Tag Archives: detective

A Murder Had Occurred – Part 1 of a June Marble story.

A Murder Had Occurred – Part 1 of a June Marble story.

“… but that’s a different story – one for another time, maybe.”

“Oh!” the room, as one, spoke the stock word of collective disappointment.

“No. I shall finish there – too much of a good thing, and all that!”

We pleaded fruitlessly for a while longer; but, she would, she would, she would not be moved to tell us that story.

It was almost two years later, when she finally chose to remember that she had writer-promised to read a certain story to the group that had been there on that day so long ago.

The exact same people, mind you – she didn’t want to read the story to anybody who hadn’t heard the prequel.

“It was a dark and stormy night, once upon a time, in a land far, far away…” she paused.

“There was a house…”

“Where?” we asked.

“There! There, on the moor.”

“Which moor?” we further asked.

“It matters not – but, let us say it was a moor near to the town of… Bodmin.”

“Bodmin Moor!” we gasped.

“Yes. You are correct. The house was on Bodmin Moor. It was an old Gothic-style house that reeked of mystery… intrigue… and dry rot.”

“Gasp!” we gasped – we were now on tenterhooks, and our taut nerves were fraying fast.

“There had been a murder.” she lowered her voice to a whisper, “The mistress of the house was found… dead!”

“Oh, no!” we were sadly upset at this development.

“Strichnine! Cyanide! Stabbed through the heart! Strangled!”

“Too much!” One soul from amongst us cried out.

“None of these methods were used.” a pause, “No, she died of intense boredom!”

TBC

Part 2 here.

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Why Adkins Had To Die (extended: because I’ve written more of it)

crime-detective-murder-mystery

Adkins was barely into the first sentence of his novel when he received a stiff blow to the back of his head – he died instantly.
I know because I was that writer.

Howard Richmal Adkins, born 3rd May, 1957, died 3rd May, 2015 – not the best birthday that I’d ever had, but the most memorable from the viewpoint of my now being a ghost.
I think that after due consideration I was held back from the afterlife because there was a serious wrong outstanding that needed me to put it right. The main reason for my requirement being that I was the only one who knew that a serious wrong ‘was’ outstanding.

I had been considering writing my novel for some time now – as a first novel there was little time left to me before my expiry date (how little, even I was surprised at) and so I had set myself the task of sourcing an adventure that could then be written up as a book that took the best-seller lists by storm. As of current count, I have still to sell a copy – due to my unexpected and untimely death.

However, let me stop all this waffling and take you back to the start of my actual ‘real-life’ adventure.

It was on a day in late November back in the year 2012, about eleven-fifteen at night, and I was stranded in deepest, darkest Oxfordshire. The last bus had long gone and I was miles from civilisation.
I had been to one of these ‘raves’ where the music pumps like a jack-hammer into your brain and the lights and smoke dull any clarity in your unfocused mind. There was a lot of drink in evidence and little pills to lift you up – and also some to bring you back down again – both of ‘these’ I avoided, just.

I had been looked upon as an ‘oldie’ by most of the ‘bright-young-things’ there; but, I was accepted without question into the ranks. True, I was grandfather material to a lot of the youngsters, but I was not alone in the ‘wrinkly-brigade.’

My companion on that eventful night was a lady (by ‘our’ standards) who went by the name of Letitia du Worthy (don’t ask) a mid-forties woman from the late-sixties (you do the maths) with a mid to upper class ancestry that made Tottina Toffville from Tottington look like gutter trash (or so she told me).

Lettie (my rave name for her) and I (called by her ‘How?’ Yes, always as a question) had been gyrating our moves on the dance floor amongst the fit young things as though we didn’t care, and as though no-one was looking (though they were – and laughing). We stopped after a seasonable amount of sweat and toil and removed ourselves to the makeshift bar for a light refreshment – which turned out to consist of bottled alcohol, with tart, sugary flavourings that could only be described as… well, tart!

“Getting on a bit!” I called to Lettie above the noise.
“Speak for yourself!” She mouthed back.
“No – the time!” I explained; feeling that she knew that anyway.
“It’s nine-fifty-five!” She mimed exasperation at my lack of staying power. “I’m staying for more – off you go to Beddie-byes!”
I realised that it was much too early to leave; another half-an-hour, perhaps.
And that was when I mistakenly drank from the wrong bottle of tartness (although I didn’t immediately realise) and soon keeled over in the midst of ‘Radalalaboomthang’ or the like.
They pulled me off the floor and propped me up to the side near an air flap (so I was unreliably informed later) so that I could recover. They initially thought that I was having a heart attack (but, that was before I keeled, and was just my antiquated dance moves).

I never saw Lettie again. Nor my wallet and its contents.

When I recovered enough to leave (and after a futile search for Lettie) I left. Finding myself in the aforesaid bleak Oxfordshire countryside at 11:15pm with just my clothing and empty pockets.

Except, that is, for a folded piece of paper that I discovered with a phone number on it – one of those ‘mobile’ ones.

‘How?’ I asked myself. This was quickly replaced by the more interesting ‘Who?’ And if I had been a Douglas Adams’ creation, I would have then asked ‘Where do I go for the best breakfast this side of the Apocalypse?’ But, I wasn’t, and so I didn’t. Shame.

I pushed that number deeply back into my pocket for later; and got on with the job in hand of finding my way home.

I recalled the address where I lived rather well; though how to get there was a little less forthcoming. I decided to keep walking along this road and see where it led (which is the story of my life really). Off I went, dimly thinking that the sun would rise in the East, and I would be able to reach London by Christmas. The fact that I lived in Oxford, and wanted to reach there by breakfast being a later update to my thinking.

#dialogueforaplay – The Play Starts Here!

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#dialogueforaplay (for Radio Show)
Cast (in order of appearance – smartest first!)
Narr 1
Narr 2
Narr 3
Narr 4
Harold
Laura
Dr 1
Dr Protocol
DC Acey

SFX Murder Mystery Music

Narrator 1: The ‘Toe-in-the-Water Radio Show’ is proud to present… The Lost Camel Theatre Group, who are proudly presenting…

Narrator 2: Act 1 Scene 1 of a 1 act, 1 scene play, cunningly entitled:

Narrator 3: A Murder Is Pronounced ‘Mur-derrr!’

Narrator 4: ‘or’

Narr 1: The Old Biddy in the Library

Narr 4: ‘or’

Narr 2: Death Comes Right at the Very End

Narr 4: Or… (There is a pause) No? (A shorter pause) Anyway, whatever it is called, it all begins, takes place, and ends in the living room of Whom Manor.

Narr 1: Which is ‘grammatically’ correct

Narr 2: if not at all relevant…

Narr 3: or particularly interesting

Narr 4: Act 1, Scene 1: The action starts, as I say, in an English Country House – Whom Manor.

SFX making drinks, with clinks etc.

Harold: We seem to be out of lemons!

Laura: Really?

Harold: Yes! I wanted ‘ice and a slice’ in my drink!

Laura: Oh, Harold! If you really need a lemon I can send out.

Harold: No, Laura- if a man wants something done properly he should just get on and do it.

Laura: Really? Harold…?

Harold: Yes, Laura, what is it, old bean?

Laura: Oh! Nothing, I’ll make you a drink.(aside) It will be your last!

Laura: (hands Harold a drink) Here you go. Bottoms up!

Harold: Thanks, old sausage! (takes a large swig) Aaaaaaargh!

Narr 4: Harold keels over, then dies.

Laura: A little concoction of mine – A very stiff drink – Gin with a side order of starch!

Narr 4: A man enters the scene

Doctor 1: You called for a doctor?

Laura: No.

Dr 1: I came anyway. Is this the stiff?

Laura: Yes…

Dr 1: He’s dead!

Laura: You ‘are’ a doctor!

Dr 1: I know! I went to Doctoring School for an absolute age. It was Hell!

Laura: What are we to do?

Dr 1: I think that we should call another doctor.

Laura: Protocol?

Dr 1: Yes! Dr. Protocol!

Narr 4: Another man arrives

Dr Protocol: You called?

Dr 1: We did.

Dr P: I am here. Is this the stiff?

Dr 1: No, that’s Laura!

Laura: (miffed) Excuse me. I am suffering with shock and trauma from the loss of a close one.

Dr P: How close?

Laura: I don’t know – I have no spatial awareness.

Dr 1: What? Should we call the police?

Dr P: The ‘Police!’

Narr 4: A ‘third’ Man arrives

DC Acey: I am the police.

Laura: I thought there would be more of you.

DC Acey: I’ve been dieting.

Dr 1: Can I be called Doctor 1 now? It’s all rather confusing.

Laura: Certainly, Doctor 1 – If that is your ‘real’ name!

DC Acey: And I am DC Acey – and no puns on that or I shall have to nick you; with this penknife!

Laura: Charming!

Dr 1: Can you provide a second opinion, Dr. Protocol?

Dr P: It usually takes longer, but I shall try… he’s dead!

DC Acey: Well done! Now, I must carry out some preliminary tasks. Firstly: Hello, hello, hello!

Omnes: Hello!

DC Acey: Is this the stiff?

Dr 1: No, that’s Laura!

Laura: Really!

DC Acey: Sorry, miss, if you’d move about a bit more.

Dr P: I can say nothing more… But, I can see no cause for the deceased’s death – apart from a lack of breathing!

Laura: Are you really a doctor?

DC Acey: No, Miss, I am a Detective Constable! These two, however…

Laura: Sorry!

Dr 1: Would a knife sticking into his back be… a clue to his probable death?

Dr P: Yes – is there one?

Dr 1: No.

Narr 4: There is a lull in the proceedings while everyone considers what has happened.

DC Acey: Ummm!

Laura: Don’t you have to draw around the body now?

DC Acey: Yes – that’s a plan!

Dr. 1: Should I call an ambulance?

DC Acey: You should, yes.

Dr 1: (trying to add to the tension) But, will I?

DC Acey: Yes, you will; stop being a prat!

Laura: Doctor?

Dr 1 and Dr P and DC Acey: Yes, Laura?

Laura: Dr Protocol?

DR P: Yes, Laura?

Laura: I’ve been getting these pains in my chest – would you like to take a look?

DC Acey: I’m not sure that is a good idea!

Dr P: Why not?

DC Acey: Because Laura is hiding a secret!

Laura: I am?

SFX Dramatic Music

Laura: Yes, it’s true! I have a deep, dark secret. Nobody has realised that I am not Laura, but…

Narr 4: To be continued!

SFX Murder Mystery Music

Narr 4: That was episode 1 of Act 1, Scene 1…

Narr 3: …of a 1 act, 1 scene play, entitled…

Narr 2: The Clue is in the Questioning…

Narr 4: Or…

Narr 1: Murder is only ‘Red Rum’ reversed.

Narr 4: Or…

SD (Gradually fades out)

Narr 3: Is this a dagger I see… in me?

Narr 4: Or…

Narr 2: Where there’s a will, there’s an alibi!

Narr 4: Or…

Narr 1: Ouch!

Music to End.

#dialogueforaplay (Tweets 106-111)

hash-tag dialogueforaplay 106-111

106

PC Leaves (it’s his name) leaves.

Lady W: Do you think he suspects?

Syd: He hasn’t a clue!

Stiff: He’s not alone.

Tbc

107

Syd: Are you still alive?

Stiff: I’m ‘invincible!’

Lady W: I can see you!

Stiff: Really?

Lady W: As plain as this!

Tbc

108

The dagger gets the stiff ‘really’ dead.

Lady W: Now that ‘we’ have cleared the field, the Whom fortune is mine!

Tbc

109

Syd: Yours?

Lady W: Yes, mine, take this!

Syd: A bottle with ‘Poison!’ writ on it!

Lady W: I’m all out of knives.

Tbc

110

Syd: Do you really think I’m going to drink this?

Lady W: Not at all – that’s why I coated the bottle in poison.

Tbc

111

Syd: You…

Syd dies

Lady W: …win?

PC Leaves returns.

PC: I’m going to need a bigger notebook!

PC Leaves leaves

Tbc

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#dialogueforaplay (Tweets 91-105) The Ending is Nigh!

hash-tag dialogueforaplay 91-105

91

The PC chases doctors off stage. DCI looks bemused.

DCI: I look confused. Ergo: I am confused. I do follow. Leaves.

Tbc

92

Lady Whom, DC Acey and Laura/Laurence Protocol are left along with the stiff.

DC Acey: I don’t know about you lot.

Tbc

93

Lady W: Really!

DC Acey: I hadn’t finished – I was going to add ‘but, I’m confused!’

Laura: Well, you’re not alone!

Tbc

94

Lady W: Is he dead yet?

Laur: I’ll kick him.

DC Acey: Ouch!

Laur: He’s alive.

Lady W: I meant ‘him!’ (points)

Tbc

95

Laur kicks the stiff.

Stiff: Ouch!

Laur: He is ‘also’ alive.

Lady W launches a knife into the stiff.

Stiff: Really!

Tbc

96

Lady W: I had to do that; he’s been asking for it.

Laur: I didn’t hear him.

DC Acey: ‘And’ he ‘was’ already ‘dead!’

Tbc

97

Lady W: I just need to remove a couple of witnesses.

DC Acey: I pity them. More throwing daggers?

Lady W: Oh, yes!

Tbc

98

Laur: I think she means ‘us!’

DC Acey: Really?

Laur: I wish we’d all stop saying ‘really!’

Lady W: Your wish is…!

Tbc

99

Lady W throws 2 knives and DC Acey gets the point, Laura gets a 6-inch blade neatly between the eyes!

Lady W: Bye!

Tbc

100

Lady W: Being in the circus was excellent training for life… or for death… situations; I’m so glad I ran away!

Tbc

101

The Policemen Return.

DCI: Hello three times; what’s been going on here, then?

Lady W: Are you talking to me?

Tbc

102

DCI: Seems like you are the ‘last man standing!’

Lady W: Really!

DCI: it’s just a phrase!

PC: He’s going through!

Tbc

103

Lady W: I saw it all!

PC: You look like you’ve been around a bit!

Lady W: A masked man ran into the room and slew!

Tbc

104

DCI: Slew?

Lady W: Yes ‘slew!’ And having slewed, he ran off into the night!

PC: It’s 3:30!

Lady W: The afternoon!

Tbc

105

DCI: Constable, we are going to need some more ‘chalk’ outlines. If you can just mosey off, good lad. Don’t rush.

Tbc

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#dialogueforaplay (tweets 76-90) The Gravy Plot Thickens

hash-tag dialogueforaplay 76-90

76

DCI: It’s my opinion that the ‘perpetrator’ was known to the ‘victim’.

PC: They were married, sir.

DCI: Precisely!

Tbc

77

DCI: Constable, I want you to round up the witnesses and have them all gathered in the… here… In ten minutes.

Tbc

78

DCI: I shall now round up the ‘stiff’ and the ‘murderer’ and then we shall have one of those ‘Poirot-like’ reveals.

Tbc

79

The police leave in opposite directions. Then recross the room, leave again. The ‘stiff’ returns, resumes place.

Tbc

80

Nothing happens for a few minutes. Apart from the ‘stiff’ trying to get comfy. The phone rings. Nobody answers it.

Tbc

81

Phone stops. Dr P enters, answers the unringing phone.

Dr P: Hello… Yes… 14 ounces in a pound, no. 16! Bye!

Tbc

82

Dr P: Are you still dead?

Stiff: Me?

De P: Nobody else here.

Stiff: Dead as a Do.

Dr P: Dodo?

Stiff: Not that dead!

Tbc

83

Dr P: So, there is no victim.

Stiff: I’m teaching them a lesson.

Dr P: ‘Them’ are my family!

Dr P shoots the stiff.

Tbc

84

Dr P leaves. The Police et al return (not Dr P).

DCI: Hello, hello, hello…

Omnes: Hello!

DCI: I heard a gunshot!

Tbc

85

PC: I can see those months at Detective School weren’t wasted.

Dr 1: The dead man!

Omnes: What?

Dr1: He’s… dead!

Tbc

86

Dramatic Chords

Dr 1: No, he’s really dead. Before, he was only pretentious!

Stiff: Pretending!

Dr 1: Pretending.

Tbc

87

DCI: So, he’s ‘really’ dead?

Dr 1: Really! I should know – I am a doctor!

Dr P enters.

Dr P: No, that is not true!

Tbc

88

DCI: Not a doctor?

PC: Not ‘dead?’

Dr 1: Yes, I am not a ‘dead’ doctor.

Dr P: Nor a ‘doctor!’

Dr1: What about Nora?

Tbc

89

DCI: It seems a murder ‘may’ or ‘may not’ have occurred, I shall go to any lengths.

Dr1: Are you paid by the yard?

Tbc

90

Dr P: What about my ‘impersonating a doctor’ accusation?

DCI: I take that most seriously. Constable, arrest him!

Tbc

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#dialogueforaplay (Tweets 64-75)

hash-tag dialogueforaplay 64-75

64

Act 2 Scene1

Stage is lit. A uniformed policeman is present. The lights go out as DCI Syd of CID enters. He trips

Tbc

65

DCI: Darn!

The lights go up. DCI is on the floor with the white outline. He stands up with it. DCI: What’s this?

Tbc

66

PC: That’s the outline of the stiff’s body, sir.

DCI: Isn’t it supposed to be in chalk? PC: HSE rules! Dust hazard!

Tbc

67

DCI: Chalk dust! A hazard? You cannot be serious!

PC: Deadly, sir.

DCI: Deadly ‘serious’ or deadly ‘chalk dust’?

Tbc

68

PC: Both! We have to use chalk ‘substitute’.

DCI: It’s ‘Iron!’ Aren’t HSE worried about ‘rust!’

PC: I can’t say.

Tbc

69

DCI: You can tell me I’m a policeman.

PC: You’re a policeman!

DCI: Really! By the way; where has the stiff gone?

Tbc

70

PC: The body of the “deceased” was apprehended trying to buy a drink in the intermission. He wasn’t ‘really’ dead!

Tbc

71

DCI: Constable, let’s pretend that the ‘stiff’ is a real ‘live’ dead man for the moment. The public expects it.

Tbc

72

PC: Make a wish!

DCI: Sorry?

PC: As you wish! Tip of the Slongue.

DCI: Have you been drinking?

PC: Yes, sir, water!

Tbc

73

DC Acey enters. Sees policemen, about turns.

DCI: Have you found any clues, Constable?

PC: Only snooker ones, sir.

Tbc

74

DCI: I’ll let that rest. Where are the suspects?

PC: They were in the bar, too.

DCI: Keep it realistic, constable.

Tbc

75

An unknown lady walks in from ‘out’.

Lady: Is this the ‘Crime Scene?’

DCI: It is.

Lady: Lovely! Thanks!

She leaves.

Tbc

-/-

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