clues at the scene

clues at the scene

Tuesday, July 16, 2013

Head Over Heels

A little football got a little rough in Brazil.

The article is here: soccer-referee-decapitated.

The fans decapitated the referee and put his head on a stake in the middle of the field. That is, after his body was quartered.

Now, bodies are hard to pull apart and even with a panga, they are tougher to split than your average grocery store chicken. It makes the story suspect to me. 

Nevertheless, it is common enough to read about the headless corpse in the crime genre. I'm not a fan. I prefer my corpses with heads. 

Dismembering a body might make it easier to transport but the end game is a bit like making paper cut-out dolls with you daughter: there is an awfully lot of material spread about which creates a very large mess for a very little bit of fun.

Oh - you say. It makes identifying the body harder to do.

Unless you're freezing them and traveling a good distance - say across state lines - most people who go missing as in "dead missing" have someone somewhere calling the cops to report it. If your local union steward takes an unplanned vacation without telling the wife, you can bet the homicide boys are going to be johnny-on-the-spot when limbs start appearing in garbage cans behind the local eateries. They'll figure right out who it is they're finding over a large metropolitan area.

Oh sure, killing a transient and moving their parts about: sure. You got me. However, we're civilized murderers here. We kill for reason and purpose - and personal amusement at the screams of a victim aren't a good purpose for crime. Horror ? Sure. Sicko-lit? Of course. Not however in my crime, please.

Miles Archer gets it and we wonder why ...till we meet Iva.

I'll say I prefer my corpses intact with small calibre bullet holes ruining the front of their best suit. It makes the game more interesting to me. It's easily understood by the reader and there is no need for ballistic information that seems to dirty so much otherwise delightful writing.

Who cares that the body was blown out of the floor from the Barnes-X in 165 grain 30-06? If it isn't falling thirteen stories and killing the shyster lawyer whose implied blackmail was brushed off by the recently deceased, what does it matter?

Shoot 'em. Put 'em down.

Don't make trophies. It isn't sporting. It's beneath you.

The Edgar? There's a sporting trophy for you.

I hope you're writing. I hope you're watching your football in the comfort of your living room without the threat of decapitation.  

No stoning, please.

No comments: