A first rate murder mystery story requires the skillful blending of all the essential ingredients necessary to produce a tale which will keep us eagerly turning the page right up the final denouement. By the end of the story, we may quite often feel confident that we have spotted the villain of the piece (It was Miss Scarlet with the Rope in the Conservatory!) only to find that yet again, the wool has been pulled over our eyes and it was in fact Colonel Mustard with the Dagger in the Billiard Room. And on the rare occasions when our deductive skills actually enable us to arrive at the correct solution the satisfaction is immense, we are super sleuths!

So what are some of the basic components that make for a perfect whodunit? Firstly and very obviously, there has to be MURDER, at least one but preferably at least three. Depending on the storyline, these may be by the same method (as with a serial killer) or with completely different weapons and scenarios. The latter is possibly the more interesting, because although the murderer may use different ways of killing, the type of crime should be the same (opportunist or well thought out, for instance) This should enable us to deduce the personality traits of the murderer (always remembering that he or she may well be masking their true nature) and this knowledge is a CLUE to the identity of the guilty party.

CLUES are a vital element of a murder mystery. There are the physical clues – items discovered at the scene of the crime, significant documents found in the victim’s personal effects, muddy shoe prints, lipstick traces on a wine glass, a recent cut on someone’s wrist – the list is endless. And there are the clues that can be picked up by the crime solver by, say, listening to what the protagonist say. Has this man contradicted a previous statement? Did this woman lie about her relationship with the dead man? All small pieces of the jigsaw; which when placed together make the complete picture. Unless of course one or more of them is a RED HERRINGS.

The RED HERRING is a legitimate ploy used by the writers of murder mysteries to get us looking in all the wrong places, and it very often succeeds. Usually, we realize our mistake fairly quickly, often because the person that the red herring caused us to suspect is bumped off; and so we turn our attention to another SUSPECT.

Probably about half a dozen SUSPECTS is the ideal number, all of whom should at the outset appear to have had the motive, means and opportunity to commit the crimes. Usually we have eliminated (rightly or wrongly) all but a couple by the end of the book, at which time the DETECTIVE will reveal what really happened.

As we know, DETECTIVES, in murder mystery fiction can be either male or female and come in all shapes, sizes, nationalities, ages and personalities. They can be professionals or gifted amateurs, but they all have one thing in common – they always get their man (or woman.) They must be well nigh infallible. When they point out the significance of some object or remark that has been encountered during the course of the case, we should think ‘Of course, why didn’t I see that?’ And although we probably didn’t see it coming, the ENDING should be SATISFACTORY.

And it is a SATISFACTORY ENDING that keeps us coming back for more. If we feel we haven’t been given all the facts, if some character is introduced late in the story and turns out to be the guilty one or if the villain does not receive appropriate justice, then we are left feeling cheated. The author must play fair with his or her readers.

A good murder mystery story should intrigue us, baffle us, keep us guessing to the very last few pages and ultimately leave us feeling that we have enjoyed every minute and are eager for the next one.

Free Murder Mystery Games

If you fancy yourself as a Sherlock Holmes, miss Marple, or Hercule Poirot, just click on the following link to get sleuthing.

Online murder mystery games

The Masonic Murder of Captain Morgan

Type the words “Captain Morgan” into any search engine and you will be met with pages dedicated to ‘Captain Morgan’s Spiced Rum‘ before you come across anything to do with Captain William Morgan. This unsung hero was one of the first to shine a light on the inner-workings of the Freemasonic lodges by writing a book exposing Freemasonic rituals. This book would end up costing him his life and it would change the face of American politics for several years after his death.

The Oath of a Mason has a harsh penalty for revealing the secrets of Freemasonry:

… to have the throat cut across, the tongue torn out by its roots, and to have the body buried in the rough sands of the sea, at low-water mark, where the tide ebbs and flows twice in twenty-four hours.

Early Life

Born 1774 in Virginia, Captain Morgan claimed to have served in the military during a conflict between the United States and the British Empire in 1812 which lasted three years, however, there is doubt over this claim as no records exist listing a ‘Captain William Morgan’ from this time. As a young man he was aptly taken on as an apprentice stonecutter (aka. a Mason).

Captain Morgan and the Royal Arch Degree of Freemasonry

Captain Morgan received the Royal Arch Degree from the Western Star Chapter in 1825, however, as there are no records of his original entry into a Masonic Lodge as an Entered Apprentice, Freemasons have claimed that he was not really a Mason at all. By their nature Freemasonic Lodges should be free from prying ears, known to Masons as ‘cowans‘ or eavesdroppers. Morgan was said to have tricked his way into a Masonic Lodge by putting pressure on an associate to give a guarantee for him with the purpose of spying on the meetings.

Whether or not this is true, it is known that he regularly attended meetings and was an active member of the Fraternal Order. It is no doubt then that he would have had an inside perspective, watching, learning and listening to Masonic rituals being performed many times.

As time went on however, suspicions began to rise to the point where the Batavia Masonic Lodge refused his membership to a new Royal Arch Chapter of the Lodge. Furious, Captain Morgan made it publicly known that he would set about to expose the Freemasons by writing a book, possibly the first of its kind, called: ‘Illustrations of Masonry’. This book would outline the details of the first 3 degrees of Masonry namely; the Entered Apprentice, the Fellow Craft andthe Master Mason, these inner workings of Freemasonic Lodges are the very ‘secrets’ to which a Mason’s oath applies. The Freemasons retaliated and the controversy became known as:

‘The Morgan Affair’

Anxious of the repercussions of such an exposé and the need to protect its secrets, the Masons retaliated. Captain Morgan was officially denounced by the Batavia Masonic Lodge and the printing press where his book was due to be published mysteriously burned to the ground. What happened next was so shocking that it radically altered the face of American politics for several years to come. While Freemasons vehemently deny the claims, what follows is accepted by many to be a true account of the events. On September 11 1826, Morgan was arrested after Freemasons had made allegations that he owed a debt. A man claiming to be a friend of the Captain paid his bail and led him away into the autumn night. Captain Morgan was taken to Niagara River and drowned. A body did not wash up on shore for many months.

“… to have the body buried in the rough sands of the sea, at low-water mark”

By that time it had decomposed beyond recognition and needed a coroner’s report to confirm his identity. The report stated the cause of death as suffocation by drowning.

In an effort to silence the Captain, the Freemason’s had inadvertently shined a greater spotlight than Morgan could have achieved while alive. A panic gripped America as awareness of the Freemason Conspiracy came to the fore; not least of all in the political arena. Realising that neither the Republicans nor the Democrats were free from Masonic membership, a new third force arose as a direct reaction to the perceived threat to democracy. The Anti-Masonic Party gained a lot of support in the beginning but this gradually waned while the Freemasons remain strong in number and establishment.

In Memory of…

Despite being overshadowed by a rum drinking pirate, Captain William Morgan is still remembered today for his contribution in helping to expose the secrets of the Masons. Today in Batavia there is a large monument dedicated to the memory of the Captain, containing the story of his brutal demise etched in stone for all to see and so future generations might never forget. Thanks to Captain Morgan’s efforts we now know a lot more about Masonic ritual and the Freemasons in general. There have been many exposés over the years from Masons and non-Masons alike and many others have lost their lives in the process. A lot has been revealed thanks to these efforts but so much more remains veiled in mystery.

Why are you writing about Eric Wandless Renton?

Eric was my uncle, and he was my mothers younger brother. He was viciously murdered 25 years ago, when I was just 16. I want to write something in his memory, as a tribute to him. Also, I want to explain about my families background circumstances that led to him being brought up in an orphanage – i.e. his mother died a few days after his birth, and his father, then a lay-preacher, turned to the drink because of the death of his wife. When he was murdered the newspapers have not got the time, or inclination to give these matters the explanations that they deserve, and recently, it was all brought up again in the local media. So it is time to elaborate on the events, and the family background.

What do you remember about the events of 25 years ago?

My uncle, Frank Hughes discovered Eric’s body. Frank was Eric’s brother in law, who had known Eric for decades. Frank got a phone call from an employee of Eric’s supermarket, saying Eric had not arrived for work. This prompted Frank to go to the bungalow with his wife Hilda (my mothers sister). Frank looked through the window first and told Hilda not to come inside. Hilda phoned my mother and initially told her that Eric had passed away. It was a few days later when my mother was told about the grim reality, which was met with numbness and disbelief. Obviously it was a massive shock to everyone. Eric was buried about a month later. Crime Watch publicised some of the items that the murderer stole from Eric’s home, and a member of the public recognised one of the items, a lamp that he had recently bought from the second hand shop, which led the police to catch the killer.

How do you and the family feel about the 25th anniversary of his murder?

I think it is very important for people to realise that whatever Eric’s death was nothing other than the act of a malicious and evil person who had a vicious plan in mind, to inflict on an easy target.

The killer was not provoked. How ridiculous is it if someone (anyone) was so called “provoked” to commit murder, then to start loading their victims TV, Microwave, lamp etc in the car as an after thought to a trauma. The killer had a dagger and a rolling pin in his bag. He stabbed hit Eric with the rolling pin an stabbed him seven times. That is the action of a cold, calculated, ruthless murderer: Malcolm Roberts. It is that action that got him caught – with the help and dedication of the police, Crime Watch, and the public.

What do you remember about the house in Charnock Richard?

It was a nice and tidy place, in a cul-de-sac. I remember his cabinet full of miniature cars, which were expensive collectors items. I can only remember sitting at the dining table, and after eating, we played chess there too.

What sort of person was Mr Wandless Renton?

He was a smart, intelligent man. My brother Michael said he was also “comical”. He was no threat to anybody, and probably couldn’t harm a fly if he tried. He was tall, thin and not at all athletic. His enthusiasm for chess inspired many others to play and compete. Like his father, and his sister Hilda, and her sons Martin and Graham, Eric was tall. Martin said Erik was a big spender. My sister thought he was a bit of a snob, but she did not she met Eric very few times. Also like his father, Erik suffered from chronic bronchitis.

A phrase comes to mind that sometimes “only the good die young”. I think that inspiring people to compete in any activity is commendable, and many people have commended Eric on his participation and contribution to the world of chess.

The many friends Eric made only goes to show what a likable person he was. It was more than just a loss to our family; he will be remembered and missed by many.

Eric had many friends. My mother told me that Eric used to go to Holland to play chess, not least with his friend the legendary Charles Aznavour, who sang “She”. I recently contacted Tom Rose, who was a very close friend of Eric’s. Tom Rose was the first person to win the Eric Wandless Renton memorial Trophy. This is what Tom Rose said about Eric:

“He [Eric] was one of my closest friends. I first met him when I was about 12 years old. Years later he would often call unexpectedly on my wife and I and share a meal.

“Eric was a role model in his enthusiasm, and in actually getting things done, rather than just talking about them or planning them. He did not just arrange for the Chorley tournament to take part (and assisted in getting the Blackpool tournament going) but also pestered people for sponsorship, and tirelessly solicited entries. He knew it was not enough to simply mail entry forms – so wherever he went he would approach players and persuade them to enter. As a result the Chorley tournament had a very large entry and a lot of sponsorship. After his death it fell off markedly.

A lot of people did not know the true Eric. They saw only the slightly eccentric character and his homosexuality (which incidentally was always discreet – and never brought up in the presence of his heterosexual friends. When you got to know him you would discover that he was one of the kindest and most generous souls you could ever hope to meet. Not a day goes by that I do not miss him and remember him with some sadness. His other close friends were Tony Hill (local businessman and owner of Hill’s bakery and retail outlets). Sadly his closest chess friends (Roy Waterhouse, Jack Wolstenholme) died some years ago.

Eric played several chess tournaments in Holland and had many friends amongst Dutch chess players. Some he invited to play at Chorley and arranged accommodation for them with his friends, so when we lived in Chorley we had Dutch visitors staying in our spare room at August bank-holiday time.

He met the great concert pianist Sviatoslav Richter through their mutual friend Roy Waterhouse (a keen amateur pianist) … when Richter played a concert in Manchester in the late 1960’s or early 1970’s.”

Why was Eric brought up in an orphanage? What do you remember about your uncle?

It is difficult to say the precise reason, but if you look at the events, the reason seems understandable in the circumstances. Doreen (my mother) was 15 months old and her sister Hilda was about 7 when Eric was born. Their mother, Evelyn, died a few days after giving birth to Eric, which effectively left the father James Luther Wandless, without his beloved wife, but with his two young girls and a new born baby. James Luther Wandless was a Methodist Lay Preacher, and the loss of his wife was too much for him to take. Up until then they never kept alcohol in their house. Loss of his wife was too much and he turned to drink and soon after joined the Army, and survived WW2. After the war James Wandless worked in the foundry at Ferrington, Leyland. He died when he was about 60. We do not know what conversations took place at the time about what was to happen to the children. Evelyn had a sister called Lillian, who was married to Arthur Noblet. They had a daughter called Edna, who still lives in Chorley. Edna’s parents boldly took on the two additional young girls, Doreen and Hilda at their home in Bootle, and effectively raised the three girls. A newborn baby (Eric) may well have been too much to take on, as they would indeed have their hands full with the three girls. Getting help from an orphanage must have been the logical approach, but they never lost contact with Eric. Eric was not abandoned. His father may have even known someone at the orphanage, which made him think that was the best option at the time, rather than trying to care for him by himself when he was devastated by the loss of his wife. We have a photo of Eric and Doreen, when he was just three and a half years old, and what a striking resemblance they have of each other. He looks in good health in all the photos. When the war started Edna and Hilda was old enough to be evacuated to Southport. My mum stayed with Auntie Lil and Uncle Arthur, taking cover in the Bomb shelter in their back yard. A bomb even landed in my mum’s bedroom on Litherland Road in Bootle. When she was five, they moved to Chorley and to begin with, lived in the cellar of a Dentist on Park Road (Teddy Tyrer).

After the war, my mother, Doreen used to go everywhere with her brother Eric when they were in their teens. Though they used to argue quite a bit when they were young, they were also best friends. Doreen used to stick up for Eric, because he was not an aggressive person. Eric said she, my mother, should have been a boy because she was so tough. So when Eric was older, he also stayed at Auntie Lils, and Uncle Arthurs in the summer holidays. Doreen also once stayed with Eric for a week – albeit in the girl’s dormitory – at an orphanage in Frodsham. So we are not aware of Eric complaining about any of his life in an orphanage. No doubt wartime was difficult for everyone, but he turned out to be an educated, well-spoken gentleman, with many intelligent friends.

My brothers, Michael and James Fowler helped Eric move from St Thomas Road to the bungalow in Charnock Richard. I remember visiting Eric once at his Bungalow. He made me a microwave meal and we had a game of chess in his kitchen. I was about 13 years old and had learned how to play not long before then. Eric taught my brother Michael to play chess, and he, and our cousin Martin Hughes used to keep Eric company on his insurance round in the Bacup area.

Eric’s, Doreen’s, and Hilda’s mother and father are buried together at the cemetery in Bootle. Hilda Renton adopted Eric at age 16, and his adopted mother is buried with Eric at Chorley cemetery.

Did you and the family know about your uncles sexuality?

Eric told his sisters a short while before the murder. It was never even thought of, raised, discussed or suggested or implied in any way to me or my brothers – sexuality was not a topic of discussion. My mother, and my cousin Martin and his wife Sandra remembers that Eric did have a girlfriend once, whose father owned many butchers shops near Frodsham, Cheshire. Coincidentally Frodsham is where the orphanage was. Martin and Sandra remembers visiting them at the girls fathers farm, so may be his sexuality was something that changed later in life.

Maybe Eric was not as successful as he would have liked to have been with the ladies in the UK – not an uncommon problem that can affect and change people. I know from personal experience that the ratios of single women to single men in the UK is heavily stacked against men, and I will be writing more articles about that shortly. However, what happens behind closed doors is nobodies business, as long as it is mutual.

Will you and the family be marking the anniversary?

We visited the cemetery, and met some relatives. It is not a date of celebration. In a way the family feel it is dragging up bad news. We all have good memories of Eric, and we know that many people thought a great deal about Eric, which is very important to us, and remembering those you have lost is the most important thing.

What has happened since the murder?

His estate was wound up soon after the murder. Eric was a businessman, and businesses require investment, as far as we know very little was left to anybody. Eric left some of his miniature cars to Tony Hill, of Hills bakery. Hilda and her husband Frank passed away in the last couple of years.

We were told that Malcolm Roberts was sentenced to 15 years for murder, so he is probably out – that can be of little consolation to anybody.

The 11th of January 09 marks 25 years since the loss of Eric Wandless Renton. Clearly a great man, from Chorley.

I’ve answered these questions in memory of my uncle: Eric Wandless Renton.

Doreen Bottomley (Previously Fowler and Wandless) may well be the last surviving Wandless in the bloodline. Doreens father, James Luther Wandless was born in Ireland. It is possible that James Luther Wandless had relatives in Cork, Ireland, who moved to America, but we have no documentation of this.

T.S. Eliot’s Murder in the Cathedral tells the story of Thomas Beckett, a man who reigned as Archbishop of Canterbury during the 12th century in England until his death in 1170. In order to tell Beckett’s story, Eliot creates a series of equally interesting characters that each play a crucial role thought the play. The most unique role found within the play is the Women of Canterbury, or the Chorus. Throughout the piece, the Chorus delivers seven choral odes. These choral odes, when looked at as a collective work tell a story. They begin with brief foreshadowing of events that will occur later in the play, but then quickly jump into necessary storyline; one which summarizes the events of the pasts, and then immerses the audience into the common man’s view of the events in the present.

The first choral ode begins with heavy foreshadowing. The Women of Canterbury are drawn towards the Cathedral, but they do not know why. At first, there is confusion. They question, “Are we drawn by danger? Is it the knowledge of safety that that draws our feet towards the Cathedral?” As they reach the cathedral however, they come upon a realization. “There is not danger for us, and there is no safety in the cathedral. Some presage of an act, which our eyes are compelled to witness, has forced our feet towards the cathedral.” They recognize that it is not their own personal danger that draws them closer to the cathedral, but instead the foreshadowing of a horrifying act in which they will be forced to bear witness. It will be an act so terrible, that safety can not even be found within the hallowed halls of the cathedral.

After the period of foreshadowing, the mood of the first choral ode drastically shifts away from the dark and mysterious presage of an act to a description of the concrete past. The remainder of the choral ode serves as a way to bring the audience up to speed on the last seven years of Canterbury’s history. While they convey the events of the past, the women of Canterbury express a constant lurking fear for the safety of their Archbishop. A perfect example of this common theme found within the first choral ode is in the following stanza, in which the Chorus states:

“Seven years and the summer is over,

Seven years since the Archbishop left us,

He who was always so kind to his people.

But it would not be well if should return.”

These lines are typical of the first choral ode, for not only do they explain to the audience that the Archbishop Thomas Beckett has been gone for seven years now, but they fear for his well being and for the well being of Canterbury if he were to return. As the choral ode draws to a close, the Women of Canterbury give off a sense of unavoidable waiting. They say:

“Come happy December, who shall observe you, who shall preserve you?

Shall the Son of Man be born again in the litter of scorn?

For us, the poor, there is no action,

But only to wait and to witness”

They welcome the month of December, but then question how it could possibly be a joyous time. Who would be able to celebrate the Christmas and Advent season with the terrible events that are about to occur? Could Jesus be reborn into such scorn? The Women of Canterbury know that there is little they can do at this time. They must wait, and then witness the act that they fear.

With the commencement of the second choral ode, the general mood shifts from confusion and waiting to fear. The Women of Canterbury have been informed that Beckett is returning to Canterbury. Such an announcement stirs great anxiety amongst them. They fear that their way of life will be disrupted and endangered. They plea to a Thomas who has not yet arrived to:

“Return. Quickly. Quietly. Leave us to perish in quiet.

You come with applause, you come with rejoicing, but

You come bringing death into Canterbury:

A doom on the house, a doom on yourself, a doom on the world.”

The women say that though they will be rejoicing on the outside, their deep insides will be dominated by fear, for they believe that his coming will come hand in hand with his own death. The idea of fear is the general theme in the second choral ode, as it constantly recurs throughout the lines. Later in the choral ode, the women say, “We are afraid in a fear which we cannot know, which we cannot face, which none understands.” This illustrates the depth and complexity of the fear which they are facing, for they know not how to neither combat it nor completely comprehend it. All the people know is that with Thomas comes death upon their home of Canterbury, so the beg him to “leave us, leave us, leave us sullen Dover, and set sail for France.”

The fear of the second choral ode becomes a reality in the third. The Women of Canterbury know what decision Beckett has made. They tell him, “We have not been happy, my Lord, we have not been too happy. We are not ignorant women, we know what we must expect and not expect.” By saying this, the Women of Canterbury mean that they understand the consequences that Thomas has chosen by staying in Canterbury. They know that he will perish if he stays. Then the women begin to despair. They cry, “God gave us always some reason, some hope; but now a new terror has soiled us, which none can avert,” and, “God is leaving us, God is leaving us, more pang, more pain than birth or death.” The Women of Canterbury, who always took faith in the idea the God was protecting their Archbishop, believe that Thomas has turned away from the Lord’s protection by deciding to remain at Canterbury, for not even God could protect him from the wrath of what was yet to come.

The fourth choral ode that opens up the second act heads in a completely different direction than the intense despair of the third choral ode. Instead, this choral ode is more accepting, for the chorus knows that the death of Beckett is coming. Nature is used throughout this choral ode to foreshadow his death. At one point the Women of Canterbury say, “The starved crow sits in the field, attentive; and in the wood the owl rehearses the hallow note of death.” The starved crow that they speak of symbolizes the Four Knights, who arrive in Canterbury shortly after the choral ode is delivered. The owl symbolizes the result of their visit to Canterbury: a death, a death that they fear will be brought upon Thomas. Though they have accepted the situation, the Women of Canterbury feel helpless, for all they can do between that moment and Thomas’s death is wait. As there is nothing they can do, they say, “We wait, and the time is short, but the waiting is long.”

As the fifth choral ode begins, the helplessness from the fourth choral ode carries over, but this time it is coupled with an air of guilt. The Women of Canterbury are stuck in an in between zone. They grieve:

“Now is too late for action, too soon for contrition.

Nothing is possible but the shamed swoon

Of those consenting to the last humiliation.

I have consented, Lord Archbishop, have consented.”

The women realize that the wheel is turning and the eternal action leading to Beckett’s doom is in motion. They are in despair, for it is too late for them to try and aid their Archbishop, but too soon for them to seek forgiveness for allowing Beckett to be killed. The murder of their Archbishop is a matter that they are taking personal responsibility for, and they view it as a humiliation to them all. Their final cry of “I have consented, Lord Archbishop” truly isolates and illustrates the immense guilt that they have brought upon themselves. The Women of Canterbury believe that by standing aside and allowing the Knights to threaten Thomas, they have consented to his murder. All they have left is helplessness, guilt, and like always, waiting.

The sixth choral ode is met with a shift from helplessness to intense distress. Archbishop Thomas Beckett has just been murdered, and the Women of Canterbury feel as if they, along with all of Canterbury, have been stained with their Archbishop’s blood. The chorus screams:

“Clear the air! Clean the sky! Wash the wind! Take the

Stone from the stone, take the skin from the arm,

Take the muscle from the bone, and wash them.

Wash the stone, wash the bone, wash the brain,

Wash the soul, wash them wash them!”

As shown, the Women of Canterbury become obsessed with trying to wash themselves clean of Beckett’s blood. Such words confirm that the Women of Canterbury see not only the Four Knights as Thomas Beckett’s killer, but themselves as well. They feel severe regret, proclaiming:

“We did not wish anything to happen

We understood the private catastrophe,

The personal loss, the general misery,

Living and partly living”

These lines show that, though they believe that they were a part of the murder, they were unintentionally involved. They did not mean for any ill will to come upon their Archbishop, but through their lack of action, their living and partly living, they allowed Beckett to face a tragedy, a tragedy that they were completely aware of, alone. The Women of Canterbury abandoned their Lord, and they do not know how to deal with their despair

The final choral ode begins not with despair, but instead with grateful praise to an all powerful God. The entire choral ode reads like one long prayer of praise, thanks, and then contrition to a merciful God. At points, the Women of Canterbury even go as far as to compare their deceased Archbishop to Jesus Christ. In it’s beginning, they say, “We praise Thee, O God, for Thy glory displayed in all the creatures” The Women of Canterbury then go on to on to show their gratitude to God by respectfully praying, “We thank Thee for Thy mercies of blood, for Thy redemption by blood. For the blood of Thy martyrs and saints.” By these words, the Women of Canterbury are thanking God for redeeming their souls with the blood of Thomas, their Archbishop. Through these lines, Eliot is comparing the murder of Thomas Beckett to the death of Jesus Christ on the cross, saying that both died to save the souls of those around them. Finally, the Woman of Canterbury seek contrition, pleading, “Forgive us, O Lord, we acknowledge ourselves as type of the common man, of the men and women who shut the door and sit by the fire.” On one level, they ask forgiveness for standing by and doing nothing to prevent Beckett’s death, for they are just common men. If read more deeply however, they return to the Christ like image of Beckett. The common men ask for forgiveness, for like Peter, they “sat by the fire” and denied their Lord. Just as Peter allowed Christ to die, so the Women of Canterbury allowed Thomas Beckett to die.

The seven choral odes in T.S. Eliot’s Murder in the Cathedral tell the story of the common man’s view of the events that occurred during that fateful December of 1170 in Canterbury. Through foreshadowing and interesting use of language, T.S. Eliot crafts the Chorus to be one of, if not the most fascinating character found within the whole play. Their unique perspective on Thomas Beckett’s murder truly makes Murder in the Cathedral one of the greatest plays of the 20th Century.

More at:

http://blurbshare.com/

Murder Seen Through the Eyes of a Child Excerpt!

Foreword

This story unfolds in the Appalachian Mountains during the 1960’s. It is fiction but based on actual events that occurred in the lives of three young boys. The mountains during this time period are still very picturesque and teeming with wildlife. The trees are big and strong, towering over the ground as their tops reach for the sky with beauty and vigor.

Clear water carves its way down the mountainside between the ridges, clean, cold and refreshing. It is good and safe to drink.

Pollution is non-existent here because strip mining, or mining of any type, has not been allowed anywhere in this area. Later, in the 1970’s and 1980’s, strip-mining operations will dominate the region.

The lives that our story touches, and the people who live here, are honest and hardworking folk. They cherish the land, treating it as the precious gift it is. One of those families, the Fergusons, still enjoys a simple way of life in these mountains, reminiscent of the traditions passed down to them from generation to generation – from grandparents to parents – over the years.

Three members of this family play a critical role here. They are Denny, Jake and Ty Ferguson, a trio of unforgettable characters who live off the land in this part of the country.

Their home is deep in a place called Middle Branch. The Ferguson men are humble and generous individuals, and perfect examples of a clan that still looks and dresses like mountain families from a bygone era.

Little do these men realize, though, that their land is rich in coal reserves and other minerals that greedy corporations and corrupt people will go to almost any length to possess.

At the same time, this tale also catalogs the lives and adventures of three young boys who witness a tragedy: Joe, (me), Travis and Billy. Still, while terrible events explode all around them, these boys will find ways to get into some very entertaining mischief.

“Murder Seen through the Eyes of a Child” is their story.

Chapter #1

The Fishing Trip

My friend Billy pedaled up to my house on his bike early on a beautiful August morning, screeching to a halt right in the front yard.

Then, he cupped his hands around his mouth and hollered as loud as he could, as if I couldn’t hear him: “Hey Joe, would you like to go fishing today?”

Billy was one of the closest friends I’d ever had. He lived up the road a little ways and like me, he came from a large family. And, like most of the boys my age who lived in our area, he was skinny as a broom pole for 12 and still growing straight up.

We all could spot Billy coming for quite a ways off because his curly brown hair was kinky and crazy and stood straight up most of the time.

In fact, the first thing anyone saw as Billy approached was his hair flapping in the wind and then there was no question for anyone that it was him. He was also the tallest of any of my friends at that time, coming in at a pure five-feet, one-inch tall. On top of that, Billy was always ready for adventure and at the drop of a hat he would be off to find it.

I was so excited about the possibility of going fishing. I loved our fishing hole which was in a beautiful, isolated area in the very head of Middle Branch.

There, the water was so clean and clear you could count endless varieties of fish swimming in schools and by themselves in more than 20 feet of water.

We have fished in a lot of places in our lives – pulling out catfish and crappies and large mouth bass – but of all those fishing holes in all the locations we found on our beautiful mountain as time went on – this one was doubly blessed as the best all-around place to swim, too.

It rested on the top of the highest mountain peak in Middle Branch, reachable only after a strenuous 2-mile hike through a breath-taking, but treacherous, mountainous pass.

The sweat would drip off us as we climbed higher, but we were joyful at the natural beauty around us – the signature of this leg of the Appalachians, a 480-million-year-old system, spanning east to west across the country.

The mountains were steaming with wildlife and each time we hiked them to reach our fishing hole it was like a symphony of songs and sounds of birds and other creatures filled the air. We watched and witnessed deer, wild boar, bear, squirrels, rabbits and many smaller animals feeding and interacting in the verdant, green habitat of ridges and valleys, many within arms’ length as they played and slept. When it came to some of the bigger wild life that we could hear crashing through the more ominous ground cover, well, we knew to keep a good distance for all of the obvious reasons.

We would get tired and stop to rest from time to time as we made our way on, but the long hike was well worth it. I cannot recollect a time when we didn’t catch a lot of fish once we had arrived and gotten ourselves settled.

So it didn’t take a second thought for me to respond to Billy and I hollered back, just as excitedly: “Sure I’d love to go!”

And that was an understatement.

“What do you think, should we go by Travis’s house and get him to go with us?” he yelled back.

“That sounds good to me,” I replied, as I ran out to meet him. I was excited.

“Let’s go get him then,” Billy suggested.

Travis was one of our closest friends. The three of us did everything together and it was rare to see us apart. We were a tight little threesome and Travis loved the fishing hole as much as Billy and I did. So we jumped on our bikes and headed to his house.

Travis didn’t live too far away, just up the road. Unlike us, he was reserved and didn’t believe in taking chances, but we managed to pull him into about everything we did whether it was good or bad.

Travis was short and stocky and heavily built for all four-feet eight-inches of him. Needless to say, he was the strong one of our little group, which came in handy.

Me, I was the bean pole, so skinny that Mom and Dad had a hard time finding a belt for me. They would usually buy one as close to my size as they could find and cut it off. Then, they would take a nail, heat it up over a hot stove, and burn new holes in the leather so it would fit me.

Whenever I didn’t have a belt I would use a piece of grass rope from a bale of hay to keep my britches up so I wouldn’t find them around my ankles. I stood tall at a proud four feet 10-inches tall.

We made quite a pack, we three. Each of us individually was scared to death of his own shadow, but together we thought we were invincible. There was no way we were going to back down from anything.

Once at Travis’s house, Billy, Travis and I rode off toward Fog Hollow to start the long journey up through the mountains to our favorite fishing hole. We arrived at the old, rutted dirt wagon road that leads to Fog Hollow, a path that was smooth in spots while other places were so bumpy it would bend the rims on our bikes if we hit them too hard.

We could go fast on the smooth places and make good time. And we did, right past the bootlegger’s house at the end of the road in the head of Fog Hollow. The sun was hardly up that day and no one was stirring as we zipped by. The bootleggers were a family that sold moonshine, whiskey and home brew to all the locals. They were called bootleggers because we lived in a dry county where the selling of alcohol was prohibited.

When we got to the spot we hid our bikes out of sight and followed a small stream into the woods. We picked up the trail that leads to our fishing hole and started walking, deep into the mountains. A soft breeze caressed our skin, moving the branches in the early morning air. They swayed gently back and forth in the sunlight, a prism exploding in blinding color through the leaves. It was fall, and the hint of orange on the tips of green from the temperatures beginning to cool at night just magnified the glorious panorama around us.

The path that led up the mountain is worn down by centuries of travelers. Cut into the earth, parts of it now resemble a set of stairs that fit our feet thanks to the water that has steadily dripped down, year after year. It follows the formations of each outcropping now protruding up and out of the earth.

We had to be careful on some parts of the trail, especially those spots where the spring had found its way up and out, trickling across the rocky steps and then down the mountain side. One wrong step, one slip, and you were gone.

As we climbed, we heard the swoosh of gray squirrels bouncing and swinging off tree limbs in the distance. Then the sudden rustle in the brush as a deer ran up the ridge, its white cottontail swaying from side to side. The animal stopped at the peak, turned its head back toward us, ears perked high, before it strutted proudly – head in the air – out of sight over the top. It had succeeded in getting away from us.

The silence was mystical as we peered up and into the huge towering canopy of oak, hickory, walnut and beech trees resting against the skyline. These huge trees comprised a virgin forest whose tops reached for the sky during their long lives with arms outstretched in an embrace. A woodpecker broke the silence as it pounded its beak with impunity on a nearby tree, searching for food. Other birds chirped, stealing our attention as they filled the air, and our ears, with their songs.

My mind filtered such incredible sights and sounds, a tranquil symphony that echoed throughout the mountains filling my soul. Even though I’d heard and seen it before, I never tired of the beauty, and how it made me feel.

Finally, after a nice, long two-mile hike, we came upon our favorite fishing hole, a pond about five acres or more in size that twisted, wound and cut its way through the top of the mountain between the ridges.

The best part about the pond is where it was located, right between the top of the two highest ridges in the very head of Middle Branch. As we approached, we could see the mist of a morning fog slowly rising from the water and disappearing before it met the sky. Smiles crept across all three of our eager, young beaming faces as we imagined the fish that would be jumping up out of the water as the mist disappeared and more of the pond came into view.

There, the water is so clean and clear you can see the bottom easily. Cattails are scattered along the edge on one end of the bank. As they sway back and forth in the morning breeze, humming birds and insects are by their sides, eager to grab an early morning meal at the cattail buffet.

Portions of an old fence still stand along one side of the pond, part of a long and winding wooden barrier that encircled the orchards that the Ferguson family had planted and cared for on the property they owned on the mountain top. It was just a short distance from the pond, whose back side had a backdrop of rock outcroppings that rise about 20 feet above the water.

We used those rocks as a diving platform in the summer months when we went swimming there. Parked upon the bank on the right side near the back of the pond was an old boat that the Ferguson family had made.

Rumor had it that Denny Ferguson built the boat so he could use it as part of his ploy when he courted Betty Lou, a clerk at the local country store who he often brought her up there on picnics.

In the morning, the pond is very still and doesn’t have a ripple even though wild black ducks are silently cutting through the water on the other side. It is quiet and peaceful and even the crows heard in the distance with their famous calling sound are a welcome comfort.

We all hurried to our favorite spots along the bank of the pond to get our poles in the water as soon as possible. But as we started to cast, the piercing sound of a gunshot deafened us. It bounced from one ridge to another throughout the mountains, straight to our eardrums, breaking the golden silence that early morning. It scared me so badly I thought I was going to jump out of my skin.

The shot came from just behind the pond and the three of us, all at about the same time, raised our eyes from the water and looked toward the direction of where it had come.

We spotted Jake and Denny Ferguson walking toward us carrying their rifles and what appeared to be a big red fox. They had just shot it and had pulled it from one of their traps. The fox was lifeless, its body limp as it hung down toward the ground from Denny’s arm.

The brothers gazed over our way and saw the three of us fishing. They changed direction immediately and headed over to us and stopped. They were older, with Denny about 30, and Jake a little younger, at 27.

“How’s the fishing going, boys?” Jake asked.

Denny looked unusually eager as he asked, “Catching any good fish today?”

Billy was trying not to appear as terrified as he was but I could tell his knees were shaking.

One crime writer called it, “a cheap crime involving cheap people.” Famous author and playwright Damon Runyon said the crime was so “idiotic,” he coined it, “The Dumbbell Murders,” because the murderers were so dumb.

Blonde, broad-shouldered, and buxom, Ruth Brown Snyder was involved in a marriage she could no longer take. She told people her husband Albert Snyder, 13 her senior, had taken advantage of her youth and tricked her 10 years earlier, when she was only 19 years old, into a marriage “she really didn’t want.” Snyder said Albert, an art editor with Motor Boating Magazine, was a mean man, who was able to convince her to marry him because she was young, innocent, and naïve. Snyder told people that on the day they were married, she was too weak and faint even to consummate the marriage with Albert.

Ruth Snyder said, “He had to wait till I was better before he got his way. But to him I was never any better than the ex-switchboard operator who worked in a typing pool.”

Yet, after Albert’s death, his editor and publisher, C. F. Chapman said about Albert, “He was a man’s man… a quiet, honest, upright man, ready to play his part in the drama of life without seeking the spotlight, or trying to fill the leading role. All the world is made up of good, solid, silent men like him.”

Judd Grey was a nondescript, bespectacled corset salesman, who was also involved in a loveless marriage. According to Grey’s coworkers, Grey’s wife Isabel was an enigma. She was seldom seen or heard by anyone, and had taken on the aspect of an “invisible woman.” Few of Grey’s coworkers at Bien Joilie Corset Company had ever met his wife, or had even spoken to her. In fact, some of his coworkers did not know that the 32-year-old Grey was even married.

As he awaited the electric chair, Grey described his wife, in his autobiography, as such: “Isabel, I suppose, one would call a home girl. She had never trained for a career of any kind. She was learning to cook, and was a careful and exceptionally exact housekeeper. As I think it over searchingly, I am not sure, and we were married these many years, of her ambitions, hopes, or her ideals. We made our home, drove our car, played bridge with our friends, danced, raised our child – ostensibly together – married. Never could I seem to attain with her the comradeship that formed the bond between my mother and myself.”

It started out as a blind date arranged by another couple. Ruth Snyder and Judd Grey first met in a tiny restaurant in midtown Manhattan called “Henry’s Swedish Restaurant.” After four hours of complaining to each other about the miseries of their respective marriages, they vowed to meet again soon.

On August 4, 1925, Albert Snyder and his seven-year-old daughter Lorraine were on a boating trip to Shelter Island. Grey took this opportunity to knock on the door of the Snyder residence in Queens Village. Judd implored Ruth Snyder to have dinner with him at “their place”: “Henry’s Swedish Restaurant.” After they dined and imbibed more than a few alcoholic beverages, Grey invited Snyder to his office on 34th Street and Fifth Avenue. His excuse was, “I have to collect a case of sample corsets.”

Inside Grey’s office, Snyder complained to Grey that she had a bad sunburn. “I’ve got some camphor oil in my desk,” Grey said. “Let me get it for you.”

Grey retrieved the camphor oil, and he began rubbing the oil seductively on Snyder’s reddened neck and shoulders, which aroused both people sexually. After the rubdown, Grey offered to give Snyder one of his new corsets, which he would graciously fit for her. Of course, this necessitated Ruth removing her blouse, which exposed her corpulent breasts. One thing led to another, and in the Bein Jolie Corset Company, Grey and Snyder first consummated their relationship. Snyder was so overcome with Grey’s affections, she said to him, “Okay, from now on you can call me Momsie.”

For the next 18 months, while Albert Snyder was at work, Ruth Snyder and Judd Grey met for numerous trysts in Midtown hotels, or sometimes even at the Snyder residence. During these indiscretions, Ruth Snyder’s daughter Lorraine was either downstairs sitting on the Snyder living room couch, or sitting in the lobby of a sleazy Manhattan hotel. The slobbering love affair was such that Grey frequently knelt at Snyder’s feet, massaging her feet and ankles, and declaring, “You are my Queen, my Momsie, my Mommie.” She would look down lovingly at Grey and say, “You are my baby, my ‘Bud’, my loverboy.”

It was around this period of time, that Albert Snyder began having a series of strange “accidents.” In the summer of 1925, Albert was jacking up his family Buick so that he could change a flat tire. Suddenly, the jack slipped and the car fell, almost crushing Albert to death, as he quickly scrambled out of harm’s way. A few days later, Albert had a problem with the crank of his car. He somehow hit himself on the head with the crank, and he fell to the ground, unconscious. When Albert awoke, he still couldn’t figure out how his head could have been struck by that stupid crank.

After those two lucky breaks, or unlucky breaks, according to which way you look at it, Albert had a third accident. In August of 1925, Albert again was working under his car in his indoor garage, with the engine running. Being the good wife, Ruth brought her husband a cool whiskey and soda to help him battle the heat. Ruth also told Albert how proud she was that he was such a great mechanic. Ruth then exited the garage, and a few minutes after Albert drank the whiskey, he began to feel drowsy. Albert glanced at the garage doors, and was shocked to find that instead of the doors being open, they were now tightly closed, which was causing him to inhale noxious carbon monoxide fumes from the tailpipe of his running car.

Ruth Snyder related these three incidents to Judd Grey. Even if Albert Snyder didn’t realize what was happening, Grey sure did. “What are you trying to do?” Grey asked Ruth. “Kill the poor guy?”

“Momsie can’t do it alone,” Ruth said. “She needs help. Lover Boy will have to help her.”

At the time, Judd Grey thought, since they had been drinking, it was the alcohol talking, not Ruth. But the next time they met, Grey realized for the first time Ruth had been serious about killing her husband.

After a strenuous bout of lovemaking, Ruth blurted out triumphantly, “We’ll be okay for money,” she said. “I’ve just tricked Albert into taking out some hefty life insurance. He thinks it’s only for $1000, but it’s really for $96,000, if he dies by accident. I put three different policies in front of him, and only let him see the space where you sign. I told him it was a thousand buck policy in triplicate. He’s covered for $1000, $5000, and $45,000, with a double indemnity clause, in case of an accidental death.”

Even after Ruth Snyder had told Judd Grey that she was intent on killing her husband for the life insurance settlements, Grey still had his doubts. While the two love birds continued carrying on their torrid affair, Albert Snyder was nearly killed in three more “accidents.” In July of 1926, Albert fell asleep on his living room couch and almost died because someone had accidentally left on the gas jets in the kitchen. In January 1927, Albert had a violent case of the hiccups. Ruth Snyder said she had the perfect cure for pickups, and she handed her husband a glass of bichloride of mercury. Albert guzzled down the drink, and immediately he became violently ill. Yet, Albert did not die. The very next month Albert Snyder again fell asleep on his living room couch, and he almost expired, because someone had inadvertently left on the gas tap in the living room.

After trying to kill her husband six times, Ruth Snyder knew she needed help if she were to be successful. She told Judd Grey, “My husband has turned into a brute! He’s even bought a gun and says he’ll shoot me with it.”

In February 1927, Ruth Snyder and Judd Grey were trysting in the Waldorf-Astoria hotel in Midtown Manhattan. Ruth was firmly in charge, and after giving Grey a nice roll in the hay, she ordered Grey to go to Kingston, New York, to purchase chloroform, a window sash weight, and picture wire. She told him, that way “we have three means of killing him One of them must surely work.”

Grey protested, but Ruth was not to be deterred. She said, “If you don’t do as I say, that’s the end of us in bed. You can find yourself another Momsie to sleep with. Only nobody else would have you but me.”

Grey whined that he was not the type to commit murder, but Ruth kept on applying the pressure. One night, when Albert and their daughter Lorraine were not at home, Ruth brazenly brought Grey to her Queens Village house. They went upstairs to her daughter’s room, and had passionate sex. Grey at this point, absolutely terrified that he would not be able to enjoy Ruth’s mad lovemaking anymore, reluctantly agreed to participate in the murder of Albert Snyder.

From this point on, Ruth did all the planning, and Grey did what she told him to do. They had several clandestine meetings, where Ruth laid out the step-by-step procedure how they would kill her husband. One such meeting took place at “Henry’s Swedish Restaurant,” with Ruth’s daughter Lorraine sitting at the same table with them, but not truly understanding what they were talking about: that her father was in imminent danger of being murdered.

In the early morning hours of March 20, 1927, Grey fortified by more than a few sips of whiskey from a pint bottle, boarded a bus from downtown Manhattan to the Snyder house in Queens. The house was empty, because Ruth and Albert Snyder, along with their daughter Lorraine, were at a bridge party at the home of one of their neighbors, a Mrs. Milton Fidgeon. Ruth had left the side door unlocked, allowing Grey to enter the house. Grey hid himself in an empty bedroom upstairs. Grey even brought an Italian newspaper to plant later as a red herring for the police.

At around 2 AM, the Snyder family returned home. By this time Albert Snyder was quite drunk, and he immediately went to bed, and fell asleep in an alcohol-induced stupor. Ruth put Lorraine to bed, then she slipped down the hall to the extra bedroom, where Judd was hiding. Ruth was wearing just a slip and a négligée.

She kissed Grey, then said, “Have you found the sash weight?” Grey told her that he had. Ruth said, “Keep quiet then. I’ll be back as quick as I can.”

A few minutes later, Ruth left the master bedroom and entered the bedroom where Grey was waiting. They finished the last of the whiskey Grey had brought with him, then she grabbed Grey by the hand and said, “Okay, this is it.”

Ruth led Grey to the master bedroom. Grey was wearing rubber gloves so he wouldn’t leave any fingerprints. Ruth was carrying the window sash weight, the chloroform, and the piano wire. When they opened the bedroom door, Grey saw Albert Snyder for the first time. After they closed the bedroom door behind them, Grey raised the sash weight, brought it over his head, and smashed it feebly down on Albert Snyder’s head. It was such an inconsequential blow, Albert Snyder sat up in bed and tried to defend himself. Grey brought the sash down on Albert Snyder’s head a second time, this time drawing a little blood. Albert Snyder, now enraged, clutched Grey’s necktie and began to strangle him with it. Grey screamed like a little girl. “Help Momsie!” Grey said. “For God’s sake, help!”

Ruth grabbed the fallen stash weight, swung it over her head, and with all her considerable might, she smashed it down onto her husband’s head. It was a debilitating blow, but Albert Snyder, now semi-conscious, was still alive. With her man-like strength, Ruth Snyder pinned her twitching husband’s body down, and stuffed cotton, laced with chloroform, into his nostrils, and into his mouth. As Grey stood dumbfounded, Ruth Snyder tied her husband’s hands and feet, then she strangled her husband to death with the piano wire.

With Albert Snyder now quite dead, Ruth and Grey got busy washing the blood from their clothes. Having done so, Grey put on a clean blue shirt that belonged to Albert.

To make it look like a robbery gone awry, Ruth hid all her jewelry and furs, and also the sash that had been one of the murder weapons. Then they went down to the living room and messed up all the pillows and furniture, to make it look like robbers had overturned everything looking for valuables. That done, Grey loosely tied up Ruth, gagged her with cheesecloth, and left her in the empty bedroom, with the Italian newspaper next to her.

Grey was scheduled to travel to the Onondaga Hotel in Syracuse, New York to resume selling corsets. But before he left, he looked back at Ruth Snyder and said, “It may be two months, it may be a year, and maybe never before you see me again.”

Right after dawn the following morning, Lorraine Snyder was awakened by a loud tapping sound that seemed to come from the hallway. She called out to both her parents, but got no reply. Lorraine ran out into the hallway and spotted her mother bound and gagged on the floor. Lorraine untied her mother and took the gag out of her mother’s mouth. Ruth jumped to her feet and ran from the house screaming, waking her neighbors Harriet and Louis Mulhauser. Ruth told them, crying, “It was dreadful, just dreadful! I was attacked by a prowler. He tied me up. He must have been after my jewels.” Then she paused, “Is Albert all right?”

Louis Mulhauser ran into the Snyder house, up the stairs and into the master bedroom. He found Albert Snyder bound and dead, with two massive head wounds.

The police were called in immediately, and they quickly were suspicious about the way the living room had been tossed. The police interrogated Ruth Snyder as if she were the perpetrator of a husband’s demise. However, Ruth stuck to her outlandish story. She insisted to the police, “I was attacked by a big, rough – looking guy of about 35 with a black mustache. He was a foreigner, I guess some kind of Eyetalian.”

Dr. Harry Hansen was called in by the police to examine Albert Snyder’s dead body, and to examine Ruth Snyder for any sign that she had been assaulted. After examining Albert’s dead body, and Ruth also, Dr. Hansen was convinced that Ruth Snyder’s story was a complete fabrication. He gave his findings to Police Commissioner George McLaughlin, and the Police Commissioner agreed with Dr. Hansen’s conclusions. The Police Commissioner immediately sent 60 policeman to surround the Snyder residence, whereby Ruth was immediately arrested for questioning.

While Ruth was being grilled at the station house, the Snyder house was searched. The police found Ruth’s rings and necklaces under a mattress, and a fur coat hanging in a closet. That convinced the police that Ruth had made up the entire episode, and was most likely responsible for a husband’s death.

In the Snyder residence, the police also found an address book, with the names of 28 different men in it, including the name of Judd Grey. They also found a canceled check made out to Grey by Ruth Snyder for $200. Now the police knew that Ruth Snyder had had an accomplice.

Armed with this information, the police applied the screws to Ruth Snyder. They hoodwinked her into making a loose confession, by telling her that Judd Grey had already been arrested, and had named her as the killer of her husband. Ruth, incensed that her lover would rat her out so quickly, finally admitted that she indeed took part in the plan to kill her husband, but she pinned everything on the shy corset salesman. “But I didn’t aim a single blow on Albert,” Ruth told the police. “That was all Judd’s doing. At the last moment, I tried to stop him, but it was too late!”

Realized she had been tricked, Ruth Snyder then told police where they could find Judd Grey. The police cornered Grey in a Syracuse hotel and arrested him. Immediately, the usually quiet Grey began talking nonstop. He admitted everything, exactly as it happened, naming Ruth Snyder as the instigator of the whole sordid affair.

“I would have never killed Snyder, but for her,” Grey said. “She had this power over me. She just told me what to do, and I did it.”

The daily New York City newspapers played up the trial as “The Granite Woman,” versus the “Man of Putty.” The trial, which started on April 18, 1927, lasted 18 days. During the trial, Ruth Snyder was dressed entirely in black (obviously in mourning for her dearly-departed husband). She wore a crucifix on a chain around her neck, and she continuously fiddled with rosary beads, which were clutched in both hands on her lap. Judd Grey, dressed in a double-breasted, blue pinstriped suit, with fastidiously pressed trousers, sat impassively, as if he was resigned to his fate.

Celebrities from around the country attended the trial, with the thought of writing books, and possibly making movies about murder. Those people included mystery writer Mary Roberts Rinehart, director D. W. Griffith, author Will Durant, actress Nora Bayes, and evangelists Billy Sunday and Aimee Semple McPherson.

One of the New York City’s top crime reporters, Peggy Hopkins Joyce, wrote in the New York Daily Mirror. “Poor Judd Grey! He hasn’t IT! He hasn’t anything. He’s just a sap who kissed and was told on. This ‘Putty Man’ was wonderful modeling material for the Swedish-Norwegian vampire. She was passionate, and she was cold-blooded. Her passion was for Grey; her cold-bloodedness was for her husband. You know woman can do things to men that make men crazy. I mean, they can exert their influence over them in such a way that men will do almost anything for them. And I guess that is what Ruth did to Judd.”

The trial itself was a three-ring circus, in which each defendant blamed the other for the murder of Albert Snyder. Ruth Snyder said on the witness stand that it was Judd Grey who had dragged her to illegal speakeasies and nightclubs. And it was he who drank until he got drunk. Snyder said she didn’t drink herself, and certainly never smoked. Then she told the big lie. She said under oath that it was Judd Grey who had insisted that she take out an expensive life insurance policy on husband’s life. Ruth told the court, “Once, he even sent me poison and told me to give it to my husband.”

When Judd Grey took the stand, he was a much more believable witness than Ruth Snyder. He told the court that Ruth Snyder had tried to kill her husband several times previously, but had been unsuccessful every time.

Grey said under oath, “I told her she was crazy, when she told me that she had given a husband poison as a cure for hiccups. I said to her that it was a hell of a way to cure hiccups.”

The entire time Grey was on the witness stand, Ruth Snyder sat with her head bowed, crying incessantly and fingering her rosary beads. Ruth’s outbursts of sorrow were so loud, the judge glared at her and told her to control herself.

Grey’s attorney tried to save his client from the electric chair, with a brilliant summation to the jury. Grey’s attorney told the jury that his client was, “The most tragic story that has ever gripped the human heart.” He said Judd Grey was a, “law-abiding citizen who had been duped and dominated by a designing, deadly conscienceless, abnormal woman, a human serpent, a human fiend in a disguise of a woman.” His attorney also said that Judd Grey had been “drawn into this hopeless chasm when reason was gone, mind was gone, manhood was gone, and when his mind was weakened by lust and passion.”

On May 9, after the jury deliberated only 98 minutes, Ruth Snyder and Judd Grey were both found guilty of first-degree, premeditated murder. The judge immediately sentenced both of them to die in the electric chair at Sing Sing prison. In her prison cell while she awaited her execution, Ruth Snyder received 164 marriage proposals.

On January 12, 1928, Judd Grey sat in the electric chair first. After telling the Warden that he had received a letter from his wife forgiving him, he told the Warden that, “He was ready to go and had nothing to fear.”

Four minutes after Grey received the juice, Ruth Snyder sat down and was blindfolded in the electric chair. An enterprising reporter from the New York Daily News somehow entered the execution room with a tiny camera strapped to his ankle. At the instant the electric shock jolted Ruth Snyder’s body, the reporter snapped her picture. That death picture appeared on the front page of the New York Daily News the following day.

In 1944, the highly successful and critically acclaimed movie Double Indemnity, staring Barbara Stanwyck and Fred MacMurray, was released. The plot was based on the Ruth Brown Snyder and Judd Grey murder case. In 2007, the American Film Institute listed Double Indemnity as the 29th best movie on their list of the top 100 American movies of all time.

All of you, who believe that the murder of the Black Dahlia, a.k.a. Elizabeth Short, is still unsolved, please raise your hand. How many of you know who shot Lincoln? And finally, how many know who killed John Kennedy?

These three unrelated, yet notorious murders have gained a following of cynics and conspiracy theorists. All right, two of them have international implications while the third, The Black Dahlia, is most known in the U.S. because it’s about sensationalism at its most grand. There have been many mystery books written on the subject.

Folklore has propelled The Black Dahlia to the status of Jack the Ripper and Lizzie Borden. But here are some interesting notes about the murder. Since he hasn’t been tried in court, we can’t convict now and most likely will never prosecute. And now that he is dead, it may continue as more than legend but a part of history. Here are some interesting facts:

1. The victim had blue eyes and brunette colored hair and was from Massachusetts, not California.
2. Elizabeth Short wasn’t just murdered, but dissected and mutilated by having her mouth cut wide on both sides by someone with detailed knowledge of anatomy
3. The body was discovered in a vacant lot by a woman and her daughter.
4. She was not murdered at the scene; her body was placed there. Police believed that the murder took place in a home on Franklin Ave. in Los Angeles.
5. Reporter Will Fowler and photographer Felix Paegel were the first to arrive on the scene before the police!
6. The secretary of Dr. George Hodel, the alleged murderer, was writing a manuscript about him when she died suddenly and the manuscript disappeared.
7. The killer taunted police with a series of written notes after the murder took place.

The reason the killer was never charged or indicted for the crime, even though the police had known who he was shortly after the crime took place, had more to do with blackmail and corruption as much as anything else. The physician who was in charge of the public health in Los Angeles County was Dr. George Hodel. Venereal disease was not only dangerous in the late 40’s and early 50’s but a taboo that few people would even talk about it. Dr. Hodel treated some members of the police department and the judiciary who contracted venereal disease. They feared he would go public with their names if he was indicted.

Shortly after the murders, and there were more than one, Dr. Hodel was involved in a sensational incest trial involving his 14 year old daughter. He was acquitted of the charges on Christmas Eve and left for the country where he remained for many years.

His daughter gave birth to a girl that was immediately given up for adoption to a black restroom attendant in Reno, Nevada. Dr. Hodel maintained a distant contact with the new parent, keeping tract of his offspring as she struggled in this dual world.

This article is a simplified description, in layperson’s terms, of the law of homicide in Canada. For the actual applicable law, please consult the Criminal Code of Canada.

In Canada, criminally blameworthy homicide is either murder, manslaughter or infanticide. Homicide that does not fit into one of these categories is not a crime.

Infanticide occurs when a female person causes the death of her newly born child when her mind is disturbed as a result of the effects of giving birth.

The maximum sentence for infanticide is five years in jail. There is no minimum sentence.

Manslaughter occurs when a person causes the death of another by means of an unlawful act but did not intend to kill the victim. A classic example of manslaughter is the scenario of a punch causing the victim to fall down striking his or her head on a curb, the latter impact causing death. There is an unlawful act, the assault, but no intention to cause death.

In certain circumstances, manslaughter can be found when deliberately fatal blows are inflicted as a result of a physical or mental shock to one’s system. In Canadian law, this concept is known as provocation. Legal provocation can reduce what might otherwise be the crime of murder to manslaughter.

In rare circumstances, the crime of murder can be reduced to manslaughter if the consumption of alcohol or other intoxicants has affected the mental processes of the perpetrator.

As a very general statement, it is correct to say that all criminally blameworthy homicide that does not constitute murder, is manslaughter. This broad concept may capture fact situations other than those discussed above under this heading.

The maximum sentence for manslaughter is life in prison. Unless a firearm is involved, there is no minimum sentence.

Murder occurs when a person intentionally causes the death of another or intentionally inflicts bodily harm that he or she knows is likely to cause death and is not acting in the course of self defence or the defence of another as defined by law. Murder may be either first degree murder or second degree murder.

First degree murder occurs in the following circumstances:

• If the murder is planned and deliberate;

• If the victim is a peace officer or prison guard;

• If the murder is caused in the course of a hijacking, sexual assault or kidnapping;

• If the murder is caused in the course of criminally harassing another (for example, stalking);

• If the murder is caused in the course of terrorist activity;

• If the murder is caused as part of the activities of a criminal organization;

• If the murder is caused in the course of intimidating a group of persons or the general public, in order to impede the administration of justice, in the course of intimidating a justice system participant or in the course of intimidating a journalist for the purpose of attempting to dissuade that journalist from disseminating information about a criminal organization;

• Any murder, if the perpetrator has previously been convicted of murder.

The sentence for first degree murder is life imprisonment with no parole for at least 25 years (different sentencing rules exist for persons under the age of 18 years).

Second degree murder is all murder that is not first degree murder. Generally speaking, second degree murder is a deliberate killing that occurs without planning and does not involve any of the victims or circumstances listed above under first degree murder.

The sentence for second degree murder is life imprisonment with no parole for a least ten years or any such higher number between then and twenty five years, as decided by a judge (different sentencing rules exist for persons under the age of 18 years).

Someone anonymously presented this question to the spiritual guru from India. I have committed murder and I want to know my fate not from some general or typical answer that can be found on line or in an average book on the subject. I want to know the real answer.

The master says ” When apprehended for murder under human law, the murderer may be executed but if the murderers guilt goes undetected he is free. However under the all-seeing judiciary of cosmic law, the heavenly ordinance of karmic causation goes into effect and there is no escape possible. Those who have not been caught for breaking the laws should not consider themselves free or innocent. From the very inception when the murder was committed the evil crime couches itself in the consciousness of the perpetrator as a karmic-effect impression that foretells inescapable justice. Most important and mostly misunderstood the killer will not necessarily be murdered by another individual; the corollary law of karma does not mean that the tribunal of cosmic law will sentence according to the verdict rule of “an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth or the policy of tit for tat.” Instead, for failing to act according to the law there is a subconsciously present inner terror of the consequences which comes through the murderer’s conscience: “Thou shall not kill, do unto others as you would have others do unto you.”

Now the murderer is turned inward and haunted with the mental terror of the loss of life and physical pain forced upon his victim. If he does not try to satisfy his conscience by turning himself in to the law, then, if he does not give himself up and goes scott-free in his current life, he will in his next incarnation take within his subconscious mind a karmic ticking bomb with the tendency of murdering, along with the subconscious worry of being murdered himself. Under the circumstances of violent emotion or the power of anger, that tendency bomb may detonate and blow up into a recurring impulsive homicidal desire whereas he in fact, would be slain. The conditions of his demise would not be the judgment from the tribunal of cosmic law that govern every single human action, but from his last criminal act and rather, he himself would have attracted his own death from his own wrong actions brought upon from habit seed tendencies accumulated from the past.

Anyone who’s bad habits are deeply-seated feels caught and helpless in the diabolical tentacles of their doomed bad habits and are fearing the performance of those deadly actions from reaping the sorrowful results regardless of their longing to reform. These are words of warning for those who become complacent and assume themselves as rightfully virtuous and secure. This article solely deals with man’s pre-astral life on earth. For information on man’s afterlife, read the article “The Great Spiritual Masters Exact Description Of Heaven and Hell or What’s The Fate Of Those With Wicked Karma?”

Murder is a juicy topic in modern day society and I want to touch on five common motives for murder. Just the right kind of happening to get men tightening up their sleeves, women gasping in shock, and kids covering their faces in horror.

Murder is a vile and strange occurrence which has been with us throughout the history of mankind. People will always kill other people for whatever motive they deem fit; anything from looking at a person the wrong way to not being able to shake off a particular feeling.

Let me walk you through five common motives for murder.

1. Jealousy

We all know it, we have all felt it, and some of us have killed a person for it. The first murder in the Christian Bible was due to jealousy. One has to assume that O.J Simpson’s motive (I’m not saying he did it) was jealousy or why kill his wife and murder her lover with a knife? Oscar Pistorious is another example. The list is as endless as humanity letting emotions rule their lives.

2. Revenge

This sounds like the plot of an old Clint Eastwood western, right? Where the bad guy kills the good guy’s wife (not knowing the good guy is a gun slingin’ assassin) which causes shit to hit the fan and all hell to break loose in the search for vengeance.

The basis of revenge as a motive to murder someone is the ‘eye for an eye’ doctrine. It suggests the person you are killing isn’t all that innocent anyway, so according to popular culture, it’s okay! (I didn’t support the view; I only repeated it.)

3. Political

Oh, this one really sucks. It basically involves placing a hit on an opposition member, sometimes even your own party members (ask Caesar). It is what fully validates politics as a dangerous game when the talkers bring out the cannons to eliminate themselves.

Political murders have been happening since the beginning of time; some have even been caught on camera. Like Lee Harvey Oswald killing JFK from a distance. And Jack Ruby killing Lee Harvey on T.V (That one is actually revenge… hmmm, but political nonetheless).

4. Hate

Hate crimes are horrible. The act of giving in to an emotion as petty as hate which results in an actual murder is disdainful. Sadly, hate ranks as a common cause for murder in the world encompassing a broad spectrum from hooded white men in the KKK to vile terrorist attacks.

5. War

Sadly, this is still one of the top motives for humans being murdered in society; and this one is legal! In fact, if you do it exceptionally well, you get a medal pinned to your chest and they call you sir for the rest of your life. Is there some irony there?

War and exciting times go hand in hand, and murder is the basis of war. Kill the enemy before they kill you. What’s not to like about that concept?

These are just five common motives for murder out of a hundred, more or less… what can I say? We are violent beings.