it’s simply a matter of time before ‘smart caskets’ are invented. “Hey Google, get me out of this coffin.”

A: EVERYTHING CRIME, A-Z

Alibis

According to Merriam-Webster, the definition of ‘Alibi’ is ‘the plea of having been at the time of the commission of an act elsewhere than at the place of commission’.

Alibis are getting easier to prove or disprove due to the influx of security cameras. It seems like privacy is going the way of the dodo bird. (My grandkids are no doubt asking ‘what’s a dodo bird’?)

Nowadays, the term alibi is synonymous with an excuse. Defense teams are using it as their defendant’s excuse for doing something wrong. (It was a full moon, I had PMS, I ate Twinkies…)

As a mystery writer, I try to use the term properly in my books. But you have to be careful because it appears that Big Brother is always watching you. An alibi can be broken or upheld with all the world’s technology. Cell phone towers, security footage, dated receipts, Facebook posts all go towards proving or disproving you were (or weren’t) at a particular place on a particular date. Of course, the prosecutor has the burden of proof.

Wanted: Dead or Deader - Finale

When McGill finally collected the cash, I headed over to their office. He locked the door behind me and opened a suitcase filled with bills. A soft whistle escaped my lips at the sight of all that dough. For a brief moment I was tempted, but the feeling passed. McGill zipped up the bag and handed it to me while he swore he’d acted as if it was business as usual when he amassed the ransom money. Most of Abner’s deals were cash transactions and he’d not raised any suspicions.

I’d rethought the whole setup and called a fellow detective to help. I’d hired him to babysit Dave McGill this evening until it was all over in case McGill had second thoughts about involving the police. I didn’t want to end up in jail for my part in the scam. My buddy arrived, and I introduced the two men.

McGill made no protest, but he leaned over and spoke in a low voice, “I checked you out, London. Hizzoner recommended you highly. He said you were trustworthy and discreet.”

So that’s why he trusted me. The personal issue I’d resolved for Mayor Daley a few years ago had paid off many times over. An intensively private person when it came to his family, the mayor didn’t want to involve any of his cronies or employees. So he hired an outsider (me) to take care of the problem. I’d solved his dilemma and kept my mouth shut which the mayor appreciated. In return, a few favors were thrown my way which I appreciated. With a smile on my lips, I hefted the suitcase and strode to my car.

****

It took more than an hour to drive to the Lincoln Avenue motel where Abner waited. I’d made sure to lose any tail that might’ve been following. Picking him up, we drove to Birmingham Harbor where he stashed the loot on his boat. I didn’t expect a double-cross since he’d written out a confession before I’d ever agreed to the plan (insurance). Instead, he played the part of kidnap victim perfectly when I reunited him with Dave McGill.

They kept the kidnapping quiet, so I never read about it in the newspapers. Abner and Renee divorced. The former Mrs. Carlyle’s settlement was much smaller than she’d originally expected since Abner’s fortune had been diminished by the half mil ransom. After the divorce was finalized, Abner retreated to recluse status. Ecstatic that we’d stopped Renee from cashing in on a huge payout, he coughed up a bonus of three thousand dollars for yours truly. And I promised Carlyle I’d never reveal his reprehensible scheme.

FOOTNOTE

November 1996

Did I feel guilty for my part in the scam? Nope. After all, if it wasn’t for my participation, Renee would be dead. Instead, she lived to marry again—actually three more times. Renee possessed money, but I don’t think she ever achieved true happiness. I attended her funeral two months ago (for some reason, Elisabeth thought it my duty to attend). Sad to say, her brother and I were the only mourners.

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Wanted - Dead or Deader - Part 4

With Abner safely tucked away in a sleazy motel on Lincoln Avenue, I reported back to my ex-wife and told her the ransom drop didn’t pan out. Nobody showed up, and there was no sign of her husband.

The lovely Renee wasn’t pleased. “They must’ve spotted you.”

“If they did, they saw no sign of their money and left. If you want him back alive, you’ll have to pay the ransom.”

Renee’s expression told me how she felt about that scenario which made me glad I’d forged a deal with her husband. Carlyle followed my plan and the next day another ransom letter arrived in the mail. This time it was delivered to Abner’s right hand man, Dave McGill. I’d planned to return to his place that day to guarantee my involvement in this caper, but he saved me the trip by rushing over to my office.

McGill confided he hadn’t believed my claims about his boss being kidnapped the other day. He’d thought Mrs. Carlyle was trying to pull a fast one. Now he demanded to know what I was going to do about the situation.

I recommended he take the note straight to the police. This horrified him. He pointed to the ransom demand and insisted the kidnappers would kill his boss if the authorities got involved.

That was great. I’d told Abner I’d bail immediately if the police were informed. The payoff wasn’t worth the risk; I had a wife and kid to think about.

McGill swore he’d make arrangements and gather together the half million.

“Can you raise that much dough?”

McGill assured me that Carlyle was a financial wizard, well worth twice that amount. I mentioned Renee and got a laugh. He claimed he wouldn’t need her cooperation. Abner’s assets were tied up in the business, and McGill didn’t need Carlyle’s wife’s agreement to pull money out. Smart man.

“Once Abner’s released, he’ll be able to rebuild his fortune. I’ve worked for him for seven years; the man’s a genius.”

Good to know. I revisited the option of police involvement. Satisfied that McGill was vehemently opposed to the idea, I let him leave my office to start assembling the payoff.

I kept in constant contact with McGill and Renee over the next couple of days. My ex wasn’t thrilled with the concept of parting with that amount of dough, but McGill was determined to buy Abner’s freedom. I had a cynical viewpoint on the matter. McGill’s motivation was easy to figure. If his boss died, McGill’s plum job disappeared. In contrast, Renee would be happier if the kidnappers were thwarted and Abner killed so she could inherit all his wealth.

So the only person financially affected by our ruse would be Renee. In case anyone ever wondered if my involvement was all about revenge—don’t forget, I’d saved her life. By foiling her husband’s plot to kill her and devising an alternate plan, Renee would live to snare hubby number six.

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Wanted Dead or Deader - Part 3

I visited Carlyle’s favorite haunts. Turned out the place he hung out the most was his own. I paid a visit to his house (mansion) on Astor Street. The maid let me in (what a step up from the first home Renee and I shared—a third floor walk-up in Roger’s Park). Renee was in residence (now she thinks she’s the Queen?) and after a brief argument (first one I ever won), I searched the place from top to bottom but found no clues to Abner’s whereabouts.

****

With a lack of fresh ideas, I scoped out the kidnapper’s meeting point. I arrived three hours early in order to check the area and figure out my options. The designated spot was in the middle of a secluded, wooded forest preserve near Belmont and Cumberland. Daylight was fading fast, and I imagined how dark this place was going to get. Perfect spot (for the kidnappers—not so great for me). Dense trees filtered out what was left of the sun’s rays, and I was glad I’d brought my flashlight. If I picked a good place to hide and watch, maybe I could catch a license plate when they arrived.

****

Three hours later, I’d have killed for a cold beer. My sweat-soaked black turtle neck constricted my breathing in the humid night air. So far, I hadn’t caught a glimpse of anything but a family of deer. I was ready to call it a night, but I’d promised Renee I’d find her husband, so I stuck it out alone in the dark. Just when I was determined to call it quits, I heard a rustling about a hundred yards to my right. Keeping the man’s silhouette in view at all times, I circled around and sneaked up behind him.

I called his name. Abner Carlyle spun around and raised his hands at the sight of my gun. (I’d had a hunch when I’d spotted those big old jug ears and rotund build in the dim moonlight).

“Abner,” I said. “It’s time for a talk.”

****

Seemed shortly after the wedding, the wealthy recluse had a change of heart. He’d married Renee in a foolish, lonely moment and regretted it ever since. Carlyle was reluctant to divorce her, since he didn’t relish paying out a huge settlement. So the man had planned a fake abduction and plotted to kill his wife when she arrived with the ransom. His idea was to accuse his phony kidnappers of murder. The police would never catch the fabricated criminals, and Carlyle figured he’d be free and clear.

What he didn’t count on was the lovely Renee Carlyle hiring a detective. He’d led such a solitary life, he didn’t realize a woman might not go it alone (especially a woman like Renee who never did anything she could get someone else to do for her).

I had a lot of sympathy for the guy (after all, I’d been married to Renee once) and that’s why I contrived a new plot.

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Wanted Dead or Deader - Part 2

Damned if Renee didn’t return just as I was thinking of closing up shop. Twice in one day. I liked it better when she pretended I didn’t exist. As her high heels clattered loudly on the floor, Jingo scrambled to his paws. He barked loud enough to wake the dead (no joke—I caught myself scanning the area for Abner just in case). My office was three hundred square feet of desk and dog. Renee sashayed in. She did her own scanning and frowned (I guess she’d expected me to have produced her husband already).

Opening her bag, Renee extracted an envelope. I read the contents and my eyebrows raised so high they touched my receding hairline. It was a ransom note cut from newspapers (very stereotypical). The kidnappers demanded a half million dollars for the safe return of one Abner Carlyle. Or else. They didn’t spell out what the “else” was, but I could guess. She steadfastly refused to call the cops.

After Renee swept out, I held the note up to Jingo’s nose to sniff. He released a great big doggy sneeze and rested his head on his paws. Seemed he was absent the day the obedience school trained them to follow a scent.

I was at a loss on how to proceed. She claimed she couldn’t get her hands on that much money. Renee wanted to fake paying the ransom. She spelled out a big scenario where I make the drop and follow the kidnappers back to their hideout and rescue dear old Abner. My ex-wife wanted me to play the hero—an unlikely role. I’m the first to admit that if she handed me a half million bucks, I’d be tempted to pack up my wife and kid (and Jingo) and board the first plane to Anywhere, USA. Maybe my ex wasn’t as stupid as I thought.

****

I drove home just in time for supper (Elisabeth was used to my erratic hours and never complained, but after Renee’s visits, I just wanted a normal evening). I decided not to tell Elisabeth the identity of my new client; she’d never say a word, but I knew she’d take a dim view of my involvement in Renee’s scheme. Marveling at the difference between my two wives, I considered myself a lucky, lucky man. Plucking the Hardy Boys book from Donny’s hands, we all sat down to eat. Then we watched a little bit of television before bedtime.

****

The following day, I ran around the city interviewing anyone I could find that knew Carlyle. Renee told me Abner was a quiet man with no real friends and this was verified when I talked to his business associates. It appeared that Abner Carlyle was a recluse. The three men I interviewed admitted they were surprised when Carlyle married Renee. He had no social life; no family or friends. Carlyle lived for his business deals. The trio hadn’t heard from Carlyle these last few days, but unless he had a deal in the works, that behavior was not unusual. Carlyle’s right hand man, Dave McGill, spouted a party line—Abner Carlyle was conducting business in a neighboring state. He expected to hear from him only if Carlyle closed a business deal.

Apparently, nobody but Renee realized that Abner had been kidnapped.

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