Wednesday, May 14: Tune It or Die!
WITNESSING I WITNESS
by Rob Lopresti
Today I’m going to plug one of my favorite books, which I see is available for less than three bucks on the web. Such is fame and glory.
I, Witness is a collect of short pieces by mystery writers, but they are not short stories. They are all non-fiction with a common theme: the author’s personal connection to crime. The book was published by the Mystery Writers of America in 1978 to celebrate the Second International Conference of Crime Writers, which was held in New York that year. (And hey, after twenty years it’s time to do a sequel with a new generation of mystery writers … anybody listening, MWA?)
A Death Wish is born
Back in August I wrote about the book’s introduction by editor Brian Garfield. He talked about a petty theft that had him mad enough to want to kill the perpetrator. He turned that anger into the classic novel Death Wish. But there are lots of other interesting stories.
It begins with Donald E. Westlake’s “Tangled Webs – Best Offer,” in which the master of the comic caper explains that he stole the plot for his novel Jimmy the Kid from his own unfilmed screenplay, which was inspired by a movie producer who took the idea from a gang of French criminals who stole it from a novel by Lionel White.… It’s complicated, but you’ll laugh.
Fun with felons
Peter Godfrey tells a chilling story of trying to write from the viewpoint of the culprit in a famous unsolved murder – and then getting letters from the apparent culprit (still unknown today). Dan J. Marlowe’s novel about a bank robber got him enthusiastic phone calls from a fan – followed by a visit from the FBI. The caller was Al Nussbaum, a bankrobber on the Ten Most Wanted List. In prison Nussbaum switched to mystery writing – with a lot of help from Marlowe and other members of MWA. Naturally, Nussbaum has an essay in the book as well.
John Ball reports on a house invasion robbery in which his jade collection was stolen. The highlight for me was the TV reporter who asked him to move “the bust of Hitler” out of camera range. “I explained with as much patience as I had left that it was of Edgar Allan Poe and that it was going to stay right where it was.” (Of course it was the Edgar he won for In The Heat Of The Night.)
Larry Block tells a hilarious/horrifying story of getting arrested in Mexico as a teenager. Lawrence Treat reports on shenanigans that kept him from voting in a small New England town.
Crime on the job
And some of the writers wrote of their professional experience with crime (not Nussbaum’s kind, however.) For a lovely description of chaos, read reporter Desmond Bagley’s description of covering an agricultural fair in South Africa when someone attempted –almost successfully – to kill the Prime Minister.
Joe Gores tells the story of the car repossession that inspired the first of his DKA novels about, uh, car repossession.
Former FBI Agent Thomas H. McDade regales us with tales of his days on the “Nut Letter Desk,” and his dealings with the woman who signed her correspondence “Princess Angeleus Marie Lamé.” One of her letters begins “Nine brothers, all somebody else, and of different nationalities.” Then it becomes confusing. I guarantee you won’t guess how McDade’s story about her ends.
A chilling tale
Let me finish with Hillary Waugh, who tells fascinating stories of interviewing homicide cops. Here in one paragraph is a great story plot that I haven’t yet seen used on one of the umpteen versions of CSI. Have I missed it?
Consider the case of a man whose body was found hanging above the bathtub. It looked like murder by his worst enemy. The homicide detective, however, collected the water in the tub’s drain trap for analysis and, lo and behold, it was ice water, not tap water (there’s a difference.) The victim had committed suicide using a block of ice, in the expectation that his enemy would be charged with murder.
This is a book I reread every few years. Track it down.
“Gee, Mr. Science, tell us how you do that?” I’m referring to measuring the difference between the water from melted ice and tap water in the tub trap under the hanging cadaver. First of all, freezing water and letting it melt again doesn’t change the composition of the water. So it comes down to what kind of water the ice plant used to make the ice. Since filtering water is an expensive process, ice plants would only use filtered water for ice cubes destined to make drinks, like for a bar or restaurant. (Just imagine customers’ complaints as ice cubes made from chlorinated tap water melted in their thirty-year old Scotch.) Blocks of ice for ice boxes (my neighbors had one in 1950), fishing boats, for cooling kegs or to stand on during suicides would be made of tap water, since it wouldn’t be destined for drinking. And tap water, be it from the spout or the ice, in the drain wouldn’t be incriminating or exculpatory.
Note to Darwin Award candidates: Ice cubes wouldn’t work for this kind of hanging.
Another note: A recent report on drinking water analysis showed traces of as many as 25 different prescription medications in tap water, thought to be due to reclamation. The news has been celebrated as the government’s solution for a universal, prescription-drug program.
Back to criminal brief: We are required to believe that someone, destined to blame their own death by suicide on an enemy, would stand in the bathtub on a block of ice, waiting for it to melt, thereby tightening the noose in a strangulation that might last for hours. (Mr. Science points out that it would take longer in winter.) We’ve probably all pondered for a few seconds what method of suicide we would choose for ourselves, but I doubt any of us thought of that. Better to have our enemy hanging by the noose in the bathtub, cooling his heels so to speak, while we watched. Someone reading this blog should sell the idea to the Pentagon as a viable alternative to water-boarding terrorist suspects.
Another fact of life in death is that postmortem the urinary sphincter relaxes, allowing the bladder to empty. The urine would run into the drain and mix with the water, complicating the analysis of “what kind of water” remained in the drain during the CSI. At trial, the defense attorney (if he were awake) would point out that melted ice has no fingerprints.
We are required to believe that someone, destined to blame their own death by suicide on an enemy, would stand in the bathtub on a block of ice, waiting for it to melt, thereby tightening the noose in a strangulation that might last for hours.
Or that someone could have kicked the upright block away from his feet, as one would a chair in more conventional suicides, and died of strangulation long before it melted.
Show a little imagination, Mr. Science.
My urinary sphincter relaxed reading the first comment here. Whew.
Oh, and JLW… scientists have no imagination. That’s why they’re scientists.
Einstein had no imagination? Newton? Feynman? Darwin? Don’t think so…
Hey, Mr. Science, do you know you’re on Youtube?
http://youtube.com/watch?v=URiHb7AE8IE