Eight Murders In The Suburbs
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It could happen in any normal English town . . .A young wife complains of her husband's fussy little habits; but trying to mend his ways leads to the gallows . . . A businessman with the best intentions befriends an elderly old woman, with no thought of robbing her - let alone killing her . . . A kind-hearted young man kisses a woman out of chivalry, leading to the destruction of two lives . . . And a lonely old woman learns a lesson of how to deal with her enemies from the actions of her only friend - a cat . . .Praise for Roy Vickers' short story collections:'Roy Vickers is one of the masters of the detective short story . . . he has produced stories that rank with the finest contemporary crime writing' New York Times'The beauty of these meticulous tales lies in their similarity to real life crime. Each story, you feel, could have happened' Dublin Evening Herald
extremely eligible—the vicar told me all about you.” She paused before resuming, on another note. “Mr. Penfold! Have you noticed, as I have, that some women are predestined mothers—you can tell when they’re little girls. And some have an obvious talent for wifehood. And some—and Madge is one of these—are predestined daughters—daughters in mind and temperament even when they are very old women.” “Old maids, perhaps. But when Madge is married—” “She’ll make her husband more unhappy than herself.
restaurant near the prison, Raffen told a number of waspish anecdotes about himself in prison. Grenwood, who was learning caution, contributed reminiscences of the Army. As the meal finished Raffen lapsed into silence. “Now we’ve stopped chattering, we can talk,” said Grenwood. “‘Little Tommy Tucker must sing for his supper’;” chirped Raffen. “We’ll adjourn to my place. And we certainly can’t talk dry. My cellar, unfortunately, is empty. Let’s see, I owe you two quid for the fine, ten bob for
her fears, it at least made her snatch at his offer to see her safely to her employer’s house. Before they parted the girl had gratefully accepted Hudson’s generous invitation for her first free afternoon. For the next year the story of their association is the commonplace story of a man’s infatuation for a woman who is his social and intellectual inferior. He was fascinated by her naïveté and innocence—more brutally expressed, her almost incredible “greenness.” He kept her very much to
cloak room at Waterloo whence Hudson subsequently reclaimed and destroyed it. They arrived at the house in Surbiton in the early evening. In his pocket he carried a velvet pad of the kind that is used for dusting silk hats, a part of which was eventually found in the girl’s mouth. In the house were several lengths of box cord with which he bound her and suspended her by the neck from the baluster rail on the first floor. He spent the hours of darkness burying her in the “fish pond” with a spade
taking her through her own movements for the whole of the day preceding the discovery of Grantham’s death. “After breakfast, my husband left for the office as usual. I read the papers a bit, and then went shopping.” Details were demanded of the shops visited and even of her purchases. Elsie was irritated but not in the least alarmed. “This shopping expedition took two hours and ten minutes. Did you require all that time to purchase a few groceries and three pairs of stockings?” “I don’t