DEATH IS IN THE DETAILS

While watching an episode of a crime series from way back when, the term 'barbiturate' roused my curiosity, as well as my imagination. Reason being that barbiturates are so splendidly old-fashioned, both as an addictive substance and as a means of murder or suicide.


"He's lying in the library, we think some one slipped a mickey in his whiskey. Poor old Dingo seems to have died from an overdose of brallobarbital."


Astute observation by the housekeeper establishes that the bottle of Vesparax (three parts secobarbital, one part brallobarbital, one part hydroxyzine) prescribed by Doctor Flynch is missing.
It had been on the bedside table.

Uncle Dingo had chronic convulsive fever ever since he came home from the war -- he had been in the Pacific Theatre -- and along with the stutter, limp, bloodshot eyes, and festering under-arm rot, it was unlikely he'd ever find a wife. It just was simpler to proscribe stuff to keep him quiet.
Much more tolerable sedated and not twitching.
Alone in his corner, muttering.
And picking scabs.

Problem was, the odious crotchet inherited a pile from a distant relative, and while he had no offspring of his own (that we know of), there were several cousins who were in line to inherit some or all of the fortune, depending on what his last will and testament said, and wanted him to croak before some curvy gold digger bit the bullet, plugged her nose, and with a straight face asserted "I do".

So yes, there are suspects. But personally I think he did himself in. He was clearly insane, emotionally frustrated beyond belief, hadn't had a romance since long before his left-testicle got blasted off in that hunting accident, couldn't stand his own embarrassing odours, and the frequent spasms would often cause him to bang into a wall or fall down the stairs.

He once got lost in the parking lot.
"Disoriented".

That's probably why Doctor Flynch gave him the medicine anyway.
He figured that eventually Dingo would be sick of himself.
As everyone else was of being anywhere near him.


Unique plot twist: turns out the housekeeper has NO sense of smell, and also many relatives who also habitually jerked and mumbled.
Plus a collection of ball-gags in the kitchen.
Dear old Dingo was "cool".
Totally.



Don't know how I'm going to factor all that in, as well as mentioning 'naked, bucking like a bronco, and yelling "giddy up"', or my idea that Doctor Flynch used to work at an abattoir before going into medicine.

Nor have I figured out whether the housekeeper is black or white, male or female, addicted to barbiturates or a heroine fiend.

Maybe these aren't important details.




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