The Assassination of Abraham Lincoln

Good evening. This is crime classics. I am Thomas Highland with another true story of crime Listen this is a dream This is a portent. This is the shape of things to come a man dreams of walking down a vaulted and empty corridor Soldier

Soldier sir Who lies dead here? Look for yourselves, sir. Do you see who it is, sir? It is I. My report to you on the assassination of Abraham Lincoln. Crime classics. A series of true crime stories from the records and newspapers of every land from every time. Your host each week, Mr. Thomas Highland, connoisseur of crime, student

of violence, and teller of murders. Now once again, Mr. Thomas Highland. It was April in 1865, and it was Washington, D.C. A hero had come into the city. His name was Grant, a general of the time who a few days before had accepted surrender from another general of the time, whose name was Lee.

So it was a time of victory celebration, of burning candles for prayer and illumination and thanksgiving, of dancing in the streets, of noises and silences, of reunion, of shrill, of tears, the sounds that mankind makes when something is won or lost forever, or returns, or perishes. That was the sound John F. Parker made as he throws a whiskey bottle against

the wall of the room. His friend was happy too. Open another bottle of me. Do it. Now Now move back your head. Slow now. Trickle in. Ha ha ha ha ha. Open. Open. I told her downstairs I didn't want to be disturbed.

I done done done done. Whoever it is. I'll send him away. Send him away. Go away. Go away. Oh, I win. Is John going? Get up Parker. What is it?