Criminals, Detectives, And French Jewels

 

Hunt Continues For Missing Jewels After Brazen Theft From The Louvre

Paris (Reuters) The strange case of the Louvre jewel theft in October continues to captivate the world, even with four suspects in custody. Several pieces stolen in the brazen theft, done in less than ten minutes by a group of thieves using a cherry picker lift from outside, are still missing. Security at the famous Paris museum is being raked over the coals for the inept response. And the greatest law enforcement officials in France continue to work the case. 

On October 19th, thieves used a cherry picker machine to intrude into the Louvre in broad daylight by breaking a window and making off with multiple crown jewels held in the museum. An estimated haul of 102 million remains unaccounted for, after one item, the crown of Eugenie, was dropped during the escape. It was all done within minutes. The group fled on scooters from the scene, enraging the country's populace. The cherry picker had been stolen several days prior to the theft.

Prosecutors believe the four arrested individuals to be petty crooks and not professionals tied to organized crime. They do note that petty crooks are becoming more daring in their acts, as this highlights. "It is an embarrassment to the country as a whole," one said under anonymity. "The Louvre is a jewel among museums of the world, and for this nonsense to happen... it is unthinkable. This sort of thing makes you want to bring back the guillotine."

Police continue to hunt for additional suspects, and the remaining jewels have not yet been found. Unlikely suspects have been named and dismissed. The security team at the Louvre is being questioned for any involvement, as well as their own ineptitude in the matter. Interpol is keeping an eye on unscrupulous dealers who might think that they have a chance of moving the jewels to unscrupulous customers. And one of France's greatest detectives is leading the response to the case. "We will find them wherever they may hide, let me assure of you of that," he told reporters outside the Louvre. "They think they are clever, and they may be, but they are not so clever as Inspector..."

"Clouseau!" came a voice from across the street, as loud as could be.

"That is not my name, monsieur!" Chief Inspector Charles Aznavour cheerfully called back.

Some in the media have suggested the involvement of Harvard symbologist Robert Langdon, who is known for an incident at the Louvre years ago, among several others. Langdon has been known to get involved in pot boiler plots that make him initially appear guilty before being proved innocent after unravelling byzantine schemes and secrets linked to art. He also bears a striking resemblance to actor Tom Hanks. Langdon denied being anywhere near Paris. "It's been six months since I've been in Europe," Langdon told reporters in a conference call. "I've been working on my latest book, which explores the hidden secrets in the painting American Gothic, by Grant Wood."

Regardless, French authorities are eager to arrest anyone else involved in the theft, especially if they hang around with Daniel Ocean. These are cultural treasures, after all, and must be recovered. Fears of their disappearing into anonymous vaults forever are out there, but police are determined to find the suspects. Aznavour, after having words with the heckler who compared him to a bumbling film detective played by Peter Sellers, said as much to the press. "They are running out of time. They cannot hide, for the strong eyes of the law are searching for them. And if they should attempt to cross the ocean, we have friends in Interpol over there who will intercept them." 

One of those friends is the legendary Mountie, Canadian RCMP Inspector Lars Ulrich, often mistaken for the Metallica drummer of the same name, even though they look nothing alike. Ulrich is fresh off an epic five hundred kilometre chase of Mad Jack Munro, who in the space of three months robbed sixteen banks through the Canadian west until being brought down by the fearsome lawman, who threw him into Dead Man's Canyon before arresting him. Ulrich was reached at his detachment in the Alberta foothills. "If they need my help, I'll give it," Ulrich said. "But I know Inspector Aznavour. He's the best they've got. Even if people keep mistaking him for a dead singer."

A Haunting On The Maine Coast

Mysterious Deaths Plague Maine Coast; Spectral Activity Or Serial Killer?

Portland, Maine (AP) It is a landscape with a rich history, tall tales, and dark superstitions, if you pay heed to the old timers sitting outside the small town general stores swapping stories. The coast of Maine has always been a place of the sea, of ghost stories and wild woodlands, of strange sightings and things that go bump in the night. As of late, that appears to be weighing heavily on the minds of people living along the Atlantic coast, where in the last two months, a mysterious series of unexplained deaths have been taking place.

Seventeen people have died in mysterious circumstances. Police have confirmed that in each case, while no physical injury has been inflicted on them- at least by another party- each have been found with an expression in death being one of sheer horror. "As if they'd seen a ghost," Captain George Allen of the Maine State Police said at the scene of the latest death, where a seventy eight year old woman had been found on a beach, having had fallen from a bluff below. "Her injuries appear to have been sustained in the fall, but her face was locked in terror."

She remains unnamed pending notification of family, but she was last seen the prior evening in the local town of Cabot Cove at a library board meeting before being found by a beach walker at dawn. 

In each case of the seventeen dead, all were known to be well liked in their communities. "Who would have wanted to hurt my dad?" teacher Cassandra Tupper said. Her father, Lyle Tupper, was an area doctor who was the first to be found dead, in a similar state, in his backyard in early March. Neighbours had heard an unearthly scream. When Tupper had been found moments later, he was seen to be alone, fallen on the ground, his face locked in horror. No one had been seen to leave the yard, or to enter it. At least not by living eyes. 

A doorbell camera across the street did capture something- but it only raised more questions. Police are tight lipped about it, but one source, speaking anonymously, said, "for a few seconds, this misty shape can be seen emerging from the side laneway, and then disappears off screen. I don't know about you, but I know ghosts when I see one."

A ghost of who, that is the question. Doctor Tupper was a resident of the small town of Cabot Cove. Son of the sheriff. Brother of another sheriff. A well liked doctor, affable and friendly. With not an enemy in the world. No one to speak ill of him in any way. A common thread with the other victims in these cases.

But Cabot Cove has a dark history. 

It was once the home of the world's most prolific serial killer. The murder mystery novelist Jessica Fletcher, who died in a Canadian prison in 2022 after being brought down by the world's crankiest lawman, exposed for having had committed thousands of murders over decades. 

Her final resting place is in Cabot Cove, alongside her late husband- who, ironically, was her first victim. She died on Hallowe'en night, 2022, in solitary confinement after killing another inmate sixty years younger than her. Stories that went around after her conviction indicated that of a deranged, psychopathic, remorseless monster who would speak of eating the heart of the very lawman who arrested her. Her loved ones were shocked by the allegations, the arrest, the conviction, and her ultimate end. Her home in Cabot Cove remains empty, despite being held on the market by her nephew Grady. Not even the bravest children dare to trespass, warning each other what might happen if they do. Stories are shared more and more of a spectral shade wandering the coast, late at night, of an unseen female voice with an English accent speaking about torture.

Local psychic Dru Blaise has her own perspective. "All of the people who have died. I believe they may have been on her to-do list. She knew everyone here. And we were all fooled by her. Is it possible that she meant to kill all of us over time? I don't know. But my dreams have been dark as of late. I see a malevolence in these parts, offering tea with arsenic and an English accent."

Sheriff Angus Tupper, who has spent years since the arrest of Cabot Cove's most famous and infamous resident trying to understand the depth of her depravity, had this to say. "Well, if anyone could claw their way back from hell, it would be her. Which, if you'd asked me twenty years ago, I wouldn't have said so. But I've read her journals, and she was into some serious dark ****. Now, the idea of her also doing in my brother? Where does it end?"

Grady Fletcher, the dimwitted nephew of the murderer, sighed and shook his head. "I don't know. I don't get it. She's dead. I'm still trying to accept that my sweet old aunt was this psychopathic monster. But people don't come back from the dead. Ghosts? They're not real. But all the same, I think we've got to play it safe and call in the Ghostbusters on this one."

When told that the Ghostbusters aren't real, Fletcher looked even more confused. "Are you sure?"

Whatever the truth is, residents of the coast, particularly of Cabot Cove, are looking over their shoulders a lot more these days. 

The last word belongs to the lawman who ended her reign of terror. Legendary Mountie Inspector Lars Ulrich was found at his detachment in the Alberta foothills by a group of real reporters. After being assured that the real reporters were well aware that he was not the Metallica drummer Lars Ulrich, the inspector appeared to be at ease. "Whatever is happening out there does sound odd. But it doesn't mean it's a ghost."

"Hypothetically, though, if her vengeful spirit clawed its way back from the dead. Should you be worried? She swore eternal revenge against you in particular," this reporter noted.

Ulrich shrugged. "Let me put it to you this way. I don't believe in ghosts. But if ghosts were real, then I wouldn't be scared of them." 

He paused. "But they should be terrified of me."

At this point, there was the sound of footsteps and a raised voice. "Lars! Lars!" The reporters turned, seeing a goofy looking fresh faced guy in an ill fitting suit, followed by a cameraman. The reporters backed off, well too familiar with what the Mountie did to entertainment reporters. "Bobby Burns, Lars, Entertainment Tonight. Good to meet you. Lars, what the whole world wants to know is, what's the truth about the rumours that Metallica is doing an album with Adele?"

Ulrich looked ready to throttle him. "I am not that Lars Ulrich."

Burns looked confused. "Are you sure?"

What happened next wasn't pretty. Ulrich threw one hard left handed punch, sending Burns crashing twenty meters away. And then Ulrich started chasing him, as the entertainment reporter fled. It ended with Burns in a body cast, whimpering over and over about his favourite drummer kicking the crap out of him.

The Escape Of A Nonagenarian

 

Elderly Serial Killer Escapes From Prison, Kills Forty Seven People On The Way Out

Calgary (AP) The world's most notorious serial killer is out on the loose after a daring escape from the  Stormhaven Women's Prison on the weekend. The jailbreak involved hostages, exchanges of gunfire with prison guards, and the brutal slaughter of twenty guards, nineteen inmates, and eight visitors. It was committed by someone who, at first glance, you wouldn't expect it out of. A ninety two year old grandmother-like figure who, nonetheless, has gone down in history as the world's most prolific murderer.

We speak, of course, of Jessica Fletcher.

Fletcher was once the esteemed mystery novelist known for involving herself in police investigations in her home town of Cabot Cove and beyond. Cabot Cove, a sleepy community in Maine, was deemed the world's most dangerous place to live with more murders per capita in each year for a village of its size. Fletcher was known to meddle in police cases of the latest murder, conveniently pointing the finger at the likely suspect. Only later did it come out that Fletcher framed each and every one in a systematic way. Innocent people were executed or imprisoned for years. Her trail of destruction is thought to consist of thousands of victims over decades.

When the truth finally came out, Fletcher was arrested in Canada for a series of murders by the legendary RCMP inspector Lars Ulrich, the world's crankiest lawman. Her spree of crimes began to be exposed in the aftermath of that arrest, and it was noted throughout the pre-trial and trial process that Fletcher became fixated on Ulrich, often threatening the Mountie in court in graphic ways. While other jurisdictions conducted their own investigations, based on the acquisition of Fletcher's diaries, and compiled lists of murders attributable to her, the primary case against her proceeded in Canada, where custody of the suspect deemed the Crown's case against the author to allow for first dibs in prosecution. Other jurisdictions have since, in absentia, run trials against Fletcher and secured convictions, adding on to her multiple life sentences. 

Fletcher seemed to take to life in prison in stride, enjoying the notoriety of a serial killer. Despite her advanced age, she quickly established herself as the alpha in the prison population, killing three rivals in her first two days behind bars. She was known, following her conviction, to rant about Ulrich constantly, while her supporters insisted that she was framed for murder and was in fact innocent of all crimes she was accused and convicted of.

On Sunday she received a visitor from the Free Jessica Fletcher Committee, one Alison Gaines, the vice president of the committee's fundraising committee, taking her hostage, turning the prison into a bloodbath of stabbings, shootings, and explosions before taking a facility director's car and killing her hostage as the last of the forty seven dead of her latest rampage. She was last seen driving west, with the car abandoned two hours later. A rash of car thefts may or may not have to do with her.

Across the world, people are wary of the threat presented by the elderly but deadly serial killer. Her nephew Grady Fletcher, reached at home, was resigned to it all. "It's such a shock," he told reporters by phone. "Even knowing all she has done, it's hard to reconcile my dear sweet aunt with the monster that she's been portrayed as. Someone must have made a mistake somewhere along the line."

Senator Ted Cruz, often jokingly accused of being the Zodiac Killer by late night comedians, had his own take on the matter. "You know, it may well be that Jessica Fletcher was the real Zodiac Killer and at some point suggested to one of those late night comedy writers that it was me. It's a conspiracy, and I want it investigated by the Justice Department and Fox News. Don't forget, Tucker, you owe me."

Police on both sides of the border are extensively hunting for Fletcher in the wake of her escape. An examination of her jail cell found multiple handwritten notes and photographs of Inspector Ulrich with his eyes scratched out, along with a bizarre manifesto promising to torture the Inspector and cannibalize him while he was still alive. "It's a profound obsession," consulting psychologist Dr. Julia Denham said. "This is the man who finally ended her crime spree, and that's unacceptable for someone as deeply psychopathic as Fletcher. She won't rest until she has him in her grasp."

Even though they're not that Lars Ulrich, multiple people by the name Lars Ulrich around the world have gone to police precincts and stations for protection. That includes the other Lars Ulrich, the deafened Metallica drummer who doesn't look anything like the Mountie. Lars, reached from an undisclosed location with a panic room, spoke to this reporter by phone, sounding worried and frantic. "It's crazy, man, totally *****ing crazy. This batshit crazy old codger is out to kill Lars ****ing Ulrich! And that's me! But it's not me, it's that other Lars Ulrich. Why the **** did we both have to be named Lars Ulrich?"

Where is the most prolific serial killer of all time? Time will tell. She is now the subject of the biggest manhunt of all time, with multiple police jurisdictions searching for her on either side of the border. She is not to be underestimated, having had shown for years a resourcefulness and cunning personality hidden behind a grandmotherly charm. The RCMP has warned that she is to be considered extremely dangerous, past ninety or not, and asks that anyone seeing her not attempt to engage her but call police immediately.

As for the Inspector? The world's grouchiest lawman was reached by reporters in Vancouver, where he had chased Godzilla into the sea after an epic pursuit across the western mountains. The giant lizard was last seen swimming past Vancouver Island at a fast clip. Reassured by reporters that they all knew he was not that Lars Ulrich, the legendary Mountie seemed more at ease. "Yes, I know that battleaxe escaped. And yes, I expect she wants to even the score with me. Am I concerned? Not really."

"She is a notorious serial killer," one reporter pointed out.

Ulrich nodded. "And people should take that seriously. I put nothing past her. But her chances against me? A snowball has a better chance in hell."

"What do you think about her intention to cannibalize you while you're still alive?" this reporter asked.

"First, that she'd have to get me in that position first, which isn't likely," Ulrich said. "Second, I think that she's bat shit crazy."

And so it is. Somewhere out there in the Canadian West, a blood crazed serial killer with a habit of framing people for her murders over afternoon tea is on the loose. People have died. More people may yet die. And the world's grouchiest lawman is ready for whatever comes next.

Especially punching out entertainment reporters if they mistake him for the other Lars Ulrich.

A Day In The Life Of A Cranky Mountie

7:09 AM. Awake at home. Dreamed of chasing an entertainment reporter into The Canyon Of No Return after he asked me why I wasn’t in the studio with the rest of Metallica.

7:37 AM. Having breakfast. Scrambled eggs and ham with a side of maple syrup and Canadian blueberries. Big day today. Due in court to testify against that sociopathic old crank. She really doesn’t like me. And all I did was arrest her.

7:52 AM. Out the door and in my Jeep. Fresh mountain air feels good. Winter’s been a long one, and spring should show up one of these days. It’ll make tracking entertainment reporters who annoy me a little more difficult if they’re not leaving loafer tracks in the snow, but what’s the point if there’s not a challenge?

8:20 AM. Stepping into the detachment and nodding hello to some of my fellow officers. Constable Hudson walks over and gives me a run down on what’s been going on overnight. Apparently a couple of skiers got lost in the back country and search and rescue is having a look around for them.

8:23 AM. Constable Mackenzie informs me that Ellie Evans called in to let us know that there’s a reporter with Access Hollywood staying at her bed and breakfast and asking questions about why I’m not in a recording studio. I grimace and feel grateful that I’m going to be gone all day.

8:46 AM. Out the door and on my way into Calgary. The high profile nature of the case means that there’s a lot of media attention. Including from those of the dimwitted entertainment reporter variety. I wonder what the average IQ of one of those is. It can’t be higher than single digits.

9:52 AM. I have arrived at the provincial courthouse. Meeting the Crown prosecutor as I step into the courtroom. The defendant is nowhere to be seen as of yet, but she’ll be transported in via the usual high security measures. Her lawyer is present and accounted for. Like me, she has the name of a famous musician and occasionally puts up with people asking if she’s the same person, when she’s clearly not.

I nod hello to Joni Mitchell.

10:11 AM. The defendant is brought into court by police officers. She sees me and gives me a look that could strike fear into the hearts of most men, as if she’s planning which way she wants to kill me. Actually, she probably is doing that, given her murderous track record.

Okay, since she’s not yet convicted, alleged murderous track record.

Jessica Fletcher does not look happy today.

10:25 AM. The court has been called into session, the jury seated, and I’ve been called to the stand to testify. I take a seat, looking at the old battleaxe. Fletcher has that if looks could kill thing going on. I wonder how she hid it for so many years as she went about on a serial killer murder spree. Alleged serial killer murder spree.

10:58 AM. Continuing to testify on the investigation into the murders at hand. Doing so in a forthright, reasonable manner. Wondering what Miss Mitchell will do when she starts asking me some questions.

2:21 PM. I have been sparring with Joni Mitchell for some time now. Not the physical kind, the courtroom testimony kind as she tries to find some sort of flaw in my casework in the matter. Thus far it hasn’t been working. She hasn’t tried to throw me off my game by asking me things about Metallica, but then again, I could reply by asking her why she isn’t at Woodstock with the rest of the folk singers. I’m sure she’d find that as irritating as I do when people ask me why I’m not with the rest of the band in the studio or on tour. We have ourselves an impasse.

3:07 PM. Joni Mitchell has wrapped up questioning me. Despite making great efforts, she hasn’t undermined my investigation in the eyes of the jury. I step down from the stand and walk back towards the seats at the back of the courtroom. I allow myself a look at Fletcher as I go. Her eyes are shooting daggers, as if she’s calculating the amount of force needed to remove my head from my neck. I give her the slightest of smirks as I pass by.

4:10 PM. Court is dismissed for the day. The jurors file out, and the judge leaves. I’m about to go myself when I hear a racket nearby. I turn, look and see Fletcher rising to her feet under the supervision of police officers. She’s irritated with them. She turns to me, locks eyes, and sneers. “Your head on a pike, Ulrich! Your head on a pike!” she tells me in a quiet whisper dripping with malice and the tears of Girl Guides.

4:25 PM. Walking out of court with the Crown attorney and Miss Mitchell. She asks if I enjoy goading her client. I’m about to answer when a rush of reporters all come our way. One of them, a vacant eyed nitwit backed up by a cameraman, speaks up the loudest. “Lars! Joni! Tommy Locksley, Access Hollywood! What everyone wants to know is, will Metallica be going out on tour with Joni as a double act, and how will you reconcile your very different music styles before a live audience?”

Mitchell and I look at each other, and punch Locksley at the same time.

5:35 PM. My drive back home has been interrupted when I come to a bottleneck of traffic out in the foothills. I find one of my officers on site. Constable Borden tells me that the monster Ebirah has shown up in the Alberta foothills in the last hour and is attacking whatever approaches him. You know, in the movies these things attack cities like Tokyo and New York. You’d think they’d know better to show up near my place.

5:45 PM. I have gotten within visual range of Ebirah, who’s in the process of stomping on a line of train cars. It’s a giant lobster. Thirty meters tall, 100 meters long. I whistle to get its attention. It turns, sees me, and starts charging.

I smile to myself. This should be fun.

5:51 PM. Standing on a field of battle, reveling in victory. Ebirah is on its back, defeated utterly and, as far as I can tell, dead. Calls have been made to remove this thing from the scene. You should have known better than to pick a fight with me.

6:28 PM. Watching contractors working for Red Lobster carving up Ebirah. Note to self: I’m so glad I don’t eat at Red Lobster.

7:03 PM. Supervising things at the scene when someone comes up to me. “Lars! Lars! Harry Hedges, Access Hollywood! I’ve been looking for you all day. What the world wants to know is this. Is monster hunting a hobby for you when you’re not in studio or with the band on tour?”

I glare at him. Then I speak in a low, growling voice. “I am not that Lars Ulrich.”

Hedges seems confused. “Are you sure?”

9:08 PM. Finally back home. A long, long day. Sure, it might be legal for me to beat up an entertainment reporter and put them into hospital, but I still have to file paperwork about it afterwards. I hate doing paperwork. Not as much as I hate entertainment reporters, but still…

10:03 PM. A call from one of my colleagues at the holding facility in Calgary. He tells me that Fletcher has been screaming my name from her cell for the last four hours straight. Vowing to carve my heart out of my chest with a rusty spoon, while I’m still alive.

How nice of her to be honest. It’s always good to be appreciated.