Part One - Beneath The Layers Seeking a Nark
Robin Spector scanned the room
Weighing up the way things where
With hunters eye for tell-tail parts
Confusing truths that facts infer
With overshoes and rubber gloves
Filled plastic bags with likely clues
Fine-tooth combs and microscopes
Sought proof that might accuse
A notebook full of memoranda
Concise with facets unexplained
For he knew how often little things
Could lead to larger things obtained
In amongst a heap of debris strewn
Scattered ornaments and mounts
Lay a body dead a bloodless head
A gunshot wound by all accounts
Objectively the crime was clear
But many things to yet uncover
Did they know the perpetrator
Some rival foe or jilted lover
There seemed no sign of subterfuge
But then again one must beware
For garden paths are two-way streets
Misleading ways to who knows where
Robin Spector felt a nagging sense
How mundane can pass unheeded
By an overdose of obviousness
Second-guessing what preceded
He checked the scene inventory
Reviewed each snap again
Scoured the layouts back to front
Seeking evidence in vain
Probing deep no stone unturned
He put his team on door-to-door
Checking out surveillance cameras
In every street and local store
The victim lived anonymously
Went to and fro to who knows where
Unknown in local tavern life
His world a game of solitaire
What first appeared specific
Drained optimism into gloom
The information river running dry
All trails contingent on presume
No passport licence no ID
Body present yet no trace
A couched divan a murdered man
In a vacuum cleaner space
Part Three - Breakthrough
Robin Spector felt the pressure build
He had a burning need to act
a dragon breathing down his neck
Driving matters craving fact
The bullet in the corpse’s head
Had somehow passed clean through
No sign of cartridge blood or bits
A mass of misconstruing grew
How do you move a heavy body
From scene-of-crime to quiet calm
Creating chaos where it never was
Outside its origin of harm
House to house supplied a likely lead
How late one night arrived a hearse
A coffin carried in then out
Such offbeat happenings perverse
The hearse in question spoke out loud
On how the corpse had been chauffeured
And trails of mud outside the house
Gave clues to where the crime occurred
Reconnaissance of woodland tracks
Betrayed the perfect scene-of-crime
Displaying evidence of left behinds
Footprints sealed in setting slime
Shielded crime is covered tracks
Scheming games of second-guessing
Placing wrong shoes on the other feet
Much cunning fact suppressing
Scientific and surveillance means
Offer guidance and direction
Homing in on every bungled trip
To magnify each in-correction
Tireless search and deeper scrutiny
Truth in detail brought to light
A smoking gun was pointing fingers
At daytime business done at night
Suspects traced for questioning
From the funeral cortege
Who with more than passing interests
Might remove and disengage
What at first, appeared improbable
Inspector Spector saw beneath
A hidden shroud of common decency
A final message in the wreath
The felon had in arrogance
Penned a farewell message joke
Implicating by his stylish hand
How he was the guilty bloke
A survey of the parlour books
Gave proof beyond a doubt
Columns full of written clues
Showing how they went about
It almost was the perfect crime
A masterpiece it might have been
But with eyes and ears and subtle clues
They finally proved the murder scene
This tunnel-group deep underground
Dressed as White Knights for the grieving
Distastefully hid subterfuge
Whilst all along much double-dealing
The victim had been one of them
Who they suspected was a nark
A triple crossing infiltrator
Who they had followed to the park
A meeting surreptitiously
Had lit a fuse of group mistrust
Which forced reaction to his action
That left him laid out in the dust
Inspector Robin Spector sighed
The case in hand was hard to grip
A mettle-testing tricky trial
Brought to book by pick and chip
Who would have thought as things turned out
A murder victim met his maker
Presented as a mystery plot
Delivered by an undertaker
