Castle: Smells Like Teen Spirit – A Good Cop/Bad Cop Review

Castle: smells like teen spirit

 

Telekinesis was the theme, and there was more to this episode than a semi-drunk amateur magician bending a couple of spoons at Grandma Gertie’s 95th birthday party. In fact, this show was filled to the brim with snazzy parlor tricks. So, without further ado, let’s drop in on Melanie to see what she pulls out of her hat.

Melanie Atkins

A real life Carrie at one of Rick’s old high schools? Mean girls versus the outcasts? Yes, the scenario has been done to death in just about every procedural that’s ever aired, but this one came with a twist. I’m not sure if Rick, Kate, and crew ever decided if any of the telekinetic acts the outcast kids performed were real, but the strange occurrences added to the storyline… as did some real life accuracy. Lanie actually used the term “liver temp” when referring to estimating time of death at scene of Madison’s murder. Not sure if it was a first, but I was thrilled the writers did their homework for a change. Kudos to Dara and Chad Creasey, who are new to the show this season.

After the lead in with the requisite dead body, the scene changed to Kate and Rick at the loft sparring over whether to go with a live band or a DJ for their wedding reception while they got ready for bed. Rick figured they’d go with a band, while Kate opted for canned music. Their animated discussion soon led to the realization that they don’t have a “song” like most couples. So what will the band or DJ play for their first dance? Ack!

Kate and Rick soon got busy working the case, leaving us to fret over their wedding music, and wound up at Rick’s old high school. His trip down memory lane led to them sharing stories from that time in their lives, and we learned both of them missed their senior proms. Rick got himself expelled the week before the dance for putting a cow on top of the administration building, and Kate opted to attend a poetry slam instead as an act of defiance. Always the rebel. Knowing the pair as I do, neither scenario surprised me.

The case took several wrong turns before they finally figured out who murdered Madison, but once they did our dynamic duo returned to the school during the Starry Night dance to arrest the culprits. A nice touch. Once Kate sent the kids off to the precinct with a couple of uniformed officers, Rick asked Kate to dance. So sweet and romantic.

While they were dancing, Rick uttered one of the best lines from the series so far, IMHO. “Everything I’ve ever done, every choice I’ve ever made, every terrible and wonderful thing that’s ever happened to me… has led me right here, to this moment with you.” Cheesy, certainly… but the line is so Castle, and so perfect for them. I loved it.

Loved the song, too. Did you recognize it? It was In My Veins by Andrew Belle, the song playing at the end of Always, the season four finale, when Kate showed up dripping wet at Rick’s door and said, “I just want you.” Can’t think of a better song for them to dance to at their wedding.

I enjoyed this episode. It wasn’t the best, but it held my attention, made me laugh, and cranked up the romance. Classic Castle. Just what I needed after a week of watching skiing, curling, and bobsledding. The Olympics are nice, but I’ve missed my regular shows.

Lee Lofland

I agree with Melanie. It’s sometime difficult to force myself to switch channels while this year’s exciting Olympic games air opposite my favorite shows. Actually, we record everything these days and watch, commercial-free, at our convenience. However, we’ve also found ourselves fast-forwarding through much of the games.

Is it just me, or have you also noticed more falls, trips, stumbles, and spills than in year’s past? Sure, it’s sort of fun, in a train-wreck-watching kind of way, to see a skater slide face-first into a wall, as long as they’re not injured. But aren’t these people supposed to be the best in the world at what they do? Aren’t these the folks who bested every single skier, skater, and snowboarder in every single competition?

Speaking of snowboarders… Have you seen the guy who wears clothing that’s at least four times the size he should be wearing? His freakin’ pants are so big the waistband hovers around his knees, and to keep them from falling to his ankles he installed some sort of strap with one end that’s attached to the pants and the other to an out of sight location somewhere on his body.

Is there no dress code for THE games? Can’t this guy stop pretending to be a gansta’ for a couple of hours so he doesn’t have to constantly tug on his pants to prevent them from becoming tangled around his feet and skateboard sans wheels?

Anyway, enough of that rant. Let’s move on to…Lanie (groan).

Like Melanie, I was about to do a few happy cartwheels when Lanie said she used the liver temperature to estimate the victim’s time of death (TOD). How difficult was that to do, Castle writers? Change a couple of words and suddenly your character is believable. Fantast— Wait a second. I almost forgot. Lanie told Beckett that the blood on the ceiling belonged to the victim. Well, that’s a hunk of Voodooery and crystal-ballish forensics. She’d need the folks in the lab to compare the blood on ceiling to that of the murder victim, and that can’t be done at the crime scene. For starters, she can’t even be certain the stuff on the ceiling is truly blood until it’s tested.

The murder case was a bit wacky, with a couple of unrealistic loose ends left to flap in the breeze. But it was a fun case, and to make it more enjoyable was the reference and resemblance to Stephen King’s Carrie. It was also a nice touch to have Castle do a bit of name dropping (King) and mentioning that he himself is still a writer.

Actually, Castle probably plucked a few raw writer nerves when he said that young people no longer read paper books, opting instead for e-readers. But, it is what it is. I prefer paper books. I also enjoy using my Kindle. But a Kindle simply does not, and will never, smell like a book. Nor will it ever have the feel of an honest to goodness book. I think someone needs to invent a line of fragrances, such as “Old Book” and “New Book.” Then, when we need to reminisce about the days we spent in libraries and brick and mortar bookstores, we can give ourselves a pick-me-up by spritzing our e-readers a quick dose of “Old Book”.

Show of hands. How many people actually thought Lucas (the blue hands guy) was the killer? No? Well, me either. The writers and director sure tried to make us believe he was, though. In fact, they did everything in their power to throw us off track (I picked the blonde girl almost immediately).

Seriously, how blatantly obvious were the phoney clues—blue paint, and the “he’s guilty” look from the young lady in the background.

Please, writers, we know the boilerplate script forward and backward, up and down. Shake it up a bit. We like surprises. Really, we do. Even this show (below) tries to add a bit of surprise once in a while.

With the end of the show rapidly approaching, the writers made one last push to throw us off track.

But I was on to them and stuck to my guns. I was convinced that the blonde girl was the killer (she was so not a factor in the show that I couldn’t remember her name). However, I glanced down to write something, and when I looked up I thought the Castle officials had finally stumped me. I just knew they’d revealed the murderer and that I’d been wrong all along. But, it wasn’t to be.

It was only the well-armed Musinex guy.

Anyway, the case was eventually wrapped up and the blonde girl and her BFF were led away in handcuffs. And, of course, everyone went to the prom, including…

By the way, you knew early in the show they’d end up at the prom, right?

Finally, what about the doctor? Was it ever explained how he managed to float/levitate?

Oh, the storyline about telekinesis used by an angry young woman, well, I wonder where they got the idea? Yes, I wonder…

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Jerry Cokely: Memories Of The LAPD And A Partner Named Wambaugh

Jerry Cokely

Reading through The Graveyard Shift brought back many memories for Jerry Cokely, and he was kind enough to share those thoughts with us today. Here’s what he had to say.

The LAPD And A Partner Named Wambaugh

by Jerry Cokely

Training has made drastic changes since my LAPD class of 1957. They put us through the rigors, too, and I suppose each generation does it somewhat differently but with the same goals in mind.

All, except one, in our class were military veterans. Frank and I took him under our wings and taught him how to march and make drastic changes from his pure civilian life. Jim Poedy was born with two left feet. At least that’s is what we thought for awhile.

The various tests during the LAPD application process were intense in various ways. They included a three hour written test followed by a physical agility test, both on the same day.

Then the physical examination days later. At that point I weighed in at 150 and 5-foot-10 (almost). The no-neck gorilla in line in front of me would not have needed a partner to work with. I believe he could have pinned on his badge without wearing a shirt. Much to my amazement he was rejected as the doctors considered him too “muscle bound” and a health risk over a 20 year period. Additional surprise came when the doctor praised me for being is such great physical shape (looks aren’t everything). The past 18 months with the Marine Corps got credit for that.

After passing those tests an oral interview was given followed by a psychiatric examination. At the oral they tested me by calling me a mamma’s boy. Knowing I was single and living back home they asked me “Did your mother tie your tie?” It was a shocking question to test my reaction. Without giving it much thought I looked the questioner square in the eye and boldly and proudly stated “No, I did it all by myself.” They accepted my reply and the three interviewers went on to other questioning.

Next came the two hour psychiatric examination with copious written questions and the famous Rorschach ink blot test.

The few of us who passed all the tests were told that we were 3% of the applicants who had initially begun.

For me it had been only 30 days. I don’t think that really impressed any of us and certainly not me. We were just anxious to get the job and to become police recruits. We were hired as” Policemen” and not as Police Officers as they are today. The ladies were Police Women (none in our class).

Life during the Police Academy was similar to USMC life and is generally considered as quasi-military as the discipline is similar. All lived at home and attended the academy during the day. The physical training included running, calisthenics, and especially doing sit ups.

Jerry Cokely and Frank Escalante back row 3& 4 from right

We started from scratch and worked our way to 100. I developed a bright red “cherry” raw spot at the base of my spine, during all of that. They wanted us to have great abs and we did.

Jerry Cokely on right

I suppose that if I had Joe Wambaugh’s abilities I might have been more colorful in describing the experience, but you writers know how to take the mundane and spice it up to make it interesting. Lofland’s blog makes for a good read.

*     *     *

About Jerry Cokely

A native Californian, Jerry Cokely grew up in Eagle Rock, a Los Angeles neighborhood. After high school graduation in 1953 he joined the Navy and served four years with the USMC hospital corps on mainland Japan and the Pacific islands of Okinawa, Iwo Jima and Luzon.

After his discharge he considered re-enlisting but friends talked him into filing an application with the Los Angeles Police Department. In his 21 years with LAPD he worked everything from traffic to vice to investigations—burglary, robbery, auto theft, juvenile and homicide.

Traffic accident investigation. Jerry Cokely with crash survivors.

Jerry was in the thick of historic events during the tumultuous Sixties, including the Watts riots of 1965 and the assassination of Robert F. Kennedy in 1968.

Hollenbeck newsletter article featuring Jerry Cokely

In 1978 Jerry decided the city was no place to raise a family. He retired and moved to Wellsville, Utah. He served as Wellsville Chief of Police from 1979 to 1986, and as a Deputy Sheriff from 1986 to 1998.

Jerry is now enjoying his third retirement from law enforcement.

*     *     *

*A note about Jerry Cokely’s friendship with Joseph Wambaugh.

Hollenbeck Division officers. Jerry Cokely, top row 6th from right

When both Joseph Wambaugh and Jerry Cokely were detectives in the Hollenbeck Division, they worked night watch together for several months.

Cokely comments: “He (Wambaugh) was a good cop and I enjoyed having him for a partner. He didn’t just happen to become a famous author but had a master’s degree in English Literature. He once told me it was the dream of English Lit majors to write a best seller during their lifetime. His dream came true in spades.”

Joseph Wambaugh joined the LAPD in 1960. In 1971 he hit bookshelves with THE NEW CENTURIONS and his writing career took off. He received the Grand Master Award from Mystery Writers of American in 2004.

He became famous while still on the job but in 14 years with LAPD he was still one of the guys.

Hollenbeck Detectives. Jerry Cokely bottom row 3rd from right. Joe Wambaugh bottom row 5th from right.

The three women in the center of the photo were detectives working the Juvenile Detail.

Cokely credits Wambaugh with teaching him to play tennis. They played frequently at Hollenbeck Park until Wambaugh had his own court built at his San Marino home. Cokely still remembers “parking my 1961 VW bug next to Wambaugh’s 1978 $14,000 Mercedes.”

*Thanks to Pat Browning for doing the legwork to make this article possible.

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Hold On, Frank!

Hold on Frank

 

Door askew

One rusted hinge.

Wedge of sunlight

Peeking through.

Beretta in hand.

“I heard a shot.”

“Is he in there?”

“Stay back, please.”

Standing to side.

Breathing heavy.

I said,

“Frank?”

No answer.

Sweat trickles.

Heart pounds.

“Frank, you okay?”

Silence.

Flies buzz.

Darting in and out.

Deep breath.

Quick peek.

Maglight low.

Head high.

Minimum target.

Blood spatter.

Lots of it.

Frank on floor, sitting.

Shotgun in lap, upright.

“Frank, you okay?”

Useless words.

“Is Daddy all right?”

“Go back in the house.

I’ll be there in a minute.”

Hand over mouth, sobbing. “Okay.”

Squeeze through door.

Holster weapon.

Not needed.

Face, gone.

Friends since high school.

Twenty years, or more.

“Why, Frank?

Great kids.

Great wife.

Nice house.

Good job.

Wonderful life.”

Silence.

Radio crackles.

“Send M.E. and rescue.”

“No particular order.”

Doesn’t matter.

Suddenly…

Chest moves.

A wet breath, from somewhere.

Finger twitches, slightly.

“Frank?”

Another jerky, unbelievable breath.

“Hold on, Frank.”

“Help’s on the way.”

Frantically grab radio.

“Tell rescue to hurry!”

“Victim is alive.”

“Repeat. Victim is alive.”

Sit on floor.

Holding Frank’s hand.

Sirens getting closer.

“Hey, Frank. Remember when we…”

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Dr. Katherine Ramsland: When Psychopaths Find Love

Dr. Katherine Ramsland

 

When Psychopaths Find Love

Apparently, there’s someone for everyone, even maniacs…
by Dr. Katherine Ramsland

 

“Natalya” told reporters it was “love at first sight” when she saw “Bittsa Maniac” Alexander Pichushkin on TV. Arrested in 2006, Pichushkin, 32, was close to his goal of committing one murder for each of the 64 squares on a chessboard. He was convicted of 49, which enraged him, because he claimed 62 and he’d wanted to make history. The courts had spoiled his game.

Pichushkin often targeted the elderly. He’d invite his victim to drink with him in a secluded area. Once they were drunk, he’d bash in their heads with a hammer. Often he’d dump them into a sewer pit. In an interview, he stated, “A life without murder is a life without food” and had described his killing career as a “perpetual orgasm.”

This is the creep that Natalya intends to marry. “I go to bed thinking about him,” she said in a TV interview in Russia, “I wake up thinking about him.”

It’s no surprise to learn that she’s survived an abusive first marriage, which had led to substance abuse. This is common to significant perceentage of women who get involved with incarcerated killers. Then she saw Pichushkin and began to correspond with him. “He became my ray of sunshine.”

And it wasn’t like he admitted remorse. “He told me in detail about the murders he committed, and how it was ‘interesting for him to turn the living into the dead.’”

For some reason, she doesn’t grasp that she’s one of these “living” that he’d probably like to kill.

So, what’s with a person like Natalya who can dismiss such egregious behavior? Can love produce that much of a cognitive distortion? You can name almost any infamous killer – Ramirez, Bundy, Gacy, Bianchi – and you’ll find a groupie bound to him, possibly in lawfully wedded bliss.

Well, maybe it’s the danger. Some women find violence exciting. With their lover safely locked up, they’re free to fantasize. Psychologist Michael Apter suggests that once something is labeled “dangerous,” it can exert a magical attraction that makes us feel alive. “Protective frames” diminish the anxiety, so we develop narratives about evildoers that include buffers of safety. Thus, we can enjoy danger and allow ourselves close. Some of the groupies have clearly spun a “protective narrative.”

For example, the Beauty and the Beast syndrome. Some women who love killers imagine getting close to a dangerous alpha-male who will probably not hurt them – but there’s always the slight chance. In fact, for women who’ve been abused, this scenario can feel so familiar they confuse it with finding a soul mate.

However, many serial killer groupies are educated and attractive. Some have money and careers, and some are already married. Quite a few are mothers, and many have worked in some field related to law enforcement or rehabilitation. Clearly, there’s something else going on than desperation, delusion, or insecurity.

Many of these women devote themselves entirely to the inmate and make significant sacrifices, sometimes sitting for hours every week to await a brief face-to-face visit in prison. They may give up jobs or families to be near their true love. A few even go deep into debt. Some have lied about the offender to try to get him a new trial or early release.

Experts who’ve taken the time to learn about women like Natalya have offered a variety of reasons why they get involved with men who kill.

Some women have “rescue fantasies,” in which they believe they can reform someone as cruel and powerful as a serial killer. They view their love for him as the magical ingredient he was lacking. Or they might find a maternal need to nurture met, as they “see” the little boy the killer once was.

Some women seek celebrity status and media exposure – even if there’s a dubious quality to it. Natalya went on TV and even dressed as a bride for photos.

In addition, some women believe they cannot find a man and since men in prison are desperately lonely, it’s an easy way to get romantically hooked up. They align themselves against the world in defense of their beloved. Thus, they gain purpose and feel loved. (Also, they don’t have to do his laundry or answer to him. There’s that.)

Whether the Bittsa Maniac can actually love anyone, Natalya included, is unclear. News reports suggest that she hasn’t actually met him. Still, this relationship has improved her outlook on life. So, for Valentine’s Day, when romantic fantasies flourish, we’ll give her the benefit of the doubt.

*     *     *

Dr. Katherine Ramsland has published 44 books and over 1,000 articles, and recently had a #1 bestseller on the Wall Street Journal’s nonfiction list. She teaches forensic psychology and criminal justice at DeSales University in Pennsylvania and offers trainings on psychological aspects of investigations. She writes a blog, “Shadow Boxing” for Psychology Today, speaks widely on serial killers and psychopaths, and is a frequent commentator on crime documentaries. She has appeared on 20/20, 48 Hours, Larry King Live, and numerous cable programs.

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What Makes a Killer?

Guns
Source: Top-Criminal-Justice-Schools.net

*The infographic above does not necessarily reflect the views and opinions of The Graveyard Shift. It was written by the good folks at topcriminaljusticeschools. I did not have a hand in it in any way.

As always, this is NOT a forum for arguments about gun control or no gun control.

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Houses Cannot Be Robbed, and Gitarzan

Houses cannot be robbed

Okay, I saw it again last night. An author, obviously in a confused state of mind, wrote a scene where the victim’s home was robbed. No. NO. A thousand times NO!

Robbery and burglary are not the same. The two have entirely different meanings. The two crimes are totally different. Again, they are not the same. Not even close. Not. The. Same.

I’ll explain again, so please, my dear friends, take notes. Write this down somewhere. Make a mental note. Use a pocket knife to scratch the words deep into your dining room table top. Paint it on your walls. Erect a sign in your yard. Do whatever it takes to help you remember this…

Robbery occurs when a crook uses physical force, threat, or intimidation to steal someone’s property from them. If the robber uses a weapon the crime then becomes an armed robbery, or aggravated robbery, depending on local law. There is always a victim present during a robbery.

For example, you are walking down the street whistling a romantic Metallica tune, when a tall, dark, and severely ugly guy approaches, brandishing a rocket-propelled grenade launcher. He demands your money. That’s robbery. The bad guy forced you to hand over your hard-earned cash. You were scared and intimidated. You were one-on-one with the robber. Face to face. You saw him and he saw you. You were fairly certain that he would do something bad to you if you didn’t hand over your wallet. This was a stick up. A holdup. THIS WAS A ROBBERY, AND THE GUY WHO TOOK YOUR CASH WAS A ROBBER.

Burglary is an unlawful entry into any building with the intent to commit a crime. Normally, there is no one inside the building when a burglary occurs. No physical breaking and entering is required to commit a burglary. A simple trespass through an open door or window, and the theft of an item or items, is all that’s necessary to meet the requirements of burglary.

For example, you are out for the night and someone breaks into your home and steals your television. That’s a burglary. Even if you are at home asleep in your bed when the same crime occurs, it’s a burglary because you weren’t actually threatened by anyone. Also, the bad guy didn’t take the item directly from you. There was no face time with the TV thief. He slipped in, grabbed the flat screen, and then slipped away into the night. This guy is a burglar. He did not use threats or intimidation. You weren’t scared of him because you didn’t know he was there.

Another example. You park your car in the lot at the local PigOut Grocery And Underwear Emporium. You lock your car doors and go inside to pick up a jumbo jar of pickled pigs feet, a bag of barbecue flavored Funyons, and a pair of those Horton Hears A Who BVD’s you’ve been saving for. When you return to your car you see this…

Your car was NOT robbed. It was a burglar who broke in and stole your entire Weird Al and Ray Stevens CD collection, and the brand new Elvis on black velvet portrait you’d bought to hang over the greasy stain on the wall above the hide-a-bed in your mom’s basement.

So, have you got it now?

Just in case, one last review.

Houses, stores, cars, trailers, RV’s, boats, scooters, bobsleds, tricycles, skateboards, and other inanimate objects CANNOT be robbed. People are robbed. Robbers steal directly from people.

Houses are burglarized. Burglars break in or sneak in, and steal.

Besides, how silly would it be for a robber to point his gun at your house or car and say, “Stick ’em up!”

Now, until your CD’s are returned…

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California Here I Come, Right Back Where…

California here I come

It’s a rare occurrence when I’m unable to publish a police/crime-related blog post for the day. Unfortunately, today is one of those times. And here’s why…

As some of you are aware, we’re in the process of selling our home. Then, after all is said and done, we’ll be moving back to California.

This morning marked the beginning of inspections, including a guy underneath the house searching for termites. He didn’t run out screaming so it was safe to assume he didn’t cross paths with any of those gigantic and extremely ugly, ugly, UGLY Palmetto bugs.

Georgia Palmetto bug

Next came a man to inspect the pool and its equipment. I’m pretty sure I’d seen this guy wandering around a downtown park just a few days ago.

I’m serious. He looked just like this guy

Actually, I’m pretty sure I’ve driven by the pool inspector’s home a few times over the years.

They say he’s qualified, but I’m thinking a pool guy should at least go near water at some point. I’m just sayin’.

To be on the safe side, though, I’ve hired my own pool inspector. I don’t want any unexpected surprises. Thankfully, our guy really seems to know his way around a pool.

So, one more inspection, and an appraisal, and if all goes well we’ll soon be singing…

 

 

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It’s A Mystery!

It's a mystery

 

A mystery tale has begun and it’s yours to solve.

Today’s photos, starting with the Golden Gate Bridge and Alcatraz Island, will assist you in arriving at the solution to the puzzle.

Add the stunning views from the Pacific Coast Highway and…

the charm of San Francisco Bay area towns, such as Benicia.

Of course, we mustn’t forget the arts and…

did I mention the views…

along the coastline?

And there’s this.

And this.

Now, for the final clue—shadows.

Can you solve the mystery?

 

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Friday’s Heroes: Deputy Percy Lee House III

Friday's Heroes - Remembering the fallen officers

 

I’ve delivered Friday’s Heroes to your computers for several years now, and with each passing week the feature has become exceedingly more difficult to publish, having to write about the police officers who lost their lives while keeping us safe.

As I prepare this section, posting photographs and the names of the officers who were killed during the week, I often wonder what they must have endured during the circumstances that led to their deaths.

I’m also reminded of the situations where many of us—former and current officers—barely managed to escape with our lives.

Sadly, some officers aren’t that fortunate.

A week ago today, one of my friends from years past, Deputy Lee House, signed on to work his regular shift. Seven days later, I find myself preparing the most difficult blog post I’ve ever written.

This week Lee House is the focus of Friday’s Heroes.

Lee was on patrol when he received a call from dispatch and, as we’ve all done, he headed out to assist the person who needed the police. It was 9:23 AM.

Not more than a minute after receiving the call Lee’s patrol car hit a patch of ice and skidded off a county road, landing in a deep creek after breaking through ice. The car was totally submerged in frigid water.

The car didn’t strike a tree, guardrail, or any other object. In fact, had the creek not been in the path the car traveled, Lee probably would’ve walked away without a scratch. Instead, the car ended up on the creek bottom, out of view and sight of searchers.

No one had a clue what had happened to Lee. It seemed as if he’d vanished without a trace. A multi-state BOLO (Be On The Lookout) was issued by the sheriff’s office shortly after officials learned that Deputy House had not arrived at his assigned call. Officers from numerous agencies and jurisdictions, including helicopters, joined together in a massive search effort.

Reports indicate that cell phone service in that particular area of the county is iffy at best. Phone records show that Lee made two calls at 9:24 AM, just one minute after he last spoke with the dispatcher. A third call was to his department. Neither of the call attempts went through.

Unbeknownst to his fellow officers, Lee was hopelessly trapped inside his patrol car at the bottom of the creek with no means to summon help.

It was just under 24 hours later when an officer returned to the creek and made one last attempt to shine a light into the murky and icy water. He thought he’d seen something shiny deep down, so police divers were immediately called to the scene. It wasn’t long before everyone’ worst fear had been realized. The divers found the car and recovered Lee’s body.

I met Lee House many years ago. We weren’t working for the same department, but our paths crossed during a police training session near Richmond, Va. We hit it off, I think, because of our mutual appreciation of music. We both played guitar.

Our tastes, though, were polar opposites. I enjoyed jazz, Zeppelin, Santana, The Beatles, and even Sinatra and Louis Armstrong. Lee, however, was a die-hard fan of the Ramones.

Denene and I traveled to Lee’s home a couple of times to have dinner, and so Lee and I could play a few tunes on our guitars. I tried and tried to do the Ramones thing, but it just wasn’t me. Sure, I could play the songs, but never cared much for them. Likewise, Lee tried to tone it down and follow me with some AC/DC (Back in Black) and Zeppelin’s Black Dog. It just wasn’t meant to be, so we’d set aside the guitars and settled, instead, for a drink or two of the Absolut Citron Vodka Lee kept in the freezer.

One night after dinner, Lee introduced us to his pets—a gigantic python, a huge black scorpion, and a tarantula. Again, not my thing. Denene’s either. We had a tiny, white poodle.

Lee and I were nothing alike, but we somehow managed to find common ground and remained friends over the years, socializing on occasion, whenever we found ourselves in the same area, which wasn’t often. In fact, thinking back, I hadn’t been in touch with my old friend in over fifteen years. Time really does fly by.

Lee House was a was fine police officer. The kind you’d want your kid to be if he or she ever decided to make law enforcement their career. He was fair and just. And he’d often bend a rule if he thought it would help someone. But he was quick with the cuffs if the person ever crossed the line again.

Lee was a gentle giant at 6′-8″ tall, with a heart twice that size. If he was your friend, he was your friend for life.

I just wish his life had been longer.

Deputy Percy Lee House III, 52

End of Watch 1-31-2014

(above photo taken 20 years ago, during his time working a narcotics assignment)

Well, I suppose it’s time for me to say my final goodbye, but it just wouldn’t seem proper to do so without playing some sort of music. So…

This one’s for you, buddy.

You know I’d prefer Louis Armstrong’s version. In your honor, Lee, I’ll gladly sit through the Ramones one last time. And I’ll crank the volume to the max…

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Castle: Dressed To Kill – A Good Cop/Bad Cop Review

Castle: dressed to kill

 

Well, this episode of Castle was much better than the last one. I enjoyed the case more (I’ll let Lee handle that critique) and was enthralled by all of the delicious Rick-Kate moments… even the touch of angst brought on by the wedding dress the fashion barracuda had Kate model.

Melanie Atkins

The first scene with Martha tickled my funny bone. Susan Sullivan is priceless in that role. Nobody else could play Rick’s mom with such theatrical flair. So smart and funny… and Rick and Kate agreed to try to book the Cordova House as a wedding venue. A beautiful place, truly… but it isn’t exactly what I have in mind for them.

Good thing, because Kate’s panicked hesitation during Rick’s phone call — while wearing the gorgeous, yet unusual wedding dress — caused them to miss out on booking the Cordova House for a spring ceremony. She looked beautiful in the dress. Beautiful, reverential, and overcome with emotion. Had the dress made everything all too real? Was she getting cold feet?

Of course not. She’s marrying Rick, right? She loves him… always. We learned later, after the two of them finally got to talk about her hesitation, that her balking about moving up the date came because she missed her mother. What little girl doesn’t dream of shopping for a wedding gown with her mom? Picking out flowers, planning the reception, digging through magazines for ideas. Maybe not everyone longs to do that, but Kate obviously does. She expected to see her mom standing behind her, looking at her in that dress, and all she saw in the mirror was empty space. Had to have been a punch to the gut. No wonder she freaked.

I loved how understanding Rick was after her declaration. She’s a lucky woman to have found such a kind, loving man. Kate was right saying her mom would’ve adored him… that goes without saying. He was Johanna’s favorite author, after all.

I was so happy when Kate told Rick she wanted to get married in the spring after all. Aha! Andrew Marlowe had hinted September wasn’t set in stone, and I’m so glad. Bet we’ll get a wedding finale in May. What do you think?

Loved this episode. It had the best beginning and ending scenes of the season, in my opinion. We got kisses. More than one!

Bring on the next new episode — in two weeks because of the Winter Olympics. Can’t wait.

Lee Lofland

You know, sometimes it’s difficult for me to write these “bad cop” reviews. Not because there’s nothing incorrect as far as the police procedure and forensics in this show. Goodness knows, there’s always a barrel full of goofy stuff in nearly every episode.

It’s just that I sort of dislike having to constantly ding poor Tamala “Lanie” Jones. Of course, having acted in blockbuster hits such as My Name Is Earl and Booty Call, well, I’m sure she’s used to hearing tongue-in-cheek comments about her characters.

But this is Castle, and Jones’ character is a medical examiner whose main purpose is to “info dump” clues so the killer can be located and arrested within the time allotted for the show. So, the information she provides could and should be, at the very least, somewhat accurate. If her character was spouting off nonsensical information on My Name Is Earl we wouldn’t give a flying flip.

However, Lanie is portraying an expert who should be providing reasonably accurate information to her TV detective friends. At the very least, she shouldn’t screw up things that totally defy common sense. For example, always saying that “based on lividity the time of death is…”

*Remember, my dissection of the police procedure and forensics is for the benefit of writers who do not want to make the same silly mistakes in the current works-in-progress.

Let’s all say this loudly enough so the Castle writers can hear us. “IF LANIE BASES ANYTHING AT ALL ON LIVIDITY, SHE MUST BE ABLE TO SEE THE EFFECTS OF LIVIDITY!”

You cannot see the purplish stained tissue/flesh caused by livor mortis (lividity) when the victim is fully clothed and lying face down with her long blonde hair covering the face. Lividity presents on the LOWEST points of the body; therefore, an examination of the body must be conducted to determine the stage of livor mortis (fixed or not). Even then, lividity is not the most accurate means of determining TOD (time of death), if at all.

Okay, enough of that tired and old rant. Let’s move along to this particular episode. Could it be that even Lanie is growing a bit tired of saying the same things over and over again, especially when the lines are as wrong/silly/dumb/incorrect/ridiculous as can be? Do I detect a silent apology and maybe a slight eye-roll as she once again mentions lividity?

Anyway, the victim of the week was strangled, and Lanie said the killer used “a scarf, a sash, or something.” That really narrows it down, huh? However, I have to question how anyone could make that determination in the field, BEFORE conducting an in-depth exam, especially when the ligature mark is extremely narrow and bears no resemblance to a scarf or a sash.

The mark, however, does have the appearance of “or something.” So I guess she called this one right (picture me doing an “eye-roll” here).

Next, Lanie told Beckett she’d found animal hair (dyed blue) on the victim’s neck. She even went a step further to say they’d been left there by the killer. I ask you this…HOW COULD SHE HAVE POSSIBLY KNOWN THE HAIRS WERE LEFT BY THE KILLER?

Sorry…but this show makes me lose my patience, and I tend to shout when the writers force poor Ms. Jones to say stupid things. I’ll try to control myself for the rest of this review.

Okay, the body was found in a dumpster with tons of fabric and other items discarded from various clothing designers. Wouldn’t it be a safe bet to at least consider that someone who works in the high-fashion world just might be exposed to a garment made of blue animal hairs? Or, is it a new thing for all killers to stock and carry blue animal hairs to deposit at the scenes of their crimes. Did the Murderer’s Local 666 union negotiate a new contract that includes leaving blue animal hair at all crime scenes?

Let’s not forget Lanie finding black coral on the victim’s shoe (yes, I’m sitting here shaking my head from side to side). How in the &^*% would she know the stuff was black coral? Is there nothing her Ouija board doesn’t have in its database?

How many of you noticed that Ryan was silently announcing a big clue when he tried to make a call using the landline in the dead woman’s apartment? Ryan picked up the receiver and instantly heard a lot of static on the phone (we heard it too). He frowned so hard his eyebrows almost came together as one. Then he glanced around his immediate area. Obviously, we were supposed to notice (and I did, and I knew exactly why he did it). The static was caused by a “bug” planted in a nearby lamp.

So, we’re to believe that the two women who lived in the apartment never bothered to have the phone company send someone over to repair the faulty line? Wouldn’t you want that problem fixed? And, were we supposed to believe that in New York City, in an upper floor apartment with plenty of windows, there would be absolutely no cell phone service?

By the way, I’ve used a handheld police scanner to check for transmitters. It worked quite nicely. The scanning function locked on a transmitter’s frequency when the scanner was close to the bug. Move away and the scanner began searching for a signal again.

Of course, back in those days some scanners also locked in on cordless and wireless phones. It was not uncommon to drive through a neighborhood and hear everything from people exchanging recipes to someone saying, “Hey, a cop car is driving by. Hide the dope.” Nowadays, that shouldn’t occur since phones have built-in protections. And, it’s not legal to possess a scanner that intercepts phone conversations. Actually, it was illegal to listen in back in the early days, too. But it happened automatically with certain scanners.

Ryan told the dead woman’s roommate that he’d have someone come by later to take her statement. Gotta call BS on that one. That’s his job and he should’ve taken the statement while he was there. That’s part of “clue-gathering.” But, how else would the writers have introduced the phone static that led to the bug in the lamp? This was lazy writing.

Hey, what happened to Beckett’s scar from the rifle bullet that hit her chest many seasons ago? It wasn’t there last night.

Let’s see a show of hands. How many of you knew right away which character was the killer?

Could he have been more obvious?

Beckett, though, had to learn the hard way that Julian was the murderer. She had to wait for DNA test results to come back (I guess she’d misplaced her copy of the boilerplate script).

She announced to the killer, and to the TV viewing audience, that the DNA of two people were discovered on a hairy, blue scarf found in a dumpster outside of his apartment. Well, that was great information, but to what did the lab compare the DNA in order to reach their conclusions? They had the dead body for comparison to one sample, but what about Julian’s DNA? Where/how did they obtain it? Perhaps the second DNA sample found on the scarf came equipped with a tiny ID bracelet on which was a message that read, “If found please return to Julian. I’m his DNA.”

Well, that brings us to the end of the goofy police stuff (as much as I cared to mention, that is). So let’s end this week’s review with something for you diehard fans of the mushy stuff…

 *By the way, I never edit my posts (there’s not enough time in the day), so please excuse the errors.

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