I think I’ve read too many mystery novels. When the city of Grosse Pointe had its first homicide in over 30 years last summer, I scanned the details in the paper: Middle-aged bookkeeper gunned down outside the home of an elderly woman she worked for. The old woman was loaded, or at least had a big perk of loadedness — a house near the lake. The shooting was execution-style and had no apparent motive (purse was left behind).
I read all this and thought, The old lady’s adult kid did it. The next day, police said witnesses had seen two black men fleeing in a green Taurus. I thought, The old lady’s adult kid paid them to do it.
Well, needless to say…sometimes life really is a mystery novel.
Homicide is a strange crime. The media keep count of them, nothing makes law-abiding people feel less safe, and yet, it’s the quirkiest crime, subject to wild fluctuations from year to year. The best advice, if you don’t want to be murdered, still seems to be, don’t deal drugs, stay away from criminals and don’t keep loaded guns in your house, particularly if your domestic relationships are dicey. And yet, you can follow all those rules and still find yourself shot to death in a driveway. Statistically? Bookkeepers have the safest job in the world. Yeesh.
Let justice be done. Poor bookkeeper.