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Re: [ticket2write] Re: A Handbag

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  • David Roth
    My Dear Anon, Bloody brilliant response. Of course, the special equipment provided by Q-branch has recorded every nuance, and is even as we speak preparing
    Message 1 of 18 , Aug 31, 2007
      My Dear Anon,

      Bloody brilliant response.  Of course, the special equipment provided by Q-branch has recorded every nuance, and is even as we speak preparing for your, shall we say, removal.

      As always,

      00?

      jack lewis wrote:
      wings081:  I have decided that this is my best way to communicate 
      with you and still keep it anonamous to protect both our securities. 
      Even going to the lengths of creating a false profile to join this 
      group in order to set the facts straight. I admire your deductive 
      observations and the method at which you derived the facts.  However, 
      it seems that you overlooked one particularly important fact.  I did 
      notice you reading at the end of the bench.  Since you fit into my 
      scheme so well I did manage to hire an unemployed actress to portray 
      the desperate damsel you were inclined to rescue.  You suscumbed to 
      the ruse perfectly, putting yourself in harms way.  
      You see, I planned this murder down to the last detail and only 
      needed someone selfishly motivated enough to protect my plan. When I 
      murdered my business partner, I needed someone, you!, to present all 
      the evidence to the authorities.  I didn't count on you getting 
      personally involved, only to act as an innocent bystander and witness 
      to the young lady's presence. 
      Thank you again for the entertaining account, even if you did manage 
      to bungle the situation and unexpectedly cover my involvement with 
      another layer of misguided information.
      
      Your friend in intrigue
      Anon.
      
      --- In ticket2write@yahoogroups.com, "wings081" <wings081@...> wrote:
        
      A HANDBAG
      With my car in the local garage for a major overhaul, I had decided 
      to give this public transport thingey a whirl.
      That is why, on a windy morning, I could be found sitting on a hard 
      wooden bench in a bus shelter, waiting for a number 183 double 
          
      decker.
        
      I had been sitting not more than five minutes, when in walked a 
          
      young 
        
      lady I judged to be in her early twenties.
      She took a seat at the opposite end to mine, took out a 
          
      handkerchief 
        
      and began to mopthe saline drops spilling from her eyes.
      Most other times I would have offered a comforting word but I had a 
      suspicion she may not have welcomed my intrusion of her 
          
      discomposure.
        
      Opening my newspaper I started to read, purposely making rustling 
      sounds to mask the trembling of her quiet sobbing.
      The drumming of a diesel engine announced the arrival of public 
      transport, but it was a number 140, so I settled down again to read.
      Glancing to my left, the empty seat declared the young lady had 
      departed but on the bench she had so recently vacated, lay a lady's 
      handbag.
      The bus had travelled too far for me to hail, so I picked up the 
          
      bag 
        
      with the intention of handing it in to the nearest police station.
      On second thoughts, I posed myself the question: "Why not look 
          
      inside 
        
      for an address or phone number because the police will probably 
          
      place 
        
      it on the lost property shelf for six months."
      
      Ladies handbags are notorious for holding everything but the 
          
      kitchen 
        
      sink and this one was no exception.
      I moved aside the usual lipstick and powder compact, a few hair 
          
      grips
        
      (bobby pins), a couple of halfpenny copper coins which had long 
          
      been 
        
      declared not legal tender and wrapped in a paper bag an instrument 
      for testing pregnancy. This had obviously been used and was fixed 
          
      in 
        
      a position on a scale which read: "Pregnant" in red lettering.
      A note poked out from an inside pocket. This, I thought may provide 
      me with a clue to the owner's contact particulars, but such was not 
      the case.
      Scrawled across the single page of lined notepaper were these words 
      of contempt:
      "Dear Rat,
      You've had your fun and left me holding the baby. You lied when you 
      said you'd stand by me. Well you're not getting away with it. 
          
      You're 
        
      going to be sorry you ever messed with me. I hate you, hate you, 
          
      hate 
        
      you.
      Love
      Maureen".
      The word `love' had been deliberately crossed out.
      
      Finding no other clue to identity, I closed the bag and put it on 
          
      the 
        
      seat beside me but as I did, I felt a hard object tucked into a 
          
      small 
        
      fold in the base.
      I pulled opened the fold and discovered a stiletto blade of some 
          
      six 
        
      inches in length. 
      A wicked looking instrument with a polished hardwood handle and 
          
      short 
        
      brass guard. The steel was dull with stain of some kind, almost as 
          
      if 
        
      it had been tempered at an incorrect heat.
      Maybe, I mused, she was intending to commit suicide, in which case 
      her forgetfulness may have saved her life.
      Thinking no more about it for a while, I finished my business in 
          
      town 
        
      and returned home elated with news from my broker that shares I 
          
      hold 
        
      in a Texan oil well had jumped from $2.50 up to $3.15 per share, 
          
      due 
        
      to hurricane activity.
      The local newspaper had been delivered in my absence from home and 
      there on the front page were the headlines: "Local businessman 
      stabbed to death at his home. The police are asking for any 
          
      witnesses 
        
      to come forward who may have seen this man with an attractive girl 
          
      in 
        
      her early to mid twenties around nine p.m. last night. No weapon 
          
      has 
        
      yet been found and witnesses are warned not to approach the suspect 
      as she could be armed and dangerous"
      
      Oh what a dilemma. Should I volunteer information? Should I hand 
          
      over 
        
      the bag?
      What about the knife which is now covered with my finger prints?
      I have hitherto been a law abiding citizen but on this occasion I 
      pause for a while to consider the possibilities:
      With my prints on the knife, will a jury convict me while the 
          
      guilty 
        
      goes free to possibly re-offend? Should I keep quiet under the 
      excuse `the swine had it coming to him'?
      I am at my wits end here and trust good advice will be forthcoming 
      from my many friends at t2w.
      
      As always
      
      Wings
      
          
      
      
      
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