I’m not sure what it says when two different people send you two different stories about murder houses in a week, but hi, it’s Wednesday and we’re going to talk about homicide and houses.
No, not houses where the photography is so bad, or the cleaning so derelict that it looks like a murder house, but actual, bonafide, houses where someone was sent to take a dirt nap, offed, dispatched, and/or lansbury’d.
Hi, that last one was courtesy of the way back machine.
And, to be clear, we’re not making light of murder. The WTF is more about uh, wondering who would be involved in what you do with a house after a murder, because there is no way in uh, aitch-ee-double-hockeysticks you’d see the week stomached-us able to do any of the jobs we’re about to describe.
So anyway, someone first sent me this article from Rolling Stone, about Randall Bell. “Who is Randall Bell?” you ask.