Chapter 1: A Knock

 As Many Cones opens, we meet Jim Donas and his wife, Sue.   They're getting ready to go out to dinner when there was a knock at the door.   Jim finds a young man at the door who introduces himself as Richard Sparne.

 Mr. Sparne asks to come in.   Eventually he forces his way in and stabs Jim Donas. This all happens while his wife is getting ready in the bathroom.   Subsequently a group of young men enter after being signaled by Richard Sparne.   They ransack the home and then brutally murder the Donas couple. 

Many Cones is a podcast novel based on true crime. The murders inspiring this crime fiction took place 30 miles from Chicago in Northwest Indiana, and captivated the area from the initial brutal crime scene all the way through and beyond discovery of a shockingly bizarre motive.

There was a knock at the apartment door. Jim Donas was in the kitchen drying his hands. He had been a whirlwind of activity, dusting and cleaning everything that crossed his path. Busy work always occupied his time when he was waiting for his wife. She was still in the bathtub. It was almost time to yell through the door again. Jim was starting to believe she intentionally dragged her feet when they had somewhere to go. It would be another hour before she was ready. He went to the apartment door and looked through the peephole.  Some kid. 

Jim opened the door. For a fleeting second he thought about the buzzer-intercom system that had never worked. People adapted by leaving the complex door unlocked. He hadn’t heard anyone descending the stairs. Odd. He could usually hear people coming and going. Had even complained about paper thin walls. 

The complex held nine individual apartments. All very upscale. Located in a nice area. No problems, anytime. Except for the periodic drunken argument, usually from one of the other eight complexes. No one thought twice about opening the apartment door for some unknown person. 

Jim said, “Can I help you?” He was looking at a tall, rangy kid. Looked to be late teens, early twenties. Presentable, clean cut kid. Appeared to be a little nervous. 

“Mr. Donas?” the kid asked. Jim said, “Yes, can I help you?” 

The Kid said, “Mr. Donas, my name is Richard Sparne.” He paused, as if expecting a problem. Then went on. “I’m collecting for the local Amateur Athletics Union. Could I please come in and explain our program to you?” 

Jim shook his head no and said, “I’m running out for a dinner engagement, I can’t right now; do you have any literature or anything you can leave?”

The Kid started to walk in, saying, “Yes, I can leave you some pamphlets.” 

Jim, standing in front of the Kid’s passage, said, “Please, just hand them to me; I’m about to leave. I don’t have time for you to come in now.” 

The Kid reached around behind his back and grabbed a nine-inch jagged knife from his belt. In one swift motion he plunged the knife into Jim Donas’ abdomen. Deep.

Transcript

Chapter 1

There was a knock at the apartment door. Jim Donas was in the kitchen drying his hands. He had been a whirlwind of activity, dusting and cleaning everything that crossed his path. Busy work always occupied his time when he was waiting for his wife. She was still in the bathtub. It was almost time to yell through the door again. Jim was starting to believe she intentionally dragged her feet when they had somewhere to go. It would be another hour before she was ready. He went to the apartment door and looked through the peephole.  Some kid. 

Jim opened the door. For a fleeting second he thought about the buzzer-intercom system that had never worked. People adapted by leaving the complex door unlocked. He hadn’t heard anyone descending the stairs. Odd. He could usually hear people coming and going. Had even complained about paper thin walls. 

The complex held nine individual apartments. All very upscale. Located in a nice area. No problems, anytime. Except for the periodic drunken argument, usually from one of the other eight complexes. No one thought twice about opening the apartment door for some unknown person. 

Jim said, “Can I help you?” He was looking at a tall, rangy kid. Looked to be late teens, early twenties. Presentable, clean cut kid. Appeared to be a little nervous. 

“Mr. Donas?” the kid asked. Jim said, “Yes, can I help you?” 

The Kid said, “Mr. Donas, my name is Richard Sparne.” He paused, as if expecting a problem. Then went on. “I’m collecting for the local Amateur Athletics Union. Could I please come in and explain our program to you?” 

Jim shook his head no and said, “I’m running out for a dinner engagement, I can’t right now; do you have any literature or anything you can leave?”

The Kid started to walk in, saying, “Yes, I can leave you some pamphlets.” 

Jim, standing in front of the Kid’s passage, said, “Please, just hand them to me; I’m about to leave. I don’t have time for you to come in now.” 

The Kid reached around behind his back and grabbed a nine-inch jagged knife from his belt. In one swift motion he plunged the knife into Jim Donas’ abdomen. Deep.

Jim had been wearing a white shirt and beige slacks. He planned to put on a tie and sport coat as soon as his wife was ready. The white shirt immediately picked up the blood flowing from his wound. The Kid pulled out the knife as he was walking into the apartment.

Jim was stumbling backwards. He instinctively placed both hands over his wound. Blood spilt over his fingers. He knelt on one knee and then sat on the carpet. His legs tried to form a circle, heels almost touching. No yelling; no screaming; no sounds; except for the whoosh of the knife entering and exiting. The Kid vaguely heard the rotor noise of the bathroom exhaust fan in the silence.  He also thought he heard a far away blow dryer. 

The Kid closed the apartment door. There was a pseudo picture window facing the parking lot. He opened the drapes a few inches and flicked the lights on and off, twice. Then closed the drapes. 

Sitting in the parking lot, in a ten-year-old, beat up car were three more young men. None of them were as presentable or smart as the Kid. When they saw the lights flicker, they got out of their vehicle, and entered the complex and Jim Donas’ apartment. 

Each of the invaders had a knife. Each one stabbed the fallen, bloody man. As a stocky, Hispanic teen raised his blade, Richard Sparne eyed him coldly and said, “Don’t fucking yell.” The warning came just in time. Ricardo Morales was about to scream an invective he had learned as a young child. Exercising control, he quietly hurried his knife into the man. The Kid finished by slicing Jim’s throat. There was trace blood left in his system, some of it spurted onto the Kid’s forearm. 

They silently viewed their prey. Like mute jackals. Then went to different areas of the apartment. By a pre-arranged plan, each person had an area to search. The Kid was in the bedroom, prying through the dresser and cabinets. With the exception of a phone ringing, they did their jobs in relative silence. The stocky, Hispanic teen asked about the whirling noise coming from a closed door. The Kid ceased his ransacking and said, “It’s a bathroom fan, don’t worry about it.” 

Sue Donas was just about done with her bath. She smiled to herself when she washed her breasts. Jim liked to wash her “good parts” as he called them. No time for that tonight. She pulled the plug on the bath water and stood in the tub. It had been twenty minutes or so since Jim yelled through the door, “Please, let’s go.” Hopefully he was cleaning; he did that when he was nervous. Maybe she’d reward him, for not yelling, with a little flash, before getting dressed. 

She toweled off in the tub; stepped out onto the red, deep pile, throw rug and finished drying off completely. The mirror was totally steamed over and she used a hand towel to wipe it off. Her reflection gleamed back at her. The mirror was oversized and she could see the top half of her body. 

She pulled her cheeks back with her facial muscles and examined her teeth. God, how she’d hated the dentist when she was a child. Thank God her parents made her go. She turned her head to one side and through the corner of her eyes, looked at first one profile and then the other. 

Looking directly into the mirror, she ran her fingers through her nape length, black hair, tilted her head back and checked her neck for wrinkles. Satisfied, she stepped back, put her hands, palms open and down, on her hips and shook her “good parts.” Not bad for a thirty-year-old, married woman, she thought. Hopefully, after a few kids, she could get back into some sort of similar shape. 

After being together for seven years, Jim still looked at her with lust in his heart. It would be great if he still lusted after her when they were seventy. Don’t wish for too much, she thought; be happy with growing old together and raising a family. 

Tonight would be great. Dinner at her and Jim’s favorite restaurant with her sister and brother-in-law. Jim wanted to use up some of the coupons in the dinner coupon book he purchased at one of their church’s fund raisers. She thought it was stupid, but Jim said they might as well use them. 

Sue had to admit she was happy when she saw the restaurant’s name in the book. Small little frog legs, breaded and swimming in butter. Her mouth watered, just thinking about it. She wouldn’t eat for three days afterwards, but it was worth it. Stuff myself and be with my three favorite people, she mused; God, am I one lucky girl. 

Enough daydreaming, she thought. If I’m not ready soon, Jim’ll kill me. Why do I always take so long when we have somewhere to go? God, I think I do this intentionally, just to tease him. 

Sue picked up the blow dryer and spent ten minutes teasing and drying her hair. The bathroom fan had removed all the steam. Jim still hadn’t yelled again. This was some kind of record for him. Either he was being a very good boy or it was some insidious plan on his part, to show he didn’t mind waiting. What’s the use of taking your time, if no one yells for you to “Hurry up.” She’d have to think about that. Her and Jim running a double trap. Interesting. 

Satisfied with her hair, Sue began applying make-up. Light foundation. Her natural skin color shone through; she had toyed with the idea of foregoing powder but old habits were hard to break. Same thing with rouge. Just a tiny, tiny dusting. Good. Couldn’t even tell she had added tone. 

Sue posed in the mirror again, and giggled like a newly pubescent teenager discovering swellings. She noticed a minute tenderness in her breasts. She had been experiencing it on and off, for about a week. 

She returned to the task at hand. Finish her face. Her large eyes were one of her best features. Highlighting them made her feel pretty. Pose again. 

Her lips weren’t bad either. Full, sensuous lips. Deep red color added. Her friends had told her the chroma was too much for her dark complexion. Sue ignored their advice. She liked the tarty feeling it conferred. Be honest, she thought; Jim liked it. 

A final look in the mirror. Girl, you are hot! Time to reward Jim for not yelling. No robe. Walk to the bedroom stark naked. It had been five days since Jim had jumped her bones. It would kill him. They were already late. No time for fun and games. But he would think about it all night. She winked at herself. 

Sue returned all the towels to the racks; put away the beauty aids and hair dryer. Folded her robe; put it over a rack. Time to get dressed. 

She opened the bathroom door, gloriously nude, and walked out.