If you give me a little time, maybe I could
think of one or two. What you want, I suppose, is some story as I know
about from personal experience. Like the time, for instance, that the
half-breed Indian busted out of the bridewell, where he was serving a six
months' sentence, and snuck home and killed his wife and went back again
to the bridewell, and they didn't find out who killed her until he got
drunk a year later and told a bartender about it. That's the kind you
want, ain't it?"
I said it was.
"Well," said Sergt. Kuzick, "I can't think of any offhand, like I said.
There was a building over on West Monroe Street once where we found three
bodies in the basement. They was all dead, but that wouldn't make a story
hardly, because nobody ever found out who killed them. Let me think
awhile."
Sergt. Kuzick thought.
* * * * *
"Do you remember the Leggett mystery?" he inquired doubtfully. "I guess
that was before your time. I was only a patrolman then. Old Leggett had a
tobacco jar made out of a human skull, and that's how they found out he
killed his wife. It was her skull. It come out one evening when he brought
his bride home. You know, he got married again after killin' the first
one.
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