I made these pictures of Albert Levy on 2-26-2000, he was murdered in his business on 5-11-2001. You will need to Copy and Paste this address into your Browser to read the Story about the murder of my friend in this portrait, Albert Levy in front of his 50+ Year old business in Kansas City, Missouri. This was a great place to shop for "Pure Junk!" Albert was friendly and helpful to every person who stopped at his business. blogs.kansascity.com/crime_scene/2006/01/13/index.html

blogs.kansascity.com/crime_scene/files/robbery_may_be_mot...

Albert Levy in front of his "Beloved Junk Yard!" He does look like Fred Sanford in some ways, but he had much more Junk!

Staghurst Noir

Acte 3 : Arrogance

 

Inside the backseat of the speeding Rolls, Edmund resumes the conversation that his wife had cut off back at their sitting room ( see Acte 2). His wife again stops him, sure we can’t be heard she demands. Edmund points to the glass barrier behind the front seat. Reginal cannot hear a thing, unless the speaking vent is opened. Which it is , The Mistress jabs a ringed finger, close it up you fool.

 

Edmund reaches over and flicks the off switch on the speaking tube, he then turns to his wife, the papers committing My Auntie to the asylum, they are finished then? Yes Edmund, The Mistress sighs, like a parent reproving a young child.

 

Jolly good, Edmund commended; of course the old Dowager is off her rocker, trying to leaving her fortune to Err.. My Nephew I mean, Edmund stops himself before making the mistake of mentioning the name of Errol out loud again.

 

Those papers have to be filed tonight, The Mistress snaps, the Dowager plans on signing her will giving that bastard nephew of yours everything tomorrow morning. I don’t understand what possesses her to make her will out to him, after everything I have done for the old broad! Really Edmund, Errol’s father, how could you have a brother like that who would invests all his money into a bogus company that goes belly up? It was probably a good thing for him that they both died in that yachting accident before realizing their son and heir was going to be left penniless. Then Errol has the audacity to marry.. to marry a a Servant, The Mistress spits out the words like a piece of turned meat! The Mistress had now worked herself up into such a tizzy that she never noticed she was calling Edmund’s Nephew by name.

 

The Lordship nodded in agreement, not bothering to state the fact ( well known to them both) that it had been him, Edmund , advising his brother on the investment! One that Edmund knew was as crooked as a bolt of lightning, and he had also neglected to tell his brother that he ( Edmund) was not investing single red pence of his money, all the while encouraging his gullible elder brother to invest all of his share of their Father’s inheritance! Bloody shame that the rudder of their yacht would mysteriously break off during the storm, Edmund comments, with a tone of voice that almost comes across as conspiratorial, In the front seat, Reginald’s heard seems to turn back, almost as if he is listening in. Yes Edmund, The Mistress says as a malevolent grin spreads across her severe face, such a shame!

 

The Mistress carries on; it’s a good thing we share the same solicitor as the Dowager, and a better thing that he sees things the way we do!.

Do we have his money dear, Edmund asks sharply?

You Know I have it, The Mistress answers, but don’t be daft man, its safe and sound under my pillow she says with an evil gleam in her eyes, , I do not trust solicitors, or anyone of that ilk any farther than I can kick them! The solicitor will not see a bit of it until after the Dowagers will is in our name, and the Dowager is safely put away from any more harm she can possibly do us. It’s the last of our savings (meaning the last of Edmunds inheritance, for the Mistress brought only an old family name to the relationship, all her family money had gone to her (estranged) brothers).

 

Her Ladyship continues on, building up to one of her infamous tirades. That magistrate cost us a pretty pound to sign the papers committing the old broad to the asylum, we had just enough left to pay off the solicitor! We have nothing left, if we don’t stay in the Dowagers will as her only beneficiary, we will lose the estate, and be out on the street in a fortnight, and then what? I’ll tell you what she spit out her words, that Nephew of yours, and that hideous creature he calls a wife, will have the run of the place, infesting it like the vermin they both are! The Rolls makes a violent swerve, and the couple in the back are slammed against one another. The Mistress just glares at the backside of Reginald, itching to admonish him, but she did not want him to slow down for any reason.

 

Now, Reginald, unbeknownst to his employers, with help from a grateful garage owner, had the sound proof glass partition that was behind the Rolls front seat, modified, and is able to hear every word said from the backseat of the Rolls, but he always played dumb about it. One never knows what benefits may come out of being able to overhear conversations going on in the backseat, especially with the like of those two. And tonight he was receiving an earful.

 

As Reginald drives expertly through the weaving narrow streets of the city. His lordship and ladyship are scheming in the back about what they will do once Edmunds dowager aunt has been stopped from foolishly giving away her fortune to a worthless nephew.

 

Among their plans are to remodel the sitting room and her ladyships bedroom suite. As he listens, Reginald notes there are no plans to fix the leaky kitchen roofs, or cracked window s that let in the cold in the servant’s quarters. The greedy self-absorbed pair were not even going to put any money in the rundown stables, where the hounds, horses and the stable boys are always dodging pieces of crumbling walls. As Reginald’s thoughts simmer in anger, a light ahead starts to change from green and he slows down, purposefully jerking the luxury car in the process, as he approached the intersection.. Her ladyship, switching on the speaker, screams from the back for him to run it, you damn idiot!

 

Shouldn’t ma’am Reginald coolly says, this area of the city carries a bad reputation, there are always coppers about. If a street bobby sees me running it, he will have me stopped, and that will lose your ladyship and lordship a great deal more time than a minute at a light.

 

As this conversation goes on, the Rolls Royce has come to a complete stop, from the shadows of an alleyway creeps out a wizen old man, clutching a small glass bottle and some rags. He approaches and starts to wash off the dust from the rolls windshield. Don’t make eye contact her ladyship shrilly cries from the back as the old man approaches with a hand out for some reward for his feeble efforts. Not a tuppence do you give em, yells the Master, and as the light turns green, they both shout for Reginald to get a move on.

  

Giving the big car gas, Reginald tears off in a squeal of tyres, knocking the old man to the ground, causing him to drop his glass bottle of water, shattering it. The wizened old man watches them leave, his mouth moving under his breath as he utters some ancient Romanian curse to the speeding vehicle and its occupants.

 

At that moment, the dark clouds that had been slowly gathering in the sky, Part a little, and through a small hole, the light of the Evening Star struggles to show through.

************************************************************************************* Watch for Act 4 : Reprisal

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The revenge upon her would be sweet, even though it was purely theoretical.

She was the very epitome of every stuck up girl who ever passed judgment on those she refused to view as an equal. And I? I possessed the subtle skill to knock her smirking ego down a few pegs.

  

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In late spring of the year 1952, a, bank rented safety deposit lockbox, dusty from many years gone by, was opened. The box had laid unclaimed, the banks records having been destroyed during the Nazi blitzes of World War Two. When its existence became known, an attempt was made to contact the owner, whose family surname was well known in the county. The name turned out to be an alias, no such person ever existed.

 

Please read the account below to learn more about the person who was believed to have rented the strongbox, as well as what he had placed inside……….

 

**********

  

Case Study 84 :

 

Warning, these are the raw, bare unusual facts as originally recorded. Some names, times, places and some facts have been altered for obvious reasons.

Exerted from the private letters of Mr. Harley Q. circa early 1900’s.

 

Name: Harly Q. circa 19 …

 

Subject: Seemingly a rather dexterous scoundrel

 

Place: A large coastal metropolis

 

Time: A period of time in late autumn

  

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Harly’s story as related:

  

The following affair occurred during my younger days when my youth and its’ raw passions were still a strong pull on my reactions! Now, how do I start?

  

The Blonde dancing in front of me was dressed up like a movie star on a red carpet. Only about nineteen, her slinky gown created the impression of having been poured along her curvy, voluptuous figure, like shimmering liquid satin, fluidly swishing as she swirled about the massive chamber! It all made her appear far older and mature than she obviously thought she was. For some, her looks and personality may have been seen as charming and fun. “But for me personally, the only thing charming about her was the way her abundant sparkling jewellery played with the lights from the large chandeliers which held my upmost command!

  

But wait, I may be placing the carriage before the steed…….

 

Allow me to restart:

  

I had taken a long train into town with the intention of spending a few days relaxing from my previous month of hectic “professional” affairs. Rewarding myself, I located my lodging in a fancy upscale hotel situated across the street from a cavernous Ballroom, checking in for a fortnight. Since my social calendar was unusually light, with only the one high society event, a wedding that I was planning to attend the following Sabbath, at a “chapel” located in one of the cities sprawling suburbs. I spent the first day perusing the cultural calendar of the local papers, and ended up circling one or two events of interest that would be taking place later that month. I than took care of my remaining personal business, locating a reputable bank and renting out one of their lockboxes, before allowing myself some time off from my endeavors.

  

I than spent the first portion of my week taking in moving picture shows, visiting stores and hanging out at the local museums and antique shoppes. It felt great not worrying about work, although I will did admit that my mind scoped out a few prospects as I was out and about, walking amongst the great masses..

  

It was mid-week during my stay, while making my way back to the hotel suite, that I decided on a whim to pop into the Ballroom to see what it was all about. I walked into the massive lobby full of activity and wandered about, looking into the massive main ballroom, meeting rooms and various party rooms. As I was leaving I discovered a wall containing posters for all the upcoming events. One poster caught my eye. It advertised the occurrence of a Halloween Ball to take place that very weekend, Tickets still available. The Ball seemed to be the very type of party I was partial to, combining all of my favorite types of affairs, a large gathering frequented by the rich, and everyone attending would be in costume.

  

Purchasing a pair of tickets (less questions asked) I went out the very next morning scouting various shops in search of my own costume. I finally settled on a highwayman’s attire. It seemed appropriate, and the ribbon style “ masque” over my eyes set off the vacation beard that had been growing quite nicely since my last outing. On my way out to pay for the costume I spied a half off bin. On top of the pile was a phantom of the opera mask. On impulse I added it to my bundle and went to the checkout.

  

Although I really didn’t have the feeling that this concern would lead to anything, I mean, who wears good jewellery with a costume ? But a little bored by the inactivity, I was none the less growing excited about the venture. I still decided to play it cautious by setting up my usual safe guards, just in case.

  

A few blocks away from the Ballroom and my hotel suite I found a small chain style motel. Going to the desk I purchased rent for a room for the night, paying in advance. Going into the small room I laid down my purchases and headed back out to the street via a back stairwell, bypassing the registrars chambers. I headed back to my hotel suite to prepare for the evening.

  

After showering, I changed into a suit, shirt and tie. I then headed out onto the street a couple of hours before the ball was set to begin. Regaining my small quarters in the chain motel I changed into my new persona for the evening’s festivities and left via the same back door I had used earlier. I walked back to the Ballroom, getting my share of looks until I reached my destination, where I blended right in with the other arriving costumed guests.

  

I followed the stream to the ballroom proper. The main doors leading inside were large, made of a fancy scrolled oak, held open, and guarded by a pair of burly security types.

Apparently which, I soon gathered, was appearing to be the only security present for the evening’s festivities. Capital, I thought, smirking to myself as I joined my fellow guests.

  

I walk onto a landing, immediately in front of a long bannister guarding a set of wide stairs ascended downwards. I went off to one side, and paused at the railing, starting to survey with eager anticipation, the crowded room below.

  

All was quite glittering, as large chandeliers set off a spectrum of colors with any crystal or glass it touched. It especially created shimmers as it played off the colorful jewelry the lavishly costumed ladies present were wearing. Several dozen couples were dancing in front of a 17 piece orchestra, a slow dance, and many were dancing almost too close. Many more people were mingling around tables of appetizers. A large, chattering crowd was also gathered at the long oak bar that took up one whole side of the huge room. It was to the bar that I headed, to observe the merry proceedings.

  

But the Ball, as it turned out, was a bust, so to speak. Although several attempts were made to ask a number of charming (to me) ladies to add me to their dance cards, they all were, unfortunately, full. I should have suspected it would turn out this way, but I still harbored an all too familiar nagging feeling in the back of my head that something was still going to happen, call it intuition if you need to label it. So I nursed my drink, reminiscing about how I had reached this point in my then still young life…..

  

Ralph Waldo Emerson, one of my favorite poets, once said” Do not go where the path may lead, go instead where there is no path and leave a trail.”

Long before the the time I discovered this quote I found that my life’s path had already been heading that way.

  

Without boring anyone with far too many details of my rather complicated youth, I discovered while quite young that I had a certain knack for adeptness at being able to nimbly pick pockets. When I was eighteen ( having graduated high school at seventeen) and out on my own in the world, I found this skill quite useful. But it was at a wedding reception in my early twenties where I became of age, so to speak.

  

She was older than me, resplendent in a sleek black satin gown with bright white frills, long white satin gloves upon which graced a pair of diamond bracelets. She was very tipsy and would not take no for an answer when asking for a dance partner. She cornered me and before I could catch my wits, we were in a close embrace on the dance floor. I was totally mesmerized by the feel of her warm figure emitting through the sensuous satin gown. My eyes feasted upon the dazzling show put on by her flashy twin bracelets. When the exquisitely long dance ended and she moved on: I was left with a lot of pleasantly mixed feelings, I was also left with my first trophy, the Lady’s appealing necklace of pearl that I had ever so delicately sipped off her throat, using the sleekness of her satin gown to its fullest advantage.

  

I found myself enthralled with my new “hobby”, and over the course of the next couple of years sought out fancy dress affairs to better learn how to master the art of attracting and dancing with any lady I chose. Along the way I managed to accumulate quite a few trophies for my efforts. I stayed under everyone’s radar by picking out only those females who had been enthusiastically imbibing and by allowing myself to acquire only one trophy per gathering, two if the function was large enough.

  

During this period I made two discoveries: One was that most women would rather assume their jewel had been merely lost long before ever considering that they had been robbed of it. The second was that most of my collection of pretty trophies carried an equally pretty price, and could quite acceptably be turned into ready cash.

  

So, by the tender age of twenty two, my life started to lead where there had ever been but few tracks. And thus we finally come to this particular branch of my rather unique, lengthily crooked trail….

  

So, there I was, on a bar stool, alone and growing more bored by the minute, wishing something interesting would happen. I can remember thinking, as I looked over my fellow partiers about a saying that I had always found to be amusingly true. “If you want to know what God thinks of money, just look at the people he gave it to.” I don’t know who first said it, but brother, the person was right on the money. As I had witnessed for myself time and time again. So I just settled in and watched the amusing antics of the wealthy among the crowd, especially those of …“the girl!’

The girl was a stunning young blonde who was probably just fresh out of high school, with the maturity level of a grade schooler!

  

I kept catching my eye on her all evening, and once or twice, was sure she caught mine looking. But I was not watching her for the reasons she would think were mine. To her I was just some male face in the crowd, exhibiting his lust. But, the reason my eyes kept traveling upon her was for an entirely different one. I just found nothing to be more annoying than a sulky, immature young whelp who believes she is the apple of everyone’s eye, making an absolute nuisance of herself. She was running around, making silly remarks about people, sometimes to their face. Hanging out with her group of friends whom seemed to be of the same mold as my blonde, one girlfriend was even dressed appropriately enough, as a willowy witch.

  

The Blonde was dressed up like a movie star on a red carpet. Only about nineteen, her slinky gown created the impression of having been poured along her curvy voluptuous figure, like shimmering liquid satin, fluidly swishing as she bounced about the massive chamber, slipping in and out amongst the guests! It all made her appear far older and mature than she obviously thought she was. For some, her looks and personality may have been seen as charming and fun. “But for me personally, the only thing charming about her was the way her abundant sparkling jewellery played with the lights from the large chandeliers which held my command! But I had decided, as far as I could tell, that she was wearing nothing but cheap rhinestones, which like her, appeared totally fake. But, as they say, appearances can sometimes be deceiving!

   

This girl was the epitome of every condescending stuck up high society girl that probably everyone has had the misfortune to be the victim of. The girl, who mainly because of her looks, was popular with everyone like her, and had no use for those who, forever what reason they deemed, was ostracized by those of her type. In high school I knew girls like this one, and was a witness, sometime victim, to many a scene of arrogance displayed by girls like her. This one was young, too young to be acting the way she was. Her mannerisms were just a beacon, reaching out out to be taught a lesson.

  

Wallowing in my boredom, a spark began to kindle into flame deep within my brain. Determined not to let the evening be a total loss, I decided act upon it. My plan being to theoretically get revenge on all those smirking girls who tormented me during high school, by knocking this cocky little scamp down a few pegs, using the best of my abilities..

  

Now, I’m not one normally to act as judge, jury, and executioner in most situations, in my selected line of work it would be hypocritical. But obviously old wounds’ had been opened, this long haired girl scampering about reminded me of ones whom had ridiculed me, another lifetime, one that I had left behind A long time ago. The opportunity for bittersweet revenge had presented itself for the taking, and the pull to obtain a little solace by using my unique talents was far too great to resist. Talk about mixing pleasure with business I though wickedly to myself, smiling with the inviting thought.

  

Believe me, this girl would be no innocent victim, and nothing I was about to attempt would leave her with any type of lasting impression, or harm. But if I could cause her at least some considerable discomfort to ruin the rest of her evening out, it would be reward in and of itself! I again eyed her sparkling jewels with all the seriousness I would have given any I was really interested in acquiring. Although she didn’t fit my favorite pre-requisite, she certainly was not drunk on alcohol, she was merely just intoxicated in her own questionable self-esteem, which can work just as well.

  

I waited until her friends had all apparently deserted her for the evening and leaving her, quite vulnerably, alone. I walked up behind her and tapped her shoulder. She whirled facing me, her eyes going from happy expectations to a glare! “What do you want!? she snipped disdainfully”. Calmly I held her gaze, “I was hoping you would help me win a bet” I asked in what I hoped was my most wily voice. She was curious, but wary of me, “as you should be my pretty miss”, I remember thinking to myself. Her eyes sized me up and down, and I seized the moment to take in her jewels, not at all disappointed in them, but my curiosity was aroused about her necklace, I definitely needed to get a closer look to appraise them! “Why should I help you,” she practically spitted out he words like daggers.

  

“It’s this way miss, a couple of boys over at the bar bet me 50 quid that I could not get a dance with the prettiest girl here.” “Me?” she asked primping, no I confessed, I picked you, they had wanted me to dance with someone far less pretty, in my opinion.

I don’t think so; she said with a slight hint of hesitation, my card is full. Just for fifteen minutes I implored. That’s all I need (which was the truth), and Ill split my winnings with you on top of it. She finally bought it, hook line, sinker and pound signs in her adorable violet coloured eyes. Fifteen minutes she specified, before, be-grudgingly, allowing me to lead her to the dance floor.

  

Now, as I took her stiff body in my arms, I was able to satisfy my curiosity about the girl’s necklace, and it caused a dilemma to rear its thought provoking head. While she was busy looking around to make sure none of her friends saw her dancing with me, I allowed myself a couple of precious minutes to think. Her long rhinestone earrings were clip held, and an easy pick. I wanted to try for them both,( I knew how I would do it), and losing a pair of earrings would send a message that they had not just fallen away. Also, I would be suspected by her, which suited me just fine. However, my dilemma was caused by the vixen’s pretty necklace. While the rest of her plentiful jewels were cheap rhinestones as I had suspected the row of diamonds that rippled blazingly around her throat were in fact, the real McCoy. So, which should I go for? The necklace would be profitable and easy but she may just suspect its clasp had broken. The earrings would be just for a sporty trophy, not worth anything but for the knowledge that she would know she had been a victim. Ah, life’s precious little quandaries!

  

So, I continued with the dance, my partner still rigid, so very true to her character. Then, with five minutes left, I made up my mind on what she would not be leaving the ball still wearing. She was a charmer, this disdainful one. Her stiff figure was warm to the touch, underneath the scintillating slippery gown. The show her sparkling jewels produced was most pleasing to the eye. All in all quite a pretty portrait, a shame it was that I was not allowed to appreciate it. Which was fine by me! I was able to concentrate freely on the task at hand. I looked around, the coast was still clear. Then eyeing for one last time her mesmerizingly swaying long earrings and the flickering diamonds that graced her pretty little throat, I executed my move..

  

By the time the final five minutes were up I had the selected jewelry in my pocket without even the slightest notice from my unwilling dance partner. Then, fifteen minutes to the second (good thing I had been keeping track of the time) she broke it off. “Thank you”, I said, to which she mumbled, “my money, sir!” I told her I had to collect it, and would meet her by the ladies powder room. I left her waiting, smiling inwardly to myself at the empty space from which the missing jewelry was glaringly gone from her.

  

She had no doubt that I would be back with her money, was I not merely like one of her household servants, who routinely, without question or error, existed to do her bidding. It would be a major jolt to her system when she realized I was not coming obediently back to her. I had no doubt she would spend some time searching me out for her money once she realized I was not coming back forthwith, with the intention of lecturing me on how I should act around my betters. So I knew that her immediate attention would be elsewhere upon realizing I was tardy, and that it would take quite a bit of time before she recieved a second shock of an altogether different sort.

  

I left with my prize, walking past the two guards with such a carefree air that even they would never have suspected that I could possibly have been up to any mischief. I made good time getting back to the dingy motel room. Changed out of my costume and back into the shirt and tie I had worn. The highwayman costume, which had served me well, I rolled in a bundle under my arm, I again left by the back stairwell and retraced my earlier steps, whistling, back to the suite in the hotel. Along the way the costume was stuffed unceremoniously into a handy trash bin. My little operation had been a complete success. The evening was after all, not going to be a total loss.

  

Back in my suite I stowed the newly acquired jewels the girl had worn into one of my many secret hiding spots. There they would be safe until I could convey it to my banks lockbox on Monday. As I finished I, spied the phantom of the opera mask lying discarded on top of a table. A shame it would not be used….

 

A thought washed over me that would not be denied! Risky, but it would make my evening complete. I quickly shaved off the thin beard, and restyled my hair. I changed from my suit into my tux and tails. Scooping up the phantom mask I headed back to the costume ball. Placing the mask on before entering, I presented my second ticket( not very often did the opportunity arise to use both of the pair of tickets I customarily purchased!) I walked past the two security types without a second glance from them, they absolutely did not recognize me, which meant I had passed that test. My objective now was to try and catch the second half of the show; namely the shimmering liquid satin gowned brats squawking reaction when she first discovered her jewels were gone.

  

I regained a bar seat just in time.

  

She did not disappoint!

  

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Epilogue

 

When, in the presence of both bank and county officials, the strong box was opened, it was found to contain a fairly large collection of the Kings currency, equaling roughly £500 , and a selection unmatched jewelry, rings, single earrings, bracelets, and necklaces, worth a almost £3.000. Also inside was small a bundle of papers. The papers, old and yellowed, appeared to contain the partial handwritten journals of a certain Mr. Harly Q___ , esq. The papers were examined, but gave no clues to who Harley was, or to his current whereabouts. But the journals presented clues as to Harly’s nature, and as a consequence the money and jewels were considered stolen goods and handed over to the authorities. No one knows what became of them, as for the papers, they were handed over to a relative of one of the government officials, and also, for a period of time, lost.

 

The journal was rediscovered amongst the personal files of the late Professor Sedwig Dermitt phd, llc.a dex,

Recovered, restored, and now kept in the human behavioral archives of the criminology dept, Chatwick U.

  

Courtesy of Chatwick University Archives

 

This is a house in the Village of Ashton, Northamptonshire. The village was created in 1900 by the Rothschild family, one of the wealthiest in the land. All the houses were created in a similar style, thatched and of the same stone, it is pretty much a model village.

Except..... to me it all feels a little wrong and a little Stepford, gardens are perfect they even have the same coloured doors and windows and wheeled garden sheds in the same pastel shades.

Other facts about Stepford (I mean Ashton).

1.The International Conker Championships are held here.

2.Clarke Gable was stationed at Polebrook, part of the same Estate

3. Most of the houses can still be rented from the Estate

4. Chas and Dave used to hang out in the Pub on the green here.

5. A gruesome Double Murder occured in this building in October 1950, a husband and wife were claw hammered to death, the crime was never solved

Anatomy of a Jewel Thief

Retour à la maison

Chatwick’s Chronicles :

A Persistent Saga

Intro

Anatomy

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The study below was derived from facts uncovered while doing research for the following Doctoral dissertation:

Light to the shadows of their mind:

Criminal tactics and strategies

Criminology Department .

Chatwick University

Case Study 48

Anatomy of a Jewel Thief

Retour à la maison

Chatwick’s Chronicles: A Retelling

 

I have not always been this way; at one time as a young adult I had morals, principles, no idea that I was going to eventually follow a life’s path that was anything but on the straight and narrow.

 

Butt, I cannot now make any apologies for what I have become.

 

To be quite blunt, I cannot do so( apologize that is), because I believe the desire to steal a Lady’s jewels is now as much a part of my make as any of me senses. I quite simply cannot, and choose not, to resist the urge to acquire gems in the methods I have chosen! Any more than one feels, after giving into the urge to smell a pretty rose, the desire to pluck it for themselves , and sees no logical reason to resist!

  

And, truth be told, it is not so much the actual stealing( I didn’t need the money) that’s me lure, but more the sport it offers. The challenge, much like a chess player, trying to outguess an unwary opponent’s moves. Better yet An unseen Harlequin from an old medieval play, watching from the wings. Observing the game being played with living pieces, sometimes even secretly guiding the pieces with his own hand, waiting to make his own bold move that will hold a queen( or princess) in a certain position on the board, captured long enough to acquire that of hers which has sparkled ever so brightly upon her. That is what I find to be the adventure in it.

  

It is the obsessive, yes almost erotic , savoring of her jewels, much like one would simply fawn over the paintings of old masters in an art gallery, that is my passion! But, instead of ( some) art galleries, I get me fix by attending the lavish receptions, ballroom dances, and other posh avenues where the frills of the filthy rich can be both admired, appreciated and appraised.

 

There is just something all so very inviting as one watches the ladies whom haunt these venues dressed up to their silky nines and sporting their flashy lures … A certain panache that makes their mistresses beautiful and desirable beyond all reason, and I think most chaps would agree with me on this in principle, but quite understandably, not necessarily for the same motives that are mine.

 

And then, once one has had their fill drinking in all that beauty, the glass is put down, for the game is finally afoot;

 

Contemplating over the situation, the problematic puzzle of challenges that need to be plotted; selection, planning, execution, and undetected escape.

 

All are phases of my game , all are just as stimulating, just as alluring and invigorating. So much so, that once it has all been carried out, and the prize is in hand and secreted away, the actual aftermath is actually quite anticlimactic. And so, like some pleasant craving, the urge washes over one again with the quite overwhelming feeling to start all anew. Something like a painter with a fresh white canvas, standing back as he imagines what he can make of it, his raw talents on edge, awaiting inspiration, just eager to start with the first brush strokes that which will become his next masterpiece.

 

So that is what I have become, why I am, my destiny, my desire, my devilishly roguish lot in life.

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Coming next:

How it all began for me :

 

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She had never had interviewed anyone quite like this one, even Angelica!

 

She was in the twilight of a doctoral thesis that had been in the works for almost three years now. The research she was doing centered on career criminals, trying to pinpoint in her studies of how they operated, trying to establish motives that may have been compelling enough for them to have lived the lives they did. Her conjectures were that by understanding their thought processes, a series of tests could be developed that could be used on younger subjects to determine their rehabilitation attainment perspective.

  

She had interviewed dozens of career criminals from assorted paths in life. Most of whom had been hardened ,elderly, and had paid their dues, or were in the process of doing so( Prison). It had not been an easy time of it, a rough road of hurt, treachery and deceit, running the gauntlet from muggers, to pickpockets, to burglars, to various other thieves. Gathering information from them, weeding fact from fiction through checking histories, deciding whether or not to use what she had gathered it in her research , testing the results and writing them up! The last 3 years had certainly been a rollercoaster ride, a whirlwind of activity, number crunching, and pages upon pages of notes.

 

Then, amongst all this controlled chaos of her work He had come into her life.

 

This One had been different. He had contacted her, never revealing exactly why, or how He had heard of her and her project. She had gone into it blind, not knowing anything about the man, what he did, or really even if it was at all relevant to her research. She had only the subjects assurance, through an intermediary( A Priest), that it would be to her benefit to interview him.

  

She remembered clearly the evening of their first encounter; it had almost seemed ominous when she and her companion had pulled up to the address given to her. It was an old lime stoned church, with gothic overlays, the stone darkened black with age. All it needed was a group of villagers with torches and pitchforks to make the picture complete, her friend had joked, but she had not found it funny.

  

She had gone inside with some reservation, it all seemed too much like something out of a film noir bit of theatre. She remembered thinking that thought just before opening one of the old oak doors to the church, one of her earrings had been pulling a wisp of her hair, and she had stopped to fix it. At First they did not see anyone in the candlelit nave of the church. Than from the shadows at the back, a figure detached, approaching them.

  

Now, since she had already made plans to go out that evening when abruptly informed of the time of meeting she had been trying to coordinate with him, she decided to kill 2 birds with a single stone. She convinced her date to act as chaperone, and then they would leave after the interview for their night out clubbing. She had thought nothing of wearing her favorite party dress to the interview. It was a pretty thing, a russet velvet top and bronze taffeta skirt. She had even worn her good jewelry, gold with inset pearls, wearing her long hair down, but tied back so the long earrings of the set could dangle freely.

  

Later that evening, as she had gotten ready for bed, she had looked herself over in the long mirror, It was a very pretty dress, she had to admit, and it looked good on her. She started to fix her hair for the night, looking at her naked earlobes, she could still fell her pretty earrings that had been dangling there as she had entered the church. If only she had been more aware of the most peculiar nature of the Man waiting inside the church to be interviewed by her, she thought ruefully , as she had played over in her mind, the events of the evening……!

 

Staghurst Noir

For Actes 5 and 6, we go back in time a bit before the ending of ACTE 4 with its startled Constable.

 

Acte 5: Devilishness

 

About 15 minutes before Reginald’s head meets a tyre iron, The Lord Edmund and The Mistress met with a bit of mis-adventure each of their own:

 

The wealthy couple from Staghurst slowly make their way down the long, dank, dark, fog filled alley way. Garbage bins, mostly full and foul smelling, line the cobblestone path. Occasionally rats are disturbed from their scavenging, scampering out of sight down holes. They had gone in about 50 feet in when The Mistress spies a movement in the shadows ahead!

 

Come along Edmund, The Mistress directs as she carefully makes her way along the littered path, I can see the tarts shadow just up ahead. She yells out( her voice echoes down the narrow alley), Don’t think I cannot see you cowering there by those cans you filthy thief, come out and give me back my bracelet! Sure enough, a shadow stirs and detaches itself from behind a trash bin, then a second shadow materializes from behind the first. The Lord and The Mistress are by this time close enough to discern that neither of the two shadowy figures are female.

 

Well, well Josey, looks like sum’un is out for a bit of trick an treating now, are they?, the first shadow states to his companion. Both step out fully from the shadows, and in the dim pool of light from the now visible full moon, their features now can be discerned. A pair of young men, both having the same slightly slanted eyes of the Gypsy girl. The first, slightly older lad of about 22, has a thin beard, dark brown eyes, and the frame of a person who has done some rather hard labor, with the tough expression on his face seeming to back up that assertion. He is wearing a brown turtleneck, black leather vest, and black canvas military style trousers. He pushes back a brown drivers cap that covers his longish, raggled black hair, and speaks directly to The Mistress, sorry mum, aint got nothing like treats, may have to do a trick on you instead. Aintint that right Josey, he looks back at the second youth.

 

The second youth, about 18 years, is dressed in the same type of clothes as the other, except he is wearing a black beret on his head, his hair hanging down in back in a long ponetail. He is shorter than the other, by a good head, which placed him at eye level with Edmund and The Mistress. Josey says nothing, but just stares up at The Mistress, her sparkling jewelry reflected in his dark eyes.

 

The Mistress finally finds her tongue, and begins to wield it in the only fashion she knows how. Look here you young scoundrels, I have no business with the likes of you, it’s the girl I want, and I want her in front of me right now! she stamps her foot in emphasis, so go get her, and be quick about it!

 

Weel now mum, the older one says, what you be wanting with this girl, then? She has me bracelet, The Mistress screeches, and I aim to have it back now! Is it really worth you bothering this girl over a bit of costume jewelry Mum, he asks, leering at The Mistress, and moves a good foot closer? That bracelet is valuable and worth a great deal young man, I’ll have you know! And know this also, I wouldn’t be caught dead wearing anything rhinestone, she spits out the words in triumph tipping up her chin as she does so, her earrings swinging around expensively in sparkling arcs.

 

Well now mum, why dinja just say so, here, let me take you to her, she is just hiding her terrified little self-down here aways . He turns and begins to walk down deeper into the alley. Both The Mistress and Edmund start to follow. Josey, who has until now stood pat, holds up Edmund as he passes. Unhand me sir, Edmund sputters, and both The Mistress and the tall gypsy turn around to face them. Now Guvner, the older gypsy says, you had better wait her with Josey, if all off use come up on this girl you says has yer mums bracelet, she may be frightened off.

 

Stay Edmund, The mistress commands, sounding like she is ordering about one of the Manor’s dogs. We will be right back, she adds, never for a second thinking that she wasn’t going to have her way as usual. The Mistress and the older Gypsy in the brown cap turn and make their way up the alley. The Mistress, breathing heavily as she imagines what she will say and do to that young female tramp when she finds her, fails to hear the noises that come from where Edmund an Josey are standing, noises sound very much like someone’s voice being cut off and muffled.

 

Edmund watches the two disappear into the shadows, then turning to the one called Josey, he jumps, the youth had vanished. Say, where did he go , Edmund asks himself slowly, then, thinking he is free, Hesitates, it doesn’t feel right disobeying his wife’s order, then he shakes his head, balderdash he mumbles, and starts off after her.

 

But no sooner does her start off then a hand clamps an oily rag around his mouth. He struggles, trying to protest, but the youthful Josey is no match for Edmund, and he drags the Lord of Stag Hurst unceremoniously behind a dumpster.

 

Shoving the rag deeper into Edmunds mouth, Josey covers the gag with a strip of smelly cloth. Then, producing a long knife, holds it to his Lordships chin, while his other hand searches the tuxedos coat and pants pockets, removing their contents. Trying to protest through his gag, Josey whips off Edmund’s scarf, then the youth dart around him. And Edmund feels his tuxedo’s jacket being peeled off. The youth reappears, and using his knife, plucks off each of the onyx buttons off of Edmunds silken shirt, and removes his matching cufflinks, then, after removing the satin cummerbund, he takes his thin, extremely sharp knife, and cuts the suspenders Edmund is wearing, and lets the tux’s trousers fall to his Lordships’ feet.

 

Josey looks over his handwork, he grins up into the bulging eyes of the enraged Lord, and grins, then darts around back and Edmund feels his shirt pulled off, and the cool breeze against his bare chest. Suddenly he is grabbed from behind, Edmund is thrown onto a pile of old rags, smelling of rotten fish. Three rats scurry from the pile, running over his Lordships stomach. Thrashing about, Edmund feels his shoes and pants pulled off the rest of the way, as two more rats appear and run up his legs, over his stomach and landing on top of his face, finally scurry off.

 

At this, poor Edmund, who’s constitution is already fragile due to a week heart, faints dead away. His last, irrational thought, as he falls off into unconsciousness, is that he hopes his wife won’t be too hard on the Gypsy girl when she finds her…..

 

End of Acte 5, Watch for Acte 6 ( Retribution) coming soon

 

Acte 6 Retribution

Sub titled : Just Desserts

 

Still back in time before the Police Constables disconcerting discovery, we rejoin the small party in the alleyway. Sir Edmund had just fallen faint on the pile of alleyway rubbish where he ended up after his rather unfortunate misadventure with the Gypsy youth called Josey, who hiself his sneaking back up in the shadows. . Lord Edmund’s wife, The Mistress , unawares of her Husband’s fate, is still being led by Josey’s older companion deeper into the shadows of the very same Alley.

  

The now impatient Mistress found herself being led about 25 feet further down the darkened alleyway from where they had left Josey and her husband, the Lord Edmund. Suddenly the tall bearded Gypsy youth stopped, turned, and led her down into deserted court yard, surrounded by backsides of tall, empty looking brick buildings. The place reeked of old garbage , stale beer, and worse smells best left undescribed. The scurrying feet of tiny rodents could be heard , but not seen, in the dim light.

  

Well, where’s the girl!, the Mistress demands, looking around at the barren courtyard, failing to see anyone else around.

  

Well mum you see, that’s the bit of a trick I was tellin you bouts, and from his waistband they Gypsy lad draws a long knife, its blade gleaming wickedly as it is caught by the Moon lite just now peeping through the parting dark clouds.

Put that thing down young man, and get me the girl, The Mistress shrilly commands him, unfazed by the blade, not truly understanding what is taking place( the curse of a privileged, overprotected childhood).

  

Silence, the young gypsy bellows, spitting the words in her face, then leaning in whispers evilly into her ear, his lips moving her shiny dangling earring…lets have that purse now mum. Finally The Mistress realizes the Gypsy lads intent.

 

Now, never in her life has anything like that ever been dared tried on her, and an even newer, at first unrecognizable feeling is felt, as dread washes over her, making her cower before the youth, no older than her husband’s stable boy, Tim, who had felt her strap earlier that morning. A surrendering moan escapes her lips, no she states, never!. Unheeding her commands, The purse she is holding is callously wrenched from her slippery gloved fingers grasp. She just stares at him, unable to find her tongue as he opens the small purse with its rhinestone clasp, and looks through it, lifting up a ring of keys with rising interest.

  

At this time the gypsy girl appears out of the shadows behind The Mistress, wearing the sparkling diamonded bracelet, and nonchalantly swinging the gold watch by its chain as she holds its gold fob, coming around she is smiling mischievously at the Mistress, who straightens up as she catches sight of the imp.

  

The Mistress, loses any vestige of her panic, and in anger and rounds upon the girl as she stands mockingly in front of her. Why you thieving harlot, The Mistress hisses, attempting to smack the girl, who jumps just out of reach. Suddenly The Mistress words are cut off with a meek squeak as the point of the lad’s very sharp knife is pressed under her chin, forcing The Mistress to raise her head, effectively shutting her up. Apologize The Gypsy male snarls wickedly in The Mistress ear, apologies now, tell her you are quite sorry Mum…!

  

The Mistress stands frozen, a stern look upon her puckish face, her lips pursed in defiance, even with the knife pressing threateningly under her chin. Teach you some manners I will he hisses again, as he raises his hand, slapping her on the cheek, the Mistress’s dangling earrings fire bright glittering salvo as her head is whipped to the side, the point of the knife opening a thin scratch along her chin, which quickly wells up with crimson blood.

  

She turns her face forward, facing the pair of young hooligans, glaring at their insolence to someone of her high stature. She is stubbornly holding her ground, all feelings of distress replaced by arrogance and superiority. Well now, the Gypsy Lad says to the Smirking Gypsy girl, as he points the knife in between The Mistress’s breasts, its prickling point effectively quelling any more feelings of retribution. Looks like what words she won’t give to you, will have to be given in some other manner. The Mistress listens, confused by his words, then what he says next, makes his attentions all too crystal clear.

  

For lack of an apology my girl, he says to the petit gypsy lass, let’s say we accept some other compensation, shall we? The young girl beams, as her eyes dart to the Mistress, looking her up and down , eyeing the gemmed jewelry the Mistress is wearing, sparkles of which are reflected in her coy doe wide dark green eyes.

  

The mistress still mute with rage, her hands clenched, her arms rigid at her side as she looks into the Gypsy male’s stern eyes, as he moves his knife up, once again pressing up into her chin. Suddenly, her arms are grabbed by a pair of strong hands and pulled behind her back. Ello, took your sweet time about it, the Gypsy youth holding the knife says to the unseen newcomer. No names are said, and whoever is now holding her remains mute, but the Mistress assumed it was the one called Josey. The Mistress tries turning her head, put is prevented by the knife. Where’s my Edmund, she manages to squeak out the words, but receives no satisfaction.

  

The Gypsy lad holding the knife reaches out his free hand, grinning! Leave me alone, the Mistress orders him, trying admonish him into obedience, bur the gypsy boy just smirks as he methodically , briskly gropes along her body, admiring and inventorying her plentiful jewels, opening her sable, and the satin Bolero, as he checks her over for anything hidden from view. He misses nothing, even her hair is carefully raked through, undoing the braided bun in the process as a diamonded clip is pulled off and handed to the gypsy lass. Her ladyship, shirking back from his touch, now begins to whimper, no, not my jewels! He reaches up, his eyes bugging, as his hand snakes up between her ample breasts and lifts her necklace, admiring it as she tries to shake her head no, but is unable to do so because of the knife. She tries to say more, but the words of discipline stay dry in her throat, choking her as she realizes, finally, the futility of her predicament. The Gypsy boy then nods to the girl, handing her the purse, the honor is yours he says….

  

The young girl taking the open silver clutch purse, smirking, her eyes ablaze with delight, reaches up her free hand and takes hold of the necklace, pretty thing this, she says sweetly, mimicking her earlier words. She pulls the necklace from around the Mistress throat so the clasp comes forward, then nimbly she flicks it open with the fingers of one hand, and pulls it , swishing freely along the satiny fabric, until it falls from the gowns’ neckline. Thank you mum, the Gypsy girl whispers as she places it inside the purse, and reaching up touches a dangling earring, I’ll have those next she says, almost like she is talking her herself, and yanks off both, one after the other. She than gets into her work, and soon the Gypsy girl’s invading fingers friskily finish stripping the Mistress quite clean of all her shimmering, expensively large collection of jewels; rings, bracelet, brooches, the entire glittery roster. It had all been carried out like some bizarre rendition of reverse trick and treating, with the Gypsy girl peeling away and placing the jewels into The Mistress purse. When she finishes, the Gypsy girl steps back, looking with interest inside the now bulging purse, now containing a small fortune, quite unseen for the likes of them who inhabit this rea of the great city.

  

Suddenly The Mistress’s hands are let go, and before she can properly react, male hands briskly grab and slips off the sable from her back. Then the satin bolero is also peeled off and she sees both passed to the waiting hand of the gypsy girl. Still held in her place by the point of the Gypsy’s knife,The Mistress’s eyes grow big with dread, as she feels the back of her long slick gown being unzipped, and allowed to fall freely down to her feet, piling up in a shimmering pool.

This exposes the long, luxurious purple slip she is wearing, complete with small rhinestones decorating its straps and bodice. As the Mistress is standing there, frozen in awe struck disbelief , the knife is taken from her chin, and used to slice each of the rhinestone slips straps, and the mistress grabs the top of the now free hanging slip, and holds if fast to her chest in an effort to preserve whatever remained of her quickly waning dignity.

  

The Mistress tries to find words of protest, but she is too unbelieving that she , a lady who considers herself to be far superior to common folk of their ilk, is absolutely dumbfounded that they are daring to treat her like this, fails to be able to give any words their proper voice.

  

The older gypsy lad holding the knife steps back. Now he says, shouldn’t leave a lady standing, and he points his knife to a stack of crates. She stands there glaring. Move it on now mum, he suggests , his voice carries with it a with mocking tone of fake obedience. The Mistress unwillingly does so, and moving to a crate, sits down, the smell of something rotten permeates her nostrils as she faces her aggressor. The other two have seemingly, cowardly, disappeared somewhere into the shadows she notices with thoughts of righteousness.

  

The Gypsy lad mocks her, there, cannt say we didint leave you nufing, eh mum.( indicating her slip, gloves and high heels)! And by the ways, apology accepted he added sarcastically, mimicking a curt bow.

  

Then almost immediately her eyes are blindfolded from behind ( they hadn’t run after all) with something made of cloth that reeks of decaying meat, and she hears the pratfalls of several pairs of feet running off. And then, all is silent, except for the beating of The Mistress heart from a mixture of rage and incredulity.

  

As all is once again quiet around her, and believing she is now alone, The Mistress continues holding up her slip with one hand, while with the other reaches in back, groping for the blindfold. Suddenly her whole being jolts as something furry with sharp claws runs over her feet, and a noise, not quite a scream, but close, gurgles from The Mistress’s dry throat.

  

Ere now, the mistress hears the voice of an old lady, , whose there? , no rat by the sound of things, she continues on, approaching. What have we here, the old lady says to herself, a damsel in distress by the look of things, whit no dress, and she cackles at her bit of humor. Her dearie, lets get you up and The Mistress feels a pair of cold hands helping her shakenly to her feet.

  

Then her ladyship feels those hands, not giving her aid, but quite the opposite, as cold fingers began going over her. Then, with a dry cackle, and the old hags words reach the Mistress ears, left you with nothing dearie but a shiny slip, too bad, but old Chizzy will check anyways. The Mistress balks as the pair of cold hands grope her figure, the second time that evening! The Mistress recoils, knowing the old hag is looking for anything of value, when quite unexpectedly the Hags hands shoot up into the Mistress underarms, and The Mistress raises her arms automatically as nerves are pressed, and the slip falls down her figure gathering into a slithering heap at her feet. The Mistress tries to protest, her hands going to her blindfold, but she is pushed, and falls over the crate into a pile of cold ashes. Each of Her hands are lifted and she feels her long satin opera gloves pulled off, and then her high heeled shoes are yanked from her feet before she can begin to offer any type of resistance..

  

Thenk you dearie! the Hags voice close enough now that the Mistress can smell the wispy oders of whiskey and old pipe, as it reaches her nostrils. Old Chizzy thenks ye, for your contributions this evening, Honey. The Mistress hears the old hags cackling laugh as ‘Chizzy” makes her get away with the last of the Mistress’s pretty possessions.

  

For a few minutes all is again silent, The Mistress lays upon the pile of asses, dazed by what has befallen her, but then, the cesspool like orders from the garbage surrounding the ash pile start to overwhelm her making the Mistress snap back into the cold reality of her situation.

  

It was then, that , for the second time, the sound of shuffling feet is again heard approaching, and the Mistress tenses up, now expecting more ill fortune, not that she really had anything left of value to lose.. But then a familiar voice, Edmund’s, calls out. Dear, where are you? The Mistress tries to answer, but, her voice dry and choked has trouble making words. Finally she does manage to call out to her husband, but her voice is noticeably missing its’ usual sharpness.

  

Edmund comes to her aid and helps her up. After he undoes the blindfold, she finds herself looking into his questioning eyes, and she actually hugs him. Edmund, startled at the long forgotten display of affection, finds that it takes him a few seconds to regain himself. Hear, cants having you catch your death of cold, he says, almost lovingly. He helps The Mistress find coverings from the piles of old trash in the form of a couple of rough sacks of old, mildewing burlap.

  

Hair disheveled, streaks of dirt and ash covering their figures that are covered with dirty, rancid rags they make their way down the alley, to where they believe their car and chauffer are still waiting. Edmund and the Mistress are both a smelly, reeking mess, moving slowly as their bare feet hobble tortuously along the cobblestone path. But as they make their way, The Mistress tells Edmund what had conspired. As she does, The Mistress feels more of her old self returning, and begins to chastise the three gypsy youths, and how she will make them pay for their rude indiscretions’. Edmund is in total agreement.

  

As they make it back to the alleys’ entrance, a figure appears out of the mist. The Mistress squeals in startled shock at the dark figure standing at the end of the alleyway, she grabs Edmund and pulls him in front of her as one would a shield.

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As the dark figure peers into the alleyways entrance, he suddenly see’s two shadowy forms emerge from the misty pool of light given off from the relit street lamp. The pair is both tottering like being quite intoxicated, smelling like something a rat would have dragged out of the garbage, faces streaked with ashes and muck, barely half dressed. Suddenly, spying him, one of the figures makes a quick move, placing the other in front.

  

At that moment the figure raises his hand and suddenly the night’s silence is completely shattered by the shrill wails of his street constable’s police whistle.

 

End of Acte 6,

 

Watch for the final two actes of this woeful saga;

Acte 7 (Harbinger) and Acte 8 (Footfalls - including the obligatory Epilogue), coming soon….

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Staghurst Noir

Just Desserts

A Prologue… of sorts:

Dickenson, Poe, Doyle and a bevy of other Victorian era Authors like to play on the stigma that the wealthy are often times arrogant, rude and for the most part, out of touch with the realities faced by most of us. Thus the wealthy were often portrayed in their tales with a quite stunningly bad light as their capers were recorded.

 

It has been mostly said they did this because their readers,( mostly poorer , common laborers) liked to hear of the wealthy’s misfortunes because it made them feel better about their own standing in life.

 

But, truth be told, most of the Victorian era tragedies of the wealthy were not entirely fiction. Because the antics of the very wealthy of those long ago periods could be both at times, incredibly rude, and often quite unbelievable, with more than enough fodder for untold series of tales.

 

The following tale, set sometime in the early to mid 1900’s, is not quite Victorian. Nor does it reflect on all wealthy personages, most of whom we are quite sure treat their poorer fellow beings in anything but a civilized and caring manner, both with respect and dignity of the upmost caliber!

 

But there are always exceptions; and this tale, being one of them, is certainly a peek in the window, a brief study if you will, of the how some of those well-born’s are capable of their own calibre of villainy…..

 

The tale told below is pretty much based on fact, skeletons dragged from a long shut closet.

The names, places and era have been clouded, so please do not associate these events with any known personages, living or recently deceased.

 

We could not have made a story like this up, and have actually toned down the more brutal of its aspects.

We do ask that anyone who has a quite sensitive nature, please not read on any further. For those of you who do choose to read on, please prepare yourself for some rather rude pleasantries ……

 

So here goes it…….

 

Staghurst Noir

Acte 1: Impetuous

 

It sits broodingly upon the hill it commands.

The large manor house named Staghurst, a giant gothic structure with an imposing view of the moors that are spread out below the valley over which it regally presides. Its many stone turrets are as much foreboding and sinister looking as the great Manors’ current mistress, a lady known for her abominable temper and incredibly violent short fuse.

To match the mood of this tale of woe, it should start out on a gloomy, fog-filled day, as the weather quite commonly is on the moors.

But as it happens, our tale starts on one of those rare, pleasant, cheery sun filled afternoons.

Our first Acte opens inside Staghurst, up in the North tower.

 

A pretty mid-teens woman wearing a prim starched black uniform with a frilly white apron, her long hair held up under a regulation white cap, is making her way up the long curved double wide mahogany stairway to the Master and Mistress’s Master Bedrooms, with its adjoining sitting room. She is carefully carrying a freshly laundered, rather gorgeous, purple satin gown, still warm from the iron. On the servant’s face is an expression of deep dread.

 

As the downstairs servant ( Fanny) finally reached the second landing, she stops to catch her breath, and her wits, before entering the open double doors of the Lord and Mistress’s sitting room. Now, in other great houses, some servants would refer to their employers as His Lord, and Her Ladyship, but not the servants of Staghurst, where there is little sign of respect or reverence. Those feelings are unknown, erased away by fear and intimidation.

 

Fanny cautiously opens the door and feels relief wash over her. She was supposed to have had the gown in the sitting room 20 minutes ago. So she is relieved to see that neither of em, Lord or Mistress, are present. Which means to her that she has escaped a flogging this time, and also it means she can begin spewing immediately the gossip news from downstairs that’s “ bin welling up inside her”.

 

A young teen servant, Maggie, wearing the same uniform as Fanny, is seated at the large vanity across the room, her back to the door. As the door opens, she had flinched, then looking up, is thankful to see reflected in the mirror that it is Fanny entering. Maggie turns away from the oak side board where she had been diligently cleaning an extensive, glittering array, of fine jewelry, and admonishes Fanny. Look here girl, if the Mistress, , had been her to see you bringing the laundry up late again… She doesn’t finish her sentence, watching as Fanny places a hand to her back( and the freshly scarred tissue that lies there underneath her uniform), both know what the outcome would have been for not doing a proper job of their duties.

 

Careful Maggie, Fanny warns, that’s what I wanted to tell you, she whispers quickly as she lays out the gown most carefully out over a fainting sofa, lest she causes a wrinkle in the delicately expensive fabric. Fanny addressed the upstairs maid Maggie by her name, something she would not have been permitted to do if the mistress had been there hovering. Fanny continues on, catching her breath before spilling it all out to Maggie:

 

The Mistress is in in a fouler mood than usual, Fanny states, watching with question as Maggie flinches. This morning her horse stepped on her heel and both the poor beast and Lord Edmunds’ stable boy, Tim, who had been holding the horse, received a most thorough thrashing from her crop.

 

Maggie flinched, she was sweet on Tim, but the Ladyship frowned upon such nonsense between servants, so it was a secret to most.

 

“Then at lunch, at lunch Fanny continues, Mistress threw a banger at cook because it wasn’t to her liken, an don’t even ask me to repeat what she said to the Masters butler when he tried standing up for cook”, she catches her breath, “why I’ll be going to confession for just hearing them!. Fanny watched as Molly’s eyes started to brim over with tears, not understanding fully why.

 

Better get yer self-going Fanny, Maggie Warned, don’t let Mistress catch ye up here! Fanny quieted her tongue, but not before one last warning; Make sure the ladyships jewels are cleaned perfectly to er liken, you know how she likes to flaunt, especially at this evenings ball for the Dowager.

 

Maggie watched as her fellow servant left to the room, then sighed deeply, wiping her eyes dry, before she resumes her work.

 

Maggie felt bad for poor Tim, like as not, the Mistress had pulled too hard on the horse’s bridal, causing it pain, making it stamp its hoof. But then all things said, she knew how poor Tim felt. Maggie placed a hand to the welt on her check. She had received it this morning when the Mistress back handedly slapped her servant when the tortoise shell comb Maggie was using on The Mistress’s hair, caught a knot, Pullin it. She looks up at the closing door, shuddering as she awaits for her employer to return.

 

Closing the door behind her, Fanny starts to bustled her way back to work in the kitchen, taking the backstairs, it would not do well for her be seen upstairs by the Mistress as she was coming up to prepare for her evening out at the Ball.

 

But Fanny was not quite quick enough, as she made her way from the sitting room doorway. She fails to hear her employers muffled footsteps reaching the carpeted landing of the main stairs. The Mistress and The Lordship turned the corner, and like a mouse caught stealing cheese, Fanny froze in her tracks, as they spot her.

 

Here now, whatcha you doing you little tramp, The Mistress screeches, and pounces like a hissing cat upon the mousy Fanny ( for the record, house cats avoid living in the manor, yet there is little evidence of mice being around either, an enigma that has not gone unnoticed by the household servants.) Wasting yer time gossiping are you! and The Mistress raises a hand and strikes Fanny across the face. The sound of flesh upon flesh echo’s down the back stairwell. As she is struck, Fanny turns away, and the Mistress kicks the poor servant with the pointed toe of a riding boot, causing the servant to lose her footing. Get out of my sight, The Mistress yells, as Fanny tumbles helplessly down the uncarpeted wood stairs like some lifeless rag doll

 

Without even looking to see how hurt the servant is, the Mistress resumes her conversation with her husband Edmund, The Lordship, as they enter the sitting room. You there! The Mistress yells at Maggie, what have I told you about talking to the downstairs servants instead of doing your work. Keep it up missy, and you will have more of the same punishment that I gave you a taste of this morning. Now draw my bath, The Mistress gave a smart swat on the back of the servants head, as Maggie rose and tried to scurry past.

******

Watch for Act 2 Vile

************************************************************************************

 

Staghurst Noir

Acte 4: Reprisal

The Mistress flicks on the speaker, how much further man!

 

Almost out of this area ma’am, the Chauffer tells The Mistress, relief in his voice, as he thinks to himself that this was certainly not a good idea, to be motoring around in this area of the city! He continues on after a brief pause, then we will have some open road and I can make up for any time lost by red lights. Capital, the master says from the back, while The Mistress just lets out a snort. She then grab Edmund’s arm, soon we will realize all our dreams and be wealthy beyond all reason she hisses opportunely.

 

But, No sooner do the words leave her mouth, than with a loud bang, a back tyre of the Rolls Royce bursts, and the large car is brought to a hobbled stop. No one notices the shadowy figure darting from behind a bobby’s patrol box and slipping back into an alleyway across the street.

 

The chauffer gets out examining the damage. It’s a flat, Lordship, he states to his passengers, I will have to get the spare. It will go quicker with less weight on the back tyres he tells the couple in the back seat.

 

The Lordship and the Mistress begrudgingly come out of the back.

What caused it, Reginald? A bit of a shard of green glass, lodged in the tyre Sir! From that street tramps bottle no doubt, The Mistress snaps. Reginald said nothing, knowing that the bottle had been of clear glass, not green.

 

Hurry up then The Mistress shrilly shrieks, then she starts in on Edmund and how this is all his fault. Reginald looks at the bicker couple. Hurry, she says, he mumbles under his breath. The Mistress doesn’t have to be worrying about me hurrying the job, not with us being stranded in the worst part of the city, and with er dolled up the way she is. He glances at The Mistress standing on the sidewalk as he unfastens the flat, discern fully taking in account ,all of her shimmering opulence,

 

Opulence was an understatement, Reginal thought to himself, his eyes playing over the Pair ( and his were not the only ones!)The tailored long purple satin gown The Mistress is wearing, tightly cut to show off her still quite pleasant figure, shimmers as it is bathed in the dim light of a nearby flickering gas lamp. The ¼ sleeved gown covers her ample breasts, and falls spilling down to where it swishes about the spiked heels, dyed to match the gowns coloure perfectly. Over the gown she is wearing a matching bolero style satin jacket, with rhinestones running up each side and around the jackets collar. This shimmering ensemble is all peeking out from the long white sable cape she is wearing, though it is not all that cold this time of year, The Mistress is wearing it only to flaunt it about, much like her jewels.

 

From underneath the capes diamonded clasp hangs a part of those jewels ; the magnificent necklace, shimmering with 3 descending tiers of sapphires and diamonds. The Mistress’s long hair is up, held by a thin Tierra of brite diamonds. From her ears swing long glittering earrings, the gems and design matching her necklace. Wrapped around each of her svelte wrist are wide bracelets of diamonds, 5 rows wide, the middle row of each holding a string of diamonds a full 5 Carets . Slipped on 4 slender claw like fingers are rings, two of diamonds, two of Sapphires and Diamonds, all are rather large, probably a total of 10 carets in gems each. There was more value in pound notes in her jewelry than an average family living in these slums would see in a lifetime, he reckoned.

 

Reginald shakes his head, still mumbling, words to the effect that her he was, with a wealthy lady standing on the curb in this neighborhood, carrying around a small of fortune of jewels a she was, it would not be long before… but he never finishes the statement, for at that moment a petite figure detaches herself from the shadows of the alleyway directly behind the wealthy couple….

 

It was a young girl no older than the servant Maggie, dressed like a gypsy, a colourefully long silken l tiered skirt, white full sleeved blouse, and several silk scarves. Her slightly slanted, intelligent eyes were a brite green, flicking back and forth, taking in everything as she moved with an almost feline grace.

 

‘Ello Guvner, she said, slinking up behind The Lordship Edmund. Both the Lordship and The Mistress jump, stopping their bickering to take on this new threat. Reginald just ignores the action, working quickly to fix the roll’s tyre, figuring that at least he should be able to make a quick get-away if need be.

 

The girl wraps an arm around Edmunds waist, giggling, she swirls around in front of him, lifting up his bow tie. Wotcher yor doing in this parts, my pretty man, she teases, her voice seductively appealing. Edmunds face changes several shades of red. The Mistress moves in, and grabbing the young girl’s hand like she would a servant, pulls her briskly away from the rather awe struck Edmund. Look ere Missy, The Mistress screeches as the girl looks into her eyes. The Mistress notices that, unlike her servants, the young gypsy is not showing any fear, only a type of wry amusement. Look ere now, The Mistress says again, you getca your tarty ass out of here, and back into the hellish place you came from!

 

The Gypsy girl just smiles, looking at The Mistress like she had just said something profoundly canny, as she takes her free hand and pats the wrist of the hand holding hers tightly, Sorry Mum, didn’t mean no harm innit. The gypsy’s words and her cool demeanor, combined to let out a bit of steam from The Mistress’s rage. She lets go of the Gypsy girl’s hand, just leave us be, The mistress hisses. The Gypsy girl smiles wide, pats The Mistress on her backside, purring the words, will do so mum, but she dosen’t start to move, instead she darts her now free hand inside the mistress sable, and reaching up to the Mistress’s throat, lifts up the necklace. Pretty thing this me Lady, she smarms her words as her eyes meet and capture the Mistress‘s budging eyes . The young gypsy drops the necklace, and saunters off and goes back down the dark alleyway, with the Lord Edmund and The Mistress watching her, open mouthed, both rather in rage and shock at impertinence they had just witnessed.

 

Edmund looks at his wife, pulling a handkerchief from his waist coat, and wiping his reddened face with it. Of all the impudence Edmund, The Mistress says to him, er parents should have taught that one some manners, and if we were’nt in such a hurry, I would have done so Meself! Edmund just shakes his head in agreement, stuffing his silken handkerchief back into his waist coat pocket, he reached for his gold pocket watch to see how much time they have lost, but feels nothing but air. Wait, he stammers, my watch, the tramp, she lifted my watch his lordship utters in disbelief. The Mistress clucks at him, probably dropped off in the car after the last time you checked it, Edmund, you are always losing things!

 

She waves her hand under his nose, while she chastises him. The she suddenly looks at her bare wrist, shrieking, my bracelet, its gone. Me diamonds, The filthy tart has em! Edmund, go get it back. Edmund turns and begins to slowly, reluctantly, move towards the dark entrance to the alleyway where the thief had vanished. Move on you poor excuse for a man, The Mistress takes his arm, and pulls him along, I’ll go with you to make sure you do the job proper, she snarls, enraged that someone would have the audacity to steal her jewels from right under her nose, especially some filthy vagrant that looked no different than one of er idiot servants!

 

They both turn the corner, disappearing down the alleyway where the gypsy girl had vanished.

 

Reginald had looked up, watching them leave, shaking his head, but giving no voice to warning. He fails to notice the shadowy figure creeping along from the alley way on the opposite side of the road that slips behind the call box directly across from the Rolls. .

 

10 minutes later, as Reginald finishes with the tyre. He looks towards the alley for his still absent lord and mistress. He decides that he probably should drive off to get help, and makes for the driver’s seat. Suddenly he is coshed over the head with a tyre iron,and falls lifeless to the ground. A shadowy figure pushes him in the back, and getting behind the wheel, carefully drives off down the quickly smog filling avenue.

 

As the great car turned down a far corner, all was silent along the now deserted street and it’s walkways. A wind blew down through, swirling the fog, rustling leaves and bits of rubbish about, the only signs of movement.

 

But then, in the distance, a figure shuffles from around the opposite corner from where the stolen Rolls Royce had turned. The figure is wearing a uniform of the local constable, who is coming to one end of his nightly beat. Checking doors, relighting lamps, he slowly moves down the block, eventually passing the alleyway where the Gypsy girl had lured the wealthy Lord and Mistress of Staghurst manor.

 

He walks about five paces past the alley, when he suddenly stops, turns tail and walks back to its black entrance. As he peers curiously down its murky depths, something startles him, and he places a whistle to his lips…..

 

End of Acte 4, Watch for Acte 5 coming soon

 

Acte 2 : Vile

 

Later that afternoon in the same upstairs sitting room Maggie had been cleaning jewels:

The Lord and Mistress are preparing for an evening out, the occasion being Edmunds’ elderly Aunties ( the Dowager) annual Anniversary Ball.

**

Edmund! The Mistress snapped to her husband from across the room as the butler was tying her husband’s bowtie. The butlers face grew stern, and Maggie, who was holding up the ends of a diamond pendent she was getting ready to place around her ladyships throat, looked up in the mirror to see what the Lordships reaction was going to be.

 

Edmund looked up, and looking in the mirror also, could see his wife’s puckishly stern reflection..

 

Neither Edmund nor his wife looked at the pair of servants attending them, as far as both were concerned, they were the only 2 proper people in the room. Maggie, the Butler, and the rest of the household staff may just as well have been nothing more than whispering shadows on the walls, the way it should be with servants, as the Mistress was found of declaring!

 

Edmund! Quit your dawdling, we have to get to the Dowagers’ Ball early, so we can hand over the papers to our solicitor. You’ve finished it than? Edmund commented, the papers comm… he stops, catching a look from his wife.

Jolly good, he said, stopping himself, then Edmund tries to change the course of the conversation by asking; Do you think that bit of rubbish who calls himself my Nephew, will have the audacity to show his face tonight, you know, Erroll I mean?

 

The Mistress shudders then snaps, how many times Edmund, have I told you not to mention your nephews name herein tis house, nor Elisa, that Noer -do -Well commoner wife of his!

 

Right Dearest, sorry, The lordship apologizes. The poor chap hasn’t a farthing to his name anymore anyways, don’t see how likely it tis he will be there. But The Mistress is not listening, she is picking up the pendent, inspecting it. Look at this ere, there are smudges on it! She pulls off the pendent, snatching it from Maggie’s hands, and throwing it back inside her jewel casket.

 

She looks up in the mirror, her eyes afire as she glares into Maggie’s reflection, Maggie cringes back, I’ll teach you later missy, about gossiping instead of working! The sapphires then, The Mistress demands, and they ‘ad better be cleaner, the Mistress threatens to the reflection of Maggie in the mirror. She doesn’t say another word to Maggie, who pulls the string of gems, glittering fire, from the drawer of the jewel casket. Maggie knows that The Mistress will be busy thinking of some punishment to be dealt out later, she shivers at the thought.

 

The Mistress inspects the sapphires approvingly, then carries on her conversation with Edmund; We won’t have a farthing left either anymore, she states, not unless we inherit the Dowagers fortune in a timely manner. The Mistress is wearing a simpering grin, a look that Maggie knew and hated all too well.

 

Edmund looks wearily at his wife, we can sell your jewels dear, it was your spending good money buying them that helped put us in this predicament. Her Ladyship darts a look of wicked daggers at Edmund, and Maggie cringes, as she finishes placing her Ladyships sparkling jeweled Sapphire Necklace around her throat. Her Ladyship looks at the finished process, her matched set of jewellery, set with plentiful sapphires and diamonds reflecting brilliantly in the mirror, bright sparkling bursts that are almost blinding. Don’t ever say that again Edmund, The Mistress admonishes, me jewels are the only things around here that really matter to me at all!

 

Maggie nervously snorts, then catches herself, but it was much too late. Everyone freezes as the Mistress slowly turns to look Maggie in the eye. The Mistress has fire in her expression, and poor Maggie melts back as all eyes are upon her. The Mistress takes air, and then lets Maggie have it. You ungrateful little bitch’s whelp, the Mistress shrieks, teach you to act cheeky , and raising her arm, she backhands Maggie across the cheek, her large fancy rings carving deep scratches on Maggie’s face, as they cut in like the claw marks from some insanely provoked feline, leaving streaks that soon are dripping blood. Maggie grasps her cheek, and falls to the floor, weeping.

 

Her ladyship, all too pleased with herself, rises and Edmund , busily adjusting his fine scarf made of rare Byssus, turns quickly to her, and helps her on with her long sable cape, and the pair turns to leave. The Butler starting to give Maggie aid, thinks better of it, and hurries to open the door for his employers.

 

The Mistress turns to the butler as they leave. Make sure the chauffer is there now, I don’t want to lose a second of time!. Then she looks back at the crumpled form of Maggie, and get that thing out of here, let her sleep with the swine tonight. Looks like we will be hiring 2 new ones now that that insolent parlor maid has gone and broken er legs falling down the stairs, The mistress snaps almost cheerfully to Edmund.

 

Meanwhile the Butler hustles off down the back stairway. The Mistress yells at Maggie from the doorway without turning back, You there, get any blood on my stuff Missy, and there will be hell to pay. She grins evilly, pleased at her parting shot, and turns to join her waiting husband.

 

Though tear filled eyes, and holding a hand to her damaged, unbearably smarting cheek to stop the blood, Maggie watches them go, the conversation that had just taken place replaying in her mind.

 

Maggie had had a worried look upon her face as was listening to the conversation for the last few minutes. Her mind had ben wandering as she had mechanically gone through the motions of dressing the Mistress, and so she had not had her wits fully about her when she had snorted at the Mistress’s vulgar comments.

 

Maggie knew the old Dowager Aunt really had a fondness for kindly Errol, even though he had been disowned by the Lord, based on The Mistress’s desire for punishing Errol, primarily for having the audacity to marry out of his station. Maggie knew that if Errol could somehow regain his fortunes, he would be able to buy the estate and reclaim the family title.

 

And as for his wife, Elisa, Maggie just simply adored her. Pretty, soft spoken Elisa was a deprived orphan, who had been employed at the estate as a lowly kitchen maid. Her and Maggie were great friends. Errol had met Elisa when he lost control of his horse ( whom The Mistress had swatted earlier in the day with her crop), the runaway horse had entered the pens where Elisa was feeding scraps to the hogs, and had knocked her down. It was love at first sight, as Errol jumped from his steed and helped poor Elisa to her feet.

 

Maggie shakily rose and walked over to the window, watching as her master and mistress made their way outside to the vintage Silver Ghost Rolls Royce, with the Chauffer (Reginald) standing smartly beside it. With all of the poor creatures pitying heart, Maggie wished on the just rising evening star that something would happen, knowing the odds were decidedly against such an occurrence. Maggie grimaced as her cheek continued to throb, wishes only came true for the wealthy, and everyone knew that! And the dark clouds that were looming in the sky, moved in and covered all the stars.

 

The Rolls heads down the hill, leaving Staghurst behind. Inside The Mistress is giving orders to the chauffer in commandingly clipped words, speaking through a tube set in the glass privacy panel that separates the chauffeur’s front seat from those of his passengers. She is telling him that time is of the essence, and in order to get there as soon as possible he needs to cut through the city. The chauffeur tries to argue that the fastest way is through the roughest sections of town, but he is cut off abruptly, The ladyship yelling as she taps on the glass panel for emphasis, I don’t care you turd, just do whatever it takes. She steals a look at Edmund, who pipes in, look ere Reginald, back talk The ladyship one more time and you will be out on the street!

 

Reginald, his teeth grinding, steps on the gas, and the powerful engine whines as he takes the fork in the road leading into the city…..

******************

Watch for Act 3 : Arrogance

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Vaudeville Games

A villainous study in 2 actes.

Acte 2

  

Soon the “Grandmother came walking out from the corridor (sans mink), rubbing her finger along her nose, the “granddaughter” noticed the sign rose from her chair, leaving her dejeweled friend playing happily with the boa, while she slinked cunningly off. The two met inconspicuously in front of the back corner and began whispering together in a conspirator like manner as they looked around, something in the corridor must have given the devious “Grandmother” and idea for some sort of fresh opportunity and they were looking for someone to try it out on! I think I spotted it before they did, but not by much, as I saw them both start looking in the same direction that I had been.

  

The grandmother went first, heading over to the bar and asked for a glass of wine, which I noticed she no more than sipped at as she watched the “Granddaughters” Progress. The “granddaughter “ then slowly moved out on her own course, zeroing in on a small group of 10 mid- teenagers, playing a game of hopscotch on the floor tiles in a far corner between my table and the restrooms.

  

Four of the group were suit clad boys, nothing they possessed would be of interest to her. However, the other six would fit her objective, being that they, all girls dressed in glossy attire, were wearing the “good stuff”. Four were exhibiting jewelry of glittering rhinestones, number 5 was adorned with a rather pricey display of gold glistening from her shiny green taffeta clad figure, and the 6th…. Ahh, but the 6th one was quite the exception, and the one I knew was in the granddaughter’s” devious sight. She was pretty, a doe eyed ginger haired doll faced lass, a bit older (an immature 17?) than her playmates, resplendent in a expensively long gown of pleated purple silk, with a seed pearled pattern sewn into the gown’s bodice. She was wearing long satin gloves dyes perfectly to match her gown, and holding in her slippery grasp a small fat satin clutch purse of the same hue. She was adorned with a fine matching display of costly white pearls that went well with her gown and darker completion. Her attractive jewelry dangled ever so invitingly with a pure white gleam; a double rope necklace, matching earrings, and bracelet. Her long plait of soft blonde hair was intertwined with a rope of pearled silver. She also was in possession of a single, remarkably fancy ring, an adult’s pinky cocktail ring that fit snugly along her index finger, it was set with a single large oval Japanese sea pearl surrounded by a row sparkling diamond chips.

  

The “Granddaughter” quite understandably zeroed in on young Miss purple silk, quickly attaining her friendship. I noticed that both girls were about the same height and physique, an observation that would hit home to me later on. The “Granddaughter” started chatting up her new friend up royally as they watched the others play, each one admiring the others glittering trinkets. I had been wondering what the “Granddaughter” had up her shiny satin sleeve; as I saw her and her friend in the appealingly fluttering purple silk gown, start to walk a little way off, unnoticed by all but one of her playmates, the green taffeta clad girl who was watching with interest.

  

I had lost track of the “Grandmother” so it was with a start that I noticed her coming out of the Ladies room, and when she spied the “Granddaughter” and her friend, and she causally waltzed over. I could tell that the “Granddaughter” was putting on the act that she the “Grandmother” was just as much a stranger to her, as the older lady was to her new friend, or should I now more appropriately be calling her next victim instead of a new friend!

  

The “Grandmother” chatted with the two young girls, asking them questions, making them feel comfortable around her. She admired their clothing, and Miss purple silk happily showed of the gown she was wearing with it’s fancy seed pearl decoration. I saw that the “Granddaughter” had been watching the girl in green taffeta, and as soon as the youngster’s attention was focused elsewhere, the “Granddaughter” did a most peculiar thing, she reached up, and undoing her own necklace, slipped it off out of sight in a pocket of her skirt. As she did, I saw the “Grandmother” who had been apparently waiting for the sign, made an excuse like she had to be somewhere, and left the pretty pair of young ladies.

  

I watched, with some curiosity I will freely admit; as the “Grandmother” walked briskly back up along the wall towards the hidden corridor. She had almost reached the corridors entrance when I happened to look back to the “Granddaughter” just as she began to feel her throat, putting on an act about her now missing necklace. . Miss purple silk had begun to look around on the floor, when the “Granddaughter” grabbed her arm and pointed towards” The Grandmother”! I could tell that she was telling Miss purple silk that the older lady had somehow taken it, and was getting away. This was just as “Grandmother “disappeared around the corner, it had been timed perfectly, giving me an odd impression that this wasn’t a new trick they were pulling . The “Granddaughter” quickly scurried off after her. Following right behind the “Granddaughter”, in a flurry of shimmering jewels, purple silk and satin, the 17 year old followed her new friend, concern spreading across her pretty face.

  

The pair made it to the end, disappeared down the corridor, unnoticed by anyone but me. I decided to wait this latest bit of skullduggery by the two female con artists out. I reckoned that the worst thing that could physically happen to miss purple silk was her hands being pinned behind her back as the “Grandmother” nimbly run her fingers up and down the teen’s slippery gown locating and stripping the young lady of her pricey pearls, or minute prickling’s as her ring and earrings were removed! I was positively sure that the light-fingered pair was after nothing more from their victim, otherwise I would have had to intervene at once!

  

The methods the two female thieves had been employing were not by any means close to my way of doing things by any measure, and deucedly to steal from any female under twenty was not my cup of tea atoll! So, the situation now being what it was, I decided to wait and watch, trying to time it just right before rescuing Miss purple satin, deducing that it may prove more profitable to me in the long run to hold me horses.

  

I had, by my timepiece, been waiting almost 15 minutes when, strangely enough, a figure looked around from the corner. It was the “Granddaughter”! What was she up to now ,I thought, as I saw her inch back along the wall, looking back to the group still happily playing off in their corner. I saw her eyes following the girl in green taffeta with the dangling, shiny gold jewelry. She couldn’t be contemplating what I thought she was, not with the bird the pair already had in hand, it absolutely made no sense!

  

But just then it was announced that the cake cutting would be commencing, and the children playing hop scotch all scampered off to join the moving crowd that was gathering at the far end of the cavernous room. The “Granddaughter “watched as whatever opportunity she had in mind, slipped out of reach from her ringed fingers,

  

The “Granddaughter”, a clear look of displeasure creeping into her eyes, walked back to the spot where she had first encountered the group of children. As she watched the festivities, I could tell her eyes her checking out the now deserted tables. She spied the boa still on its chair, and slowly made her way towards it.

  

The “Grandmother” then appeared from around the corner and looking for the “Granddaughter” spied her and questioningly caught her eye. The “granddaughter”, looked at the “Grandmother” as her hand laid upon the feathery boa, looked around and shrugged. The “Grandmother” nodded back, signaling that it was time to shove off then. The “Granddaughter” picked up the Boa, (probably with the idea to make the same use of it at some other function) and started to move her way out. I started to rise, time to get into action, but at that moment I saw the “Grandmother’s” head snap up, looking over at the crowd where the cake was being cut. The “Granddaughter” looked over also, as I followed suit.

  

A lady in a swishing long black gown had been bent over talking to the young girl wearing the emerald green taffeta gown and glistening gold chains. The girl had pointed towards the play area, then spotting the “granddaughter” had pointed her out. She had now straightened and departed away from the flocking crowd of cake watchers, heading our way, alone and obviously looking for someone.

  

She was a rather a quite attractive wealthy lady of not more than 20 years of age. She was clad in a long black A-line gown of shiny liquid satin, that literally appeared to be poured down over her rather nicely endowed figure, shimmering quite appealingly from all points of interest as she gracefully moved , her long gown swirling around in step. The gown fell swishing down to her green satin spiked heeled feet, fluttering in motion around them as she walked ever closer to unrealized peril. A real corker, this lassie was. But it was not her slinky satin gown that had caught the thieves’ attention, but the quite copious display of dazzling white diamond jewelry flickering along her slickly shiny black satin clad figure that warranted the drooling, desirous looks.

  

The Siren, a green eyed beauty with flowing locks of naturally red hair, made her way towards the back area, looking about her in earnest. I saw the pair of mischievous watchers pass a sign, and as the “Grandmother” disappeared in wait back down the passage, the “Granddaughter” moved off, and standing by the lady’s powder room, watched and waited like a cat will a mouse scurrying about, diligently waiting to pounce! Her prey made it to the area where the hopscotch game had been played, and it was then that the “granddaughter” approached her. If she hadn’t, I probably would have.

  

As she had walked over I took the opportunity to scrutinize her abundant display of jewels. A long silver necklace shimmered with diamonds set in a grape leaf pattern that fell to a v hanging down just over her gown’s top, that covered her fine “clivage”. Long sparkling earrings, patterned after her necklace, flickered fire as they swung to and fro. Hanging from the wide strip of rippled sash like material around her waist area of her black gown, swayed a leaf shaped silver brooch set with diamond chips. She wore long black satin gloves, around each wrist were twin wide fiery diamond bracelets, while from 3 fingers, 2 on the right, one on the left, were glistening cocktail rings of diamond and emeralds, not a sign of an engagement ring or wedding band. She was wearing a short button less jacket of midnight black satin, with ¾ sleeves over her bare shoulders. On the left side of the jacket was pinned a clip in the shape of a pouncing cat. With green emeralds for its feline slanted eyes, and its entire figure encrusted with glittery diamond stones and chips, it was an incredibly beautiful piece of work, probably Tiffanies, definitely valuable!

  

All in all it was a very heathy display of what a few hundred thousand grand of loose change ( to one of her ilk) can buy. The” Grandmother” and her blonde “Granddaughter” had hit the jackpot with this one, if they were able to lure her off. I took a quick look around, ladies like her usually always travelled in pairs, especially if they were wandering off somewhere, but this young darling apparently had missed that memo. Being alone, and wearing jewelry of that caliber, made her just that much more vulnerable to pickpockets, thieves and such, even at wedding receptions!

  

I could now overhear wisps of conversation. Apparently the siren was looking for her kid sister, and from the description, it appeared to be non-other than the pearl wearing miss purple silk, who had fallen ever so rudely into the thieves’ clutches and had been lured away to some hidden corner to fates unknown.

  

The “Granddaughter” her large blue eyes wide with concern, pointed in the direction of the corridor. The young miss in black satin put a hand to her chest, jewels flashing, falling for it, hook, line and soon to be diamond-less figure. I watched with some self-centered interest as the pair made their way off, soon disappearing around the corner with a silent disappearing swish of her gown, unnoticed by anyone but me, and the girl in emerald green taffeta who I also had seen watching the activity. I kept my eye on her, feeling some anxiety that she would be the fly in the ointment, but she soon turned her shiny young back to it, losing interest, in order to join the line for cake. I breathed a sigh of relief, the game was still afoot for me. I decided to wait now that the coast was clear, wait to give the pair enough time to start in on their new victim. It was imperative that I catch them in the act with no doubts as to their evil intentions if my plan was to work to my ultimate benefit!

  

Wait about 10 minutes , I figured, before someone should probably investigate, I kenw the pair would not waste any more precious time, their clock was ticking out fast. But as I reached that conclusion, a lady, splendidly clad in a long dress of maroon silken lace, passed by the corridor, heading off to a lady’s powder room as she wiped a bit of cake from her front. Things could wait little longer if necessary I told myself.

  

I got up and headed over to where the Ladies powder room was located. Beside the powder room was a small alcove with an old phone hanging on the wall for personal calls. I pretended to be on it, watching the doorway. Mere minutes later I heard it open and at the first sign of the silken lace dress, I put up the phone and lumbered out, plowing right into her as she exited. I got a whiff of sweet perfumed as her long hair flew into my face as I grasped her warm figure to keep her from toppling. I successfully scared the living daylights out of her! Her eyes wide with embarrassment as I apologized profusely, slipping my hand along her sensuous figure with the ruse of steadying her as I made sure she was okay, my fingers finding their pretty objective. The entire episode lasted mere seconds before I was off and on my way, leaving behind me in my wake the flustered lass tying to recollect her wits. I smiled to myself, my hand in a pocket, releasing from my grasp the plucked diamond brooch that had taunted me when I first detected it brightly glimmering as it dangled loosely down from its very pick able perch on Miss silken lace’s lovely tightfitting gown as she had strolled by the fateful corridor.

  

I had spotted it early on, a far too valuable piece to try for under normal circumstances, but then, present circumstances were now anything but normal, now weren’t they? But now I had it now, the easily $75,000 piece was comfortably slumming it with the now cold bracelet (a mere $25,000) also residing in the same pocket. Time to get back to work I now told me self, my mind buzzing with high hopes of success.

  

I than walked over to where I had two of my security guards located by one of the many exits. I nodded to Pete, one of the men I had handpicked for this job ( all of them selected due to their lack of attentiveness, and lack of common sense) , I whispered something to him, explaining the situation, and he followed me over to the entrance of the corridor., leaving the other one to continue guarding the door, not that it was doing much good, it was the same door that the “Grandmother” and “Granddaughter” had brazenly strolled through unchallenged!

  

The corridor was long, with a pair of closets on either side., ending in a set of stairs, about 6, leading down to a landing with yet another door; this was not to a closet, but to a workroom with an outside exit. I had made a careful study of the building and its exits the day before. When we reached the workroom door, I slowly turning the handle, then flung it open and we thrusted our way inside, pistols drawn.

  

The” Grandmother” and the “Granddaughter” were just finishing tying up their second victim, the siren in the black satin gown, to a chair; she had been gagged with dirty rags, her brite green eyes looked at us wide with fear. The sister was also tied to a chair across the room, and blindfolded, neither seemed to have been maltreated., other than the fact the younger sister was clad only in a long purple satin slip. The pair of female thieves also looked up at us startled, frozen in step. I looked them over, then I looked over at the tied up lady, and her sister, there was no sign of any jewelry, which is what I was hoping for. I had timed it perfectly, I smirked to meself.

  

“So what’s been goin on here then? “ I asked, knowing full well what had been “goin on” just by the looks of things before my eyes.

  

I identified myself in my official capacity, as head of security for the function, and had the “Grandmother” and her “Granddaughter” line up against the wall, and told Pete to hold his pistol on them.

  

I went over and removed the gag from Black satin, she was shakin something awful. I told her to be still, and untied her bindings. She rose shakily as I helped her stand, falling onto me, and then huggin me as she wept. I patted her, relishing in the incredible softness of her gown that prettily was draped along her warm figure. It’s all right now my dear, I said soothingly, as I comforted her , making sure at the same time that she wasn’t holding out on anything. She pulled away, “my sister” she said, looking straight at me, blasting me with the gaze of wide green eyes.

  

Go untie her I suggested, and in a swishing of her gown, she moved swiftly over to the unfortunate lass. We all watched, not a word spoken, as miss purple silk was freed from her bindings, and the blindfold removed. Both sisters than embraced, a quite touching sight, the older sister took off her shiny black jacket, and placed it over the other’s shivering shoulders. I was happy that I had been able interfere before the thieves had taken anymore advantages, but, before things started calming down, and words started to be said from the two victims, I knew that I would have to take command of the situation.

  

I beckoned to Peter. “Ere Pete, take these ladies outside and have them go to their people, and use the phone by the rest rooms to call the local police in, then report back here.” “I will wait her with these two buggers.” Pete nodded obediently, unquestioningly, which is why I usually call upon him when the situations requires a bit of, how should I say it, delicate maneuvering. As they all left, I backed up to the door and wedged it from the inside, surprised that these two against the wall had not taken the very same precautions.

  

“All right ladies, I want each of you in turn to approach the table and put the goods on the it” ,I commanded in no uncertain words! “What do you mean?” growled the “Grandmother”? “Come on sister “I responded, “people are talking, seems that some of the youn’uns are missen their jewels!” As the pair of them started to balk and protest, I waved my pistol, “trust me ladies, you don’t want me search ‘in for it.”

  

The “Granddaughter” approached the table first, and tossed down upon it the small purple silk purse, it landed with a quite satisfyingly heavy plop, I inwardly smiled. She went back to her position on the wall, and I indicated for the “Grandmother to approach next. She came up, a snarling look upon her face, quite different than the look of simpering kindness she had been given her victims.” Hurry it up now” I said, and watched as she reached twice deep into her skirt, came out holding a pile of shimmery jewels and another of glistening pearls in her cupped hand, and laid it on the table. Then as they both were back at the wall, looking at me, wonderingly. I snapped “Turn around” I said, “I don’t want to see your thieving mugs,” and they did, defiantly.

  

Without changing my expression, I opened the purse, and dumped out its glittering contents, then carefully, but quickly, studied the gleaming piles . it was all there I reckoned, and most certainly the pieces of it I was interested in. I walked over to the work bench, picked up the high-backed chair the girl had been tied to, and walked it back with one hand, turned it around and sat on it backwards, my pistol, pointing at the backside pair of female thieves, resting my hand on the chairs high backside. Using my left hand I began placing the jewelry back into the purse, or at least my pair of captive thieves’ thought that was what I was doing with it!

  

When I finished with that business at hand, I looked around, saw the mink, boa, purple silk gown and matching gloves, all piled on the floor by the stairs leading to the outside exit. I was wondering what the function was that the “Granddaughter” had been planning to wear the purloined purple silk gown to, for I harbored no doubts that was why they stripped it off from their victim! I said nothing more, nor did the pair against the wall, though I caught them stealing questioning looks to each other.

  

Pete returned, knocking on the door, I backed up and removing the wedge, let him in. I told him to watch the pair, and left the room, leaving the purse on the table, I told Pete I was checking to make sure things were calm, to tell my other guards what was going on, and wait for the local police inspector to arrive.

  

When the coppers did finally arrive, a full about 40 minutes later , tardy as usual, it quelling the frazzled guests considerably. I welcomed them and led them to the workroom. We entered, and there was Pete, all tied up and gagged, with no sign of either the “Grandmother” or “Granddaughter”! The mink, boa, purple silk gown, and the gowns’ matching clutch purse(containing the cheapest of the jewels), had all gone away with the fleeing pair! The miscreants had taken it all, along with Pete’s pistol (which was later found outside, empty), and had scampered to off some hiding hole.

  

The cops, not the least bit happy with the situation, (but rental cops, in their opinion, are rarely a competent breed anyway), took down our statements, and those of the victims as well. They then left, waiting until then to place out an all-points bulletin on the suspects(which suited me fine, give them even more time to disappear). Everything soon settled down as best as could be under the circumstances. The final 2 hours of the reception went off without a hitch. But, giving the fact that the “flock” was a bit skittish now, it would ‘ave been difficult for anyone to make any further attempts at “shearing”em of their opulent jewels anyhows.

 

I drove home hours afterwards, my mind abuzz with what had transpired, trying to make it all clear to me how to best approach the opportunities that had quite literally fallen into my hands.

 

That night, sleep was hardly, me friend.

 

******

Epilogues, of sorts:

  

6 weeks later, in a large city about 2 states away, the young lady who had been wearing the emerald green taffeta gown with glimmering gold chains in the tale told above, was now in attendance at a wedding for the daughter of one of her papa’s fellow congressmen. Her mother had encased her daughter in an expensive silk dress of soft ocean blue for the occasion, telling her she needed to be on her best behavior, and not to be under her Father’s foot for the occasion!

  

While nestled in the receiving line, behind her parents, the young lady had felt the slightest of tugs at the back of her dress. A minute later she discovered that the bib pearl necklace that had been her great aunts, had fallen away from her throat and was missing. A hurried 15 minutes looking around the church for it, had failed to come across it, and she was scolded for being so neglectful in losing such a valuable piece, and also for causing her Father a bit of embarrassment in the process.

  

Then at the wedding reception, the girl, already on the alert, spotted the very same slinky purple gown with the seed pearled bodice and matching gloves that she had seen a girl wearing a few weeks earlier. The girl whom had had been pulled in a back room and had been mugged!

  

She studied the girl now wearing it, even with her blonde hair dyed black, she was recognizable as the girl who had been one of the thieves at that reception, the “Granddaughter” The thief was walking with a young lady elegantly attired, whom she recognized as the niece of the congressman! As the girl in blue watched the pair move off, an older lady with silver hair, wearing a pretty top and skirt, approached them, and the 3 moved off. The inquisitive girl in ocean blue silk, followed. The trio had stopped by a window, looking out at something. The girl in ocean blue moved closer to see what it was all about. She could see the 3 ladies reflection in the window. Suddenly she froze; something was not quite right, out of place. It took her only seconds to figure it out, the congressman’s niece, sandwiched in between the thief and the older lady, was missing the necklace of diamonds that she had been wearing when the young girl in ocean blue silk had first seen them, only minutes before!

  

The girl, in a swirling of her blue silk dress, scurried off as fast as her high heels could carry her, to find her parents. Her parents, reluctantly at first, finally listened after she had pointed out the suspect to them. Her Father took his daughter to the congressman’s security who had her point the “Granddaughter” out. They approached the Niece first, finding her still standing alone by the window. She, with a gasp, confirmed to them that her diamonds had indeed, vanished. They reached the pair as they were making their separate exits out of the reception. “The Grandmother” and “Granddaughter” were caught red handed, pearl bib necklace and the nieces diamond necklace, and plus assorted, mismatched pieces of jewelry being found hidden in secret pockets. All of it had been slipped off the silken figures of young ladies attending the wedding and reception, whom had the misfortune to meet up with the charming “Granddaughter”!

  

It turned out that neither of the female thieves was what they had appeared to be! The “Grandmother” was an old washed up actress and vaudeville magician named Agnes Adelyirood, in her late 40’s ,who had been forced to find other means to scrape a living, she had dyed her hair gray, and taken on the demeanor of a much older , kinder, lady. The “granddaughter” was not a 16 or 17 year old girl, but a 26 year old midget named Doris M__, whom Agnes had known from her vaudeville days, when her specialty was to play the part of a young girl. Together they had been working as a team combing the country and lifting jewels at the most posh’ist of events.

  

The authorities, after searching their rented apartment in a shoddy part of the city, discovered several piles of hot jewels and other goods stashed away, including the purple clutch purse with the lesser jewelry from the job they had pulled at the reception my firm had been hired for security. Not included, of course, was the more valuable pieces reported missing from the function, which the authorities mistakenly believed had been broken down and pawned right away by the light fingered pair.

  

It was after reading all about this in a formal police report and the conclusions that had been reached, that I had finally made some decisions that I had been mulling over.

  

Now I must admit, being a skilled thief, and also owning my own security business, had certainly turned out to having its benefits…Basically being paid to watch for thieves, leaving the glittering venue open for me to do a bit of thievery on me own.

  

But for the five years I had been in business, I knew that eventually someone might finally catch on, though it was amazing how daft the wealthy can be most of times, not to mention gullible. To which fact I had caught onto early on and worked the “fields” profitably to my benefit.

  

But I had been thinking over the past year that it may be time to get out of the business, living off the small nest egg I had acquired over the past 5 years. But that nest egg had suddenly, quite unexpectedly hatched into a small treasure trove.

  

I owned an old stone cottage on the Cornish coast that had been in me family for generations. Retiring to it while still relatively young, living the life of the country gentleman while I was still youthful enough to enjoy it ; fish a little, evening walks with the dogs at my heels, watch a sunset, rise as I so desired, all had always been me pipe dream. . I, until recently, did not possess quite enough funds to make it a reality. And until I knew for certain which way the winds of change would come, I was unable to really make us of what fortunes I now possessed. But, with the pair caught and being blamed for the missing diamonds, everything had fallen quite neatly into place!

  

So, I finally decided, run the business, with a clean nose, for another year, let things cool down, and then I would sell the business to Pete and his fellow guards. They all had had been showing an interest as of late, and seeing how Pete had been the unwitting part of my plan by letting Agnes and Doris escape, it was the least I could do for him and the rest.

  

Also, In her last letter to me, the ginger haired lass I had left back home, had broadly hinted that she would like more than anything to see me again, which was surprising, since the last time we had danced I had carried out a light-fingered lift of the emeralds she had been wearing at her university’s formal!

  

But I guess love can be blind. She had apparently let her pretty self see my nicking her jewels as a loan to get me started, a loan that I was prepared to pay back, with interest, and I had already written her expressing that desire!

.

  

Back home my late Grandfather, whom I had learned a thing or two from back in the day, had always been fond of saying when certain tricky issues arose ; “lie low for a bit, like a fox in the hedgerow, wait until the dogs had sniffed past and the trail cold before, darting home.”

  

And that my dear friends, was exactly what I was going to do!

  

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Epilogue Duex

 

11 months Later

 

So it was that 11 months to the day I had read the report on the capture of Agnes and Doris, that I found meself on a vessel heading across the pond…

  

As I watched the waning shoreline I looked again down to the letter I held in my hand. It was written by my friend in England, the Ginger Haired lass, agreeing to my plan to meet her up at my Cornish based cottage the weekend of my return. The letter was signed with x’s and a faint lipstick stained mouth print. So I was fairly sure of the reception I would be receiving.

 

My luggage was on board, including me steamer trunk with its hidden drawer containing a small fortune in jewels.

  

I had already wired ahead my nest egg, which included the amount accumulated over six years in the security/shearing business, and the sale of that Business to Peter, along with the money I received from……

  

But me mind wandered to Peter and his cohorts. I had sold the business to them a month before, and had learned through channels that those ingrates were smearing my good name, hinting that I had been in cohorts with Agnes Axelrod, of all things.

  

Peter had no clue as to the double life I had been leading, and he had no idea how many times I had been approached by the criminal elements willing to “grease my palms if I just would look the other way! Of course I always played the saint, and chased them off…….. So as far as Peter really knew, I was clean as a whistle, and he had no basis for his attack on me name.

  

So, as I felt the ship lurching as it left the channel, I smiled to meself, paybacks old son, I murmered silently to the unsuspecting Peter and his crew. For , before leaving I had made use of those contacts gleaned from the underworld.

  

In a fortnight there was to be a rather grand reception put on by a local church diocese with the intentions of enriching themselves under the pretext of hosting a Black Tie Dance, Gourmet Dinner and Casino Night. I had secured the Job the year before, and as an incentive to Peter buying the business, had secured it for this year.

  

Then Peter had to go and shoot off his mouth… Well, for a rather surprisingly handsome price, I had sold inside information about the Diocesan Event to the cohorts of a rather greedy mobster.

  

I harbored no doubts as to the gang’s intentions and plans for the monied ( and jewel laden) participants of that event, nor to the ineffectiveness of Peter and his crew to preventing them being carried out.

  

The whistle blew one last time as the grand ship left port. I turned back and made my way below decks, to catch up on a bit of reading….

  

Beginning my new, saint like existence of being crime free

.

  

As I made me way below decks , still basking in Peter receiving his comeuppance, I let me thoughts wander and caress over a memory from previous year’s Diocesan event.

  

I had just relived a wealthy gent of a wallet containing his casino winnings when from behind me I heard the rather enticing sounds of something silky swishing about. I immediately slowed down and was soon passed by a rather fetching, long haired female vixen . I watched as her form fitting green satin dress moved silkily along her figure, whipping and whisking about her shapely figure with each passing motion…. She was also enticingly dripping with jewels of sparkling diamonds.

  

I replayed the entire episode in me mind, as I started to follow her discreetly, watching and waiting like the hungry fox watches prey from the shadows of his hedgerow……

  

Fini

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Acte 7 : Harbinger

Subtitle : Insulting the Injuries

As he finishes sounding the alarm, the Constable pulls the whistle from his lips, and takes a clearer observation of the situation. He immediately realizes that whatever the pair was , they were not a immediate threat.

  

Ere you two can’t go about dressed like its Guy Fawkes evening, or sumthin. He yells to the grimy figures as he approaches closer,his confidence restored as he hears footsteps running up the block towards him.

  

The Mistress pushes Edmund off to the side, my good man, I need to report a molestation. The officer, taken aback by what he assumes is a couple of vagabonds daring to give him orders, answers back tartly,

Ere now, ewe do you think you are, the Qheens mother?

No you insolent bastard, The Mistress retorts, don’t you recognize Lord and Lady Edmund of Staghurst manor. Ya,the Constable retorts, and Im the Duke of Wellington. At this time he is aware of a couple of his fellow officers are now at his shoulder. He begins to bark out orders, calling for the paddy and has the quarrelsome pair of miscreants hauled off to goal to let them cool their heels till morning.

.

 

Fortunately for the Lord Edmund and the mistress, the local station was being visited by a superintendent whom knew of Lord Edmund( both belonging to the same gentleman’s club) and was in fact on his way to the same Ball. He had the constable apologize and after taking statements, arranged for the pair to be driven back to The Manor House, where they arrived fairly late in the evening.

  

Sheets are brought out as the servants watch; giggling to themselves over the situation, help drape them over the abused figures of Lord Edmund and the Mistress. Both take heavy sedatives, and are immediately put to bed for the evening, and soon the entire household is quietly at rest, at least for the time being.

 

--

For, as the the Lord and Mistress are driven back after finally being released from prison, another series of events have been taking place:

  

On a darkened market block, still busy at this time of the evening, a familiar figure is seen weaving in and out amongst the crowds, threading her way through vendors still lining the streets. There is still some gossip being passed around about the police activity of a few blocks away, and more than one pair of eyes are on the lookout for anything unusual, give the girl more than a passing glance.

    

The young teenage gypsy girl now walking briskly down a street, is ignoring the calls from the vendors carts and the old men leering at her from doorways and alleyways as she makes her way. She is a dark green eyed, long haired beauty, with a secretive look on her face. Still wearing the colourefully long silken tiered skirt, with a white full sleeved blouse, and several silk scarves that she had been wearing when first coming upon The Lord and Mistress of Staghurst almost 90 minutes ago by their out of commission Roll-Royce. She is also now wearing a small rucksack, and carrying a parcel neatly wrapped in old newspaper.

  

She stops in front of an old blackened building that houses a Pub, named The Poet and the Peasant, which carries with it a dark reputation. She stops, letting her eyes look about her, she suddenly moves, darting inside with a swishing of her long silken tiered skirt. She walks purposefully through the main bar room, again ignoring the cackling old drunks sitting on stools at the bar and around ill-lit tables.

  

She walks into a darkened, smoke filled back hallway, and cautiously enters a room at the end. A man with rather unusual features ( hook nose, right eye half closed, and a nasty scar along one hollow cheek below right eye, thin moustache) is sitting at a table, talking in a whisper to a pair of rather devious looking characters, a cigar hanging precariously from one side of his mouth. He spies the girl, and grins showing a mouth full of yellowed, chipped teeth. “Gentleman”, I have a visitor he announces, sharply. The pair of men looks at the girl, then rise, and silently slips past her without a second glance.

 

Wotcher the man with the cigar says In careful greeting, but with a wary look on his humorless face.. The girl approaches, and sitting down, opens her fist and setting a ring of keys on the table, slides them towards him.

 

He picks them up, toying with them for a few seconds. He looks backup, interested, still up to your mysterious games I see, whose pocket got picked for these I wonder?, he asks himself. Then looks full into her green eyes.

 

What will this get me, sister’s daughter? He asks throwing them back on the stained oak bar table top, his curiosity and attention both peeked.

  

The girl undoes her silk scarf, and opens the collar of her silken blouse, exposing a magnificent necklace of shimmering sapphires and diamonds, where it had been hidden from the view of anyone treacherous enough to indifferently slit a young girl’s throat to have them from her.

  

You cheeky imp!, the man whistles, it makes a funny sound as the cigar is still clamped in his mouth. Taking risks ware’n a fancy choker like that round ere. Don’t tell me you got that fancy decoration by using just your fingers lass ? She just smiles mischievously, her eyes opened doe wide, as her Uncle reads into them, accurately interprets the message hidden in the depths of the sparkling dark green eyes gazing at him..

  

Where’s the rest then he asks, but it is not really a question, he knows the answer all too well. She hands him the parcel, and with a swing of her body, her hair flying off to one side, she takes off the small, rucksack and lays both on the table.

  

He cuts the strings of the newspaper clad parcel with a thin knife he seems to produce from thin air. Inspecting the contents, he lifts up something thin and slippery, dyed a purplish hue, he also lifts a white fluffy fur sleeve. He then opens the small rucksack and peers inside, his left eye opening wide, as a thin smile cracks his usually stern demeanor, he lifts up a sparking diamond bracelet He looks up at his niece, and opening g his hand, beckons with his fingers. She obediently removes the necklace and placed it shimmering into his palm. He places it inside the rucksack with the rest.

  

Were your cousins involved with this, he hisses sharply. The Gypsy girl still doesn’t say a word, but he reads his answer in her sly dark green eyes, not that he really needed her confirmation on that suspicion.

  

Things need to cool a bit, these will have to be buried in a very deep dark, quiet hole indeed. Gather the boys and lay low for a few weeks till things die down with the local bobbies He opens a thick billfold and extracts several pound notes, this is just for starters till the tide washes back.

 

Payment for information after, he says to her, it was not a question. She leans in towards him, and finally breaks her silence, speaking in a low murmur into her Uncles ear. The name Staghurst is mentioned, along with a few more particulars. He listens intently to the girl, his eyes gathering in every last tidbit, until she finishes. He asks no more questions of her, he has all that he needs.

  

She leaves, and her uncle reaches under the table and presses a button. Strike while the irons hot he is thinking, and then murmurs to himself, and this iron is bloody steam’en.

 

A rather oafish fellow, with keen eyes enters. The man at the table starts to bark out orders, orders that place into motion a string of events that will be carried out and completed straightaway. Orders that will totally cover any tracks made by a pair of events, one that occurred earlier in a dark alleyway,and a second that will occur well before cock crow

 

End of Acte 7,

Watch for the final Acte 8 ( Footfalls) coming soon

 

Chatwick Chronicles

A Persistent Saga

Intro

The Doctoral Candidate

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From Chatwick SL

The study below was derived from facts uncovered while doing research for the following Doctoral dissertation:

Light to the shadows of their mind:

Criminal tactics and strategies

Criminology Department .

Chatwick University

Case Study 48

Accounts derived from a series of meetings clandestinely conducted with the subject.

***

She had never had interviewed anyone quite like this one, even Angelica!

 

She was in the twilight of a doctoral thesis that had been in the works for almost three years now. The research she was doing centered on career criminals, trying to pinpoint in her studies of how they operated, trying to establish motives that may have been compelling enough for them to have lived the lives they did. Her conjectures were that by understanding their thought processes, a series of tests could be developed that could be used on younger subjects to determine their rehabilitation attainment perspective.

  

She had interviewed dozens of career criminals from assorted paths in life. Most of whom had been hardened ,elderly, and had paid their dues, or were in the process of doing so( Prison). It had not been an easy time of it, a rough road of hurt, treachery and deceit, running the gauntlet from muggers, to pickpockets, to burglars, to various other thieves. Gathering information from them, weeding fact from fiction through checking histories, deciding whether or not to use what she had gathered it in her research , testing the results and writing them up! The last 3 years had certainly been a rollercoaster ride, a whirlwind of activity, number crunching, and pages upon pages of notes:. then, amongst all this controlled chaos of her work, He had come into her life

  

This One had been different. He had contacted her, never revealing exactly why, or how He had heard of her and her project. She had gone into it blind, not knowing anything about the man, what he did, or really even if it was at all relevant to her research. She had only the subjects assurance, through an intermediary( A Priest), that it would be to her benefit to interview him.

  

She had already made plans to go out that evening when abruptly informed of the time of meeting she had been trying to coordinate with him. She was under the impression that it was a one shot deal, and would not last for more than a couple of hours.

  

Since she would already be in the city, she convinced her date to act as chaperone, and then they would leave after the interview for their night out clubbing. She had thought nothing of wearing her favorite party dress to the interview. It was a pretty thing, a russet velvet top and bronze taffeta skirt. She had even worn her good jewelry, gold with inset pearls, wearing her long hair down, but tied back so the long earrings of the set could dangle freely.

  

She remembered clearly the evening of their first encounter; it had almost seemed ominous when she and her companion had pulled up to the address given to her. It was an old lime stoned church, with gothic overlays, the stone darkened black with age. All it needed was a group of villagers with torches and pitchforks to make the picture complete, her friend had joked, but she had not found it funny.

  

She had gone inside with some reservation, it all seemed too much like something out of a film noir bit of theatre. She remembered thinking that thought as , just before opening one of the old oak doors to the church, as she was brushing back a wisp of her hair, her fingers touching a long pearled gold earring. She also had remembered thinking, as she had been going through her notes weeks afterwards, how much differently she would have approached the interview if she had been aware of the most peculiar nature of the Man waiting inside for her!

  

She may have given more thought to how she had dressed, if she had known the type of man she was interviewing! But as it turned out, her idea to kill 2 birds with one stone that evening may have been quite fortuitous indeed.

  

The Priest, vicar of the church, met the two of them as they came into the church. He was a cheerful man in his mid-fifties with reddish hair and beard , complete with a deep Irish brogue and twinkling green eyes, He had had her companion go up into the choir loft, where there were refreshments of scones, tea and/or wine. The good father indicated that once she was situated at the interview, he would join her date in the loft to keep her companion company. This would become the practice with rest of her various escorts from the University; sitting with the Vicar in the choir loft as the priest kept an ever watchful eye on the activities going on below in the nave of his church.

  

Otherwise the church was deserted, except for Him. She never did meet with Him face to face. They used , appropriately enough, one of the old oak confessionals. Although He could see her through the screen , all she could see was a darkened shadowy figure. Later she would learn that the confessional had a secret door, with a monk’s passage that led out somewhere in the bowls of the catacombs below the church. She was never to find out where it went, came out, or was ever offered to explore the passage by the Vicar.

  

Her subject possessed a deep, sing-song voice had a light eastern welsh accent, with his carefully selected words spoken crisply, succinctly, and right to the point, very little emotion behind anything he told her. She guessed his age at around fifty,( based on the priests age) and it would always vex her to know if he was that age, younger, or if he was as handsome as he sounded, she had to admit to herself.

  

He was polite, obviously well educated, and listened to her questions seemingly with deep interest. On her own part she found herself paying rapt attention at what he told her, writing down his words in a note book, using the dim light from the church coming into the confessional doorway way she kept open. She was not permitted to tape the interviews, and she felt compelled to make as many notes as she could.

  

She had approached the whole affair holding a grain of salt. It could be all something of a hoax, a bit of tom foolery designed to lead her on. She knew of one or two individuals capable of such deceptions, willing to go to such lengths to play with her mind a bit, so it was not totally with a blind eye that she first came into these interviews.

  

It was quite soon into their first meeting that all her fears of this being a put on were quelled, it was no hoax, the cold reality was that the man on the other side of the screen, authentically was for real. He himself, almost like reading her mind, had been the first to give voice to her secret concerns about it being a hoax. It was first of many times when he appeared to anticipate one of her questions. He was for real, the real Mccoy as an American acquaintance had been found of saying. Her new subject ended up providing her with a wealth of information, and left her with almost as many unanswered questions.

  

He did not beat around the bush, informing her of what he was without hesitation or regret.

 

He was a person in a character mold that she had never quite encountered or classified before. An accomplished sleight of hand street Magician, who never made magic a profession; His career instead was that of an expert jewel thief: both a pickpocket and cat burglar, who appeared ( without actually stating) to have arisen to the upper echelons of his chosen field. He never indicated that he had ever been caught, or incarcerated, although it was clear he had not been totally unsuspected. But she had been given an impression that he was now retired, for the most part, and had done quite well by himself financially, albeit, his earnings were tainted( her opinion) by the methods he had employed to accumulate his fortune.

  

He talked about his life in singular, mentioning only sparsely people he had befriended, including the Irish vicar, or at least one Irish priest whom she assumed was the one present during the interviews. He had mentioned several women by description as lovers and partners, although she had given them different names, she had a strong impression that they all may have been one and the same Lady. She wanted to believe that she, if she had indeed existed, was still a part of his guarded life, and he was protecting her from any possible repercussions of his conducting this interview...

  

The strange thing was, and as a Psych Major she was unable to fully explain her actions, she found herself becoming enveloped in his story, like she had been almost a player in his escapades. She had never experienced that, not even with the charming female pickpocket, Angelica.

  

He had given the impression that he had only wanted to be interviewed once, and that there were to be limited questions. But he didn’t follow that course, seemingly encouraging her to ask questions, and it was he, himself, asking her if they could meet again. She had jumped on the opportunity. She found herself looking forward to his interviews, even dressing up for them, even going so far as wearing her pearls on several occasions. He seemed to open up more when she did, and she began to wonder sometimes, as she was alone in her room transcribing the information, if perhaps he saw in her potential prey. It was for this reason that she always took inventory of her jewelry after the interview was over, feeling just a wee bit silly in the process!

  

And so, sometimes as he talked, she was finding herself secretly hoping he was watching her, maybe even…. Well nothing ever came about anyway of course, she was a professional herself. And he had left her life after that final interview as he had come into it… a mystery man. She later came to the conclusion that it was all because she could not see his face, was unable to see how his eyes moved, his expressions, and so, she had begun invented things from her own deep personal fantasies to fill in the gaps, and despite her training, had begun to allow herself to come under the spell of her own imagination. It would never happen again, she promised herself, in her field of study, it could spell disaster!

  

So, afterwards, she just concentrated on putting it all together, trying to keep her emotions in check. As an outlet she began to write down some of his narratives, a chronicle of his life as she had been allowed to delve into. She had asked, and from the dark shadows of the confessional, had received his voiced blessing to do so.

 

The accounts below are derived from those chronicles.

  

That first meeting, as she had gotten her things together, she had automatically started off by asking him for a first name, he hadn’t answered , and she never did receive a proper one. But then, as she was gathering her things to leave, he had said, in his pleasantly rolling welsh accent;

Luv, just call me Chatwick …..

 

SEE :

Anatomy of a Jewel Thief

For part Duex of the Chatwick Chronicles

 

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Title:

“If I die young bury me in satin” Samantha just could not keep from playing that song in her head.

  

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Lyrics to the sonnet appear after the story

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Samantha shook her head to clear her mind. Here she was on a deadly serious operation and a silly old song was all she could think about. She should have worn velvet tonight, she reasoned without any logic.

 

This was her third attempt out undercover. The only nibble so far had been a two bit second rate mugger on their first attempt. Sam remembered the look in his drooling eyes, he had figured that he had hit the jackpot as he forced, at knifepoint, Samantha to hand over her pricy jewels. Boy was he surprised when Sam’s team paid his seedy apartment a visit a few hours later as he was celebrating his good fortune with his cronies. Then she heard it….

 

Suddenly, all thoughts of songs and adolescencent punks were driven from her mind. Sam’s sixth sense was tingling; she had picked up a follower. She had heard him in the woods one the other side of the deserted lane. He was good, she hadn’t been aware of being followed until the muffled snap of a twig reached her ears. She shivered deliciously, come to momma she said to herself, not giving any outward sign that she had heard…….

**

The unknown assailant That Sam was trying to lure had been making a practice of preying on wealthy, unchaperoned women. Carefully selecting his victims based solely on the jewels they were exhibiting. Following them home as they left the upper class parties they were attending. He would then ambush them, tying up the hapless victim, then looting the house of anything small, but valuable, including whatever jewelry could be found on his bound, usually wriggling victim.

 

His fifth target had been taken a month ago on Halloween night. She had been a blonde mistress of a titled junior minister, who had set her up in his summer cottage, which overlooked the channel. She had been seized, bound, gagged and robbed inside the small cottage. In her struggles against her bindings she had choked to death. That had made it murder. That made it Sam’s problem. With the heat being put on by the junior minister Sam had been given carte blanche. But, by the manner with which Sir Mister ” junior” minister had been squawking, one would assume he was more concerned over the jewels that had been nicked than the untimely demise of his sexy young paramour!. The vain prig probably already had another one lined up and installed at the small cottage, waiting to be adorned with the jewels once they had been recovered Sam figured wryly. But, an assignment was an assignment no matter what her feelings were about the matter. So, Sam had assembled her team, supplied them with the very latest in technology, and had gone hunting him down.

 

Sam had felt a bit James Bondish wearing jewels with an array of tracking devices carefully hidden in amongst the tiffany quality Gems. Her rented cottage, an old keep for a bygone ancient castle, was also outfitted with ultra-sensitive listening devices. Her team could track every move and hear every word spoken as Sam was out on her prowl.

**

And now she was being carefully followed. Instinctively she knew that whomever it was, it wasn’t a two bit hood this time. Another twig snapped, closer and, Sam thought, deliberate. She turned around to look, hand to mouth, in all appearances she was the slightly drunk and vulnerable, wealthy brunette that was her role on this case . But, unnoticeably, on the inside, Samantha ‘s whole demeanor changed, becoming cold and alert, Knowing it was her job to bring this piece of venom to justice. Bring it on she thought to herself, hoping this was the one. Then she turned and made her way to the keep, her senses prickling….

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"If I Die Young"

  

If I die young, bury me in satin

Lay me down on a bed of roses

Sink me in the river at dawn

Send me away with the words of a love song

 

Uh oh, uh oh

 

Lord make me a rainbow, I'll shine down on my mother

She'll know I'm safe with you when she stands under my colors, oh,

And life ain't always what you think it ought to be, no

Ain't even grey, but she buries her baby

 

The sharp knife of a short life, oh well

I've had just enough time

 

If I die young, bury me in satin

Lay me down on a bed of roses

Sink me in the river at dawn

Send me away with the words of a love song

 

The sharp knife of a short life, oh well

I've had just enough time

 

And I'll be wearing white, when I come into your kingdom

I'm as green as the ring on my little cold finger,

I've never known the lovin' of a man

But it sure felt nice when he was holdin' my hand,

There's a boy here in town, says he'll love me forever,

Who would have thought forever could be severed by...

 

...the sharp knife of a short life, oh well?

I've had just enough time

 

So put on your best, boys, and I'll wear my pearls

What I never did is done

 

A penny for my thoughts, oh, no, I'll sell 'em for a dollar

They're worth so much more after I'm a goner

And maybe then you'll hear the words I been singin'

Funny when you're dead how people start listenin'

 

If I die young, bury me in satin

Lay me down on a bed of roses

Sink me in the river at dawn

Send me away with the words of a love song

 

Uh oh (uh, oh)

The ballad of a dove (oh, uh)

Go with peace and love

Gather up your tears, keep 'em in your pocket

Save 'em for a time when you're really gonna need 'em, oh

 

The sharp knife of a short life, oh well

I've had just enough time

 

So put on your best, boys, and I'll wear my pearls.

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Courtesy of Chatwick University Archives

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All rights and copyrights observed by Chatwick University, Its contributors, associates and Agents

 

The purpose of these chronological photos and accompanying stories, articles is to educate, teach, instruct, and generally increase the awareness level of the general public as to the nature and intent of the underlying criminal elements that have historically plagued humankind.

 

No Part of this can reprinted, duplicated, or copied be without the express written permission and approval of Chatwick University.

 

These photos and stories are works of fiction. Any resemblance to people, living or deceased, is purely coincidental.

As with any work of fiction or fantasy the purpose is for entertainment and/or educational purposes only, and should never be attempted in real life.

We accept no responsibility for any events occurring outside this website.

 

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The revenge upon her would be sweet, even though it was purely theoretical.

She was the very epitome of every stuck up girl who ever passed judgment on those she refused to view as an equal. And I? I possessed the subtle skill to knock her smirking ego down a few pegs.

  

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In late spring of the year 1952, a, bank rented safety deposit lockbox, dusty from many years gone by, was opened. The box had laid unclaimed, the banks records having been destroyed during the Nazi blitzes of World War Two. When its existence became known, an attempt was made to contact the owner, whose family surname was well known in the county. The name turned out to be an alias, no such person ever existed.

 

Please read the account below to learn more about the person who was believed to have rented the strongbox, as well as what he had placed inside……….

 

**********

  

Case Study 84 :

 

Warning, these are the raw, bare unusual facts as originally recorded. Some names, times, places and some facts have been altered for obvious reasons.

Exerted from the private letters of Mr. Harley Q. circa early 1900’s.

 

Name: Harly Q. circa 19 …

 

Subject: Seemingly a rather dexterous scoundrel

 

Place: A large coastal metropolis

 

Time: A period of time in late autumn

  

**************

 

Harly’s story as related:

  

The following affair occurred during my younger days when my youth and its’ raw passions were still a strong pull on my reactions! Now, how do I start?

  

The Blonde dancing in front of me was was dressed up like a movie star on a red carpet. Only about nineteen, her slinky gown created the impression of having been poured along her curvy, voluptuous figure, like shimmering liquid satin, fluidly swishing as she swirled about the massive chamber! It all made her appear far older and mature than she obviously thought she was. For some, her looks and personality may have been seen as charming and fun. “But for me personally, the only thing charming about her was the way her abundant sparkling jewellery played with the lights from the large chandeliers which held my upmost command!

  

But wait, I may be placing the carriage before the steed…….

 

Allow me to restart:

  

I had taken a long train into town with the intention of spending a few days relaxing from my previous month of hectic “professional” affairs. Rewarding myself, I located my lodging in a fancy upscale hotel situated across the street from a cavernous Ballroom, checking in for a fortnight. Since my social calendar was unusually light, with only the one high society event, a wedding that I was planning to attend the following Sabbath, at a “chapel” located in one of the cities sprawling suburbs. I spent the first day perusing the cultural calendar of the local papers, and ended up circling one or two events of interest that would be taking place later that month. I than took care of my remaining personal business, locating a reputable bank and renting out one of their lockboxes, before allowing myself some time off from my endeavors.

  

I than spent the first portion of my week taking in moving picture shows, visiting stores and hanging out at the local museums and antique shoppes. It felt great not worrying about work, although I will did admit that my mind scoped out a few prospects as I was out and about, walking amongst the great masses..

  

It was mid-week during my stay, while making my way back to the hotel suite, that I decided on a whim to pop into the Ballroom to see what it was all about. I walked into the massive lobby full of activity and wandered about, looking into the massive main ballroom, meeting rooms and various party rooms. As I was leaving I discovered a wall containing posters for all the upcoming events. One poster caught my eye. It advertised the occurrence of a Halloween Ball to take place that very weekend, Tickets still available. The Ball seemed to be the very type of party I was partial to, combining all of my favorite types of affairs, a large gathering frequented by the rich, and everyone attending would be in costume.

  

Purchasing a pair of tickets (less questions asked) I went out the very next morning scouting various shops in search of my own costume. I finally settled on a highwayman’s attire. It seemed appropriate, and the ribbon style “ masque” over my eyes set off the vacation beard that had been growing quite nicely since my last outing. On my way out to pay for the costume I spied a half off bin. On top of the pile was a phantom of the opera mask. On impulse I added it to my bundle and went to the checkout.

  

Although I really didn’t have the feeling that this concern would lead to anything, I mean, who wears good jewellery with a costume ? But a little bored by the inactivity, I was none the less growing excited about the venture. I still decided to play it cautious by setting up my usual safe guards, just in case.

  

A few blocks away from the Ballroom and my hotel suite I found a small chain style motel. Going to the desk I purchased rent for a room for the night, paying in advance. Going into the small room I laid down my purchases and headed back out to the street via a back stairwell, bypassing the registrars chambers. I headed back to my hotel suite to prepare for the evening.

  

After showering, I changed into a suit, shirt and tie. I then headed out onto the street a couple of hours before the ball was set to begin. Regaining my small quarters in the chain motel I changed into my new persona for the evening’s festivities and left via the same back door I had used earlier. I walked back to the Ballroom, getting my share of looks until I reached my destination, where I blended right in with the other arriving costumed guests.

  

I followed the stream to the ballroom proper. The main doors leading inside were large, made of a fancy scrolled oak, held open, and guarded by a pair of burly security types.

Apparently which, I soon gathered, was appearing to be the only security present for the evening’s festivities. Capital, I thought, smirking to myself as I joined my fellow guests.

  

I walk onto a landing, immediately in front of a long bannister guarding a set of wide stairs ascended downwards. I went off to one side, and paused at the railing, starting to survey with eager anticipation, the crowded room below.

  

All was quite glittering, as large chandeliers set off a spectrum of colors with any crystal or glass it touched. It especially created shimmers as it played off the colorful jewelry the lavishly costumed ladies present were wearing. Several dozen couples were dancing in front of a 17 piece orchestra, a slow dance, and many were dancing almost too close. Many more people were mingling around tables of appetizers. A large, chattering crowd was also gathered at the long oak bar that took up one whole side of the huge room. It was to the bar that I headed, to observe the merry proceedings.

  

But the Ball, as it turned out, was a bust, so to speak. Although several attempts were made to ask a number of charming (to me) ladies to add me to their dance cards, they all were, unfortunately, full. I should have suspected it would turn out this way, but I still harbored an all too familiar nagging feeling in the back of my head that something was still going to happen, call it intuition if you need to label it. So I nursed my drink, reminiscing about how I had reached this point in my then still young life…..

  

Ralph Waldo Emerson, one of my favorite poets, once said” Do not go where the path may lead, go instead where there is no path and leave a trail.”

Long before the the time I discovered this quote I found that my life’s path had already been heading that way.

  

Without boring anyone with far too many details of my rather complicated youth, I discovered while quite young that I had a certain knack for adeptness at being able to nimbly pick pockets. When I was eighteen ( having graduated high school at seventeen) and out on my own in the world, I found this skill quite useful. But it was at a wedding reception in my early twenties where I became of age, so to speak.

  

She was older than me, resplendent in a sleek black satin gown with bright white frills, long white satin gloves upon which graced a pair of diamond bracelets. She was very tipsy and would not take no for an answer when asking for a dance partner. She cornered me and before I could catch my wits, we were in a close embrace on the dance floor. I was totally mesmerized by the feel of her warm figure emitting through the sensuous satin gown. My eyes feasted upon the dazzling show put on by her flashy twin bracelets. When the exquisitely long dance ended and she moved on: I was left with a lot of pleasantly mixed feelings, I was also left with my first trophy, the Lady’s appealing necklace of pearl that I had ever so delicately sipped off her throat, using the sleekness of her satin gown to its fullest advantage.

  

I found myself enthralled with my new “hobby”, and over the course of the next couple of years sought out fancy dress affairs to better learn how to master the art of attracting and dancing with any lady I chose. Along the way I managed to accumulate quite a few trophies for my efforts. I stayed under everyone’s radar by picking out only those females who had been enthusiastically imbibing and by allowing myself to acquire only one trophy per gathering, two if the function was large enough.

  

During this period I made two discoveries: One was that most women would rather assume their jewel had been merely lost long before ever considering that they had been robbed of it. The second was that most of my collection of pretty trophies carried an equally pretty price, and could quite acceptably be turned into ready cash.

  

So, by the tender age of twenty two, my life started to lead where there had ever been but few tracks. And thus we finally come to this particular branch of my rather unique, lengthily crooked trail….

  

So, there I was, on a bar stool, alone and growing more bored by the minute, wishing something interesting would happen. I can remember thinking, as I looked over my fellow partiers about a saying that I had always found to be amusingly true. “If you want to know what God thinks of money, just look at the people he gave it to.” I don’t know who first said it, but brother, the person was right on the money. As I had witnessed for myself time and time again. So I just settled in and watched the amusing antics of the wealthy among the crowd, especially those of …“the girl!’

The girl was a stunning young blonde who was probably just fresh out of high school, with the maturity level of a grade schooler!

  

I kept catching my eye on her all evening, and once or twice, was sure she caught mine looking. But I was not watching her for the reasons she would think were mine. To her I was just some male face in the crowd, exhibiting his lust. But, the reason my eyes kept traveling upon her was for an entirely different one. I just found nothing to be more annoying than a sulky, immature young whelp who believes she is the apple of everyone’s eye, making an absolute nuisance of herself. She was running around, making silly remarks about people, sometimes to their face. Hanging out with her group of friends whom seemed to be of the same mold as my blonde, one girlfriend was even dressed appropriately enough, as a willowy witch.

  

The Blonde was dressed up like a movie star on a red carpet. Only about nineteen, her slinky gown created the impression of having been poured along her curvy voluptuous figure, like shimmering liquid satin, fluidly swishing as she bounced about the massive chamber, slipping in and out amongst the guests! It all made her appear far older and mature than she obviously thought she was. For some, her looks and personality may have been seen as charming and fun. “But for me personally, the only thing charming about her was the way her abundant sparkling jewellery played with the lights from the large chandeliers which held my command! But I had decided, as far as I could tell, that she was wearing nothing but cheap rhinestones, which like her, appeared totally fake. But, as they say, appearances can sometimes be deceiving!

   

This girl was the epitome of every condescending stuck up high society girl that probably everyone has had the misfortune to be the victim of. The girl, who mainly because of her looks, was popular with everyone like her, and had no use for those who, forever what reason they deemed, was ostracized by those of her type. In high school I knew girls like this one, and was a witness, sometime victim, to many a scene of arrogance displayed by girls like her. This one was young, too young to be acting the way she was. Her mannerisms were just a beacon, reaching out out to be taught a lesson.

  

Wallowing in my boredom, a spark began to kindle into flame deep within my brain. Determined not to let the evening be a total loss, I decided act upon it. My plan being to theoretically get revenge on all those smirking girls who tormented me during high school, by knocking this cocky little scamp down a few pegs, using the best of my abilities..

  

Now, I’m not one normally to act as judge, jury, and executioner in most situations, in my selected line of work it would be hypocritical. But obviously old wounds’ had been opened, this long haired girl scampering about reminded me of ones whom had ridiculed me, another lifetime, one that I had left behind A long time ago. The opportunity for bittersweet revenge had presented itself for the taking, and the pull to obtain a little solace by using my unique talents was far too great to resist. Talk about mixing pleasure with business I though wickedly to myself, smiling with the inviting thought.

  

Believe me, this girl would be no innocent victim, and nothing I was about to attempt would leave her with any type of lasting impression, or harm. But if I could cause her at least some considerable discomfort to ruin the rest of her evening out, it would be reward in and of itself! I again eyed her sparkling jewels with all the seriousness I would have given any I was really interested in acquiring. Although she didn’t fit my favorite pre-requisite, she certainly was not drunk on alcohol, she was merely just intoxicated in her own questionable self-esteem, which can work just as well.

  

I waited until her friends had all apparently deserted her for the evening and leaving her, quite vulnerably, alone. I walked up behind her and tapped her shoulder. She whirled facing me, her eyes going from happy expectations to a glare! “What do you want!? she snipped disdainfully”. Calmly I held her gaze, “I was hoping you would help me win a bet” I asked in what I hoped was my most wily voice. She was curious, but wary of me, “as you should be my pretty miss”, I remember thinking to myself. Her eyes sized me up and down, and I seized the moment to take in her jewels, not at all disappointed in them, but my curiosity was aroused about her necklace, I definitely needed to get a closer look to appraise them! “Why should I help you,” she practically spitted out he words like daggers.

  

“It’s this way miss, a couple of boys over at the bar bet me 50 quid that I could not get a dance with the prettiest girl here.” “Me?” she asked primping, no I confessed, I picked you, they had wanted me to dance with someone far less pretty, in my opinion.

I don’t think so; she said with a slight hint of hesitation, my card is full. Just for fifteen minutes I implored. That’s all I need (which was the truth), and Ill split my winnings with you on top of it. She finally bought it, hook line, sinker and pound signs in her adorable violet coloured eyes. Fifteen minutes she specified, before, be-grudgingly, allowing me to lead her to the dance floor.

  

Now, as I took her stiff body in my arms, I was able to satisfy my curiosity about the girl’s necklace, and it caused a dilemma to rear its thought provoking head. While she was busy looking around to make sure none of her friends saw her dancing with me, I allowed myself a couple of precious minutes to think. Her long rhinestone earrings were clip held, and an easy pick. I wanted to try for them both,( I knew how I would do it), and losing a pair of earrings would send a message that they had not just fallen away. Also, I would be suspected by her, which suited me just fine. However, my dilemma was caused by the vixen’s pretty necklace. While the rest of her plentiful jewels were cheap rhinestones as I had suspected the row of diamonds that rippled blazingly around her throat were in fact, the real McCoy. So, which should I go for? The necklace would be profitable and easy but she may just suspect its clasp had broken. The earrings would be just for a sporty trophy, not worth anything but for the knowledge that she would know she had been a victim. Ah, life’s precious little quandaries!

  

So, I continued with the dance, my partner still rigid, so very true to her character. Then, with five minutes left, I made up my mind on what she would not be leaving the ball still wearing. She was a charmer, this disdainful one. Her stiff figure was warm to the touch, underneath the scintillating slippery gown. The show her sparkling jewels produced was most pleasing to the eye. All in all quite a pretty portrait, a shame it was that I was not allowed to appreciate it. Which was fine by me! I was able to concentrate freely on the task at hand. I looked around, the coast was still clear. Then eyeing for one last time her mesmerizingly swaying long earrings and the flickering diamonds that graced her pretty little throat, I executed my move..

  

By the time the final five minutes were up I had the selected jewelry in my pocket without even the slightest notice from my unwilling dance partner. Then, fifteen minutes to the second (good thing I had been keeping track of the time) she broke it off. “Thank you”, I said, to which she mumbled, “my money, sir!” I told her I had to collect it, and would meet her by the ladies powder room. I left her waiting, smiling inwardly to myself at the empty space from which the missing jewelry was glaringly gone from her.

  

She had no doubt that I would be back with her money, was I not merely like one of her household servants, who routinely, without question or error, existed to do her bidding. It would be a major jolt to her system when she realized I was not coming obediently back to her. I had no doubt she would spend some time searching me out for her money once she realized I was not coming back forthwith, with the intention of lecturing me on how I should act around my betters. So I knew that her immediate attention would be elsewhere upon realizing I was tardy, and that it would take quite a bit of time before she recieved a second shock of an altogether different sort.

  

I left with my prize, walking past the two guards with such a carefree air that even they would never have suspected that I could possibly have been up to any mischief. I made good time getting back to the dingy motel room. Changed out of my costume and back into the shirt and tie I had worn. The highwayman costume, which had served me well, I rolled in a bundle under my arm, I again left by the back stairwell and retraced my earlier steps, whistling, back to the suite in the hotel. Along the way the costume was stuffed unceremoniously into a handy trash bin. My little operation had been a complete success. The evening was after all, not going to be a total loss.

  

Back in my suite I stowed the newly acquired jewels the girl had worn into one of my many secret hiding spots. There they would be safe until I could convey it to my banks lockbox on Monday. As I finished I, spied the phantom of the opera mask lying discarded on top of a table. A shame it would not be used….

 

A thought washed over me that would not be denied! Risky, but it would make my evening complete. I quickly shaved off the thin beard, and restyled my hair. I changed from my suit into my tux and tails. Scooping up the phantom mask I headed back to the costume ball. Placing the mask on before entering, I presented my second ticket( not very often did the opportunity arise to use both of the pair of tickets I customarily purchased!) I walked past the two security types without a second glance from them, they absolutely did not recognize me, which meant I had passed that test. My objective now was to try and catch the second half of the show; namely the shimmering liquid satin gowned brats squawking reaction when she first discovered her jewels were gone.

  

I regained a bar seat just in time.

  

She did not disappoint!

  

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Epilogue

 

When, in the presence of both bank and county officials, the strong box was opened, it was found to contain a fairly large collection of the Kings currency, equaling roughly £500 , and a selection unmatched jewelry, rings, single earrings, bracelets, and necklaces, worth a almost £3.000. Also inside was small a bundle of papers. The papers, old and yellowed, appeared to contain the partial handwritten journals of a certain Mr. Harly Q___ , esq. The papers were examined, but gave no clues to who Harley was, or to his current whereabouts. But the journals presented clues as to Harly’s nature, and as a consequence the money and jewels were considered stolen goods and handed over to the authorities. No one knows what became of them, as for the papers, they were handed over to a relative of one of the government officials, and also, for a period of time, lost.

 

The journal was rediscovered amongst the personal files of the late Professor Sedwig Dermitt phd, llc.a dex,

Recovered, restored, and now kept in the human behavioral archives of the criminology dept, Chatwick U.

  

Courtesy of Chatwick University Archives

 

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The purpose of these chronological photos and accompanying stories, articles is to educate, teach, instruct, and generally increase the awareness level of the general public as to the nature and intent of the underlying criminal elements that have historically plagued humankind.

 

No Part of this can reprinted, duplicated, or copied be without the express written permission and approval of Chatwick University.

These photos and stories are works of fiction. Any resemblance to people, living or deceased, is purely coincidental.

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I chose Jonbenet Ramsey's case.

It is about a little 6 year old Beauty Pageant girl who was found dead in her parents basement in the morning of December 26 1996. Some people believe that her parents killed her but what kind of parent kills their own child? She died of a skull fracture and she was also strangled.

 

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/JonBen%C3%A9t_Ramsey

Description: The National Archives holds hundreds of pages of Victorian correspondence sent to the Metropolitan Police from individuals claiming to be Jack the Ripper. It is impossible to know whether any are actually from the individual behind the Ripper murders.

 

Date: c.1890

 

Our Catalogue Reference: MEPO 3/142

 

This image is from the collections of The National Archives. Feel free to share it within the spirit of the Commons.

 

For high quality reproductions of any item from our collection please contact our image library.

Yesterday afternoon during rainstorm. Came upon a ghost Halloween lawn blow-up airing out after a snatch and grab stabbing (air out the costume, steal the blower unit). Tried my best to save Casper. Ran out of Duct Tape and put this pumpkin over the wound. Didn't work. Beware the Halloween slasher. Oriole Park

No how many times this family of blow-ups is blown down, the Slasher is back to slash. Last week the happy brown cookie shaped victim (stolen blower) and the lie-down-Santa (screwed up anchor) were the victims.

All we can say to the Slasher and the home-owner is please give it a rest for 2023. Christmas is over. Time to put the characters to rest in the garage. Thanks to Dr Watson (agent Ronji) for taking the third, and we pray last, forensic photograph of the crime scene.

 

The lynchpin Case for the Crackdown by the New York City’s ’ D.A.’s Office on Prohibition era cabarets Ne nightclubs along Broadway

As mentioned in the “ Canary Murder Case”, investigated by P. Vance

 

The case referred to here was that of Mrs. Elinor Quiggly, a

wealthy widow living at the Adlon Hotel in West 96th Street. She

was found on the morning of September 5 suffocated by a gag which

had been placed on her by robbers who had evidently followed her

home from the Club Turque--a small but luxurious all-night cafe at

89 West 48th Street. The killing of the two detectives, McQuade and

Cannison, was, the police believe, due to the fact that they were in

possession of incriminating evidence against the perpetrators of the

crime. Jewelry amounting to over $50,000 was stolen from the

Quiggly apartment.

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DISCLAIMER

All rights and copyrights observed by Chatwick University, Its contributors, associates and Agents

 

The purpose of these chronological photos and accompanying stories, articles is to educate, teach, instruct, and generally increase the awareness level of the general public as to the nature and intent of the underlying criminal elements that have historically plagued humankind.

 

No Part of this can reprinted, duplicated, or copied be without the express written permission and approval of Chatwick University.

 

These photos and stories are works of fiction. Any resemblance to people, living or deceased, is purely coincidental.

As with any work of fiction or fantasy the purpose is for entertainment and/or educational purposes only, and should never be attempted in real life.

We accept no responsibility for any events occurring outside this website.

 

********************************************************************************

 

All rights and copyrights observed by Chatwick University, Its contributors, associates and Agents

 

The purpose of these chronological photos and accompanying stories, articles is to educate, teach, instruct, and generally increase the awareness level of the general public as to the nature and intent of the underlying criminal elements that have historically plagued humankind.

 

No Part of this can reprinted, duplicated, or copied be without the express written permission and approval of Chatwick University.

These photos and stories are works of fiction. Any resemblance to people, living or deceased, is purely coincidental.

As with any work of fiction or fantasy the purpose is for entertainment only, and should never be attempted in real life.

We accept no responsibility for any events occurring outside this website.

  

***************************

  

rhonda knutson

new hampton, iowa

Campion is a television show made by the BBC, adapting the Albert Campion mystery novels written by Margery Allingham. Two series were made, in 1989 and 1990, starring Peter Davison as Campion, Brian Glover as his manservant Magersfontein Lugg and Andrew Burt as his policeman friend Stanislaus Oates.

 

A total of eight novels were adapted, four in each series, each of which was originally broadcast as two separate hour-long episodes. Peter Davison sang the title music for the first series himself; in the second series, it was replaced with an instrumental version.

  

Series 1 - 1989[edit]

1."Look to the Lady" A mystery surrounding an ancient chalice. Features Gordon Jackson as Professor Cairey. Original air dates 22 and 29 January 1989.

Book first published in 1931.

2."Police at the Funeral" The death of a member of a wealthy family. Features Timothy West as Uncle William Faraday. Original air dates 5 and 12 February 1989.

Book first published in 1931.

3."The Case of the Late Pig" A man appears to have died twice. Features Michael Gough as Mr Hayhoe. Original air dates 19 and 26 February 1989.

Book first published in 1937.

4."Death of a Ghost" A painter's legacy leads to murder. Features Jean Anderson as Belle Lafcadio and Carole Ruggier as Rosa. Original air dates 5 and 12 March 1989.

Book first published in 1934.

 

Series 2 - 1990[edit]

1."Sweet Danger" The ownership of a tiny kingdom leads to a deadly treasure hunt. Features Lysette Anthony as Amanda Fitton and David Haig as Guffy Randall. Original air dates 12 and 19 January 1990.

Book first published in 1933.

2."Dancers in Mourning" A series of pranks, and worse, upset a leading theatre star and his bizarre household. Features Ian Ogilvy as Jimmy Sutane and Pippa Guard as Linda Sutane. Original air dates 9 and 16 February 1990.

Book first published in 1937.

3."Flowers for the Judge" Murder visits a respectable London publishing house. Features Robert Lang as John Barnabas and Barrie Ingham as Ritchie Barnabas. Original air dates 23 February and 2 March 1990.

Book first published in 1936.

4."Mystery Mile" Campion must protect the family of an American judge on the trail of a sinister crime boss. Original air dates 9 and 16 March 1990.

Book first published in 1930.

 

Car

 

A Lagonda 16/80 featured extensively in the series. The car used in the series is now kept in Germany

  

Starring

Peter Davison

Brian Glover

Andrew Burt

 

Country of origin

United Kingdom

 

Wallace Lake, Louisiana

 

“The strangest thing happened in the hot summer afternoon near Erie in July of 1861.

 

In the suburban Erie township of Girard there was a large summer picnic at the Battles estate that July summer day in 1861. The Battles were a wealthy banking family in the small rural town on the Western edge of Erie County. Just 3 years earlier they had constructed the large Italianate style farmhouse that was a showcase in the local community. That summer was one of celebration; Rush Sobieski Battles had just wed Charlotte Webster, his banking partner’s sister, in late March. They had recently returned from their honeymoon and hosted that lavish feast on their lawn on that hot summer day.

 

After the picnic two gentlemen were taking a leisurely stroll in the acreage behind the farmhouse to enjoy the cool early evening breeze. As they descended the tiny slope in the landscape that ended in at the edge of a small creek they saw something flailing in the water a few meters up stream.

 

It was a body.

 

They rushed to the bodies side and pulled it from the creek. The body was that of a young man dressed in a military uniform. He looked to be about 21 and his throat was slit from ear to ear. As the crown gathered to view the body, no one in the small close knit community recognized him. Then they realized the oddest part of this mystery, for the dead lad wore the military uniform of a soldier in the War of 1812…some 48 years out of time!

 

The uniform was new, its colors were bright and the uniform fit perfectly. The boy was never identified and the body was buried in a local cemetery. The small creek behind the Battles Mansion forever after was known by its new name, Dead Man’s Creek.

 

Some darker theories suggested he was transported from the past or another spiritual plane to the creek (Spiritualism was the rage at that time.) No matter how he got there, his ghost is alleged to walk along the creek looking for his assassin. That's the legend on why tiny Battles Creek became known locally as Dead Man's Creek

 

Erie Pennsylvania and the War of 1812 are forever linked because of the prominent role the city played in the naval victory of the War.

 

This fascinating story has been spread by word of mouth for over 100 years in the small community of Girard Pennsylvania. It has also been reported in local historian Stephanie Wincik’s book “The Ghost’s of Erie County”, “

 

Vampire crypt

 

Set in a silent hill of Erie Cemetery, one mausoleum's stonework is stained black. Some might call it oxidation, a natural process. Others see it as an omen of its terrible secrets.

 

This is the only mausoleum in the 14 City block cemetery that is set into a hill. There is no telling how large the crypt actually is.

 

There is no writing of any kind. No name or dates adorn the Mausoleum. Only a rather odd carving above the door. Above the gated door is a carved symbol that some claim looks like a "V" with wings while others see a flower with two leaves.

 

"It could be Satan. It could be witchcraft. It could be that vampires live inside,"

 

Little is known about the mausoleum -- the only one in the cemetery to have so few documented records. Even though Erie is a public cemetery, whose records are open to the public. The records for this mausoleum are not.

 

Legend has it that the crypt was broken into and looted at least once. It's also rumored that the burglar soon suffered a horrible fate. Its doors are now gated and locked.

He was hung by his power cable. He was deflated. His friends were tortured.They lost their lights and their blowers. The Slasher wanted to know where Santa's Village is. None of them talked. They even refused to tell him where the North Pole is! I arrived on the scene and scared the Slasher away. Poor Santa, not a breath of air left in his body. Windsor, Ontario

******************************

Lyrics to the sonnet appear after the story

************************

 

Samantha shook her head to clear her mind. Here she was on a deadly serious operation and a silly old song was all she could think about. She should have worn velvet tonight, she reasoned without any logic.

 

This was her third attempt out undercover. The only nibble so far had been a two bit second rate mugger on their first attempt. Sam remembered the look in his drooling eyes, he had figured that he had hit the jackpot as he forced, at knifepoint, Samantha to hand over her pricy jewels. Boy was he surprised when Sam’s team paid his seedy apartment a visit a few hours later as he was celebrating his good fortune with his cronies. Then she heard it….

 

Suddenly, all thoughts of songs and adolescencent punks were driven from her mind. Sam’s sixth sense was tingling; she had picked up a follower. She had heard him in the woods one the other side of the deserted lane. He was good, she hadn’t been aware of being followed until the muffled snap of a twig reached her ears. She shivered deliciously, come to momma she said to herself, not giving any outward sign that she had heard…….

**

The unknown assailant That Sam was trying to lure had been making a practice of preying on wealthy, unchaperoned women. Carefully selecting his victims based solely on the jewels they were exhibiting. Following them home as they left the upper class parties they were attending. He would then ambush them, tying up the hapless victim, then looting the house of anything small, but valuable, including whatever jewelry could be found on his bound, usually wriggling victim.

 

His fifth target had been taken a month ago on Halloween night. She had been a blonde mistress of a titled junior minister, who had set her up in his summer cottage, which overlooked the channel. She had been seized, bound, gagged and robbed inside the small cottage. In her struggles against her bindings she had choked to death. That had made it murder. That made it Sam’s problem. With the heat being put on by the junior minister Sam had been given carte blanche. But, by the manner with which Sir Mister ” junior” minister had been squawking, one would assume he was more concerned over the jewels that had been nicked than the untimely demise of his sexy young paramour!. The vain prig probably already had another one lined up and installed at the small cottage, waiting to be adorned with the jewels once they had been recovered Sam figured wryly. But, an assignment was an assignment no matter what her feelings were about the matter. So, Sam had assembled her team, supplied them with the very latest in technology, and had gone hunting him down.

 

Sam had felt a bit James Bondish wearing jewels with an array of tracking devices carefully hidden in amongst the tiffany quality Gems. Her rented cottage, an old keep for a bygone ancient castle, was also outfitted with ultra-sensitive listening devices. Her team could track every move and hear every word spoken as Sam was out on her prowl.

**

And now she was being carefully followed. Instinctively she knew that whomever it was, it wasn’t a two bit hood this time. Another twig snapped, closer and, Sam thought, deliberate. She turned around to look, hand to mouth, in all appearances she was the slightly drunk and vulnerable, wealthy brunette that was her role on this case . But, unnoticeably, on the inside, Samantha ‘s whole demeanor changed, becoming cold and alert, Knowing it was her job to bring this piece of venom to justice. Bring it on she thought to herself, hoping this was the one. Then she turned and made her way to the keep, her senses prickling….

***********************************************************************

"If I Die Young"

  

If I die young, bury me in satin

Lay me down on a bed of roses

Sink me in the river at dawn

Send me away with the words of a love song

 

Uh oh, uh oh

 

Lord make me a rainbow, I'll shine down on my mother

She'll know I'm safe with you when she stands under my colors, oh,

And life ain't always what you think it ought to be, no

Ain't even grey, but she buries her baby

 

The sharp knife of a short life, oh well

I've had just enough time

 

If I die young, bury me in satin

Lay me down on a bed of roses

Sink me in the river at dawn

Send me away with the words of a love song

 

The sharp knife of a short life, oh well

I've had just enough time

 

And I'll be wearing white, when I come into your kingdom

I'm as green as the ring on my little cold finger,

I've never known the lovin' of a man

But it sure felt nice when he was holdin' my hand,

There's a boy here in town, says he'll love me forever,

Who would have thought forever could be severed by...

 

...the sharp knife of a short life, oh well?

I've had just enough time

 

So put on your best, boys, and I'll wear my pearls

What I never did is done

 

A penny for my thoughts, oh, no, I'll sell 'em for a dollar

They're worth so much more after I'm a goner

And maybe then you'll hear the words I been singin'

Funny when you're dead how people start listenin'

 

If I die young, bury me in satin

Lay me down on a bed of roses

Sink me in the river at dawn

Send me away with the words of a love song

 

Uh oh (uh, oh)

The ballad of a dove (oh, uh)

Go with peace and love

Gather up your tears, keep 'em in your pocket

Save 'em for a time when you're really gonna need 'em, oh

 

The sharp knife of a short life, oh well

I've had just enough time

 

So put on your best, boys, and I'll wear my pearls.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

DISCLAIMER

All rights and copyrights observed by Chatwick University, Its contributors, associates and Agents

 

The purpose of these chronological photos and accompanying stories, articles is to educate, teach, instruct, and generally increase the awareness level of the general public as to the nature and intent of the underlying criminal elements that have historically plagued humankind.

 

No Part of this can reprinted, duplicated, or copied be without the express written permission and approval of Chatwick University.

 

These photos and stories are works of fiction. Any resemblance to people, living or deceased, is purely coincidental.

As with any work of fiction or fantasy the purpose is for entertainment and/or educational purposes only, and should never be attempted in real life.

We accept no responsibility for any events occurring outside this website.

 

********************************************************************************

 

All rights and copyrights observed by Chatwick University, Its contributors, associates and Agents

 

The purpose of these chronological photos and accompanying stories, articles is to educate, teach, instruct, and generally increase the awareness level of the general public as to the nature and intent of the underlying criminal elements that have historically plagued humankind.

 

No Part of this can reprinted, duplicated, or copied be without the express written permission and approval of Chatwick University.

These photos and stories are works of fiction. Any resemblance to people, living or deceased, is purely coincidental.

As with any work of fiction or fantasy the purpose is for entertainment only, and should never be attempted in real life.

We accept no responsibility for any events occurring outside this website.

  

***************************

 

Channel 7 News

Bulfinch square, Boston

 

qwikLoadr™ Videos...

Matchbox 20 | 3:00 am Live! • Bing™

the Corrs | Breathless Official! • Bing™

Interceptor | Jet Funny Car 6,000 HP [Houston]! • YouTube™

 

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Blogger gwennie2006 | Blue Wave 10-4 Good Buddy!…

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Edited in PicMonkey, color tweaks and Boost for the bricks.

  

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Purrfect Angelz...

www.flickr.com/search/?text=purrfectAngelz%20DCMemorialFo...

 

www.GrfxDziner.com/lessons/Ricky2index.html

Ricky Sperlinga, 1960 - 2005....Keri McCarthy's Uncle.

 

NOTE: March 29, 2014 is when the Mayor and Katherine were off a week on their dates, video. FBI

.

1828 Charlotte, Kansas City, Missouri, His World for over 50 years, (A Treasure Shop) now also the Scene of his Murder.

Sal Mineo is an American icon. In the late 1950's, Sal Mineo was one of the hottest movie stars in the world.

 

Twice nominated for an academy award for "Rebel without a Cause", and "Exodus", Golden Globe winner for "Exodus", Emmy nominated for the TV production of "Dino", Sal's brilliant career spans three decades of magnificent work, cut short in 1976 by his tragic unsolved murder. He was stabbed to death outside his Hollywood apartment in 1976.

 

I love old movies and saw Sal Mineo in “Rebel without a Cause“and “Exodus” when I was a teen and have adored him ever since.

 

My sister “inherited” this photo along with a slew of others. An aunt had written to one of the studios and they sent her about thirty photographs of all the hot movie stars of the 40s, 50s, and 60s. My sister has them all in pristine condition along with the original envelope from the studio.

 

For my Flickr groups…

 

James Blair had been found with two gaping wounds to the top of his head, he was drifting in and out of conciousness and largely incoherant. He passed away on the way to the hospital. It seems that his murder has yet to be solved.

 

FUNERAL OF VICTIM.

IMPRESSIVE PUBLIC TRIBUTES

LARGE CROWD ATTENDS. The funeral yesterday afternoon of Mr. James Hunter Blair, victim of the murder, was one of the largest seen in Auckland for many years. Long before 3 o'clock large crowds assembled near the victim's home in Abbey Street, Newton, and as the cortege moved off thousands lined the streets from Karangahape Road at various points right out to Point Chevalier.

The coffin, draped with the Union Jack and covered with many beautiful floral emblems, was borne by Messrs. A. Hynes, D. Thompson, F. F. C. Collett, L. Wilkinson, J. Nash, and W. Davidson, all Chess taxi-drivers and colleagues of the dead man. As the hearse moved into Karangahape Road from Gundry Street long lines of taxicabs moved into line behind and followed to Waikumete Cemetery. The cortege was two miles long. Many ex-servicemen followed the hearse to pay tribute to their late comrade in arms. The taxicabs of the various services were grouped according to the organisation to which they belonged, almost every Chess taxi in Auckland being behind the hearse, the others following. Each taxi carried a small strip of black ribbon front the radiator cap. The service at Waikumete was conducted by the Rev. Evan R. Harries, of St. James' Presbyterian Church. Mr. Blair was buried in the soldiers' section of the cemetery. "Thou knowest, O Lord, how our hearts are stirred to sympathy and to indignation. We are mindful of the frailty of life, of its subjection, not only to disease, but also to hatred and even to crime," said Mr. Harries, who recited an eloquent graveside prayer. "An enemy hath sown tares where Thou hast sown wheat. We remember that the devil was a murderer from the beginning. We thank Thee for the magnificent tribute paid to our brother at this graveside. Have compassion upon his wife and daughters. We pray that our minds may be freed from thoughts of personal revenge; help us to commit our cause to Him who judges righteously. give us grace to pray even for him whose hand has done this foul deed, that he may be brought to penitence."

The minister recited several verses from the. hymn "Now the Labourer's Task is O'er," and those present joined in the Lord's Prayer. The final and most impressive tribute was provided by a number of men, representatives of the Auckland Returned Soldiers' Association, who stepped forward and cast into the open grave replicas of the red poppies of Flanders.

paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/AS19331018.2.14

 

Extraordinary Crime Arouses Auckland

POLICE HAVE LITTLE TO WORK ON

AUCKLAND, Last Night.

Without any apparent motive, the murder of James Hunter Blair while he was seated at the wheel of the taxicab in King's road, Mount Roskill, in the early hours of Sunday morning, still presents a deeply puzzling problem.

Information flooded into the central po.jiee station throughout the day and there was every indication that intense public concern and interest had been aroused over the extraordinary crime. Much of that divulged to the police had to do with men seen in the vicinity at varying times. The consequence was that the detectives and constables were given tremendous scope for inquiry. Great hope was held out by the investigators as a result of an examination of fingerprints on the vehicle. A remarkably thorough search was made and numbers of fingerprints, especially on the doors of the car, were recorded. The car was also examined thoroughly for other possible clues. There were indications of bark in the back of the vehicle, suggesting that a piece of timber could have been used as the lethal weapon. The bark, however, could easily have been in the cab for a considerable time.

paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/HC19331017.2.19

 

THE TAXICAB MURDER

Sir. —The murder of James Blair, taxi-driver, has left his dependants penniless. In the hope that you will open a subscription list in their aid, I enclose my small cheque. Surely many of those among us who call up taxis at any hour will find it not impossible to help to solve, if only for a while, the problem now facing Mrs. Blair. Inasmuch.

[Cheque for £3 3s received. Further contributions will be received at the Herald Office and forwarded to Mrs. Blair.—Editor, Herald.]

paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/NZH19331019.2.160.2

 

THE BLAIR FUND

A total of £54 0s 3d has been received for the fund for the benefit of the widow of the murdered taxi-driver, Mr. James Hunter Blair. In addition to £43 9s 3d previously acknowledged £lO 11s has been received from the owner-drivers, shift-drivers and staff of the Atta Taxi Company, The fund is now closed.

paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/NZH19331121.2.175

 

paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/NZH19331016.2.24.2

 

paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/NZH19331018.2.35.2

 

paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/AS19331018.2.91.1

 

www.stuff.co.nz/auckland/local-news/local-blogs/tales-fro...

 

Plot 36: James Hunter Blair (53) 1933 – Taxi Driver – murdered

 

1st N.Z.E.F.

43717 Dvr

J. H. BLAIR

Army Service Corps

died (N.Z.) aged

15.10.1933 54 yrs

 

View James’ military personnel file on line:

ndhadeliver.natlib.govt.nz/delivery/DeliveryManagerServle...

 

View and/or contribute to James’ profile on the Auckland War Memorial Museum Cenotaph data base:

www.aucklandmuseum.com/war-memorial/online-cenotaph/recor...

  

samoyeds are at times over protective....hey! anyone can make a mistake. with floating eye of bertrand cantat keeping things under...... well in perspective and perspective is all!

Jackie Cliff:

 

"Oh my God! [laughs] Selim Cattan. He was such a character. We all loved him - and we didn’t love him. We were all a bit nervous of him. He was the dirtiest old man. He owned the club and he made it really good. Every girl in it was as gorgeous as he could get, or else he wouldn’t have them. And he made all of them go to bed with him in this big round bed, in his stinky flat round the corner. I didn’t do it actually. I was supposed to go there the night of my birthday, but I wriggled out of it. The stories I was told about his stinky bed…[laughs]. He used to take these girls back when they were drunk and say, “If you don’t do it you’re fired.” But we also used to have lots of fun with him - pull his leg, joke."

Will you of your charity remember in your prayers

 

APRIL FABB

 

A child who disappeared

From this parish

In April 1969

Of whom nothing

Has since been heard

 

For those of us of a certain age and living in Norfolk, the disappearance of April Fabb, the girl who was seen to go down one end of a closed lane on her bicycle and never came out again, seemed to be one of those defining moments.

 

As a child it may be that too many things got linked together. Up until then, long cycle rides in the country, even from Norwich to the coast, were a simple pleasure. I would be just as likely to go alone. Suddenly you became conscious of parents wanting to know where you were going, when would you be back, who were you going with and have you got some money to make a call from a public phone box if you get scared or lost

 

And coming from a small cul-de-sac on a council estate, we seemed to go from only our family having a car to most household having a car. And mums were starting to learn to drive and soon kids were going everywhere in the back seat. Mass bike rides of +20 kids became a thing of the past

 

Of course, with the benefit of hindsight, I can see that it was a boom time, families had more disposable wealth, cars were cheaper, and the whole country was going through something of a cultural change as we went into the 1970’s.

We had our first colour TV in 1970 in time for the Mexico World Cup. In 1966 we’d had a front room crammed with people watching the World Cup final on what we’d think of now as a laughably small screen, by 1970 every house in the street had a goggle box.

 

The new cars meant there was less room to play outside on the street, so you spent more time indoors.

 

Plus the little gang of us from that cul-de-sac were getting older and I was living in a pre-teenage dream world that wanted this lifestyle to go for ever. But at the time I blamed April and others like her who disappeared at this time, to my undying shame.

 

It was only when I became a parent myself that the enormity of losing a child in these circumstances began to hit home.

 

RIP April, wherever you are.

 

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Disappearance_of_April_Fabb

www.norfolk.police.uk/newsandevents/unsolvedcases/missing...

 

Her death has been linked to a serial killer, Robert Black, but never conclusively proven.

www.crimelibrary.com/serial_killers/predators/black/recri...

 

However it also fits the pattern of another alledged serial killer, Peter Tobin.

www.ipswichstar.co.uk/news/did_peter_tobin_kill_in_norfol...

 

What a sad world we live in at times that such individuals can be missed and not receive the help they needed to prevent such future tragedies.

 

On the night of Monday 4 June 1990, an 18 year old schoolgirl called Anne Stine Geisler (inset) wheeled her bicycle for what was to be the last time through this entrance to the back yard of her home in Teglgårdsstræde in inner Copenhagen, at the end of the Whitsun holiday.

 

The following morning, her body was found in a cellar room. Her hands had been bound behind her back and there was a cord around her neck. Cloths had been forced into her mouth and, bizarrely, her body had been doused in floor polish. The cause of death was recorded as strangulation; there was no evidence that she had been sexually assaulted.

 

Although the case made shock headlines, and hundreds (eventually thousands) of people were interviewed, no one has so far been charged with, or in connection with, her murder.

 

There are several aspects to this case that have caused continued speculation over the years. One is that a pattern of cuts made with a shard of glass or a knife - forming what some believe to be the killer's 'signature' - were found on Stine's body. Another is that Stine kept a secret diary, whose contents reveal that in certain respects her life was not quite that of the average schoolgirl.

 

While theories abound, the plain fact is that her killer has now evaded justice for 22 years. Stine Geisler is buried in the nearby Assistens Kirkegård cemetery in Nørrebro, where her grave is marked by a simple headstone.

keddie was an idyllic resort — before the 1981 murders.

 

a rustic hotel, bar and restaurant surrounded by cabins, nestled in the woods near northern california’s feather river. they promised a peaceful vacation but then someone killed with bloody abandon a mother, two of her children and a friend of the the oldest boy. nothing was ever the same.

 

by the time i visited in 2007 the hotel building was shuttered, most of the cabins in various states of disrepair. a heavy feeling of dread hung over the woods.

 

i had no idea of the events that had haunted a community for more than 25 years. coming down the highway i had spontaneously made a quick left turn because a sign that said “keddie resort” looked interesting. i drove around checking out the place but something was off.

 

a rough-looking man came out from behind a broken-down pickup truck he had been working on. scraggly beard, greasy hands and hair, he stared as i drove by. i am sure he thought i was just another lookie-loo searching for the infamous cabin 28 where the killings occurred.

 

i was only looking for photo ops but felt uncomfortable enough to leave after only a few minutes. when i got back to my quincy motel i went online to see what i could learn about keddie. then i understood.

 

though there have been theories, a film and even suspects, the 32-year-old murder case remains cold.

 

cabin 28 has been torn down.

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www.keddiemurdersfilm.com/

www.facebook.com/pages/Cabin-28-The-Keddie-Murders-part-I...

 

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Keddie_Murders

This replaces part of the original Richmond Park with properties dating from around 1900. Wolverton Street is perhaps more famous locally for being the site of one of Liverpool’s most notorious unsolved murders…the William Wallace Case. More information including a photo-trail can be found here.

 

www.flickr.com/photos/23441806@N03/sets/72157604479269030/

 

Swanbourne Lake lies in the lower part of a deep steep-sided valley or coombe that has been eroded into the chalk bedrock. The valley starts at the crest of the Downs and ends in the flood plain of the River Arun, which is underlain by soft alluvial clay and peat. In its natural state, the lower part of the valley would also have had alluvium and probably a stream fed from springs that emerged from the chalk.

 

Damming of a stream in the valley, marked on maps as Pugh Dean Bottom, eventually created the lake that we see today with its overflow of a sparkling chalk stream we know as the Mill Stream. The whole area is rich with plants and wildlife such as local and exotic water birds, water rats, voles, bats and dragonflies. (With grateful thanks to David Shilston for this information.)

A mill pond is known to have existed on the site in the c11th prior to the Norman Conquest. Records tell us that in 1066 the mill pond powered a water mill which was valued at 40/- per annum. In 1340 the mill tithes bought in £3 and income from the mill supported the Priory (Next to St Nicholas Church), the castle Chaplain (In 1301) and the leper hospital of St. James which was located in the area now know as Park Bottom (In 1272).

It was recorded in 1595 that the pond was, "Too cold for fish in the summer but never too cold to freeze in winter".

During the Civil War William Wallers Parliamentarian troops entered Arundel from South Stoke along Mill lane and beat down the two earth works erected by the castle defenders. There is a very brief reference to the pond as a water source in 1644 during the Civil War noting that the pipes supplying water were cut by the Parliamentarians.

The reference infers that there was a pumped supply from outside the castle to the besieged Royalist troops inside but no indication to the type of pump or how it was powered although it is likely that water would have been pumped to a cistern in the castle grounds from one of the springs at the south end of the pond.

In 1768/9 the mill is recorded as grinding corn for Sir John Shelley of Michelgrove a great political opponent to the Duke of Norfolk of the day, Duke Edward. The mill pond which was located near to the current road was enlarged in the late 1700s covering about 17 acres to become the lake we see today.

The Miller Robert Horne (Born 1769) is recorded as being killed on 1 January 1813 believed to be by the accidental starting of the water wheel at the mill. He was a Quaker and was buried in their burial ground in Tarrant Street behind the wall directly opposite Sparks Yard. Arundel museum has a gravestone that was always believed to have been this Robert Horne, however, upon closer inspection for this article, it was noted that the year and the name was correct but the age at death was stated as thirteen. Clearly a mystery for another day.

In 1834, Mark Aloysius Tierney wrote of Swanbourne Lake, "...in whose presence the lapse of centuries will easily be forgotten, and the mind, hastening back to the age of the Confessor, will muse on the lake and the stream as they existed then, and fancy itself beside the mill which was at work nearly eight hundred years ago".

Arundel Mill and Castle, the subject of John Constable's last great oil painting was not exhibited at the royal Academy until after his death in 1837. Constable adored Arundel and wrote, "I never saw such beauty on natural landscapes before.....The meadows are lovely, so is the delightful river, but the trees are above all".

The old water mill was demolished c1844 to make way for the castle Dairy, new pump house, a cow shed and dairyman's residence.

In 1846 Queen Victoria was given a tour of the new dairy and wrote in her diary: "We lunched with all the company, and afterwards took a nice, long walk with them all down the Slopes Walk to a charming Dairy, with gardens and a pretty little cottage, for the Duchess's use, all so nicely kept" The dairy still supplied the castle with butter, cream and milk in 1893 even when the Duke and his family were in London. Any surplus was given to the poor of the parish.

In the early 1900's there was a Commemorative firework display at Swanbourne Lodge. An article from the time notes, "Swanbourne Lake was transformed into a veritable fairyland. Chinese lanterns and coloured lights in every conceivable form of fanciful display". The Duke and Duchess and their party must have had a wonderful view of the proceedings from where they were located on the island in the lake. The article goes on to say, "Great was the delight of the crowds at the display of wailing fireworks, which, with ghost-like shrieks, echoed against the hillsides. There followed a great white waterfall of fire, and in conclusion, a firework portrait of the King, and the music of the National Anthem from the band in the trees."

In 1931 areas within a series of lynchets (a bank of earth that builds up on the down slope of a field ploughed over a long period of time), belonging to agricultural field systems were excavated in 1931. This area was located on high ground above the Boxcopse just past the far end of the lake. It was known as "Shepherds Garden" from a name that appeared on an early estate map. Evidence of a number of wattle and daub buildings strengthened with flint were discovered which appeared to represent Romano-British domestic occupation. Finds included pottery, tiles and coins ranging from late Iron Age to the 3rd or 4th century AD. Fragments of pottery can often be seen scattered across this area through disturbance by animals but one should not be tempted to remove pieces from this listed site.

In 1940 at 6.30am on 13th August a German WW2 Ju88A-1 aircraft belonging to Stab II/KG 54 was shot down by Tangmere based Hurricanes whilst en-route to bomb Farnborough. The plane smashed through some beech trees on the west side of the lake, ripping itself apart as it careered down the steep embankment. The engines were torn off as it hit the footpath while the remains of the airframe continued into the far end of the lake. The damaged trees could still be seen until the 1987 storm.

Of the four crew members, two baled out and became prisoners of war, the parachute of one caught on the tail dragging him to his death while the other was found mortally wounded in a tree in Worthing. Portions of the plane could be seen when the lake dried out in 1989. The 2 airmen who died are buried in St. Andrew's Churchyard at Tangmere, near Arundel. One of the defused bombs recovered from the wreckage many years later can be seen on display at Arundel castle.

 

In the summer 1948 the body of 27 year visitor to the town by the name of Joan Woodhouse was discovered in the Boxcopse area which is on the side of the hill just past the far end of the lake. The body was discovered ten days later by a local man and reported to the Police. The Pathologist confirmed that she had been murdered. Following a high profile investigation by Scotland Yard the Police's key suspect was the local man who reported finding the body. Although a public prosecution was attempted followed by a very rare private prosecution funded by relatives of the murdered woman, no one was ever convicted of this murder which made headlines around the world.

www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-3622612/Brutal-murder-li...

 

The pump house, that was built in 1846, was taken out of commission in c1955 following a number of mechanical updates over the years. One of the three water cisterns in the castle grounds that this pump supplied was still in use up until the 1940's. It can still be seen as the roofless brick built structure near the N/E corner of the cricket ground.

For a number of years from the mid 1970âs onwards, the lake suffered from low water levels and in some cases, the central area all but dried up. This appears to have been resolved by the dredging that was carried out in 2001.

In c 1987 the mill pond was converted into a trout farm where one couple pay to feed the fish. This venture has been closed for a number of years now.

The castle Pump house by the dairy was restored in the 1990's by the Arundel Castle Estate and the Sussex Industrial Archaeology Society who also cleaned up the pumping machinery. It is possible to view this by appointment.

Today, Swanbourne lake is enjoyed each year by thousands of visitors and locals alike for it beauty and by taking one of the footpaths off of the main lake walk, one can enjoy absolute tranquillity immersed in nature.

 

A Brief History of Swanbourne Lake by Local historian Mark Phillips and Adge Roberts - Published in the June 2015 edition of the Arundel Bell magazine.

 

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all copyrights reserved ©2016 Art Hutchins ~ Art's Eye photographic©

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So as it always happens, I need to move on in the PhotoStream and Life, but never forget the people that have been captured in my lenses and have disappeared from this Life. Happy Trails to you Albert & Rin Tin Tin and your Junk Yard in the Sky!

In 1934, Todd opened a restaurant called “Thelma Todd's Sidewalk Café.” One year later she was found dead in her Packard sedan in a garage behind the restaurant. The police could never prove that she was murdered and the case remains one of Hollywood's most notorious unsolved mysteries.

PI F' U......Pi for U! [see comment for more]

 

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I went to the sandcastles yesterday after work. Today I went across the street to see Deanna, before I went to them again. As soon as I came around the corner I saw the Boston Police K-9 Unit.....and then that woman appeared to my left. I photographed her twice. The first one has the letters behind cut so they read Pi f' U [Pi for U], and her handbag is striped horizontally, like a Convict's Uniform, just like it. Then, she hid in the trees with a Picnik PicMonkey.

 

Blogger GrfxDziner:

Collared Go Holly! [Thanks Molly!] Amber two!!...

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Square Format | PicMonkey Theme discussion...

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specifically...

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Boston Police cruiser is parked at the Garden of Peace Memorial.