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 Category:  Mystery and Crime Fiction
  Posted: October 9, 2019      Views: 42

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You are enjoying another piece of writing penned by the NUMBER 5 RANKED SCRIPT WRITER OF THE YEAR FOR 2019!!!

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The Case of the Walsingham Rabbit
"Pterodactyl Club" by Brett Matthew West

I've never considered myself a Nervous Nellie by any stretch of the imagination. So, with the irrational fear of croaking off, and the ardent knowledge that came with old age, immediate answers were required. The problem was we possessed a limited opportunity to receive them.

With his imminent lethal injection scheduled a week from Thursday, most of all desired was Marshall Barrett on the freedom side of the wall. You may wonder who Marshall Barrett is and why our organization cared what happened to him? Let's just say he's an old Army acquaintance and leave his history at that...for now.

Data from the Bookworm clicked over the teleprompter. His report was expected.

Short and sweet the message confirmed, "Conviction based on testimony of three jailhouse informants. No physical evidence or eyewitnesses."

That was the Bookworm, straight to the point. Skype popped up on my Dell. The Crustacean checked in, right on time as always.

Crusty's best sing-song voice said, "Our target's confession is taped. He alone is responsible for Sheila Bogmiller's demise."

Crusty enjoyed his own preferred methods of extraction. None of us argued with them. Discretion being the better part of valor, some things are better left to lurk in the dark.

My imparted response? "Good work, compadre."

Confidential code names were required for all operatives. In our line of work unornamented spartans tended to exist longer when few people knew who they were or what they did. This corroboration in hand, the sole thought became Marshall Barrett's execution must be halted at all costs before time ran out. The delicate balance remained how to prove the evidence we'd collected.

Wheels became the focus of my attention. His wheelchair never seemed to slow the industrialist down. The mogul reminded me of all we knew about The Case of the Walsingham Rabbit, as we affectionately referred to our current endeavor.

My right arm summed matters up in this method, "On March 11, 2017, Sheila Bogmiller's nude body was discovered under the Indian Ridge overpass in the muddy waters of Kennesaw Pond. DNA lacking. The victim had been choked, beaten, and stabbed no less than twenty-seven times with a serrated knife. No murder weapon found."

"That won't clear Barrett," I observed.

"Also doesn't help the stool pigeon was the last person seen with Sheila Bogmiller, or knew her family cause he bought skunk weed from them," Wheels chimed in.

Wheels does have his own peculiar means of expressing himself no-holds-barred.

He elaborated, "Sheila Bogmiller hitched along Highway 62. and was observed at the County Line Bar and Grill with an unidentified accomplice. Wonder if she knew she was the main course, or was that dessert, like a good lemon meringue pie?"

"Barrett's ex-squeeze testified when she arrived home the next morning his clothes were wet. She contemplated he'd been fishing. All the while, he claimed he retrieved a frisbee in the lake," I added.

The hovering pterodactyl, who our club is named after, clarified the picture.

He replied, "Here's what we know for facts. The state lacked enough evidence to convict Barrett, so they manufactured some. No reprobates in the hoosegow where he was held overheard him discuss the crime, and you know how jailbirds like to chatter. Later, a guard remarked he heard three malefactors devised a plan on how to help themselves by providing false information about Barrett's case to the State Attorney. The aforementioned wet blanket Barrett is laid under is full of red flags relevant to this case."

Our problem became locating a judge who'd listen before time expired. The team had been in tighter pickles. None as open and shut as this one that divided the whole town. My underlings needed a well deserved diversion. They'd pushed hard for several weeks. Now was not the time to slack off.

I coughed, then muttered, "Damn phlegm!"

Wheels gave me a questioned expression. He wasn't convinced of the ailment attributed to my discomfort.

Silence filled the air as this figurehead sauntered out of the room with the aid of my pearl-handled shillelagh.

(Be on the watch out for the continuing saga of the Pterodactyl Club coming soon to a FanStory page near you)

Author Notes
skunk weed - marijuana

The Carrot Collector, by avmurray, selected to complement my story.

So, thanks avmurray, for the use of your picture. It goes so nicely with my story.
Pays one point and 2 member cents. Artwork by avmurray at

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