A poem written by David Wagoner that sort of relates to the famous Story "Tell-Tale Heart" by Edger Allen Poe
After the Murder, like parades of Fools, The bungling supernumeraries come, sniffing at footprints, looking under rugs, Prodding the dead man with prehensile tools.
Lens against nose, False beard down to his knees, The Hawkshaw enters, hoists his bag of tricks, and passes out suspicion like lemonade: "Where were you when the victim-" "In my room."
"Didn't you ask him whether-" "Double Locks" "Who switched the glasses on the-" "Crippled Legs." "Why were the ballroom curtains-" "Mad for Years." Then, tripping on clues, they wander through the house, Ransack the kitchen and the sherry bins, And dance in the bushes with the cats and dogs.
"Where is he?" says the Captain. "Nobody cares." 'We did it!" scream the Butler an the Maid. "I did it too!" the jolly doctor cries. And all join in- detective, counterfoil, Inġuenue, hero, and the family ghosts-
And, flapping like tongues,the trapdoors babble guilt, The window-boxes, closets understairs, Whatnots and chandeliers, grandfather clocks, The sealed-up attic with its litter of bones.
In a crime whether you confess or not the guilt in you will haunt you.