Murder Can Be A Badly Timed Business

Mysterious Murder Under Investigation; Suspicions Fall On Millions

New York (AP) A dramatic murder investigation is underway in the heart of the Big Apple, after one of the city’s biggest landmarks became a crime scene. Times Square, the commercial intersection serving as ground zero for thousands of revellers on New Year’s Eve, is now closed off during a police crime scene investigation, after what police describe as a scene out of the introduction to the television show Blindspot, which featured Times Square becoming a crime scene because of the dumping of a live person.

The body of a lone man, shot in the chest 23 times, was dumped in the Square in the early hours of Friday morning, at some point between two thirty and two forty five. “We’ve been combing traffic cams,” NYPD spokesperson Callie Evers told reporters. “That time of night, the square’s not as busy as during the day, obviously, but no one saw how the body arrived. We can confirm however that the victim has been positively identified. Um, his name is... his name is Daylight Saving Time.”

An odd name, to say the least. Time legally changed his name four years ago from his previous name, Edgar Wallace Kazowski. The fifty four year old electrician, described by friends as “a social drinker” lost a bet on a Rangers hockey game and was legally obliged to change his name to whatever the winner chose. “I was the one who won the bet,” his cousin Harry Kazowski confirmed to reporters at his home on Staten Island, seeming distraught. “I mean, I’m a Devils fan, big time, and he was a Rangers fan. We made this crazy bet over one lousy game, and he lost. I knew how much he hated changing the clocks twice a year, so it seemed natural to make him change his name to Daylight Saving Time. We were always messin’ around and pulling jokes on each other, but come on, if I’d known his name mighta gotten him killed, I’d have never gone through with it.”

While police continue their investigation, experts have already weighed in on the case. Criminal psychologist Elizabeth Lamont mused on the specifics of the killing from her offices at Columbia University. “Shot in the chest twenty three times. That is significant. We lose an hour out of our twenty four hour day when we set our clocks back each year, which on a side note, is rather irritating. Hence twenty three bullets, twenty three hours. What I believe we’re looking at is someone with a particular hatred of daylight saving time. An obsessive hatred that runs so deep that they would kill someone by that name. I’m sure the police have already considered that, but if they want a consult, I’d love to help. Writing up a profile on this killer would give me enough material for my next book. I’m thinking of calling it Temporal Homicide: Sex And Death In The Big City. Isn’t that a great title?”

Columbia physics professor Albert Wentworth, known to his colleagues as Buzzkill, had his own take when reporters started to ask about Daylight Saving Time. “Look, I get it. It’s frustrating, it’s irritating, it’s outdated, it’s a nuisance having to change your clocks every few months. Back and forth. And it’s not like we ever gain back that one hour of lost sleep. We just spend a week in a daze as we go through our daily routine, thinking we’re off by an hour, which we are. Anyway, there’s nothing we can do about it but complain. Daylight Saving Time is here to stay...” Reporters interrupted him, telling him about the murder. He paused for a long moment. “What are you asking me for about a murder? Dammit, man, I’m a scientist, not a detective! Come back to me when you want my opinion on temporal theory or the bending of light.”

Millions of people might well be suspects. Daylight Saving Time is used in places across the world, with exceptions here and there, and there are always complaints and grumbles from every corner when it comes time to yet again lose that hour every year. “It might be easier to compile a list of everyone who didn’t have reason to hate Daylight Saving Time,” Larry King quipped. “I mean, I’d be on the other list, I can’t stand Daylight Saving Time, and I’m kind of retired.”

 One person is already in the clear, though simply because she is currently incarcerated in Calgary, Alberta, Canada, awaiting trial on multiple murder charges. Renowned mystery writer Jessica Fletcher, the infamous and prolific serial killer who stands accused of potentially thousands of murders over decades, spoke to this reporter by phone from the detention facility that currently serves as her residence. “Someone actually killed a person by that name? And dumped their body in Times Square? And nobody saw it? Sounds like the sort of thing I’d commit, I mean, that I’d write, if I wasn’t stuck in this cell. But I won’t be here long. I’ll get out. And when I do, I’ll get even with that insufferable Mountie who arrested me.”

The last word in the case belongs to the aforementioned Mountie. The world’s most fearsome lawman, RCMP Inspector Lars Ulrich, who arrested Fletcher for murder, has often been mistaken for another Lars Ulrich, who happens to play the drums for Metallica when not yelling at people to speak up. Ulrich the lawman was reached for comment by phone at his detachment in the Alberta foothills. Reassured by this reporter that he was fully aware that the inspector was not that Lars Ulrich, the Mountie confirmed that he was aware of the murder case in New York. “It’s a hell of a thing,” he said in that gritty, cranky way that has driven many an entertainment reporter to run for their lives. “Most people hate Daylight Saving Time. Narrowing down a suspect list might be next to impossible.” When asked what he thought of Daylight Saving Time, the Inspector replied, “To borrow a phrase from Tolkien... Daylight Saving Time was made in the fires of Mount Doom. Only there can it be unmade. It must be cast back into the fiery chasm from where it came.”

True Believers In Life And On The Page

Every once in awhile you learn something about a complete stranger that you would have preferred not to know. I stop most days at a library close to home in the evenings, and spend some time online. Generally I book the same computer when I do so; we all have our preferences. Back in December, someone started regularly turning up at that computer in the time slot before mine, a guy who's probably past fifty. Looking at the guy, he's unremarkable, nothing to make him stand out in a crowd beyond the fact that he has long hair. And in this case, I know more about him than I would have ever liked to have known.

One day last month, I turned up a minute or two before my booking, caught a glance at what was on the screen, and was puzzled by the title of the site. After he was gone, I looked at the site, and found it to be a profoundly repulsive white supremacist conspiracy site with a particular anti-Semitic slant. It's one thing to look at that in terms of research, or in terms of stumbling across it. It's another if it becomes repetitive.

He's turning up now quite regularly at the same computer, before my booking, when I'm there. I've taken to calling him Der Fuhrer. I've arrived a few days after that first occasion to see a prominent Nazi swastika on the computer screen; upon his departure shortly thereafter, he had a happy expression that was the face of a true believer. Any other time since then that I've arrived early, sure enough, there's something on that screen that looks decidedly white supremacist in nature. This is the sort of person who takes racial hatred to heart. A strange thing, knowing something like that about someone and not knowing their name. Personally, I find racism repulsive and abhorrent. I have mentioned my idiot ex-brother-in-law before; one of the many, many reasons I disliked him was his rampant bigotry and racist views. I feel the same revolted response to this guy.

I wrote a passage in Heaven & Hell that I'm adding in here. It's a passage that was very difficult for me to write, for the simple fact that I was getting into the head of a white supremacist. That's not the kind of mind I want to spend any time in, yet I felt the need to flesh out their backgrounds. These two unnamed characters, both true believers, are very unpleasant people, far more than the terrorists I write as antagonists. The passage doesn't really tie to the key events in the novel, but those events form part of the backdrop of this sequence. I have thought of using white supremacists in some future book, but the prospect of getting into their minds again for anything more than a brief sequence is a deeply unpleasant one. And so without ado, here it is. Let me  know what you think.

New York City

They had come into the city hours earlier, from their homes upstate. It was a trip they didn’t particularly like making- this city was one filled with those they considered the enemy- but it was a necessary one. Some of those enemies were of different races or faiths, the sort they would consider sub-human. Others were people who merely had different political thoughts. Most of them would never share their leanings. All of these reasons made them enemies. And all of them were freely considered to be targets in a war that had to be won.

            They had come down through the towns and villages along the Hudson River, pulled into the orbit of the sprawling city as they got closer. New York was home to a melting pot of culture, a swirl of people of various races and creeds, few of whom would agree with the way the two men thought, the loyalties they held. It was home to banks, to financial institutions, to the cultural elite and intellectuals they and their friends railed against. In short, it was a place that disgusted them both.

            The older of the two men was in his fifties, a farmer in northern Vermont, and a cell leader for their group. He looked undistinguished, had the sort of face that could be easily forgotten. He had inherited his loathing for anyone who wasn’t white from family. His father and grandfathers had been in the Klan; he knew they had committed their share of lynchings in their time. His mother and grandmothers had been fierce white supremacists. He himself would have ended up in the Klan, but that organization, finally broken, was a mere shadow of what it had once been decades ago. He had found like- minded people in the survivalist groups, the rabidly anti-government far right extremists. There he had people he understood, and who understood him in return. Gradually over time, he had worked his way up the ladder. The group he belonged to wasn’t as well known as some of the others, but there were advantages to that. There was less of a likelihood of infiltration by the hated federal agents who would seek to break them.

            The younger man had been in the group for five years now. He was in his late twenties, firmly committed to the cause. A good soldier, the leader thought. He might have never come to the cause had circumstances been different. He had ended up in a factory, mindless assembly line work, frustrated by watching others get ahead, and had found an outlet for his frustration. Immigrants and people of other races had gotten the promotions that should have been his. His frustrations had continued to fester, to build inside him. Finally his wife had left him, had walked away from their marriage. It had been yet another reason to be angry, to spend his nights drinking, listening to the hard right talk radio shows and the apocalyptic talk about how they were responsible for what was wrong in his life. They might be liberal thinkers, the government, ethnic groups... but the talk he heard built up in his mind, and gave direction to his anger.

            And then she had come along. She had been a member of the group, devoted to white supremacy, to the cause. She had listened to him, had given him a friendly ear so that he could vent. And she had given him much more, taking him to her bed. It hadn’t taken long before he had become fully devoted to the cause, willing to give his life in the war that was soon to come, the final war against the New World Order their allies on the radio and in the far-right anti-government groups insisted was coming. Both men had already shed blood, had killed enemies, and had successfully gotten away with those crimes. The younger man had learned well, knew how to cover his tracks, to conceal evidence. Yes, he’s a very good soldier, the older man thought as they made their way to their next target of the evening. They had already made one such stop.

            They had been at their homes, watching the news- FOX was their preferred choice, since one of their heroes occupied prime time space on that network. The explosion and subsequent violence in the Middle East dominated it all. Given their low opinion of people on all sides in that region, both men would have gladly preferred that nuclear weapons be dropped along a line all the way from Morocco to Pakistan, wiping the whole region and its peoples out of existence. Watching the locals rise up and be at each other’s throats instead would have to be enough.

The older man had received a call at his home, instructions from the group leader in Idaho. The timing seemed right to take advantage of the turmoil unfolding half a world away. From there it was a simple choice of who to take along. The two men had made the trip to both of their targets on previous occasions, a rehearsal of sorts for this day. They had driven down with sufficient explosives, well hidden out of sight. In the past, they had driven right into the city with explosives and back out again. Once again, they had succeeded, bringing their customized bombs into the city.

The first target had been a mosque, with minimal security and easily infiltrated. They had worked in the darkness, assisted by compact night vision goggles, a gift from members of the group who also served in the Army Reserves. The explosives had been placed, both men well acquainted with them and with the blueprints to know where the most damage could be done. The explosives had been wired for remote detonation, and the men had left as quietly as they had come.

Now they moved through the shadows to the side door of a synagogue a few blocks away. Like the mosque, it had minimal security arrangements, had never been the target of any threat. The younger man quickly defeated the lock, and the two men donned their night vision goggles, and went inside, toting kit bags. Both men worked in silence, placing and wiring explosives at key places throughout the building, particularly in the sanctuary. The older man made a point of placing a set close to the Torah ark cabinet on the east wall, and the bimah, the reading platform at the heart of the hall.

It didn’t take long, and they were finished. They verified that the explosives were active, both men examining the work of the other, and withdrew from the building, taking their empty kit bags with them, removing their night vision goggles. They walked away, down the street, to a side street, where their car was parked. No one was about at this time of night, even in the city that never slept.

The older man removed the detonator from a pocket, knowing that the distance to both sites were in range. It was a custom made device, much like the explosives they had placed. All it required was the press of a button, and he did so. The explosion rocked the neighbourhood, a loud roar that set off the car alarms close by. Another explosion was heard, somewhat more distant. They could see a glow down the street, beyond the corner from where they had come. The two men got into the car, and the younger man started it up. They pulled away, down the street. The older man saw smoke out of the corner of his eye as they went through the intersection. He smiled to himself, congratulating himself on a good night’s work.

 

A Snake Among Lawyers, Stockbrokers, Accountants, And Other Scoundrels

"There's a big snake in the plane, Jock!"

"Oh, that's just my pet snake Reggie!"

"I hate snakes, Jock! I hate 'em!"

"Come on! Show a little backbone, will ya?"

And so, after narrowly escaping a cave full of deathtraps, a tribe of angry natives, and a sneaky competitor who, in the long run, will get what's coming to him, Indiana Jones is revealed to not only be one of the definitive heroes of movie history, but to be afraid of snakes.

In the last few days, a cobra in the Bronx Zoo has become famous, for escaping. She's an adolescent snake, and it seems she eluded her keepers for several days before being found within the confines of the Reptile House. Zoo officials were, predictably, quite reassuring throughout. They noted that the cobra would only strike if provoked, and mentioned that the snake wouldn't be hungry (these critters don't eat that often), all the while trying to tempt the little thing out with the bait of mice for a snack.

During her time on the run, she's gotten a lot of followers. Someone at Twitter started up a BronxZooCobra identity and posted lots of updates from the snake's point of view. Conan O'Brien placed a cobra puppet into his band for a skit. Rumor of the cobra running for President remain unsubstantiated.

Norma and I chatted about the notion of a cobra loose in New York City, and the kinds of things it might do. On its own, in New York, which of course is ground zero for snakes of an entirely different sort. I mean the two legged ones. Lawyers, accountants, stockbrokers, agents, publishers, politicians, the list is endless. We agreed that Charlie Sheen would try to have the snake become his sidekick, and that it might run for mayor of the Big Apple against Mayor Bloomberg, who, Norma has long since decided, is an asp... or was that ass?

Inevitably had it gone on much longer, there would have been photoshop images of the cobra. We'd have seen the cobra standing in for Lee Harvey Oswald and getting shot by Jack Ruby. The cobra as Tiger Woods' caddy. The cobra on the moon.

Instead, she's back in the care of her keepers, and because of her popularity, the zoo's planning on holding a naming contest for her. Norma thinks Eden is a good one (as in Garden of...).

What is it about snakes that seem to get to a lot of people? People talk about fears of snakes, how creepy they seem. These critters have been getting a bad rep since man first noticed that reptile slithering across his cave while trying to figure out how to make a wheel.

They're found in many parts of the world, with a great variety. Many of them are shy and elusive. Some are venomous, others use constriction to get their dinner into a more... edible form. The joke in Australia is that the continent has 200 kinds of snakes. 199 of them are venomous. The one that's not will just eat you whole.

I rather like them. They keep the mice population in check, which is a very good thing, by the way. On the odd occasion during hiking or climbing, I'll come across them sunning themselves on a clifftop, and I've always thought of it as a treat to see them. Still, some people find their skin crawling at just the mention of the word snake. How peculiar.

Aren't they adorable?