Well, You Ain’t Never Caught A Rabbit

Well, you never caught a rabbit

 

I’ve always enjoyed listening to tales of the “good old days,” and no one could tell them better than my wife’s grandmothers. Their childhoods were spent during times when people struggled to survive, but their families managed to get by. In fact, both ladies attended college, which was a huge accomplishment in those times.

They were fortunate to have lived good and long lives.

The eldest of the two grandmothers passed away just short of her 105th birthday. It was a real treat hearing of her travels to foreign lands—an African Safari, to name one excursion—and about the days when she used to tag along on a horse-drawn wagon with a traveling doctor as he made house calls throughout the community. The story about the time when she was in a high-speed buggy crash was one of my favorites.

Denene’s paternal grandmother, Mary, left this earth at the age of 94. She wasn’t one for chit-chat, so when she spoke it was to deliver a statement of importance. However, when she told of the time she dated country music legend, Ernest Tubb, there was a playful twinkle in her eyes. I believe her times with Tubb were a highlight of her life, especially the night of “the” party.

As a young woman, Mary lived in the mountains of western Virginia, and it was there where she and Tubb attended a party. Mary told me that she and Tubb were socializing with the others at the gathering when Tubb told her there was someone he wanted her to meet. So she followed her date to a corner of the room where a small crowd had gathered around a young, good-looking man who seemed to be at no loss for words. Mary said the man was arrogant, cocky, and far too sure of himself. She didn’t like him. Not at all.

Tubb told Mary the young man was sort of new to the music business and was looking for a break. She wasn’t at all surprised when he accepted the crowd’s invitation to perform. At the conclusion of the song Mary told her date that she didn’t believe the man had any real talent and that he would never make it in the music business. Tubb, on the other hand, said he thought the youngster had a big career ahead of him.

The young man was…

My mother was a huge Elvis fan her entire life. She had a large collection of Elvis memorabilia that I somehow inherited when she passed away. To this day, I can’t help but smile and think of my mom when I hear an Elvis song, or when I see Lisa Marie perform, especially at Sun Studio.

Denene and I found ourselves just a few blocks from Graceland this week and, well, there was no way we could pass up the opportunity. We were, however, a little apprehensive about dragging a UHaul trailer through the mansion gates, but our fears quickly dissipated when we saw car carriers, tow trucks, and motor homes parked at various angles in the paved parking lot. My mother would’ve crawled up the hill on her hands and knees over a bed of broken platinum records, if that’s what it took to get a peek inside of heaven on earth, that most holy place known as Graceland.

So, this one was for you, Mom. Here’s your peek inside the home of The King. And, Mary, I believe Ernest Tubb called this one right.

Lisa Marie’s swingset

Out of everything to see at Graceland, I think what will stick with me most is Elvis’ obvious love for his daughter, his generosity to people who needed a hand, and the fact that you can absolutely feel Elvis’ presence in the home.

I do not believe The King has left that building.

 

*     *     *

“Hound Dog”

Elvis Presley

You ain’t nothin’ but a hound dog

cryin’ all the time.

You ain’t nothin’ but a hound dog

cryin’ all the time.

Well, you ain’t never caught a rabbit

and you ain’t no friend of mine.

*By the way, we’re slowly making our way across the country, taking in a few of the hot spots as we go. We did, however, resist visiting Toad Suck, Arkansas.

 

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Friday’s Heroes: Remembering The Fallen

Friday's Heroes - Remembering the fallen officers

 

You gave your all to protect and serve us, and for that we are eternally grateful.

Officer Marc Uland Kelley, 41

Trinity University Police Department – Texas

March 14, 2014 – Officer Marc Uland suffered a fatal heart attack while responding to an on-campus fire alarm. He is survived by his mother, brother, and niece.

Officer Robert German, 31

Windermere Florida Police Department

March 22, 2014 – Officer Robert German was shot and killed after confronting two suspicious teens. The two cop killers, Brandon Goode, 18, and Alexandria Hollinghurst, 17, then took their own lives.

Master-at-Arms Mark Mayo, 24

United States Navy Security Forces

March 24, 2014 – Master-at-Arms 2nd Class Mark Mayo was shot and killed aboard the USS Mahan, when a civilian boarded the ship and began a scuffle with an officer. Mayo was fatally shot when he arrived to assist his fellow officer. The shooter breached security at Naval Station Norfolk’s Pier 1 to board the destroyer.

MA2 Mayo is survived by his mother.

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Criminal Minds: Where It Began

Criminal Minds: Where It Began

The FBI’s first profiles were basically shots in the dark that hit the target.

By Dr. Katherine Ramsland

They didn’t have computers when Howard Teten founded the initial efforts of what would eventually become the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit. They didn’t have much in the way of a database. They faced resistance from colleagues who viewed psychology as silliness and muddle. But they had good instincts.

Howard Teten and Patrick Mullany are credited with making the earliest behavioral analyses for difficult cases.

“By about 1960,” Teten says, “I had developed a hypothesis that you’d be able to determine the kind of person you were looking for by what you could see at the crime scene.”

To compile a collection for analysis and comparison, Teten had reviewed unusual homicides from several police agencies, as well as from the California Identification Officers Association. To test himself and develop his approach, he’d set up an experiment.

“When I received the information,” he said, “I would examine all the data and prepare a tentative description of the perpetrator. Then I would look at the individual found to have committed the crime and compare the perpetrator to my description.” To check himself on the details of psychological disorders, he consulted with two psychiatrists.

In 1970, Teten offered his own first profile. The stabbing murder of a woman in her home had stymied local law enforcement. Teten considered the circumstances, looked at their documents, and said that it was the work of an adolescent who lived close to the victim. This boy would feel guilty and ashamed. When confronted, he’d immediately confess. To find him, they should just go knock on doors in the immediate neighborhood. This prediction turned out to be right.

Teten soon teamed up with Patrick Mullany, who specialized in abnormal psychology. Together, they initiated the criminal psychology program, a 40-hour course. They presented behavioral analysis as one among many investigative tools. As they acquired cases for demonstration, they were asked for assistance with a stalled investigation of a kidnapping.

Mullany describes the abduction of Susan Jaeger as their first real challenge. Despite how the TV shows and movies make this look easy, it was anything but.

Susan had disappeared during a family camping trip in Montana in June 1973. Someone had sliced through the tent fabric and grabbed the seven-year-old before she could cry out. It had been a bold abduction and the family was devastated, but the site had yielded no physical evidence to help with leads. When no ransom demand had arrived, local investigators had feared the worst. They’d called in the FBI. About 10 months later, Special Agent Pete Dunbar attended the psychology training and asked Teten and Mullany to take a look.

Mullany believed that the perpetrator was a local resident, a Caucasian male who’d spotted an opportunity. He would have an impaired history of relationships and would tend to stay to himself. He had military experience and he’d killed before, and possibly since. It was likely he’d taken Susan to kill her. He’d also collect trophies, i.e. body parts.

They looked at other murders and missing persons cases in the general area, but none was similar.

An anonymous caller had suggested David Meirhofer, a 23-year-old Vietnam veteran, but when questioned, Meirhofer had been polite, articulate, well-dressed, and helpful. He seemed an unlikely candidate to local investigators. Under the influence of truth serum, he’d taken a polygraph and passed.

Still, he had many of the traits and behaviors that the agents had described. Mullany and Teten were convinced Meirhofer was a cold-hearted psychopath who could lie easily.

“Pat and I discussed his profile,” Teten recalls, “and then advised the Montana agent that this type of personality can pass a polygraph. For this reason, he should still be considered a suspect.”

Their belief in Meirhofer’s guilt failed to find support, even with Dunbar, who’d invited them into the case. Still, they were determined to see it through.

They urged the Jaegers to keep a tape recorder by their phone, and this hunch was solid. On the first anniversary of the abduction, a man called the Jaegers to say that Susan was with him. Mrs. Jaeger surprised him when she forgave him, provoking tears. The trace failed and voice analysis indicated that this caller could have been Meirhofer, but it was not definitive.

A 19-year-old woman, Sandra Dyckman, disappeared in 1974 and Meirhofer was again named as a suspect. (She had refused a date with him.) Human bone fragments discovered on an abandoned ranch near where Meirhofer had worked launched a more thorough investigation.

In an attempt to throw him off balance, Mullany urged Mrs. Jaeger to travel to Montana and confront him.

She did so. Although Meirhofer still denied involvement, he called her again, pretending to be someone else. She recognized his voice and called him David. This greatly upset him. But the FBI had traced the call and was able to arrest him.

They now had enough evidence for a warrant to search his home, where police discovered human remains wrapped in packages labeled “Deerburger.” One contained a hand that was identified as Sandra’s.

The day before Meirhofer committed suicide, he admitted to four murders, including Susan’s. Teten and Mullany believed that his motive had been the thrill of killing for sport. They thought he’d had a comorbid condition, schizopathy – a mix of psychopathy and simple schizophrenia.

Despite doubts about Teten and Mullany’s behavioral profile, their approach was vindicated.

*     *     *

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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Castle: The Greater Good – A Good Cop/Bad Cop Review

Castle: The greater good

 

Well, this is my last Castle review from Coastal Georgia. By noon tomorrow we should be deep into a new adventure. We’ll also be homeless once again.

We loaded Denene’s Lincoln Hybrid onto a car carrier earlier today. I was a little anxious about sending the car via carrier. The last time we did the truck driver fell asleep and overturned the entire load of expensive vehicles—a Mercedes, Corvette, BMW’s, etc. Every car was totaled, including ours. Fortunately, the driver was not injured.

Anyway, I should be able to post some sort of article each day. We’ll see. For now, though, it’s time to talk Castle. My part will be brief since I’m typing this while standing (no furniture). So let’s kick this off with Melanie’s take on the episode.

Melanie Atkins

This week’s episode wasn’t one of my favorites, but it did have a few wonderful Rick-Kate wedding preparation moments weaved in that made me smile. Comparing invite lists the lengths of theirs can’t be easy, and with Martha involved, I can only imagine the drama.

The show got off on the wrong foot with Lanie spouting another of her magical guesses at the victim’s cause of death, with him still fully clothed at the crime scene. Of course, she also named lividity as what helped her determine time of death. Really? Again? Why do the writers keep getting this particular fact wrong? It’s so irritating.

I found the rest of the case to be a tad boring, although I did enjoy meeting Captain Gates’ sister. Funny how no one knew the woman existed. I was hoping for more of a cat fight between them, to be honest, but still… I was glad to see them reconcile at the end. I guess Gates is more human than I suspected. I like her more than I did when she first arrived on the show.

While Gates and her sister were squaring off, Beckett, Castle, and company meandered through the ho-hum case, knocking off red herrings left and right. I really thought Berman was the killer. I mean, usually it’s just that obvious. I did not suspect Gates’ sister’s partner. Anybody else?

I can’t help but wonder how long Rick and Kate’s guest list will be in the end. Will they invite everyone and his brother, or keep the list manageable? Will they plan a big wedding, only to have to cancel because Bracken, or 3xk, or some other vicious criminal interferes, and end up with a small, intimate affair? I really don’t know, and Andrew Marlowe isn’t saying.

I’m looking forward to more intense, heavy hitting episodes at the end of the season. Episodes that either keep me on the edge of my seat or make me laugh. The Greater Good wasn’t one of them. Not sure about the 70s-themed episode coming up on April 21 (in other words, no new show next week). I hope it’s good and somehow provides Rick and Kate with a wedding venue. They’re ready to mail save-the-date cards and are whittling down their guest list, but they don’t know where or when the ceremony will take place. Seriously?

Bring on more wedding prep. Lately, it’s been the best part of the show!

Lee Lofland

I don’t know if it’s because I’m exhausted from move preparations, or what, but the show this week was a real snooze fest. It was the same tired and old story, but with a few new characters. And to top it all off it was BORING. And then there’s Lanie, who not only provided inaccurate science, she possibly destroyed or altered evidence while curled up on the bed beside the dead guy.

Lanie, Lanie, Lanie…Lividity blah, blah, blah……..

When the heart stops beating, gravity pulls blood to the lowest point in the body. Blood pooling in those low areas stain the surrounding tissue giving the appearance of bruising. This staining of tissue is called livor mortis, or lividity. For example, a victim lying flat on his back when he dies exhibits lividity on his back, buttocks, and the back of his legs. The same is true on the front of the body, if the victim is found lying face down.

In the photo above, taken at the crime scene, it’s nearly impossible to gather any information about lividity because the dead man is still fully clothed AND, the lividity would be present where? That’s right. It’s on the back, back of legs and arms, etc.,  since those are the lowest part of the body.

Again…

Livor Mortis (lividity) The staining of tissue normally begins within the first two hours after death. The process reaches it’s full peak in eight to twelve hours.

If the victim is moved during the first six hours after death the purplish discoloration can shift, causing the new, lowest portion of the body to exhibit lividity.

After a period of six to eight hours after death, lividity becomes totally fixed. Moving the body after eight hours will not change the patterns of discoloration. Therefore, investigators know a body found lying face down with lividity on the back, has been moved.

Rookie officers have often confused lividity with bruising caused by fighting.

Remember, ambient air temperature is always a factor in determining the TOD (time of death). A hot climate can accelerate lividity, while a colder air temperature can slow it down considerably.

– Lanie found a set of numbers written on the victim’s palm. They were written in ink, and they’d started to fade. Lanie miraculously deduced that the victim had written them 3-4 day prior to his death. There is no way she be able to tell when the numbers were written, and by whom. So many factors come into play. Was the victim a palm-sweater? Did he not bathe or wash his hands since he wrote the numbers? Does he not wash his hands?

– Lanie discovered tape adhesive on the victim’s torso. She said, “Looking at the pattern on the adhesive, I’d say he was wearing a wire.” I still say Lanie needs to stop sniffing formalin before wandering outside, because she just may find herself in a “hospital.”

– Officers need search warrants to search someone’s banking record.

– If the victim had been wearing a wire, and he was, why would he wear it while giving ou incriminating evidence over the phone?

 

 

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Friday’s Heroes: Remembering The Fallen

Friday's Heroes - Remembering the fallen officers

 

You gave your all to protect and serve us, and for that we are eternally grateful.

Deputy Sheriff Ricky Del Fiorentino, 48

Mendocino County California Sheriff’s Office

March 19, 2014 – Deputy Sheriff Ricky Del Fiorentino was shot and killed, by ambush, while searching for a wanted suspect.

Police Officer James Morrissy, 62

Oak Forest Illinois Police Department

March 17, 2014 – Police Officer Jim Morrissy was killed in a vehicle crash while responding to backup another officer. He is survived by his wife and three children.

Chief Deputy Pete Richardson

Lafayette County Arkansas Sheriff’s Office

Chief Deputy Sheriff Pete Richardson was killed in a three-vehicle crash while transporting a homeless man to a shelter.

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Sleep Tight And Don’t Let The Bedbugs Gnaw Off A Leg

Sleep tight

Well, we’re nearly at the last page of this chapter. The movers finished up last night around 10 PM, and now there’s nothing left in our house except two fold-up chairs, a mattress, a box of Cornflakes, and an echo. And, needless to say, there was no time to write an article for today. But I didn’t want to leave you hanging. So…

After traveling north today to watch our grandson compete at the national kickboxing tournament, we’ll return to collect our meager belongings and begin our trek to the left coast. We’ll leave behind good friends and family, and…those gigantic Palmetto bugs! We’ll miss the people, but if those bugs became extinct today, well, there would be no love lost by me.

Here’s a photo of one of those behemoth bugs. We saw this one on our street last night. I’m telling you, they fear no man.

Anyway, I’ll do my best to deliver an article tomorrow, as long as the sun rises and the bedbugs don’t bite. Speaking of bedbugs, have you seen the size of those things? Seriously, the insects in Georgia are no joke. I’d rather be in a knife fight with three dozen outlaw bikers than to run across a single Georgia bug of any type in my house.

Believe me, the number for pest control was in my speed dial, above 911. I’ll take my chances against armed robbers and serial killers, but I want the pros (the exterminators) here before I can finish the first scream.

Okay, I’m out of here this time.

See you tomorrow.

 

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Stand by Me: Kids and Killers

Stand by me

 

Stand by Me: Kids and Killers

If your buddy shows you a body, what would YOU do?

By Dr. Katherine Ramsland

Tyler Hadley’s sentencing hearing has been running for over a week. When he was 17, he bludgeoned his parents to death with a framing hammer. His father took 39 deadly blows, his mother 36. This wasn’t on impulse. It was planned. So was the party he threw afterward. With his parents’ bloodied, battered corpses locked in the bedroom, he invited dozens of kids to his home to party like there was no tomorrow.

During the party, Hadley confessed to his best friend, Michael, what he’d done. Although Hadley could be weird, this was a stunner. Michael didn’t believe him until Tyler showed him that his parents’ cars were both parked in the driveway. Michael still didn’t believe him.

Tyler showed him the bedroom, with blood spatters and gore everywhere one looked. A white leg sticking out from under bloody sheets convinced Michael that Tyler had done it. He’d slaughtered his parents. Brutally, with malice aforethought.

According to Nathaniel Rich for Rolling Stone magazine, Michael rushed from the room. But he didn’t leave the house. He didn’t immediately call the police. He said later that Tyler had asked him to stay there until the others left. He didn’t want to, but he complied. He remained at the party for another 45 minutes. He even took a selfie on his phone with Hadley, out in the garage.

Ultimately Michael turned on his friend, but he stood by for a while, aware of a terrible crime and doing nothing.

When another party-goer learned about these events later, his comment was, “Wow. I just went to the party of a lifetime…Twenty years from now, I’ll be able to say I was there… that’s kind of cool.”

Journalist Nathaniel Rich noticed this attitude. In another article, he said, “I was amazed to learn how many kids at the party seemed to have known that Tyler’s parents were dead—and kept partying anyway.”

What is it with these kids? Are they callous? Confused?

This incident and the ones below remind me of a movie, The River’s Edge, which was based on a murder in California in 1981. Anthony Broussard, 16, raped and strangled Marcy Conrad, 14. He took her body in his truck and dumped it down a ravine. Then he bragged to his high school buddies about what he’d done. He even took people to his body dumpsite.

At least ten kids saw it, possibly more. One person tossed a stone at the corpse, according to an article later published in Time. Yet the crime went unreported for two days. When students who knew of the murder were asked why they hadn’t come forward, they said they hadn’t wanted to get into trouble.

Other kids have stood by like this, too. In 2009 in New Hampshire, four teenagers planned a home invasion. The goal was theft. They chose the home of Kimberly Cates. Group leader Steve Spader decided they should eliminate whoever was there. Christopher Gribble followed him to a bedroom while William Marks and Quinn Glover looked for things to steal.

Spader used a machete to hack Mrs. Cates to death and Gribble repeatedly stabbed her eleven-year-old daughter, Jamie. Marks stood in the doorway and watched. He did nothing to stop it. Glover put his hands over his ears to block out the thud of the machete and the victims’ screams. He, too, did nothing.

Jamie played dead, which allowed her to survive and get help. The boys were arrested the following day.

The prosecutor said that Marks initially had lied about his involvement. Just a few weeks after the crime, he talked with his father about contacting media outlets to sell his story. He’d wanted to profit from it.

A fifth co-conspirator, Autumn Savoy, helped conceal evidence and had an alibi for Gribble and Spader. In court, he apologized, admitting he had a chance to do the right thing, but hadn’t.

At his own proceeding, Glover told the judge, “Every moment that I close my eyes I see what I could have done and how I could have prevented this horror that I helped set in motion.” He recognized that he’d been a coward.

In Philadelphia in 2003, three boys and a girl participated in the fatal bludgeoning of Jason Sweeney. The girl lured him into the woods while the boys—including his best friend—attacked him with a hammer, hatchet, and rock. As he lay dying, they stood over him in a group hug. Then they took his money and went to the home of a friend.

This person, unnamed in the press, would later tell the police that he’d overheard their plans and had helped to wash out their bloody clothing. He knew what they’d done and he did nothing to report them.

As I watch The River’s Edge, and now read stories like these, I wonder what I would have done as a teenager had I been shown an unreported murder victim. My first instinct is to judge these kids harshly for their cowardice and indifference. But I’d rather try to understand what goes on in the mind of an adolescent who knows about or watches a friend commit murder.

We know about compliant accomplices—people who reluctantly participate on killing teams. The traits generally associated with them are youth, low IQ, deficient education, insecurity, and mental instability. Many have a background of abuse. Sometimes they’ve already crossed a line by committing petty crimes. They compartmentalize easily and yield to moral compromise if they need something their partner can supply.

Perhaps some of these factors figure into the reasons why some kids who know about murder just stand by. Those who’ve admitted to cowardice were not apathetic. In retrospect, they were horrified (or said they were). Some were embarrassed. A few didn’t quite know how to betray a friend.

It’s possible that the neurophysiological immaturity of the adolescent brain plays a role, although this is generally more relevant to stupidity during risk-taking behavior. Maybe it’s that adolescents tend to be self-absorbed so they’re buffered from full comprehension of what should be done.

A friend of mine, who is the mother of three sons, said to me that parents step in so often these days to decide for their kids that perhaps these kids expect someone else to make the right move. Maybe they just don’t know how to make tough decisions.

So kids, I realize that it can be difficult to break a bond, but your friend, the killer who asks for your allegiance, has already betrayed YOU. Think about it.

*     *     *

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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Castle: The Way of the Ninja – A Good Cop/Bad Cop Review

Castle: the way of the ninja

 

Well, it had to happen sooner or later, considering Rick Castle’s fascination with all things strange and unusual: A ninja-centric Castle episode.

Melanie Atkins

The Way of the Ninja was a funny, fast-moving change of pace from last week’s angst filled drama, and I loved it. So many great lines and fun ninja fight scenes. Even had a little romance thrown in.

The show began with the brutal murder of a Japanese ballet dancer, then quickly refocused on Kate and Rick at the loft getting ready for the day. Kate turned down Rick’s suggestion they go to Lincoln Center that evening to hear some great jazz, because she’s supposed to have dinner with an old friend. Kate doesn’t seem too thrilled to be meeting her friend, so Rick offers to go along. “Definitely not,” Kate responds with a smirk. “You’re exactly her type, and the last thing I need is to watch someone from my past trying to seduce my fiancé while talking about the goddess that lives in her hoo-ha.” So funny! I laughed so hard, I had to run the DVR back to catch the next scene.

I was thrilled to see Perlmutter back, but less elated with his certainty the knife that killed the dancer had been hurled into her chest. He also claimed she died from having her left anterior descending artery severed before he’d done an autopsy. Heck, she was still at the crime scene with all her clothes on. Guess Perlmutter, like Lanie, has gone psychic. Didn’t like that part.

The ninja stealing the murder weapon out of Rick’s hand after they found the shrine had me rolling again. Classic Castle. Enter the woman from the Japanese consulate. I pegged her as the killer… and a ninja. Was I wrong? Yes, but only on one count.

While Kate went to have dinner with her old friend, Rick and the boys investigated the area surrounding the crime scene and found a Japanese hostess bar. More good, clean Castle fun, even with Rick being lured into a back room for some “private time” by one of the hostesses… to research a lead, of course. Ryan singing karaoke cracked me up again… especially when the guy dragged him off stage. Hilarious. Then the three of them got thrown out of the place, and the manager slapped a bill for $6K into Rick’s hand. I couldn’t stop laughing.

Kate’s evening with her friend didn’t turn out like she’d expected, either. Instead of her friend raving about her perfect life and inner goddess, she complained about her boring married life. This led Kate to question Rick about their life once they married. Would their relationship turn staid and boring, or would they keep romance alive? Rick suggested they put a promise to keep romance aflame in their marriage into their wedding vows. A noble idea followed up by a series of increasingly passionate kisses.

More twists and turns in the case as the show moved along had me picking a different person as the killer every five minutes. I must say I never zeroed in on the murdered girl’s sister as a member of law enforcement or Bedford as the killer and the “green dragon”, the man who had killed their parents back in Okinawa. When the sister unmasked Bedford after the epic final ninja fight, I was genuinely surprised. Although I’m betting Lee picked him right off.

Any way you look at it, The Way of the Ninja was a fun, entertaining episode. It held my attention and kept me laughing even after the show ended. Of course, Rick slinging the throwing star lodged in his phone into the captain’s office helped with that. How can Kate think life with Rick Castle would ever be boring?

Lee Lofland

I was happy to see Perlmutter this week. Well, I was glad until he opened his mouth to speak, spewing a ton of gobbledygookish nonsense. But then I realized what had actually  happened that turned my happy face into one gigantic frown. That wasn’t Perlmutter at all. Instead, I believe Lanie had someone in her one-stop-shop-we-do-it-all voodoo laboratory build a ventriloquist dummy that looked like Perlmutter. Because the real-life Perlmutter would never, not in a million years, say the stupid things that we heard the “dummy” say last night.

It was so bad that even the Perlmutter stand-in had a look of shame on his face when the ridiculous words fell from its wooden lips. You all know what I’m talking about, right? That nonsense about merely looking at a laceration on the victim’s chest and then magically determining that someone had “hurled” (the dummy’s word, not mine) a knife at the victim.

Even the untrained eye could certainly tell this wound (below) was caused by a knife that had been thrown by the killer, right?

Then, to add icing to the cake, Perlmutter the Pretender went on to say that the knife severed the victim’s left anterior descending artery.

AND, the faux M.E. went as far as saying the wound caused by the flying dagger killed the victim instantly.

The best/worst part of all this crap was that “Perlmutter The Sequel” was able to “see” this devastating internal damage to the victim while the body lay fully-clothed in the street—pre-autopsy.

This one earns this week’s PUHLEEZE award.

Step right up, folks, and see the incredible, amazing Dr. Perlmutter, the medical examiner with the gift of x-ray vision. No autopsy needed, and no waiting!

I know better, though. Perlmutter II must’ve answered one of those ads in the back of comic books. For the low, low price of $1 anyone can see through human flesh.

Add another twenty-five cents and buyers can see a friend’s body beneath their clothes.

As far as Beckett and the police procedure go… I think I’ll let Castle sum it up.

Of course, the ninja-killer was really easy to spot this week. When we first saw him he was standing, in silhouette, in front of a window. It was a great profile shot that screamed, “I’m the killer of the week!”

Overall, the show was a lot of fun. It took us back to earlier times when Castle and “the boys” were good for several laughs during the show.

But, my writer friends, please drop the pens and step away from the police procedure and M.E. material. You do not want this in your books. Well, unless you want to rid yourself of numerous fans/readers, and a whole lot of credibility.

 

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Police K-9: A Partner Like No Other

Police K-9

Canines are a vital part of police work, and they, like their two-legged partners, must attend a basic police academy designed especially for dogs. Police dogs must be certified before they’re allow to work the streets with their handlers.

K-9 training is extremely intensive, and during the time at the academy the animals and their human partners achieve a close bond. The two gradually begin to work together as one, and simultaneously the animals become very loyal to their handlers. They’ll stop at nothing, other than their handler’s commands, to achieve their objective.

It is a must that the handler establish himself/herself as the dominate “dog” in their pack of two. There should be no doubt as to which of the two is boss. How handlers establish their dominance is a fun, yet… You know, I believe I’ll save that bit of information for another day.

Police dogs, like all working canines, love to please their human partners. Sure, they enjoy a favorite toy, food, water, and a warm place to sleep, but it’s the quality time with their handlers that they want most of all.

It’s a unique experience to have a canine partner. I had two, a huge rottweiler and black lab. The training is extremely tough for a handler, but it’s like 13 weeks at Disneyland for the dogs. Yes, that’s 13 weeks per dog.

My dogs and I attended the Virginia State Police academy. Training requirements vary for other departments.

During the time my canine partners and I were in basic training, there was quite a bit of running (lots of running) jumping, rolling in the grass (officers and dogs together), tug of war, swimming, climbing, running, running, running, and more running. Play, play, play, play, play.  It’s all fun for the dogs. It’s all grueling work for the handlers. Lots of work. And lots of running. Did I mention the running?

The academy was a lot of hard, tough work (you’d think I’d had more than my fair share of running during my first basic academy, but noooo…. I wanted to be a canine officer).

It didn’t take the troopers long to realize the canine training was sort of like 13 weeks at Chuck E. Cheese for the dogs. They loved it!

It was a real treat to watch the dogs truly enjoying every minute of every day. They were the stars of the show. We, on the other hand, were on the “dumb end of the leash.” It was all about the dogs. We didn’t get to rest until our four-legged partners needs were met.

Police dogs are trained to achieve specific goals, such as patrol/suspect apprehension, tracking, and finding narcotics.

A dog’s sense of smell is 50 times more sensitive than humans. They also smell several different items at once, making it nearly impossible to mask the scent of narcotics and other illegal items (cell phones, CD’s, weapons, ammunition, explosives, etc.).

Where humans smell the combined odors spewing from a pot of stew cooking over a fire, a dog detects the stew’s individual ingredients—bat wings, eye of newt, spider web, stump water, an owl egg, etc.

The same is true when criminals hide drugs in various containers, such as a cocaine placed in a cooler beneath  layers of ice and dead, stinky fish. But, this method of hiding narcotics won’t fool a trained police dog.

A canine trained to detect narcotics is easily able to smell the odor of the cocaine, along with the scent of the fish, the plastic used to fabricate the container, and the scent of the person who handled the cooler.

The same is true no matter where drugs are hidden—luggage, in canisters containing black pepper, an engine compartment, etc.

Police dogs trained to apprehend bad guys are absolutely fearless. Once the handler lets his/her dog know which person is the target to take down, the canine immediately focuses on nothing but the bad guy. It’s like flipping a switch from happy and playful to serious and let’s go!

The method used to alert a dog to a particular person/target is often a guarded secret. And I’m not telling.

*By the way, today begins the first step in our move back to the left coast. The packers are here today and tomorrow, and the movers are scheduled to show up Wednesday morning to empty out our house. A week later we begin the journey westward.

During the next two weeks my blogging may be a bit sporadic, but I’ll try to post something each day. No guarantees, though.

Anyway, to those of you in our new hometown, we’ll see you sometime in April. Of course, we not exactly sure where we’ll settle down. We’ll make that decision after taking a hard right turn at Bakersfield, heading north toward the Golden Gate Bridge.

I’m anxious to connect and re-connect with writers in the San Francisco area. Please let me know about meeting locations and times.

/by

The Soldier

The Soldier, Sgt Franks

 

Standing ankle deep in black, slimy swamp muck, Sgt. William “Billy” Franks paused to catch his breath and to look over his shoulder, for the umpteenth time.

Nothing moving, not even a leaf. Good.

The humid jungle was also silent. Even better.

They were still a ways behind him, he hoped. But they were coming. He knew so because every hair on the back of his neck was standing at attention. And the neck-hair test had never been wrong before. Not ever.

Unfortunately, he was confident it wouldn’t be wrong this time, either.

Sgt. Franks was parched. His lips and throat as dry as desert sand, a reminder of the last time he’d been in a serious battle, fighting to survive. Hard to believe that conflict beneath a blazing Iraqi sun had been only a week ago.

He just couldn’t seem to steer clear of trouble no matter how hard he tried.

No time to think about it, though.

Not now.

Night was coming as fast as they were. Giant, dark shadows had begun to paint the surrounding landscape in shades of gray and black.

Finding clean water to drink would have to wait.

It was time to move on.

He’d fought the enemy—the entire outfit—all afternoon, before finally escaping into the jungle where he’d been running for hours.

The sergeant’s hair was caked with mud and his camouflaged BDU’s were wet and filthy. His rifle, thankfully, was dry. He was exhausted and unsure how much longer he could continue.

They were relentless in their pursuit, and he was sure they were closing in.

He had to find the strength to keep moving.

Suddenly he heard a voice from beyond the vines and thick, lush plants to his left. He dove for cover behind a moss-covered log. Something large and long slithered away through the undergrowth covering the forest floor.

He heard it again. This time the voice seemed closer.

The sergeant, knowing his options were now few, took a quick peek over the rotting tree. He saw someone standing in a clearing just beyond the treeline.

They called out again.

“Billy, it’s time to wash up for dinner!”

Sgt. Billy Franks, knowing it would not be in his best interest to dilly-dally, stood and used his hands to brush the dirt from his knees. Then he stepped from the small patch of woods into his backyard where his mother stood waiting. He whispered to himself, “Maybe tomorrow I’ll be a cowboy.”

Glancing back over his shoulder he saw a tall Native American standing in the shadows—his face painted for battle.

The warrior locked eyes with Billy for a second and then faded into the forest. A drumbeat began to thump from a place deep in the woods.

“Tomorrow, Chief, right after I’ve had my Fruit Loops and orange juice, it’s you and me. Because those woods aren’t big enough for both of us.”

Shouldering the stick he used as a pretend rifle, Billy marched toward his mother, wishing he were five again because being six was really hard work.

 

/by