Lincoln by Douglas R. Turek

Generic Murder Mystery

by Douglas Robert Turek

Law is but an afterthought to sin. A sequel, if you will. When a murder is such a smashing success that the victim dies, then who can resist rounding up a cast of detectives and police and judges and lawyers to 'put things right'?

Jennifer is our victim. Women always sell better as victims, because of the stigma attached to them that marks them as the weaker sex, all frail and delicate and waiting to have their throats slashed or their brains blown out or raped or something. Oh! Or rescued. Sorry, almost forgot about that.
New York City is our setting, so there will be plenty of extras, or witnesses as they call them in the business. I think it's Times Square, the name of that place with all the ads in every photo from every age; there used to be a big ad for Coke, I think, but now they just have a big TV, because everyone needs a big TV, and a big city like New York needs a BIG TV. Anyway, that will be the specific place of the killing.

The murderer is Abraham Lincoln, because his image is too flat and one-dimensional: honest guy who freed the slaves. Talk about typecasting! So Honest Abe, the last person anyone would expect to murder Jennifer, whom he doesn't even know, will be the mad killer.
As for the method of murder, I've chosen a slashed throat fom a large, shiny, sharp kitchen knife. This will make a nice, big, grisly wound with lots of bright, sticky blood. Besides, something like a gun is too impersonal and poison, unless it's particularly nasty, doesn't cause any visible side effects and requires some explanation of chemistry. Best to stick with a knife, no pun intended.

To shorten our story, I've decided that many of the witnesses might as well just be cops in the first place, so things don't drag on as untrained amateurs attempt to subdue the crazed Lincoln and someone else runs screaming to call for the police. There will also be no trial, as you will see later, but there will be a wrap-up to provide some sense of closure.
So, let's proceed, shall we?

It was the day of the big parade. New York. Millions of people crowded alongside the streets. From the outside of the parade to the inside, there were buildings, sidewalk, passers-by, spectators, cops, clowns, cops dressed up as clowns, floats shaped like giant cadillacs and animals, people paid to dress up and wave, and the occasional celebrity.
Jennifer McVictim, who had little character development behind her, was the star of the nation's top money-making film, called "Fearless Conviction". She was standing on the Float of Justice, waving as it sailed down the street. Standing on the float with her were many frustrated actors dressed up as notable presidents and statesmen.
Suddenly, the man dressed up as Abraham lincoln stopped waving. He turned from his post on the left side of the float with a sinister look in his eyes. He stared at Jennifer for almost a full minute, then slowly stepped toward her. When she saw him, she smiled and waved even harder. After all, it doesn't hurt to have your picture taken and be associated in the minds of the public with Abraham Lincoln.
She stopped smiling when he pulled a twelve-inch steel carving knife out of his pants. In fact, she started screaming. He grabbed her and held the knife to her throat.
"Bitch!! You untalented whore!!," he screamed. He slashed her throat.

A clown, really a cop, leapt up onto the float, gun drawn. Lincoln raised the knife above his head, a menacing and crazed look affixed to his eyes. He advanced towards the cop.
"Nazi clown!! Fascist harlequin!! Die, clown, die!!", screamed Lincoln, tears flowing from his crazed and murderous eyes. ( I forgot to mention earlier that this gentlemen had come from a broken home and hopefully, in the midst of your hate for this evil sixteenth president of the United States, you will have a drop of sympathy for him and see him as somewhat a tragic figure. Okay, back to our story! )
Honest Abe raised the bloody knife above his stovepipe hat clad head, blood dripping from the knife onto his tear-streaked beard. He began to plunge the knife down towards the clown cop.
A shot rang out. Ambulance sirens sounded in the distant background, above the screaming and crying of a crowd that had become aware of what had really happened, but watched anyway. An emergency medical techinician furiously attended to Jennifer's bloody throat, which was incompetently slashed. Lincoln stood teetering with a gaping hole in his forehead, and then fell forward.
Detective John Wilkes Booth stood over the body, sweating and nervous under his clown suit.
"Irony," he said, "It had to end in irony."