Once Upon A Blog Crime – Death Comes Syncopated

Chief Inspector Rory has asked me to write a blog post about a crime.

See his post here:

Once Upon A Blog Crime ……..

The Crime is to involve the following bloggers:

Perp 1

Cheryl of The Bag Lady

Perp 2

Clare of Dreams and Adventures of Cosy Cottage

Perp 3

Carol Anne of Therapy Bits

Perp 4

Cyranny of Cyranny’s Cove

Perp 5

Sandman Jazz

 

So here is my tale:

Arriving back from his Easter Break was always tough. You just had time to relax and forget about work, when before you knew it you were back in the office staring at the computer screen. Inspector Kristian had made the most of the beautiful weather they’d had and taken a trip to the seaside. There was something about sitting on a windy beach and eating sandwiches with real sand in them, that really made him feel happy. Dipping his toes in the sea and seeing how long he could keep them there before frostbite set in was a fun game too.

The Chief poked his head around the side of his cubicle wall, plastered with pictures of his pet chickens, and jovially said “Did you enjoy the beach? Well if you’re yearning for the sea, you’ll enjoy this next assignment then.”

“No rest for the wicked,” thought Kristian to himself.

He grabbed his coat and ran out of the door in a hurry.

It took quite a while to get to the scene of the crime. He had to drive down to the coast, which took about thirty minutes but then had to wait for a ferry to take him over to Crab Island.

The island was a popular spot for holidays, with two beaches one on the sheltered side that had a family holiday park on it, complete with caravans and a swimming pool. The other beach was a bit wilder, facing the open sea. This was a popular nudist beach in the height of summer, but this time of year, there was a chilly wind that was not at all kind to exposed areas.

He was surprised that anyone would be around that part of the island to wind up dead at all.

Finally, he arrived at the Cove to be greeted by a local constable, Constable Carruthers.

“The Body’s down here, Sir, on the beach.”

“Was it a suicide, Constable?”

“Well, it could have been, but I’d say it was more likely Murder. It’s a nasty sight, Sir, Brace yourself”.

They had to carefully negotiate their way down the steep path and the narrow concrete steps to the secluded Cyranny’s Cove and there on the beach lay the naked body of a man, half buried in the sand. A Tenor saxophone lay discarded by his feet and a plastic bag was tied around his head.

From the deep gouges made in the sand by his feet and the sand under his fingernails, it was clear that the man had put up a struggle.

Combing the beach, the Inspector found an empty pizza box, A box of matches and a revolver.

Above the beach was a Café called the Cornucopia and a small cosy looking cottage. There were several pairs of footsteps crossing the sand that must have been made fairly recently. The tide came in almost to the cliff edge and would have wiped out any footsteps made more than six hours ago.

“Constable who lives in these buildings?”

Constable Carruthers looked up from removing the plastic bag from the victim’s head.

“The café’s only open in season from the beginning of May to the end of September. The owner lives in the village on the other side of the island. Cosy Cottage is lived in by a lovely lady who moved here for some peace and quiet about a year ago. She keeps to herself mostly.”

“While forensics come and take the body away, we’ll best go and ask the lady some questions.”

The forensics team were coming down the narrow steps, Inspector Kristian walked over to take one last look at the victim’s body, before the autopsy. The face was grossly swollen and purple from blood and a terrible welt was around its neck where the bag had been tied on tightly.

“Nasty” though the Inspector.

Knocking on the door of Cosy Cottage, it wasn’t long before a lady answered it, wearing a loose-fitting fisherman’s smock embroidered with flowers and a daisy in her hair.

She introduced herself as Clare and invited them into her front parlour that overlooked the sea. The sound of the waves gently bumping onto the beach was very calming and relaxing. The room was decorated with seashells and pieces of driftwood tied with string. Inspector Kristian enjoyed folk art and commented favourably on them.

“Oh, I made them myself. It’s part of my therapy. It’s why I came here. I’m sorry to say, I had a bit of a mental breakdown a few years ago. The noise of the city would get on my nerves and I’m a very light sleeper, I need silence and calm about me. That is what my Therapist, Carol Anne of Therapy bits, recommended for me. Total rest and relaxation by the beach.”

“I see, Clare. Could you please help us with our enquiry? A man has been found dead on the beach outside, did you hear anything?”

“Oh, no, I’m afraid I didn’t hear a thing. I slept like a log last night. I had some chamomile tea and that always makes me sleep deeply.”

The Inspector had a good knowledge of herbs himself, he often suffered from anxiety attacks brought on by the sight of so many gruesome bodies. He took St Johns Wort and also occasionally Chamomile to help him sleep. However, as he looked around the cottage, he found several herbs but no chamomile at all.

“Excuse me, Clare, but clearly your bed has not been slept in, and there is no chamomile here. You already said you were a light sleeper and so I can’t believe that a man could be murdered outside your front door and you didn’t hear a thing.”

A change came over Clare’s lovely face. It became twisted and she twitched awkwardly. Suddenly she burst out “I HATE JAZZ! I HATE IT!” She shouted.

“Carol Anne, my therapist, said I had to have complete peace and quiet and that man came down to the beach every night to play his blasted Saxophone. I couldn’t stand it any longer. I asked him quite nicely to stop. I even took him out some cigarettes and my novelty lighter in the shape of a revolver. He smoked the cigarettes then laughed in my face. He just kept playing that Jazz music. I just snapped. I found a plastic bag that had washed up on the beach and I sneaked up on him while he played Take Five. It was mental cruelty!”

Inspector Kristian and Constable Carruthers read Clare her rights and took her into custody.

The inspector shook his head, he couldn’t help but feel sorry for Clare. Here was another brutal crime caused by Jazz.

Who is the victim?

Sandman Jazz

https://sandmanjazz.wordpress.com/

Who is the murderer?

Clare of dreams and adventures of cosy cottage

https://cosycottageandthequestforthegoodlife.wordpress.com/

Who is the location?

Cyranny of Cyranny’s Cove

https://cyranny.com/

Who is the murder weapon?

Cheryl of The Bag Lady

https://rugby843.blog/

Who is the motive?

Carol Anne of Therapy Bits

https://therapybits.com/

 

I hope that no one has taken any offence by this story. 🙂

I have also included the following word prompts:

https://wordofthedaychallenge.wordpress.com/2019/04/25/yearning/comment-page-1/#comment-22377

https://ragtagcommunity.wordpress.com/2019/04/25/rdp-thursday-cornucopia/

FOWC with Fandango — Hurry

https://onedailyprompt.wordpress.com/2019/04/25/your-daily-word-prompt-negotiate-april-25-2019/

https://lightmotifs.wordpress.com/2019/04/24/three-things-challenge-pl70/

Today’s prompt: pizza, daisy, revolver

 

Multiple Word Prompt Story – The Riparian Feast.

This story was inspired by the following word prompts:

https://wordofthedaychallenge.wordpress.com/2018/09/12/riparian/

 

https://fivedotoh.com/2018/09/12/fowc-with-fandango-erratic/

https://ragtagcommunity.wordpress.com/2018/09/12/wednesday-rdp-feast/

https://thehauntedwordsmith.wordpress.com/2018/09/12/three-things-challenge-12-sept-2018/

Today’s things are: takeaway, potatoes, pizza

The Riparian Feast 

Miranda was famous for being erratic. Nothing was ever planned in advance, everything was completely spontaneous. It made her exciting but also slightly exhausting.

“Come on, let’s have a picnic” Miranda announced to the room.

It was one of those lazy Sundays in September and the sun was streaming in through the window. It had become a regular pattern over the last few years that August would be a bit of a washout but that early September would be glorious but with cooler evenings and earlier sunsets.

The others were all laying about, listening to music or reading magazines. The floor appeared to be a mass of stretched out legs in a variety of colours and textures. Keith had decided that good weather or not, it was time to get out his brown corduroy trousers. Steve was determinedly hanging on to summer and was wearing shorts, so his hairy legs were on full display. Jeannie had short on too, but her slender model’s legs were a bit easier on the eye than Steve’s hirsute offerings.

Cathy had on a pair of dungarees. She had several pairs and rarely wore anything else. She was the tomboy of the group.

They were an arty set. Jeannie was a fashion model, but was keen to move behind the camera and was studying photography at university. Cathy was a potter, a maker of utilitarian vessels in the arts and crafts tradition. She had a kiln and a potter’s wheel in her basement flat but it didn’t leave her with any living space of her own so she used to hang out in Miranda and Jeannie’s apartment instead. Keith and Steve were struggling actors, which is another way of saying they were currently unemployed.

No one had looked up when Miranda made her original pronouncement but she was not the kind to give up without a fight.

“Look, guys, the sun is shining, the birds are singing, Winter’s just around the corner, we’ve got to make the most of this while we can.”

Jeannie looked up from reading her photography magazine “But a picnic? Can’t we just go for walk in the park or something?”

Miranda through open the kitchen cupboard to see what they had to eat. Languishing at the back was a sack of potatoes well past their best. There wasn’t much else, it was practically ‘Mother Hubbard’ territory.

“Come on you guys, Keith’s still got some gas in the van, let’s go for a drive and find a little idyllic spot by the river. I’m in the mood for a riparian feast.” Miranda liked to put he degree in English to full effect by throwing in the odd word that most people hadn’t heard of, just to create a stir. Unfortunately, the gang was far too used to her ways to batt an eyelid.

Steve stood up and stretched his arms above his handsome blond head. “Well I’m game, but what are we going to eat? It won’t be much of a picnic with nothing but a few mouldy old potatoes.”

“I know,” Said Miranda with enthusiasm, “We can order takeaway Pizza.”

With some reluctance, they all decided to go along with Miranda’s plan or they’d get no peace what so ever. As soon as the Pizza was delivered, they all jumped in the van and drove off to find adventure.

The End

 

Copyright: Kristian Fogarty 12/September/2018