Dumbest Murder Investigation Ever?

By Cole

The death of census worker Bill Sparkman in a rural Kentucky cemetery is a terrible story, and I’m afraid that if the feds don’t step in, justice will never prevail.

Local authorities are saying they haven’t ruled out the possibility that Sparkman’s death was suicide or an accident. But after reading these details, what would any reasonable person (or cat) conclude?…

On September 12, Sparkman was found hanging from a tree in the cemetery by a family visiting deceased loved ones. He wasn’t completely off the ground, and he was naked except for his socks. His clothes were in the bed of a pickup truck parked nearby.

Sparkman’s hands and feet were bound with duct tape, with more tape around his neck and covering his eyes. He was gagged with something red. His Census Bureau ID was taped to his right shoulder, and the word “FED” scrawled across his chest with a felt-tip marker.

He hung from the tree by a rope around his neck. Coroner Jim Trosper determined the cause of death was asphyxiation, and said it was clear Sparkman’s death wasn’t natural.

Gee, Trosper, what tipped you off?

In the absence of clearer evidence of a crime, the police think it’s possible Sparkman may have stripped, written on his own chest, taped his ID to himself, blindfolded and gagged himself, bound his own hands and feet, climbed the tree, tied the rope to a branch, and then jumped or fallen.

While the police determine whether or not Sparkman acted alone, any family he has must be in utter despair, and his killer planning his next “perfect crime” between fits of laughter.

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2 Responses to Dumbest Murder Investigation Ever?

  1. Adele says:

    Cole, you seem to be on the murder beat at Cats Working. I’m hoping your feline colleagues will occasionally let you write about happier news. So far Kentucky law enforcement’s reaction to this murder makes the strains of the theme from Deliverance go round and round in my head.

  2. catsworking says:

    Being low man on the totem pole around here, they do tend to throw me the hard stuff. But I don’t mind. I’m a black cat and they say we’re the toughest kind there is. You don’t spend 3 years in the joint like I did and come out with rose petals for pads, if you know what I mean. Karen even considered naming me Bogie.

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