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Reading books MYSTERY & CRIMEHowever, all readers - sooner or later - find for themselves a literary genre that is fundamentally different from all others.
An astonishing number of readers read mystery and crime.
The peculiarities of such constant attention to mystery and crime by the most diverse readership has been and remains the subject of numerous studies.
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Naturally, you can’t create a perfect story of mystery and crime . The author must inevitably sacrifice something of his own, but he must have some higher value that would fundamentally distinguish him from other authors. The works of Hammett, Chandler, McDonald, Cain, Stout, containing such peculiar "Emeralds", from generation to generation remain interesting for millions of fans, young and old.


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Read books online » Mystery & Crime » Basham by Robert F. Clifton (books for men to read TXT) 📖

Book online «Basham by Robert F. Clifton (books for men to read TXT) 📖». Author Robert F. Clifton



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the man. “Good morning, but you've made a mistake, I'm not a phd.

And you are?,” asked Alistair.

“At the moment, Detective Chief Inspector Albert Kilmister of the Metropolitan Police. However, soon to be Major Kilmister of the Royal Military Police,” said the man introducing himself.

“Ah, then you must be here about the future class for the RMP.”

“Yes sir. As it turns out I will be the commanding officer of those in the class. I thought that we might meet first in case there were any problems.”

“Problems? Do you know of or foresee any problems Major?”

“Not at the moment. I do believe however, that you should be made aware of the fact that the class of nineteen are all members of the Metropolitan Police. At the same time all of the chaps are volunteers.”

“Admirable, but that doesn’t' appear to be a problem Major.”

“I just thought that you would want to know that you will be dealing with experienced, seasoned police officers. They know the text book, but at the same time they also know the short cuts. They know what works and what doesn't.”

“Thank you, I appreciate you being candid. Rest assure I in no way intend to instruct police tactics or for that matter investigative techniques. What I do hope to accomplish is an understanding of criminology and the difference between the Classical School and the Positive School”.

“I see, then there shouldn't be any problems.”

“I'm glad you concur. Nonetheless, since we are on the subject of problems with the course we might as well deal and do away with any problems in the classroom.”

“Such as?”

“Such of the fact that in the classroom it will be me that runs the room. When you enter you leave your King's Commission outside the door. Do we agree?”

Kilmister smiled and offered his hand. “Agreed Doctor

Basham.”

“Excellent, now I'm about to put the pot on for a cup of tea. Would you care to join me?”

“No thank you sir. However, I would like to talk to you about your book?”

“Which one?”

“Crime And Punishment During The American Revolution”.

“What would you like to know about it?”

“Why did you pick that topic?”

“Very simple. The American Revolution became a full fledged, war. In war parts of society breaks down. When that happens crime increases. For instance let's look at non violent crime. Rationing occurs. That creates hording and the black market. As for violent crime, men are away fighting. Infidelity, domestic violence, rape and abortions are some of the results, not to mention homicides. Larceny and robberies increase because people in those villages, towns and cities left with no protection become prime victims to the criminal. At the same time crimes against humanity are perpetrated by both armies, maltreatment of prisoners and civilians alike. The Tories of Colonial America suffered during that time. Now, before I end up standing on a soap box let me just say this. There is no doubt in my mind that England will win this war. All of the things that I have just mentioned in reference to the American Revolution you will see first hand during your time in uniform in this war.”

*************

Mildred Perkins sat alone at a table in the rear of the Tom Thumb a small, restaurant. The canvas bag containing the gas mask hung off of the back of the chair in which she was sitting. In the chair next to her she had placed her pocketbook and small piece of luggage. As she sat sipping a cup of weak, black coffee that the cooks made using the ground coffee beans twice because of rationing. Milk and sugar was also only given with the government card and stamps so there was none in the shop. As she watched the front door, carefully examining everyone who entered she broke off small pieces from a scone placing the morsel in her mouth. She slowly chewed, her eyes constantly viewing the entrance.

From where she sat she could see by looking out, through the large plate window the activity in the street. The Fire Brigade rushed down the street heading for some fire still burning from last nights attack. Ambulances raced towards hospitals with the injured and dying. Lorries moved slowly from one demolished building to another then stopping as the dead were placed inside the canvas, covered rear of the vehicle. Air raid wardens still were on the street, directing people to aid stations or relief agencies. Mildred didn't mind the Wardens. It was the police she was afraid of. She watched every move a Bobby made when they came near her. She knew that it would be them that sent her back, back to a hospital, back to the torture. Once again they would lay her on a gurney, place a pillow under her knees, put a strip of hard leather between her teeth and then attach the electrodes to her head and turn on the current. “Why? Why do they do those things to me? What have I done to deserve to be treated like that?,” she asked herself. She carefully looked around the restaurant dining room. Seeing that no one was paying any attention to her she slowly slid the pointed steak knife on the table into her pocketbook. Then removing a shilling from the change purse she placed it on the table for the waitress.

Leaving the eatery Mildred walked slowly down the sidewalk, stepping over and around pieces of wood, brick and concrete that once made up dwellings now scattered in the street and walkways. She wasn't hungry or tired, but had no idea what she would do this day. The voices weren't there. Nor, was the urge, the feeling to help those poor unfortunate elderly women who were afraid and alone.

As she walked she suddenly became aware of someone behind her. She stopped and turned, seeing a short, unkempt man with a days growth of whiskers on his face. The man stopped and said, “Hello, hello, my ain't you a pretty bird to be out here in this mess all alone. What's your name ducky?”

Ignoring the stranger Mildred began walking again.

“Now don't be that way Yummy Mummy. I ain't some bloke or Jack the lad. I'm a gentleman. That's what I am. A gentleman who is rightfully concerned about someone like you pretty and out and about with no man to protect you.”

Mildred stopped, turned and said, “And you believe that you're the man to protect me?”

“ Right as rain me lady. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Alford Bennett and may I ask your name?”

“Mildred.”

“Ah, Mildred. And where are you headed in this bombed out area of the city?”

“Right now I'm looking for a place to rest, perhaps a place to stay permanently.”

“Good luck with that. Take a look around. There ain't hardly a building standing in these parts. Wish I could help you, but I doubt if someone as corking as you are would consider staying with me.”

“Of course not. I don't even know you.”

“Well, seems to me that can be rectified as we chat over a pint maybe even split a pork pie. What do you say?”

“How far are we from a pub?”

“Just up the street if it's still standing.”

“Well, I do need a place to sit down and get out of the cold.”

“Of course you do. You just put yourself in the hands of old Alford Bennett and you'll be fine. I promise you. Here. Let me carry your suitcase.”

“No! I'll carry it myself.”

“Whatever you say. Are you from this part of London?,” he asked.

“Actually I'm from Harrow.”

“Really? What brings you into the city.”

“I'm needed here. I'm a social worker. My job is to help and aid the elderly.”

“Ah, it's a wonderful thing you do Miss. The old people are the one's suffering the most, them and the children of course.”

“Why aren't you in the army, Mr. Bennett? You appear to be fit enough.”

“Seems they found out that I have a blood condition. Something I caught in India when I was a seaman, Malaria or Dengue fever. I can't remember which , so I am what they call, deferred. So, I work on the docks as a stevedore.”

“Don't the Germans bomb the docks?.”

“That they do.”

“How much further to the pub?”

“There it is Miss. “The Fife and Drum.” Appears the sign that hanged over the walk has come down.”

Bennett held the door to the pub open allowing Mildred to enter first. When she did she found herself in a semi-dark barroom. There were five men seated at the bar. One, chubby woman wearing too much eye shadow sat alone at a table.

The men at the bar upon seeing Bennett raised their glasses and said, “Alford you bloody bastard. You're looking chipper. Are you going to introduce your bird to us?”

“First of all you arseholes, this is a lady and she ain't my bird. All you got to know is that her name is Mildred and she's a social worker in the city looking after the old. Now, I'll leave it up to her just whether she wants to meet the likes of all of you”.

“Hello, gentlemen. Nice to meet you. Now, if you don't mind

I'd like to sit down, Mildred said. She then walked towards the tables in the rear of the pub.

Bennett called after her. “Do you prefer ale or beer?”

“I prefer tea, in a pot and hot,” she answered.

As she walked past the woman seated at a table the woman looked at her and said, “ I can see just by looking at you that you're no slapper(prostitute), but take my advice. All that bloke is after is some rumby pumby with you.”

“Well, he's in for a big disappointment if that's what he has in mind. Where's the loo?” asked Mildred.

There's only one deary. After you go in lock the door behind you. Keep in mind that you ain't pissing at the Dorchester Hotel.”

When Mildred entered the lavatory she was met with the foul, acrid, odor coming from a puddle of urine in a trough hanging on the wall. The smell made her gag as she walked across the dirty floor to the bespattered mirror hung over a likewise, filthy sink. There she turned a spigot and washed her hands. Taking a handkerchief from her pocketbook she quickly wiped her hands, picked up the suitcase from the floor, then her pocketbook, unlocked the door and went back inside the main room of the pub. When she did she saw Alford Bennett seated at the table. A pint of ale was in front of him. There was also a tea pot and a chipped cup. “Bout time I say. Took you long enough.

Must have been a long slash(urinate).

Mildred looked for a napkin on the table, finding none she took the moist handkerchief from her pocketbook and wiped the cup paying particular attention to the rim. Finally she looked at Bennett and said, “ What I did and what I'll do is strictly none of your business.”

“Now, now, don't be getting argy- pargy. I was worried about you that's what I was. Thought maybe you was suddenly taken ill or something.”

“I'm fine.”

“Good, now what say I order us a pork pie and we get to know each other a little better while we eat?”

“If the kitchen is anything like the loo, then I don't want it, thank you.”

“Suit yourself. In that case I'll have me another pint.”

Looking through the blue haze caused by burnt tobacco that hung in the air like a non-moving cloud Mildred saw the clock on the wall. It was three forty five pm.

The tea was cold. Bennett had consumed three pints of ale and although not drunk was well on his way to becoming so. Mildred began gathering the pocketbook and suitcase from the empty chair next to her. “Just what are you doing?”, asked Bennett.

“It's getting late. I must go. I still have to find shelter for the night”, Mildred answered.

“Now you know that's no problem deary. You can stay with me since you're knackered (tired).

“I don't think

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