When we decided to develop the MurderCon event, we knew we’d have to bring writers inside the often very private world of homicide investigations, to a place where only law enforcement professionals are permitted to enter. It’s a place beyond the crime scene tape and beneath the lenses of microscopes. It’s human tissue, special lighting devices, sensitive tools and equipment that you’ve most likely not encountered, or, for that matter, never heard of. MurderCon is where writers will absorb material that will amaze both you and your readers.
MurderCon is all about the factual side of solving homicides. It’s insects and soil and fire and blood. It’s buried bodies, autopsies, the interrogation of killers. It’s about the destruction of human life by chemicals and deadly things that are too small to see with the naked eye.
The focus of MurderCon is narrowly defined. It’s all about murder and is designed to transform writers into homicide investigators. Yes, MurderCon attendees will receive the exact same instruction that’s offered to, and attended by, top homicide investigators from around the world.
To deliver such an exceptional program we knew we had to expose attendees to no less than stellar instructors, the experts who train the professionals who teach the experts. Yes, MurderCon attendees will attend sessions taught by the best in the business. Believe me, this is exciting and I’m am beyond thrilled that you have this chance to be a part of something that’s so incredibly special.
An event of this scale has not been attempted in the past and it is my guess that the 2019 MurderCon is such a unique alignment of the stars that, well, it may not happen again.
And, speaking of stars, please allow me to introduce you to two of the outstanding MurderCon presenters/instructors, Karmen Harris and Heather Hanna.
More to follow in the coming days.
Karmen Harris
Karmen is the Sexual Assault & Outreach Coordinator for Friend to Friend in Carthage, NC. She has worked for Friend to Friend since September of 2017.
Karmen is a Registered Nurse board-certified as a Sexual Assault Nurse Examiner for adult and adolescent populations. Karmen received specialized training as a Sexual Assault Medical Forensic Examiner while working as a civilian nurse at Womack Army Medical Center. Karmen’s nursing experience includes working with patients with psychiatric and behavioral health needs that include substance abuse.
Karmen’s educational background includes graduating from East Carolina University in 2009 where she studied Anthropology and Forensic Science before becoming an RN in 2014 after completing nursing school at Carteret Community College.
At MurderCon 2019, Hanna will present …
Sexual Assault – Perspectives and Differences, State to State
Karmen Harris, Board Certified SANE examiner, the workshop instructor, explains the wide variation currently in sexual assault investigation, as well as the stigma involved in these highly-sensitive cases. The class will explore the perspectives of the victim, the investigator, law enforcement, and the lab. Karmen will discuss the wide-array and differences between “rape” kits and how various jurisdictions collect and/or package different evidence based on the jurisdiction that they serve.
Heather Hanna
Heather Hanna is a forensic geologist specializing in the analysis of rock fragments and mineral grains in soils as trace evidence. Since 2009, she has been involved in multiple forensic investigations and has testified as an expert witness in first degree murder trials, the first of which set a legal precedent in Wake County, N.C. for using geochemical analysis of mineral grains as part of courtroom testimony.
As a result of her forensic work, she has been an invited speaker at many law enforcement conferences and continuing education programs including the Conference of District Attorneys, the North Carolina Criminal Information Exchange Network, the North Carolina Homicide Investigators Association, and the North Carolina International Association for Identification. She has also presented her forensic work at national and sectional Geological Society of America meetings and as an invited speaker for the Soils Science Society of North Carolina.
At MurderCon 2019, Heather will present …
Trail Magic: Geology Solves the Case
Learn how perpetrators, victims, and crime scenes can be linked through the characteristics of various soils and minerals found throughout the United States. Real case examples provide details as to where soil traces became key evidence in identifying where the crime took place, and linking the victim and perpetrator to the scene.
MurderCon 2019 is brought to you by …
*The all new MurderCon website will be online very soon. Registration is scheduled to open in mid February. You may reserve your hotel rooms now, and I encourage you to do so since we’ve already had to increase the room block, twice! Due to the unique nature of this event and the excitement it has generated, we anticipate the registration and the hotel blocks will sell out quickly.
The official hotel for the Writers’ Police Academy’s Murdercon is:
Raleigh Marriott Crabtree Valley
4500 Marriott Drive
Raleigh, North Carolina 27612
We encourage you to make your hotel reservations by using the online reservation link (below).
Individuals may also make their reservations by phone by calling Hotel’s toll free Reservation Line, 1- 800-MARRIOT.
To receive the established Group rate, you must identify yourself as a member of the Writers’ Police Academy 2019 event when making the reservation. All reservations must be received by the group’s Cutoff Date of on or before July 10, 2019. Reservations made after the Cutoff Date will be subject to availability and the most available rate.
MurderCon
LOCATION AND DATES:
August 1-4, 2019
Training Location:
SIRCHIE
100 Hunter Place, Youngsville, North Carolina 27615
Hotel Location / Training Location:
Marriott Crabtree Valley
4500 Marriott Drive, Raleigh, North Carolina 27612
Each year, the Writers’ Police Academy reaches for the stars to offer writers the opportunity to learn and to train as law enforcement officers. The event is unique in that sessions involve hands-on training classes.
We’ve seated authors behind the steering wheels of patrol cars during pursuits. We’ve placed rifles and pistols in their hands and we’ve taught how to properly and accurately shoot them. We’ve set off C-4 charges and we’ve set things ablaze. Writers have learned to stop bleeding from gaping and blood-gushing gunshot wounds, and they’ve used battering rams to gain entry into buildings where armed bad guys were hiding.
Attendees have seen first-hand what it’s like to be involved in heart-pounding hostage and active shooter situations. They’ve seen mounted patrol officers and their horses and they’ve been on the receiving end of bites by an actual police canine (while wearing a bite sleeve, of course).
We’ve exposed writers to practically every aspect of police training. However, what we haven’t done in the past is to narrow the focus of the Writers’ Police Academy to a single, fine point, the subject matter that brings readers back to your books, time and time again—the solving of a murder.
Sure, readers love your characters and they love a well-described setting. And they love you, the writer, and your story-telling abilities. But what many readers and fans truly desire is to solve the case before your protagonists wrap up their investigations. To do so, readers need details. Many details. They need and want to see, hear, feel, taste, and touch (in their minds) every aspect of a crime scene. They want and need to experience the tales you’ve concocted and set to page, not to simply read strings of words.
In addition, your fans want to believe what it is you’ve offering as a means to take them deep into your fictional world. Therefore, the descriptions you provide must be accurate because, for goodness sake, nearly every breathing human on the planet has watched some sort of crime TV show and the cops on those programs use all of the latest tools, gadgets, and gizmos.
With this in mind, we’ve developed the most unique, spectacular, and exciting program ever offered to writers. This year, during our special event—MurderCon—we’re taking you to the source of crime-solving and crime-solving-tools and equipment—Sirchie.
Yes, we’re taking you on a tour of a large, one-of-a-kind manufacturing facility where all types fingerprint powders are made. It’s where drug testing kits are developed and assembled, and where fuming chambers are manufactured. It’s the place where, well, it’s where ideas for the latest crime-solving gadgets are conceived, manufactured, and then distributed to law enforcement agencies worldwide, whose investigators solve crimes ranging from the smallest to the most complex, high-profile murder cases.
Sirchie’s staff of esteemed instructors also train top investigators from all around the world. Sirchie instructors are the best in the business, and detectives, officers, and agents from a variety of local, state and federal agencies attend high-level sessions at the Sirchie Compound in N.C. These instructors also educate and advise investigators from state prison systems, airport security, FBI agents whose focus is on counter terrorism, and Treasury and Secret Service agents. International students come from countries ranging from Italy to Mexico and Argentina to Qatar.
Again, Sirchie is second to none when it comes to crime-solving products and training. We are fortunate to have them as our partner in this extremely special event for writers.
I’m beyond thrilled that you have this opportunity to train in a place that’s never been made available to the public. I’m also over the moon excited that you’ll attend the same training classes attended by some of the best homicide investigators in the world.
MurderCon attendees will see how crime solving products are made. Then, you’ll learn how to use those cool tools. And, finally, you’ll use the equipment in live-action settings, such as outdoors at a clandestine grave.
Anyway, we’ll release details very soon. Our website guru is working behind the scenes on a brand new website which we plan to launch on or very near to February 4, 2019. Registration for the Writers’ Police Academy’s MurderCon event opens in mid to late February.
Event Hotel
The official hotel for the Writers’ Police Academy’s Murdercon is:
Raleigh Marriott Crabtree Valley
4500 Marriott Drive
Raleigh, North Carolina 27612
We encourage you to make your hotel reservations by using the online reservation link (below).
Individuals may also make their reservations by phone by calling Hotel’s toll free Reservation Line, 1- 800-MARRIOT.
To receive the established Group rate, you must identify yourself as a member of the Writers’ Police Academy 2019 event when making the reservation. All reservations must be received by the group’s Cutoff Date of on or before July 10, 2019. Reservations made after the Cutoff Date will be subject to availability and the most available rate.
*You’ll definitely want to reserve your hotel rooms well in advance for this unique event! We expect the room block to fill quickly. The same for spots at MurderCon. So please, please, please be ready to sign up when registration goes live. We’ll announce the date and time very soon.
Here’s a sample of what you can expect to see and do at MurderCon 2019:
Learn proper methods to locate, identify, and collect physiological fluid stains, including the use of alternate light sources, and chemicals such as luminol and Bluestar. WPA attendees will learn how to presumptively identify the type of stain using chemical reagents. Collection and preservation methods will be reviewed based on the latest best practices for DNA.
Develop latent prints on porous surfaces, including paper and cardboard, utilizing iodine fuming, ninhydrin, and silver nitrate. WPA attendees will learn the proper process sequencing for the maximum retrieval of latent prints and review the chemical principles of how they work. Cyanoacrylate (“superglue”) techniques for non-porous surfaces.
Attendees will learn the fundamentals of fire science, recognition of fire behavior including burn patterns and aftermath, and how fire is utilized by perpetrators during the commission of violent crimes and murder by fire. This is an outdoor session with “live” burns to highlight the effects of burning various pieces of evidence.
Search and recovery of remains from clandestine graves.
Determining race, sex, and other biological factors from found skeletonized remains.
Differences between civilian law enforcement and military L.E. investigations, procedures, and nuances.
How a forensic geologist uses previously mapped data, as well as, newly sampled evidence to show the uniqueness of soil to a given geographical location, and ultimately to a suspect and victim. The usefulness of soil in linking a subject to a victim, and/or crime scene. Session taught by one of the top forensic geologists in the world.
Footwear and Latent Foot Impressions – hands-on exercises to search for, document, and collect various forms of footprint and shoe evidence.
And, well, there are many more super-exciting sessions and workshops, but we’ll save those for later. In the meantime, yes, these are the same classes taught to law enforcement professionals and experts worldwide!!
Instructors include a wide array of renowned experts that include a founding member of the FBI’s Evidence Response Team, FBI Special Agents, a former Army JAG Corp attorney, forensic botanists, medical examiners, toxicologist, forensic geologist, forensic anthropologist, LAPD and NYPD detectives, Bioterrorism expert, SANE nurse, Certified Fire Investigator with both the ATF and The International Association of Arson Investigators, certified footwear expert, Deputy Director of the City County Bureau of Identification (CCBI), Wake County/Raleigh, NC., forensic pathologists, one of the country’s top interview and interrogation experts, and many more.
Special Guest Speaker!
Now for the icing on the cake.
I’m pleased and honored to announce that the 2019 MurderCon’s Special Guest Speaker is Graham Hetrick, the star and host of Investigation Discovery (ID) channel’s hit television series, THE CORONER: I SPEAK FOR THE DEAD.
Graham Hetrick
Graham Hetrick is a subject matter expert on drug abuse, child death and child abuse, organ tissue donation, violent crimes, medical legal death investigation, forensic methodology, and the grieving process. He has advanced training in blood pattern analysis, crime scene management, forensic sculpting, and shallow grave recovery.
Graham advises the news media and consults attorneys on the investigative process for cases facing litigation. He lectures widely on forensic autopsy, crime scene management, and critical thinking within the investigative process. He is an adjunct professor of forensics and human anatomy at Harrisburg University School of Science and Technology.
Graham is also a motivational speaker for students and troubled youth who are trying to get control of their lives through a speech entitled “Doors.” Over the last 35 years he has written and lectured on grief and loss recovery to the medical community, hospice groups and loss recovery organizations. Graham’s upcoming book explores improving the relationship between forensic evidence collection and organ tissue donation. His case studies are featured on the Investigation Discovery (ID) channel in THE CORONER: I SPEAK FOR THE DEAD.
The WPA and I are absolutely thrilled and honored that superstar author Heather Graham is joining us in 2019 as our Guest of Honor/Keynote speaker. Heather will attend many of the sessions throughout the weekend and then she’ll address the entire group at the Saturday night banquet.
New York Times and USA Today bestselling author, Heather Graham, majored in theater arts at the University of South Florida. After a stint of several years in dinner theater, back-up vocals, and bartending, she stayed home after the birth of her third child and began to write. Her first book was with Dell, and since then, she has written over two hundred novels and novellas including category, suspense, historical romance, vampire fiction, time travel, occult, sci-fi, young adult, and Christmas family fare.
She is pleased to have been published in approximately twenty-five languages. She has written over 200 novels and has 60 million books in print. Heather has been honored with awards from booksellers and writers’ organizations for excellence in her work, and she is the proud to be a recipient of the Silver Bullet from Thriller Writers and was awarded the prestigious Thriller Master Award in 2016. She is also a recipient of the Lifetime Achievement Award from RWA. Heather has had books selected for the Doubleday Book Club and the Literary Guild, and has been quoted, interviewed, or featured in such publications as The Nation, Redbook, Mystery Book Club, People and USA Today and appeared on many newscasts including Today, Entertainment Tonight and local television.
Heather loves travel and anything that has to do with the water, and is a certified scuba diver. She also loves ballroom dancing. Each year she hosts a Vampire Ball and Dinner theater raising money for the Pediatric Aids Society and in 2006 she hosted the first Writers for New Orleans Workshop to benefit the stricken Gulf Region. She is also the founder of “The Slush Pile Players,” presenting something that’s “almost like entertainment” for various conferences and benefits. Married since high school graduation and the mother of five, her greatest love in life remains her family, but she also believes her career has been an incredible gift, and she is grateful every day to be doing something that she loves so very much for a living.
August 1-4, 2019
Raleigh, N.C.
Sirchie Compound and the Raleigh Marriott Crabtree Valley
*Please make your calendars for this unique opportunity. In the past, the WPA event has sometimes sold out within the first hour after registration opens. Due to the nature of MurderCon’s unique training sessions and high level of behind the scenes type of instruction that’s typically for law enforcement eyes only, we anticipate spots filling quickly. The same for the event hotel. I strongly urge you to make your reservations as soon as possible.
https://leelofland.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/01/mc345-copy.jpg262465Lee Loflandhttps://leelofland.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/04/the-graveyard-shift-1.pngLee Lofland2019-01-27 09:29:442019-01-27 09:29:44MurderCon 2019: It’s Never Been Done Before, and You’re Invited to Attend!!
Along with, “It was a dark and stormy night,” another opening line, “Once upon a time,” is a long-favored-beginning to a tale. Since both are so inherently popular, why not start this blog article with both? Here goes.
One upon a time, on a dark and stormy night, I was on patrol in the county and had ventured out to one of the far corners of our jurisdiction, a place where the police weren’t often seen due to the fact that the area was sparely populated and that crime basically didn’t exist there. Well, if we’re to exclude, that is, the occasional liquor still that a hunter stumbled across while trekking to a tree stand where he’d sit for hours—shoes dowsed with store-bought fox or deer urine to help mask a human scent—in the numbing cold to wait for an unsuspecting deer to pass by.
There was only one business out there in “Johnsontown,” as it was called due to nearly each resident in the area belonging to the same family. Johnson’s Country Store, a small clapboard-sided building, sat at the junction of Johnson Road and State Road 614.
The outside of the store was ten years past needing a coat of paint and its tin roof a few years more overdue for replacing. Even the hand-painted advertisements on the store’s facade were badly faded—Coca-Cola, Marlboro Cigarettes, and some sort of motor oil—were practically nothing more than a memory.
A rusted RC Cola thermometer dangled by a bent nail beside the front screen door. A couple of feral cats lived beneath the building and came out once in a while to raid the garbage cans or to aggravate the old black lab that slept in the sunshine at the base of the cinderblock steps.
The owner of the establishment, old man Jim Johnson, wore bibbed overalls and flannel shirts. He chain-smoked unfiltered Camel cigarettes, even while pumping kerosene from the blue metal tank nestled against the front of the building. His father ran the store before Jim took charge and his grandfather before him.
During the warm months, farmers and their help visited the establishment to purchase pork and beans, Vienna Sausages, Saltine Crackers, and an ice cold Coke from a cold box inside the store. Sometimes they bought bologna sliced from a fat tube encased in red waxy paper, and a chunk of “country” cheese sectioned from a hoop that was kept covered in a round wooden container.
The workers settled on the two homemade wooden benches out front where they ate their lunches with their fingers or by using a Buck knife to spear the canned tubular chunks of processed meat. They’d use the same knife to scoop the beans from the can directly into their mouths, tilting their heads back to get the last drop of reddish bean juice from the small cans.
In the wintertime, the dirt and gravel lot would be filled with mud-caked four-wheel-drive trucks. Their drivers—deer hunters—stood telling tall tales and comparing the animal carcasses strapped to the top of aluminum boxes that contained a knot of antsy yipping and yapping hounds who were anxious to get back to spooking deer from their hiding spots and then chasing them until a hunter, dressed in bright orange, could draw a bead on one to bring it down.
The hunters hunted for meat. Nothing wasted. What little scraps were left, after butchering and, of course, sharing with the elderly neighbors who were unable to hunt, was fed to the hunting dogs. The hides and bones were transported to a local business that processed the remains, turning them into a by-product to include into factory processed animal feed. The same was so when the farmers killed hogs in the fall. As they told it, the only thing left after butchering, processing, and sharing, was the squeal. Waste not, want not.
Inside the Johnson Country Store was a large potbelly stove that, on extremely cold days, glowed cherry red from the flames and hot coals inside. The man seated closest to it, well, it was his job to keep the firebox filled with hunks of axe-split hickory and oak. He did so between hands of gin rummy … a penny a point.
The plank countertop ran over half the length of the narrow store. Behind it were worn wooden shells stocked with canned goods, laundry and body soaps, aspirin and other medicines, toilet tissue, and the usual essentials that included bottle openers, blue enamel pots and cast iron pans, aprons, and box matches.
On the counter sat three one-gallon glass jars. One containing pickled eggs that floated in a pink briny liquid. Another with pickled hot sausages. The third, the favorite of the hunters and card players, contained pickled pigs feet that were also surrounded by that pink pickling liquid.
I arrived at the Johnson Road junction at a bit past 3 A.M. and was a bit surprised to see a car in the lot. Totally out of the ordinary at that time of the morning. Actually, it would been unusual to see a car there at any time after the store closed at 8 P.M., on the dot, without fail.
I aimed my spotlight at the vehicle and saw two heads inside, one adult and one child (or a super small man or woman). I pulled closer, called in my location, the car’s license number, description of the vehicles, and that I’d be out of my car speaking with the passengers. I requested registration information as well as if the car, or driver, were wanted. Another deputy working a different part of the county called to ask if I needed backup. I said no. A state trooper working the county overheard the conversation and said he, too, was available if I needed him.
I turned on my emergency lights and walked up to the driver’s window. The driver, a young woman, already had the window down and her license in hand, ready for me to examine. Her tiny passenger, a little girl of four or five, or so, wore a pair of kids pajamas , a thick coat, and had a wool blanket nearby. They were from another state, passing through, the woman said, while escaping a husband (and father to the little girl) who was extremely abusive. The swelling on the woman’s face face and the child’s arms were evidence of the alleged issue.
She told me that she was heading down south to stay with family while starting a new life. She’d already made the arrangement for a place to stay and a job lined up working for a cousin’s business. But, while on the way, a thumping noise beneath car had grown louder and was soon accompanied by shaking and bumping and knocking. So she’d taken an exit off the highway, hoping to find a garage or repair shop that could assist. After driving several miles into nowhere, her front right tire went flat. Why she’d continued to drive into the abyss was a mystery, but desperation sometimes causes one to do the unusual.
Not wanting to stop in a dark, foreign area, she drove slowly, pushing her limping car until they stumbled upon the store lot, peering between fat raindrops that hammered her windshield, hoping to find a payphone to call for assistance. Unfortunately, there was no phone at the store, nor was there a house within shouting, seeing, or walking distance. In fact, unbeknownst to her, the closest human dwelling was well over five miles away.
While waiting for daylight to arrive, her car ran out of gas and the temperature inside the automobile quickly equaled the cold outside. The woman and child were freezing, and hungry. I learned they hadn’t eaten in a couple of days. They had no money.
I had them climb inside my patrol car where it was warm and then drove out to a nearby all-night truck stop, a place that served breakfast round-the-clock. After we finished our meal I paid the tab and then I picked up some bottled water and a few snacks. I also bought a pair of pink gloves. Tiny ones. Then I borrowed a gas can from the station manager, filled it, and drove the pair back to their car where I poured the gas into their tank. I took the spare tire from the trunk and exchanged it for the flat. The spare was in not much better shape than the one on the front right, the flat. But it held air and that’s all that mattered at that moment. Fortunately, the rain had stopped.
I asked the woman to follow me back to the truck stop. Once there I filled her gas tank and paid for a new spare tire, out of my pocket, and I asked the attendant to swap it for the wonky spare I’d installed. He placed the spare back into the trunk.
Next, I led them to a nearby hotel and paid the room fee for the night. I gave the woman an envelope containing $80. It was all the cash I had on me at the time.
I wished them well and drove away.
In my rearview mirror I saw the little girl waving with a little kid’s hand covered by a pink glove. Money well spent.
It was 6 A.M. so I drove back to the Johnson County Store where old man Johnson offered me a cup of coffee. The fire in the potbelly stove was just beginning to spread a bit of warmth. Mr. Johnson and I took a seat by the heater in two rickety wooden chairs, where we shot the breeze until his first customers of the day began to roll in.
Soon the store was filled with men wearing orange hats and vests who were chattering away, planning their first drives of the day. Outside I saw the metal dog boxes in the beds of the pickups. Bursts of steam spewed from the slatted openings—the animals’ hot breath meeting the cold outside air.
My shift was over and it was time to go home. The night had been long and the next would bring a new memory. In the meantime, I’d decided to put together an emergency kit to keep in the trunk of my car.
One of the first items I purchased for the kit was, of course, a pair of tiny pink gloves.
I’ve met a lot of truly good patrol cops in my day—hard-working, honest men and women who truly care about their communities, the people they serve, their families, and their fellow officers.
And, I’ve met and worked with a lot of truly good detectives who possessed the same fine human qualities.
But there are some cops who rise above the rest. Not due to high stats and the numbers of ribbons and medals worn on the fronts of their Class-A uniform shirts. Not because they wrote the most traffic tickets or served the most arrest warrants. No, the superstars of the business are the men and women who go above and beyond those who go above and beyond. They do just a bit more. They put others before their own needs.
As a police detective, I believed in the greater good. That everyone should have a voice, no matter their backgrounds, situations in life, or their own self-inflicted stupidity. People should have a fair shake is what I thought, and still do. In addition, I believed that the victims of violent crimes deserved to have a detective who was working on their behalf to solve the crime so that justice would prevail.
I’ve investigated a few murders in my day, more than I’d care to count, or to recall. When solving those crimes I tried to look at the case from the viewpoints of the victims. To put myself in their shoes, hoping that by placing myself as closely in those positions as possible, it would provide clues that would could’ve otherwise gone unseen. It works. Not all of the time, but some.
It was nearly eleven years ago when I crossed paths with one of the most brilliant police detectives I’d ever encountered. He was sharp, smart, methodical, relentless (the latter being how he earned the nickname, “Bulldog”). He dressed nicely—shirts and pants neatly pressed, shoes shined to perfection, not a hair out of place, and his ties always matched the outfit du jour.
When he entered a room there was no doubt that he’d assumed charge. He was tough, but tender. Gritty, but compassionate. He was the textbook example of “Command Presence.”
He spoke softly and always to the point, especially when discussing a case. He was passionate when it came to crime-solving and about the victims of those crimes.
When I first met him—we were two of several panelists at a seminar—he’d been in the police business a long time, and he’d put away some of society’s worst. He’d solved more murder cases than many detectives work in a lifetime. He was a cop from “back in the day.” Crusty and tough. He’d seen it all. The murders in and around his city were some of the most bizarre I’d ever seen or heard of.
Jim Nugent was this detective’s name and he’d followed in the footsteps of family members. Jim began and ended his decades-long law enforcement career in Hamilton, Ohio, a city not far from Cincinnati.
Before pinning on a badge to serve his city, Jim first worked in a paper mill alongside an uncle who told him stories about his grandfather back when he, too, was a Hamilton police officer back in the 20s, 30s, and 40s, a time when Hamilton was called Little Chicago. The city earned the moniker because Chicago gangsters came to Hamilton to hide out when things grew too “hot” for them in the Windy City. Of course, with the gangsters came organized crime, prostitution, gambling, and illegal liquor. Serious illegal business.
Charles Nugent, Jim’s grandfather, was a small city cop tasked with keeping peace in a jurisdiction where gun-toting gangsters roamed the streets and hung out in bars and taverns down by the river. Charles Nugent started as a patrolman and was promoted to the detective position on December 16, 1922.
Like Jim, Charles Nugent never met a man too big to handle. And handle the bad guys he did.
Charles Nugent’s detective’s badge
Jim was only four years old when his grandfather passed away. His father refused to talk to his kids about their grandfather’s days as a police officer. He was afraid that if they knew the history they might live in fear of retaliation from people the elder Nugent had encountered, or angry family members of the people he’d killed while in the line of duty. And there were more than a couple in each category, including the man who decided to gun down the detective while inside a local bar. His attempt was not successful and his name was added to the list of those killed by the lawman.
So, as I said earlier, Jim relied on information from his uncle and from locals, such as an elderly man who’d been beaten and robbed. During an interview with Detective Jim Nugent, the man recognized Jim’s last name and proceeded to tell him of yet another bad guy who tried to shoot his grandfather—another name to the list of the unsuccessful.
I fondly recall sitting in a conference room interviewing Jim Nugent who was, at the time, retired as a police detective, but was then working as an investigator in the county prosecutor’s office.
Me, on the left, chatting with Investigator Jim Nugent
The purpose of our interview was for me to obtain information for a true crime tale I was writing about the murder and dismemberment of a young mother of a small child. Jim had been the lead detective on the case.
Even though the crime was resolved and the killer serving time in state prison, Jim was still extremely passionate about the case. His compassion for the victim is what struck me the most. It was obvious that he’d immersed himself in the murdered woman’s life. To him, she was like a family member, which was extremely important to him since the woman’s family members were basically absent and weren’t around to speak in her behalf, or to help with the arrangements that come with a sudden death. Jim’s heart ached for the deceased young woman. I soon found myself in the same situation. The young woman’s story was extremely compelling and I, too, began to feel as if I knew her. She, even though I’d never met her, felt like a family member.
Tragically and ironically, Jim had a stepdaughter who was a victim of a violent crime. So, remarkably, Detective Nugent worked on this case while dealing with an ongoing personal tragedy within his own family. And here’s where the “Bulldog” rose to the occasion. His situation made him all the more determined to solve the murder of the young mother.
The victim had close friends, but was some distance away so they knew little about her life in “Little Chicago.”
Jim located a suspect, but with little or no physical evidence, he chose to hound the man, day after day until a crack eventually broke in his armor. The man confessed to Detective Nugent and he led the investigator to the woman’s remains. Finally, there was a bit of closure. The dead woman had a voice, by way of Detective Nugent.
At the close of the case, when the victim’s remains were buried in a small secluded section of a local cemetery, Jim Nugent visited her grave site where he placed flowers atop the freshly turned dirt. He continued to do so every month until he was unable to continue. He didn’t want her to be alone.
I was in Hamilton one day, a day when Jim planned to visit the grave. I accompanied him and looked on as he placed a small bundle of brightly-colored flowers next to a small concrete marker bearing her name. Like Detective Nugent, not wanting the dead woman to “be alone” and not remembered, the murderer’s mother purchased the stone and had it placed at the site of the victim’s remains.
Detective Nugent knelt for a moment, silent, with his head down. When he looked up his brown eyes were rimmed in pink. Moisture pooled at each of the bottom lids.
When Jim sent messages to me he always wrote in CAPS. Even with something as simple as an email, Jim was in charge. But I knew that behind the Bulldog exterior was a kind, generous, and extremely compassionate man. A brilliant investigator and a wonderful human being.
Sadly, Jim passed away a few days ago, on January 13, 2019. It’s taken me this long to find these words.
Never have I encountered a detective who fought more for victims of violent crime than did Jim Nugent. He was determined to be the voice for those who no longer had the opportunity to tell their stories.
Jim Nugent’s Detective’s badge
One of the last emails I received from Jim ended this way. Notice Jim’s “all caps” style of writing.
“LEE. I NEVER GOT TO KNOW OR TALK TO MY GRANDFATHER AS I WAS ONLY FOUR YEARS OLD WHEN HIS PASSED AWAY. I SURE WISH HE WAS WITH US AS I GOT OLDER SO I COULD HAVE TALKED WITH HIM ABOUT HIS HISTORY. LOOKING FORWARD TO YOUR BOOK SO I CAN PUT IT WITH MY VIDEO OF THE CASE.
THANK YOU.”
Investigator James A. Nugent
Butler County Prosecutors office
https://leelofland.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/01/Murray2.jpg419314Lee Loflandhttps://leelofland.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/04/the-graveyard-shift-1.pngLee Lofland2019-01-21 12:52:312023-12-20 13:40:01Today’s Hero: Jim Nugent, a Brilliant and Compassionate Detective
If we’re to believe novels and old movies and even some television news reports, spying and gathering information by way of torture go together much like peanut butter and jelly, French fries and ketchup, and bacon and eggs. And, well, bacon and anything.
Torture, according to Merriam Webster is:the infliction of intense pain (as from burning, crushing, or wounding) to punish, coerce, or afford sadistic pleasure.
The CIA softens the sound of the word “torture” by calling it “enhanced interrogation.” But no matter the words, interrogation techniques that include sleep deprivation, slapping, subjection to cold, simulated drowning (“waterboarding”), electrical shocks, and/or otherwise beating the snot out of someone to learn some sort of information is plain old torture.
Making use of hot lights and rubber hoses and trips to the soundproof basement to obtain confessions is nothing new. In fact, police have been accused of it for as long as, well, forever. Unfortunately, there is some truth mingled in the mix, such as back in the early 1980s when three Chicago police officers arrested Darrell Cannon in connection with a murder case.
The officers drove Cannon to a remote area to “convince” him to confess. Cannon, according to court records, said that when he refused to say what the police wanted him to say, the officers forced the barrel of a shotgun into his mouth and repeatedly pulled the trigger. When that didn’t worked they used a cattle prod to shock his genitals. He finally gave in.
I’m old enough to remember having “cattle prods” as part of a sheriff’s office’s arsenal of weapons. They were kept in the armory for use during riots or should we be called upon to assist with large prison disturbances at one of the nearby institutions. A couple of the crusty old-timers carried them in the trunks of their cars, and I’d heard tales of their use on suspects who wouldn’t climb into the back seat of a patrol car fast enough. They chuckled as they told tales of shocking the you know what out of a drunk homeless man or zapping a smart-ass punk who enjoyed taking swings at cops.
When I worked at a maximum security prison, there was a row of cattle prods lined up on shelf inside the armory, alongside rifles, shotguns, teargas guns, helmets, and the like.
Cuba
History tells us that the Russians, Chinese, Germans, and the good old U.S. of A. are all masters of the pain game. However, it is Cuba, an island roughly the size of Pennsylvania, that sits where the Caribbean Sea, Gulf of Mexico and Atlantic Ocean join, that perhaps tops the spy/torture chart.
Yes, U.S. officials believed that Cuban masterminds had cleverly devised the most diabolical, devious and most horrific pain-inducer known to man. It is unrivaled, to say the least. And it is invisible.
In 2016, the first attack caught embassy staff by surprise. After all, how does one defend against something that can’t be seen as it advances toward its target at the speed of sound?
Staff members began reported neurological symptoms, along with concussion-like indications. Signs pointed toward head injuries, yet there were none. Not a single knock on the noggin had been recorded.
Next came reports of diplomats experiencing sounds they described as buzzing noises (like bees inside their heads), the sounds of metal grinding against metal, horrible, piercing squeals, and/or a persistent humming. And there was that weird and maddening and “ear-itating” feeling we sometimes get while inside a moving car with the windows partially rolled down—the pressure-induced vibrating/air “baffling” that sort of hurts our ears when it occurs.
Canada and the U.S. became understandably alarmed. They thought it was possible that Cuba had lunched some sort of sonic attack and withdrew had of their Embassy staff, and they expelled Cuban diplomats in retaliation.
It was a big deal with lots of chest thumping and finger-pointing.
Fortunately, two biologists, while doing things biologists do, decided to listen to a recording of the mysterious Cuban sounds. We’ll dang if they didn’t discover, instantly, that the entire near-war, mass hysteria incident was nothing more than a bunch of local crickets belting out tunes to attract new mates. Special songs that other crickets found to induce love and sex appeal were sickening and ear-splitting to nearby people.
So yeah, two biologists single-handedly prevented what could have been the “Cuban Crooning Cricket Crisis.”
* The Indies short-tailed cricket is found around the Caribbean. Over-reacting, non-trusting and suspicious humans are found worldwide.
https://leelofland.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/01/grasshopper-copy.jpg349465Lee Loflandhttps://leelofland.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/04/the-graveyard-shift-1.pngLee Lofland2019-01-13 14:58:432019-01-13 14:58:43Weapons of Mass Ear-itation
Sylvia and Dave Dungan of Salinas, California, did a smart thing when they installed surveillance cameras around their home. After all, they sometimes leave their children at home, locked inside and protected by a security system. The cameras are a part of the electronic fortification.
A few days ago, while the adult Dungans were out for the evening, their home surveillance camera alerted them to unusual activity, specifically at the front door of their house.
After seeing that their kids were safe they reviewed the security footage and, as they say, video doesn’t lie. There for all the world to see was an intruder, a man named Roberto Daniel Arroyo who, for three solid hours was filmed licking the front doorbell, practically nonstop.
At the conclusion of his doorbell tongue-lashing, Arroyo was featured on camera relieving himself in the front yard and then he stole an extension cord, but dropped the electrical wire in a neighbor’s yard as he made his lickety-split getaway.
Now, Arroyo’s case is weird, yes, but his doorbell love-fest doesn’t come close to topping the Bizzarro-Meter. Ask any cop and they’ll spend hours telling you about the “time when,” or “that other time.” Still, I believe that winner-winner-chicken-dinner of 2018 goes to … well, read it for yourself. But please allow me to first set the stage.
So close your eyes and picture this (and have a puke bucket on standby).
Chicago. It’s March and it’s cold and it’s cloudy and there’s fog and there’s a bit of light snow falling. Again, it’s Chicago.
As the snow flies … On a cold and gray Chicago mornin’ ~ Elvis
Officers pick up a man for a misdemeanor offense and dutifully carted him to jail.
Okay, the sentence above, the one about officers carrying a man to jail, is the single normal thing that occurred in this entire story. So buckle-up, this gets ugly (and gross).
During booking, the arrested man began to speak of suicide, that he wanted to die.
Therefore, officials had no choice but to transport the suicidal offender to an area hospital for evaluation. By the way, this sort of thing happens quite a bit, arrested offenders faking illnesses of various types to stall going to lockup.
Officer Carlyle Calhoun, 46, a 10-year-veteran of the police department, and another officer were tasked with taking the prisoner to see a doctor/professional.
Once at the hospital, the medical staff had the prisoner change from his clothing into a hospital gown. The officers handcuffed the man to the bed—one wrist and one foot.
Calhoun’s partner decides he’s hungry so he goes out to forage for food, leaving his partner to stand watch over the prisoner. Now alone with the shackled man, Calhoun begins to make small talk about the guy’s charges and offering relationship advice and something about pressure points. Then he, the 10-year veteran police officer who was in full uniform wearing a badge and gun, suddenly began sucking on the prisoner’s bare toes while massaging his feet.
Next, and as quick as a flash, Calhoun reached up, grabbed the man’s (well, you know), and used his cell phone to snap a photo of the “item in hand.” The astonished prisoner asked the officer to stop. To further his goal of cease and desist, the prisoner requested to use the restroom. He’d hoped the move would throw the officer off course. Well …
Officer #2 and a Belly Full of Cafeteria Food
Officer #2, with belly full of hospital cafeteria delicacies, returned to the room and Calhoun then escorted the prisoner down the hallway to the restroom. Once inside, Calhoun dropped to his knees and performed a sex act on the prisoner who, by the way, was still protesting the sexual assaults.
Calhoun returned his prisoner to the hospital room where he quietly told the man he’d contact him on Facebook in a few days. Then Calhoun and his partner left the hospital.
Meanwhile, the prisoner, and now sexual assault victim, reported the incident. Medical personnel collected the appropriate physical evidence (They administered a sexual assault evidence kit). Later, prosecutors said a saliva swab taken from Calhoun matched the DNA found on the victim.
Chicago PD’s Internal Affairs Division found the photos of the victim’s “you know what” on Calhoun’s cell phone.
Carlyle Calhoun was arrested and ordered held on a $200,000 bond. He was formally charged with aggravated criminal sexual assault and official misconduct.
FYI – the eyes in the photo below belong to Carlyle Calhoun. The prisoner/victim will probably never forget them as they looked up at him while Calhoun’s mouth was busy with other duties.
Chicago Police Department photo – Carlyle “The Toe-Sucker” Calhoun
Let’s examine one last sickening aspect of the scenario that took place at the hospital. Keep in mind that the victim of Calhoun’s assaults had just been arrested and had not had a shower prior to all of this “activity.” No shower. No soap. Just hot, sweaty prisoner feet … and …
Having a surgeon hammer, chisel, and saw away and remove the femur and surrounding bone of my left hip was a bit odd, to say the least. But, I was provided instruction regarding what and how the bone-removal was to take place. I was told, in detail, about the procedure. And, I was assured that a highly trained and well-qualified team would be on hand to make certain that I rested comfortably during and after the removal of my body parts. Drugs were promised. Drugs were administered. Pain was minimal. Drugs were good.
Yes, I had the pleasure of knowing what was to take place and that someone would be on hand to care for my needs.
But there in that hospital bed I thought about the victims of brutal butcherings, where there is nothing to dull physical or emotional pain. There’s no one to comfort the recipient of the poundings and choppings by those who use edged weapons to take apart other humans as if they were no more than store-bought 3-D puzzles.
I thought of the horror of seeing an ax closing in toward the face at a pace of a home run swing delivered by a major league slugger. The sensation of a serrated steak or bread knife as it’s pushed and pulled through meaty flesh and then across hard, brittle bone.
I pondered about seeing a limb—a hand, or a forearm—falling to the floor as jets of squirting red blood sprayed the tile floor and the wife’s favorite “for company only” table cloth.
The dull thud as the ax blade struck the skull just above the ear, over and over again, until chips of bone splintered away to mingle with brain matter and coagulating blood that were already dripping down the walls in wet, slimy clumps of goo.
By the time those deeds are done the poor victim has most likely lost consciousness, sparing them from a pain that’s so intense that words have not yet been invented to describe it.
The assailant continues to meticulously and methodically dismember what is now a corpse. A bloody and unidentifiable pile of flesh and bone. A hand here, a foot there, the head in a paper sack for disposal in the lake, teeth in a neat little pile, and the rest in garbage bags. Well, some went down the toilet until it clogged.
I also recalled researching a book about the murder of a young woman who’d been butchered much in the same way I described above. A family dog found the woman’s femur in a stand of dry weeds next to a sewage treatment plant. The animal brought the human remains home and used it as a chew toy until the owner realized what it was.
Thinking of things in this light, well, my femur extraction was not that big of a deal.
*Warning, the images below are actual photos from a murder case*
While searching for a victim, these bones were discovered. Sadly, they belonged to the missing woman.
The killer used needle-nose pliers to remove the victim’s teeth, hoping that by doing so identification would be impossible.Notice the square edges where the pliers dug into flesh and bone while removing the teeth.
More bone found scattered about the field. Femur at lower right.
Knife blade marks in bone.
Bone displaying knife cuts
A hack saw was used to partially cut through a bone. The killer then used his hands to finish snapping the bone in two.
Skull displaying serrated knife edge marks caused by “skinning” away the flesh from bone. The killer removed the woman’s face and scalp.
If you like to read about the actual case you’ll find in a true crime anthology called Masters of True Crime: Chilling Stories of Murder and the Macabre. The author of the tale is, well, me. I wrote it after conducting extensive research into this bizarre killing.
https://leelofland.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/01/Skull-copy.jpg484465Lee Loflandhttps://leelofland.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/04/the-graveyard-shift-1.pngLee Lofland2019-01-08 11:57:462019-01-08 11:57:46I Lost a Femur the Easy Way, She Did Not
Hip replacement surgery, for those of you who haven’t had the pleasure of experiencing it, is basically a breeze. The worst part of it all came by way of the nurse who shaved the surgical site. She, and I’m being more than kind, was a sadistic, man-hating demon who enjoys inflicting as much pain as possible in a very short period of time.
She tore open a package containing a razor and then came at me with two glowing eyes and a flickering forked tongue, while reciting some sort of Charles-Mansonish incantation.
When the razor hit the flesh, dry, by the way, it felt as if she’d begun to peel away my skin one layer at time. I asked her to slow down a bit but my tearful pleas only seemed to fuel her fire.
She was relentless, and evil. She was the the love-child of the Grinch and Freddy Kruger with a side order of Dahmer. The woman has issues.
She, while standing there with razor in hand, told me to remove all of my clothing, leaving nothing but a smile or frown. That choice was mine to make. But everything else had to go.
The surgeon entered my room and signed my left hip. He wished me luck, an odd thing to say since the extent of my luck was in his hands.
Nurses popped in and out and each were as sweet as a slice of Grandma’s homemade apple pie. The “Shaving Demon” should take lessons from them.
The post-surgery doctor popped in to, again, wish me luck and to tell me that I was in extremely capable hands. I already know this because we’d done our homework. My surgeon’s track record is excellent. Besides, I really like the guy. His personality is top-notch and he doesn’t pull any punches.
The anesthesiologist spent a bit of time with me and he, like the others, quickly learned my odd and quirky sense of humor. We spent several minutes cracking jokes while he adjusted dials, knobs, and switches on something that looked like the Wayback Machine from the Rocky and Bullwinkle TV show. His one-liners had the flavor of Phoef Sutton’s dialog from the TV show Cheers, a series Phoef wrote.
And then it was time …
Three nurses approached the side of my bed and asked me to sit up with my legs dangling over the side. The nurse in the middle pulled me close, placing the top of my head just above her cleavage. The other two wrapped their arms around me and held me tightly. More nurses stood ready, as backup, I suppose, in the event that I went all Tasmanian Devil. I surmised, being the savvy detective I am, that what was about to take place was not going to be a high point in my life.
The anethesiologist held up a gilded box containing a sword needle that Indiana Jones would’ve given his very life to obtain. To me, it looked to be approximately nine feet in length with a spearhead large enough to bring down a T-Rex.
The nurses, all at once, grabbed and pulled me close in a death embrace. And that’s when the needle punctured the flesh at my lower spine. This injection was to deaden my bottom half to the point of feeling nothing from the waist down.
With all of the pagentry, I was expecting some horrific and unbearable pain. Pain that not even Superman could endure. But no, it was nothing more than the usual stick.
Two hours later I opened my eyes and it was over. My former hip was gone. Out. Done. Garbage. In its place is a manmade steampunkish device that promises to be a welcome addition to my body.
The best part of it all is that the pain was gone. That horrible pain I’d experienced for well over a year …. was no more.
So, how do I feel about health care in Delaware? Well, finding a primary care physician was an impossibility. There’s a real shortage of doctors in this area and the closest appointment I could find was in the summer of 2019. I’d started the search in the fall of 2018. So I tried making an appointment with a nurse practitioner at the University of Delaware. She saw me two days later and my surgery was scheduled asap.
I couldn’t be more pleased with the care I’ve received from the surgery team and from the medical folks at the University of Delaware. In fact, I begin physical therapy tomorrow … at the University of Delaware’s state of the art facility.
So, for now, my cane, Virgil, is getting a bit of rest until the day comes when he’s once again needed. His stand in, Little Johnny “Walker” (Jack Black’s first cousin) will help to get me from place to place.
https://leelofland.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/01/file3871291039801-copy-2.jpg310465Lee Loflandhttps://leelofland.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/04/the-graveyard-shift-1.pngLee Lofland2019-01-07 14:23:052019-01-07 14:23:05Hip Replacement: The Ins and Outs of It
By the time you read this I’ll be inside a modern hospital—pictured above—that’s complete with all the newfangled gadgets, hammers, saws, and big box store power tools needed to complete a successful hip replacement.
My surgeon is currently standing outside the operating door, smoking a cigar while using a clean water hose to rinse dish detergent suds from his hands.
Prior to being wheeled into the operating room, nurses marked the incision spot with a bright red Xand then allowed me time to post this quick message. Then off we went with the tail of my hospital gown flapping in the wake of the steel gurney.
The anesthesiologist promised a turbulence-free flight and I just heard the doctor telling everyone to watch for my nose to light up. If so, he’d remove the Black and Decker drill he’d received as a Christmas gift from his kids, and try again.
https://leelofland.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/01/operating-room.jpg466365Lee Loflandhttps://leelofland.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/04/the-graveyard-shift-1.pngLee Lofland2019-01-03 07:00:392019-01-02 19:41:33Hammers, Saws, and New Body Parts: Today is Surgery Day!
It’s a new year and soon I’ll be the proud owner of a brand new, shiny left hip. Yes, tomorrow is surgery day.
I’ve endured a couple of years dealing with pain that grew increasingly worse as the days passed by. Routine tasks and chores eventually became difficult to perform, at best. Things I enjoyed eventually became an impossibility—biking, hiking, kayaking, yard work. Even sitting at my desk to write now sometimes hurts badly enough to bring a tear to the eye.
I made it through the 2017 and 2018 Writers’ Police Academy and all the walking it entails, but it was tough, especially the event in 2018. I finally gave in and simply sat in the lobby or in the office areas. I caught rides to workshops that were easily within walking distance when I was able to do so back in the day.
I’d called on the assistance of Virgil, my trusted cane and new friend who now never leaves my side, while maneuvering and limping through airports during the trip to Green Bay and subsequently to Delaware. Airport officials provided a wheelchair when I could no longer make it to a gate or down a jetway. But while at the WPA, Virgil took a break. Couldn’t show that crack of weakness. It’s a guy/cop thing, I suppose.
The painful hip also caused me to go missing during nighttime mingling and networking at the WPA. It prevented me from hanging out with everyone in the bar area. I was unable to participate in many aspects of the event(s). By the end of the day I was in agony. Basically I was AWOL from an event I started and host.
Fortunately, the WPA, thanks to a wonderful and extremely hardworking all-volunteer staff—Linda Lovely, Howard Lewis, Cheryl Yeko, Denene, our fantastic group of core instructors who travel with us wherever we land, a host of other volunteers, and the outstanding staff and police academy instructors at Northeast Wisconsin Technical College (NWTC), the WPA flowed as smoothly as melting butter.
This says a lot considering the enormity of the event. The WPA is a massive hands-on conference to plan and produce and to do so while in constant pain would’ve been impossible. So I thank everyone involved for taking nearly the entire load from my shoulders.
The 2019 WPA, as many of you know, is a special event—MurderCon—and will be a different format from our previous ten years. We’re extremely excited to have the opportunity to host the event at the Sirchie training facility just outside of Raleigh, N.C.
Sirchie, was founded in Philadelphia, in 1927, to provide fingerprinting materials. Then, approximately 30 years ago, the company started training the experts who used their products. Now, each year, over 700 law enforcement professionals receive training at the Sirchie campus. These experts come to Sirchie from sheriff’s offices, local and state police agencies, federal agencies, state prison systems, airport security, FBI agents whose focus is primarily on counter terrorism, and Treasury and Secret Service agents.
Yes, writers will definitely receive the exact same homicide investigation training as those law enforcement officers/investigators.
“When writers graduate from MurderCon, they’ll have the knowledge to describe what really happens—and doesn’t happen—in a homicide investigation. When MurderCon attendees leave, they’ll know what it feels like to conduct an investigation.
Having first-hand experience will allow them to portray crime scene details realistically; and it will let them share with their readers how it feels to investigate a homicide. ”
~ Dyer Bennett, vice president of Sirchie’s Product Development and Training.
So today I’m sitting in a recliner, a new one we purchased to allow me some post-surgery comfort, listening to the buzzing of saws and the in and out flow of contractor foot traffic as they try to finish our bathroom. I’ve also been working with Sirchie and hotel officials today to plan and coordinate the 2019 event schedule.
Now, during a break, I’m thinking about tomorrow when, at this time of day, my faulty hip will be in a hospital garbage bag waiting for disposal while a new manmade hip is in its former location.
I’m truly anxious for the surgeon to rid my body of the intense pain I’ve experienced, especially over the past few months. And I know Denene is anxious to no longer have to put my socks on my feet (I can’t reach them), take out the trash, go to the grocery store, pick up Virgil after the seemingly thousands of times a day I drop him and, well, to not have to wait on me hand and foot.
And, I’m anxious to tell you about what happens “After Midnight.” Yes, in addition to the super exciting MurderCon, another BIG surprise is on the way!
So, the next time you hear from me will be after I’ve returned home from the surgery. Until then …
https://leelofland.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/01/435465-copy.jpg284465Lee Loflandhttps://leelofland.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/04/the-graveyard-shift-1.pngLee Lofland2019-01-02 12:05:492019-01-02 12:09:02Wednesday Musings: A Faulty Hip and MurderCon
