Relax... enjoy a Madame Wu. No one is watching...Hum, but I do avoid that this story is very ........ Mmmmmmmmmmm ! ... for me !
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The Bronx Crux Murders
- Thread starter windar
- Start date
Dorothy Brown
Brown Sugar
No one expects the Racing Rodent!!!View attachment 504396 except a certain rodent
Tree sleeps...
To my friends a half-world away wake up to a great day!
The rest of you report back with a good thing... when you get around to it...
T
messaline
Crucified Amazon
Attachments
Repertor
Artifex Imaginum
Now we know.
The two experts, consulted and trusted by the NYPD.
Barb recognised the voice. She has not met that many people so I looked if the professor's voice had been described as being cultured and carefully modulated but I couldn't find any description.
But anyway I thought that these two would be too obvious to be the culprits.
I was wrong. The author cleverly anticipated my thoughts.
But he didn't anticipate Gibbs' and Wragg's.
They don't seem to bother about the manifest. they are going to crucify Barb anyway.
Meanwhile Stan is racking his brains but - unless a lucky coincidence occurs - I can't see how he can save Barb.
Perhaps the lightnings of the thunderstorm will enlighten his mind. But even if I were a lightning I wouldn't know how to help him.
The two experts, consulted and trusted by the NYPD.
Barb recognised the voice. She has not met that many people so I looked if the professor's voice had been described as being cultured and carefully modulated but I couldn't find any description.
But anyway I thought that these two would be too obvious to be the culprits.
I was wrong. The author cleverly anticipated my thoughts.
But he didn't anticipate Gibbs' and Wragg's.
They don't seem to bother about the manifest. they are going to crucify Barb anyway.
Meanwhile Stan is racking his brains but - unless a lucky coincidence occurs - I can't see how he can save Barb.
Perhaps the lightnings of the thunderstorm will enlighten his mind. But even if I were a lightning I wouldn't know how to help him.
Repertor
Artifex Imaginum
Ah! I know!
If I were a lightning I would turn into a ball lightning, hit the derelict factory, enter by the chimney, strip and paralyse the culprits and burn Barb's ropes.
Alas, I am not a lightning.
windar
Teller of Tales
Oh, ye of little faith...
It's true that Stan hasn't necessarily shone brightly so far. But it's the end result that counts, right? Geez, I hope so.
As for lucky co-incidence, Napoleon said, "I would rather have lucky generals than good ones." Let's see if Stan can get lucky. Well, he already did get lucky with Barb, but that's not what I mean...
On with the story-only a few episodes left
windar
Teller of Tales
23.
It was midday now, which meant roughly 30 hours since Barb had disappeared. Of course Stan didn’t know when exactly they had nailed Barb on the cross, or even if they had yet, or were waiting to see if their manifesto was being released, though that was a slim hope to hang her life on. Even if they had not yet nailed her up, had they whipped her, like they had done to the others? He tried to imagine her naked body, writhing in horrible pain. “Stop it!” he told himself, “You have to focus on finding her.”
Desperate for some reassurance, Stan called Charlie Yang. “Charlie, you said you thought a fit young person could last 48 hours on the cross, is that right?”
“Stan, that’s what I’ve gleaned from on-line sources, but who knows how reliable they are? It’s not like there are clinical studies in the literature. And I don’t think there will be either, though maybe I should write a case report.”
“Shit, Charlie, this is Barb we’re talking about now, not a case!”
“Sorry, Stan. I’ve heard you two were very close.”
“So the rumors had made it to the ME’s office within 24 hours?” Stan thought. “This goddamn department is like fuckin’ Payton Place,” Stan said.
“And that surprises you?” Charlie asked.
“Not really,” Stan sighed.
“Look, Stan, all I can tell you is that the sooner you find her the better. I don’t want to give you false hope, but I don’t want to give you cause to be more afraid than you already are.”
“I understand, Charlie, and I didn’t mean to take your head off. This case is just making me feel useless. Why would anyone crucify someone?”
“I’m just a pathologist. I work on dead bodies and tissue samples. Maybe you should talk to a shrink.” Stan had dealt with psychological profilers of perps before and never found them all that helpful. And time was of the essence here. He was going to concentrate his efforts on finding the white van. His gut told him that even though the kid who’d IDed it wasn’t the world’s most solid citizen that he’d gotten that right.
As he put the phone down, Stan saw Reggie’s towering figure coming towards him. “What’s up chief?” he asked.
“The brass has decided to release that manifesto.” Stan was relieved, though he didn’t show it. “It may not stop them,” Reggie continued, “In fact, we have to assume it won’t and devote everything we have to finding her, but I don’t think anyone could live with the possibility that it might have prevented them from crucifying her. What you got for me Stan?”
“I sent the manifesto to Professor Donnelly and Father Gerhart, but I haven’t heard anything back from them yet. I’m going to call them right now.”
“That’s good, Stan. Let me know what they say.”
As soon as Reggie went back to his office, Stan phoned Donnelly. This time the professor answered. “Ah, I was just about to call you, Detective. I have looked at that manifesto.”
“That’s good, Professor. What can you tell me?”
“Well, they are correct that the role of women in Roman society was far more circumscribed than that of women in today’s society, though that would have been true of all ancient societies. But that’s hardly a justification for crucifying young women in today’s New York, I should think.”
“No kidding,” Stan replied. “These academics had a way of saying things,” he thought. “What about the thing about Barbarians from the East? Would that be China? You know the second victim was Chinese and the first was studying to go there.”
He heard the professor take a breath. “The Romans knew vaguely about China, though it’s hard to know always whether the references in their documents are actually to China or to other places in the East, like India. The Han Chinese had some contacts with the eastern provinces of the Roman Empire and there was trade, at least through intermediaries. Roman coins have been found in China. But the reference in the manifesto could be to anyone-Islamists, Russians, who knows? After all the Chinese considered Westerners barbarians.”
“So, I can’t take this manifesto as implying a Chinese link to the crimes?” Stan asked, trying to cut through the academic fog.
“No, I don’t think so. But I wouldn’t rule it out either.”
“At least that was clear,” Stan thought. “Does this ‘Latter Day Roman Gladiators’ mean anything to you?”
“Nothing, I’m afraid. I have to put in a defense of the Romans, Detective, because I have been studying them for many years. They have been portrayed rather unfairly I think. Their law was harsh and they did crucify people, but there was generally, unless in wartime, a process of some kind under their laws, whether we would agree with those laws or not. But they most certainly didn’t go kidnapping people off the street and crucifying them without giving them a proper trial.”
“So you don’t really have any insight into this, Professor?”
“I’m afraid not. I wish I could be of more help. I hope you catch these people as soon as possible. They are tarnishing the good name of the Romans.”
Stan knew that was the least of their crimes. “I’m doing my best,” he said, hanging up the phone.
“Might as well try the priest,” he said to himself, as he dialed Father Gerhart.
“I was just going to call you,” Gerhart said, after Stan introduced himself.
“That seemed to be the theme of the day,” Stan thought. “Does this manifesto have anything to do with Church policy?” Stan asked.
“Goodness, no!” the Father exclaimed. “We do consider homosexuality a sin, but to portray the Church as anti-woman is grossly unfair. Everything is open to women except the priesthood and that is because the disciples were men. As for barbarians from the East, the Holy Father meets frequently with leaders of Islam, Hinduism, the Chinese government and many others. We will protest where Catholics are oppressed, but we bear no animus towards other religions. And, most importantly, we always respect the sanctity of life above all else. So we could never condone the taking of innocent life.”
“That’s very good, Father,” Stan said. “And the name of that group, ‘Latter Day Roman Gladiators’, does that ring a bell?”
“No, sorry,” Gerhart said, “The Mormons are ‘Latter Day Saints’, but I don’t see a connection to them, I’m afraid. Though I do appreciate a good pun.”
“A pun?” Stan asked.
”Oh, you know, Detective, ‘ring a bell’, like a Church bell.”
“I didn’t notice that, Father. I guess I’m smarter than I think I am,” Stan said, though he didn’t feel that way. “Anyway, thank you for your time.”
“No trouble at all, Detective. I hope you catch them very soon.”
“So do I, Father, so do I.”
The rest of the afternoon passed quickly. Every white van registered in the entire New York metro area had to be looked into and Stan had to co-ordinate between three states and more cities and towns than he could shake a stick at. He could only hope that the van wasn’t registered somewhere outside the area where they had decided to concentrate. The search could always be widened once they had ruled the local ones out, but Barb would be a lifeless corpse, like the other two, by then.
Then there were the tips called in by citizens, most sincerely trying to help, though their information would turn out to be unrelated to the case. Others were less well-intentioned, someone trying to get back at an ex or a family member they had quarreled with or the sickos pranking the police for their own entertainment. There were times Stan wondered if the world wouldn’t be better off if humanity disappeared.
As the afternoon drew to a close, Stan knew that it was now 36 hours since Barb had disappeared. Every second that ticked by on the clock on the wall of the squad room was like a drop in a Chinese water torture.
But, shortly after 7 PM, came the first glimmer of hope. The Hempstead Police, out on Long Island went to check out a white van owned by a Jacob Masters. Neither the van nor Masters were home, nor was the other vehicle registered to him, a three year old blue Toyota Camry. Stan called up the driver’s license photo from the DMV-Masters had a full head of hair and the kid at the building supply store had been confident that the guy had a shaved head. But he did have a nose that looked like it had been broken once or twice.
Stan thought for a moment then called the Hempstead cops. “Do me a favor,” he told his liaison there, “Have them ask the neighbors if he recently shaved his head.” Ten minutes later, the call came. About a month ago, Masters had shaved his head. One of the neighbors remembered asking him and he had said it was to keep cool in summer. They showed them the picture the State Police artist had drawn based on Rich Miller’s description. It wasn’t perfect, but it looked like more or less like him in his current incarnation.
They patched Stan through to the officers on the scene. Yeah, Masters was a bit weird, the neighbors said. He liked to talk a lot about how the world was going to hell. Yes, he seemed not to like women. He came and went at odd hours, often disappearing for a few days. No one had seen him in a couple of days.
Stan brought the news to Reggie. “I’m putting this out, as an urgent bulletin, his name and the Toyota. As soon as the Graphics people modify his license photo to give him a shaved head, I’ll add that.”
“Good work, Stan. You da man. If we find him, he’ll lead us to Moore. It could happen fast. Let’s be optimistic.”
Stan wasn’t sure which of those old writers had said it, but he remembered the quote he had seen somewhere on line once, “The basis of optimism is sheer terror”.
It was midday now, which meant roughly 30 hours since Barb had disappeared. Of course Stan didn’t know when exactly they had nailed Barb on the cross, or even if they had yet, or were waiting to see if their manifesto was being released, though that was a slim hope to hang her life on. Even if they had not yet nailed her up, had they whipped her, like they had done to the others? He tried to imagine her naked body, writhing in horrible pain. “Stop it!” he told himself, “You have to focus on finding her.”
Desperate for some reassurance, Stan called Charlie Yang. “Charlie, you said you thought a fit young person could last 48 hours on the cross, is that right?”
“Stan, that’s what I’ve gleaned from on-line sources, but who knows how reliable they are? It’s not like there are clinical studies in the literature. And I don’t think there will be either, though maybe I should write a case report.”
“Shit, Charlie, this is Barb we’re talking about now, not a case!”
“Sorry, Stan. I’ve heard you two were very close.”
“So the rumors had made it to the ME’s office within 24 hours?” Stan thought. “This goddamn department is like fuckin’ Payton Place,” Stan said.
“And that surprises you?” Charlie asked.
“Not really,” Stan sighed.
“Look, Stan, all I can tell you is that the sooner you find her the better. I don’t want to give you false hope, but I don’t want to give you cause to be more afraid than you already are.”
“I understand, Charlie, and I didn’t mean to take your head off. This case is just making me feel useless. Why would anyone crucify someone?”
“I’m just a pathologist. I work on dead bodies and tissue samples. Maybe you should talk to a shrink.” Stan had dealt with psychological profilers of perps before and never found them all that helpful. And time was of the essence here. He was going to concentrate his efforts on finding the white van. His gut told him that even though the kid who’d IDed it wasn’t the world’s most solid citizen that he’d gotten that right.
As he put the phone down, Stan saw Reggie’s towering figure coming towards him. “What’s up chief?” he asked.
“The brass has decided to release that manifesto.” Stan was relieved, though he didn’t show it. “It may not stop them,” Reggie continued, “In fact, we have to assume it won’t and devote everything we have to finding her, but I don’t think anyone could live with the possibility that it might have prevented them from crucifying her. What you got for me Stan?”
“I sent the manifesto to Professor Donnelly and Father Gerhart, but I haven’t heard anything back from them yet. I’m going to call them right now.”
“That’s good, Stan. Let me know what they say.”
As soon as Reggie went back to his office, Stan phoned Donnelly. This time the professor answered. “Ah, I was just about to call you, Detective. I have looked at that manifesto.”
“That’s good, Professor. What can you tell me?”
“Well, they are correct that the role of women in Roman society was far more circumscribed than that of women in today’s society, though that would have been true of all ancient societies. But that’s hardly a justification for crucifying young women in today’s New York, I should think.”
“No kidding,” Stan replied. “These academics had a way of saying things,” he thought. “What about the thing about Barbarians from the East? Would that be China? You know the second victim was Chinese and the first was studying to go there.”
He heard the professor take a breath. “The Romans knew vaguely about China, though it’s hard to know always whether the references in their documents are actually to China or to other places in the East, like India. The Han Chinese had some contacts with the eastern provinces of the Roman Empire and there was trade, at least through intermediaries. Roman coins have been found in China. But the reference in the manifesto could be to anyone-Islamists, Russians, who knows? After all the Chinese considered Westerners barbarians.”
“So, I can’t take this manifesto as implying a Chinese link to the crimes?” Stan asked, trying to cut through the academic fog.
“No, I don’t think so. But I wouldn’t rule it out either.”
“At least that was clear,” Stan thought. “Does this ‘Latter Day Roman Gladiators’ mean anything to you?”
“Nothing, I’m afraid. I have to put in a defense of the Romans, Detective, because I have been studying them for many years. They have been portrayed rather unfairly I think. Their law was harsh and they did crucify people, but there was generally, unless in wartime, a process of some kind under their laws, whether we would agree with those laws or not. But they most certainly didn’t go kidnapping people off the street and crucifying them without giving them a proper trial.”
“So you don’t really have any insight into this, Professor?”
“I’m afraid not. I wish I could be of more help. I hope you catch these people as soon as possible. They are tarnishing the good name of the Romans.”
Stan knew that was the least of their crimes. “I’m doing my best,” he said, hanging up the phone.
“Might as well try the priest,” he said to himself, as he dialed Father Gerhart.
“I was just going to call you,” Gerhart said, after Stan introduced himself.
“That seemed to be the theme of the day,” Stan thought. “Does this manifesto have anything to do with Church policy?” Stan asked.
“Goodness, no!” the Father exclaimed. “We do consider homosexuality a sin, but to portray the Church as anti-woman is grossly unfair. Everything is open to women except the priesthood and that is because the disciples were men. As for barbarians from the East, the Holy Father meets frequently with leaders of Islam, Hinduism, the Chinese government and many others. We will protest where Catholics are oppressed, but we bear no animus towards other religions. And, most importantly, we always respect the sanctity of life above all else. So we could never condone the taking of innocent life.”
“That’s very good, Father,” Stan said. “And the name of that group, ‘Latter Day Roman Gladiators’, does that ring a bell?”
“No, sorry,” Gerhart said, “The Mormons are ‘Latter Day Saints’, but I don’t see a connection to them, I’m afraid. Though I do appreciate a good pun.”
“A pun?” Stan asked.
”Oh, you know, Detective, ‘ring a bell’, like a Church bell.”
“I didn’t notice that, Father. I guess I’m smarter than I think I am,” Stan said, though he didn’t feel that way. “Anyway, thank you for your time.”
“No trouble at all, Detective. I hope you catch them very soon.”
“So do I, Father, so do I.”
The rest of the afternoon passed quickly. Every white van registered in the entire New York metro area had to be looked into and Stan had to co-ordinate between three states and more cities and towns than he could shake a stick at. He could only hope that the van wasn’t registered somewhere outside the area where they had decided to concentrate. The search could always be widened once they had ruled the local ones out, but Barb would be a lifeless corpse, like the other two, by then.
Then there were the tips called in by citizens, most sincerely trying to help, though their information would turn out to be unrelated to the case. Others were less well-intentioned, someone trying to get back at an ex or a family member they had quarreled with or the sickos pranking the police for their own entertainment. There were times Stan wondered if the world wouldn’t be better off if humanity disappeared.
As the afternoon drew to a close, Stan knew that it was now 36 hours since Barb had disappeared. Every second that ticked by on the clock on the wall of the squad room was like a drop in a Chinese water torture.
But, shortly after 7 PM, came the first glimmer of hope. The Hempstead Police, out on Long Island went to check out a white van owned by a Jacob Masters. Neither the van nor Masters were home, nor was the other vehicle registered to him, a three year old blue Toyota Camry. Stan called up the driver’s license photo from the DMV-Masters had a full head of hair and the kid at the building supply store had been confident that the guy had a shaved head. But he did have a nose that looked like it had been broken once or twice.
Stan thought for a moment then called the Hempstead cops. “Do me a favor,” he told his liaison there, “Have them ask the neighbors if he recently shaved his head.” Ten minutes later, the call came. About a month ago, Masters had shaved his head. One of the neighbors remembered asking him and he had said it was to keep cool in summer. They showed them the picture the State Police artist had drawn based on Rich Miller’s description. It wasn’t perfect, but it looked like more or less like him in his current incarnation.
They patched Stan through to the officers on the scene. Yeah, Masters was a bit weird, the neighbors said. He liked to talk a lot about how the world was going to hell. Yes, he seemed not to like women. He came and went at odd hours, often disappearing for a few days. No one had seen him in a couple of days.
Stan brought the news to Reggie. “I’m putting this out, as an urgent bulletin, his name and the Toyota. As soon as the Graphics people modify his license photo to give him a shaved head, I’ll add that.”
“Good work, Stan. You da man. If we find him, he’ll lead us to Moore. It could happen fast. Let’s be optimistic.”
Stan wasn’t sure which of those old writers had said it, but he remembered the quote he had seen somewhere on line once, “The basis of optimism is sheer terror”.
"I don't know why everyone says Stan is dumb"
"Thank you, I think I might break this case and... Hey, who says I'm 'dumb'?"
"Thank you, I think I might break this case and... Hey, who says I'm 'dumb'?"
windar
Teller of Tales
You're right Tree (yes I said that
). He isn't dumb. He feels that way because he hasn't figured everything out yet. But he was smart enough not to dismiss Barb when she asked about the wood-and a dumb guy might have ignored something coming from a rookie female detective- and he believed the pot-head kid about the white van and the guy with the shaved head.He did get a feeling about Donnelly. Remember this exchange from their first meeting:
But I don’t cover the mechanics of crucifixion. That would hardly be of any use to a modern day lawyer. Unless someone were planning to bring crucifixion back.” Why did Stan feel that the professor might not be strictly opposed to that?
But could you really make a respected law professor a suspect based on that? Would a judge give you a search warrant to look at his computers based on that? Not likely...
You have to know how to ask a judge...You're right Tree (yes I said that
He did get a feeling about Donnelly. Remember this exchange from their first meeting:
But I don’t cover the mechanics of crucifixion. That would hardly be of any use to a modern day lawyer. Unless someone were planning to bring crucifixion back.” Why did Stan feel that the professor might not be strictly opposed to that?
But could you really make a respected law professor a suspect based on that? Would a judge give you a search warrant to look at his computers based on that? Not likely...
RacingRodent
Consul
Or when to ask the judge
We have an officer missing, presumed in dang....oh you've signed it already
a slim hope to hang her life on
"Hang"???/ 
An unfortunate choice of words there, Goldman!
“Sorry, Stan. I’ve heard you two were very close.”
“So the rumors had made it to the ME’s office within 24 hours?” Stan thought. “This goddamn department is like fuckin’ Payton Place,” Stan said.
Alright, who blabbed? And isn't that spelled 'Peyton", Goldman?
“So, I can’t take this manifesto as implying a Chinese link to the crimes?” Stan asked, trying to cut through the academic fog.
“No, I don’t think so. But I wouldn’t rule it out either.”
He's obfuscating there, Goldman ... think! think! think!
“So you don’t really have any insight into this, Professor?”
“I’m afraid not. I wish I could be of more help. I hope you catch these people as soon as possible. They are tarnishing the good name of the Romans.”
Lies, lies, lies ... nothing but lies!
Would you get your ass in gear, Goldman ... time is running out!
"Hang"???/ An unfortunate choice of words there, Goldman!
“Sorry, Stan. I’ve heard you two were very close.”
“So the rumors had made it to the ME’s office within 24 hours?” Stan thought. “This goddamn department is like fuckin’ Payton Place,” Stan said.
Alright, who blabbed? And isn't that spelled 'Peyton", Goldman?“So, I can’t take this manifesto as implying a Chinese link to the crimes?” Stan asked, trying to cut through the academic fog.
“No, I don’t think so. But I wouldn’t rule it out either.”
He's obfuscating there, Goldman ... think! think! think!“So you don’t really have any insight into this, Professor?”
“I’m afraid not. I wish I could be of more help. I hope you catch these people as soon as possible. They are tarnishing the good name of the Romans.”
Lies, lies, lies ... nothing but lies! Would you get your ass in gear, Goldman ... time is running out!
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RacingRodent
Consul
Tarnishing the name of a bunch of pig's vulva munching, avaricious, backstabbing (just ask Caesar), slave trading, misogynists....and that is just the ones I admire?
I think I am with Barb on this one...well in spirit at least, not on the actual cross
windar
Teller of Tales
"Hang"???/
An unfortunate choice of words there, Goldman!
Well, excuuuuuuuse me, as Steve Martin used to say.
You want me to hurry up and find you and take time to spell check? You ask a lot Moore.
Tarnishing the name of a bunch of pig's vulva munching, avaricious, backstabbing (just ask Caesar), slave trading, misogynists....and that is just the ones I admire?
I think I am with Barb on this one...well in spirit at least, not on the actual cross
Wragg needs to get out his loathometer to get a reading on guys who calmly chatter to a cop while having put his partner and lover on a cross.
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