|"Hey, Jane, there's a crowd of crows at the bottom of the garden." John peered out of the window.
"But isn't that murder?" Jane was busy with the ironing.
"Murder, a group of crows is called a murder." He gave her a look that said 'know-it-all'.
"How should I know why it's called a murder." She threw aside the shirt she had been ironing.
"I mean ... why are they there?" He continued to stare at the birds.
"Maybe they're having a party." Jane moved to the window.
"But crows are carrion, aren't they?"
"So something's died out there."
"Well, what d'you want me to do about it?" The thought of discovering a dead creature with bits removed turned her stomach.
"Shouldn't we go have a look?"
"You can if you want. I've got lunch to cook."
John opened the back door and tentatively headed toward the birds. As he approached the birds took off. The 'creature' was human. A woman lay there, her clothing torn, a large blood clot on her forehead. John ran up the garden.
"Ring the police; it is murder."