In chapter two, we are introduced to the crime scene through the eyes of Lieutenant Ray Grandisha. The police were called by Jules and Liz Pranet, Sue's brother and sister-in-law, and the couple the Donases we're supposed to have met for dinner that evening. As Ray Grandisha takes in the crime scene, he runs into John Lupico, the coroner. It is clear that Ray Grandisha believes that something very unusual and very sinister took place here .
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.
The apartment resembled an abattoir. Lieutenant Ray Grandisha had to pause as he stood in the midst of the carnage. Twenty-five years of witnessing cruelty never sufficed to prepare him for the bad ones.
The Sheriff’s department had received a call at 10:57 P.M. A man by the name of Jules Pranet. He and his wife were supposed to meet their brother and sister-in-law for dinner at a popular restaurant on the outskirts of town. They waited for an hour. Jules and his wife, Liz, didn’t start to worry until that hour had expired.
Sixty minutes. A few drinks. Told the waiter to come back three times. The third delay repaid with a bit of rudeness. During the wait, Jules and Liz engaged in personal conversation for the first twenty five minutes. The next half hour devoted to jokes about Sue always being late; Jim always yelling at her. The last five minutes arguing about calling the Police and hospitals.
Finally, Jules and Liz left the table. A difficult walk to the foyer. Two forlorn faces in the midst of merriment. Jules concerned that making contact with those who deal in calamity would somehow confirm the worst. Pause by the pay phone. Head pounding. Walk in. Walk in. Please God, walk in.
Liz sat next to the phone. “Do you need change?”
Jules, still stalling, “No, I’ll put everything on the card. I can get the operator and have her call Jim’s number; if there’s no answer she can contact the police; I’ll ask her to stay on and call the hospital next.”
Liz, looking up at him; “Okay. Well?”
Jules jumps, “Alright. Fuck.”
No answer at Jim’s. No calls, accident reports, or any other type of bad news according to the police. No emergencies or ambulance runs, according to the hospital.
Jules, feeling a touch relieved, sat next to Liz. “What now?”
Liz slouched; “Let’s wait.”
Jim, with the retort, “For what? They’re not coming. It’s almost an hour and a half...”
The discussion was broken up by the rude waiter. He handed Jules a bill for four drinks; an uncivil smirk on his face. As Jules passed cash to him, he made a point of saying he wanted change. The waiter returned in five minutes; silver and green on a tray. Jules took it all. The waiter remained for ten seconds and then huffed off.
Jules continued, “We have to go their apartment. We’ll drive the route they would have taken.”
Liz said, “Okay.”
The trip took thirty minutes. No accidents, no cars on the shoulder or off the road. No couples walking. Nothing out of place.
Chapter 2
The apartment resembled an abattoir. Lieutenant Ray Grandisha had to pause as he stood in the midst of the carnage. Twenty-five years of witnessing cruelty never sufficed to prepare him for the bad ones.
The Sheriff’s department had received a call at 10:57 P.M. A man by the name of Jules Pranet. He and his wife were supposed to meet their brother and sister-in-law for dinner at a popular restaurant on the outskirts of town. They waited for an hour. Jules and his wife, Liz, didn’t start to worry until that hour had expired.
Sixty minutes. A few drinks. Told the waiter to come back three times. The third delay repaid with a bit of rudeness. During the wait, Jules and Liz engaged in personal conversation for the first twenty five minutes. The next half hour devoted to jokes about Sue always being late; Jim always yelling at her. The last five minutes arguing about calling the Police and hospitals.
Finally, Jules and Liz left the table. A difficult walk to the foyer. Two forlorn faces in the midst of merriment. Jules concerned that making contact with those who deal in calamity would somehow confirm the worst. Pause by the pay phone. Head pounding. Walk in. Walk in. Please God, walk in.
Liz sat next to the phone. “Do you need change?”
Jules, still stalling, “No, I’ll put everything on the card. I can get the operator and have her call Jim’s number; if there’s no answer she can contact the police; I’ll ask her to stay on and call the hospital next.”
Liz, looking up at him; “Okay. Well?”
Jules jumps, “Alright. Fuck.”
No answer at Jim’s. No calls, accident reports, or any other type of bad news according to the police. No emergencies or ambulance runs, according to the hospital.
Jules, feeling a touch relieved, sat next to Liz. “What now?”
Liz slouched; “Let’s wait.”
Jim, with the retort, “For what? They’re not coming. It’s almost an hour and a half...”
The discussion was broken up by the rude waiter. He handed Jules a bill for four drinks; an uncivil smirk on his face. As Jules passed cash to him, he made a point of saying he wanted change. The waiter returned in five minutes; silver and green on a tray. Jules took it all. The waiter remained for ten seconds and then huffed off.
Jules continued, “We have to go their apartment. We’ll drive the route they would have taken.”
Liz said, “Okay.”
The trip took thirty minutes. No accidents, no cars on the shoulder or off the road. No couples walking. Nothing out of place.
They pulled into the apartment parking lot at 9:30. There was a space open next to Jim and Sue’s car. It was a quiet Friday night. Jules didn’t like quiet nights. They spooked him. He had never confessed his phobia to anyone, Liz included. The moon was high and full. Shadows lurked everywhere. Trees and bushes shimmied slowly, almost imperceptibly, causing the shade to creep. Jules thought he heard the scramble of the dark tip-toeing around them.
Jim and Sue’s apartment was devoid of light. The curtains were drawn, no glow apparent. Every other apartment facing them had some type of illumination. Jules and Liz sat for a few minutes, each observing the same things, but sensing different stimuli.
Liz broke the spell. “Well, they’re either fucking or not speaking to each other.”
Jules, still influenced by the night, asked, “Why wouldn’t they call and tell us they couldn’t make it?”
Liz said, “A stiff dick has no conscience. An argument, if heated enough, ignores niceties.”
The remarks freed Jules from his macabre manacles. Neither had looked at each other since parking. Jules turned to Liz. “Your mouth gets worse every day. I didn’t know I was marrying a whore.”
Liz responded, “I know you’re upset, so I’m going to let that last statement pass. Please don’t ever say that again.”
“I’m sorry Liz. I’m a little spooked. I’m afraid something’s wrong. Forgive me, please, honey.”
Liz put her hand on Jules’ arm and squeezed softly. “Sure. I’m a little scared myself. What do we do next?”
“Let’s try and call again. There’s a gas station up the road on the intersection. I’m sure there’s a phone somewhere close to it. If they’re arguing, I don’t want to be a part of it.”
Liz responded rationally, “What if they’re fucking?”
Jules turned again to Liz. “God, I love your mouth.” They both laughed and silently thanked their lucky stars for each other.
The gas station digression took thirty minutes. Jules called seven times. Each individual call rang seventeen times.
As Jules got back into the car, Liz stared at him. While in the phone booth, his back had faced her. He mumbled, “No answer.” She said, “Did you let it ring long enough?” He turned and started to say, “Are you fucking for real?” He caught himself and just shook his head yes.
Liz took a breath. “What now?”
After a few seconds, Jules said, “We knock on the door.”
The return drive was short and quiet. Jules parked in the same spot as before. There was a brief debate about Liz staying in the car. Jules lost.
They walked up the four concrete steps to the outer door. Jules pressed the buzzer. Liz said, “Why are you buzzing? You know it doesn’t work.” She pulled the door open. Jules went in first. They walked down seven steps and paused in front of the apartment. The hallway was well lit. Dark red bogus bricks surrounded them. One apartment directly behind them and two more down the hall.
Jules knocked, then pounded. No answer. He put his ear to the white door. No sound. He stood and hung his head. Liz heard a ruffle against the door behind her. She turned and looked. “We’re being watched through a peephole.” Jules said, “Good.”
He reached for the doorknob. His hand held it before it turned. It was unlocked. He completed the rotation and pushed softly. Inside was blindfold dark. Neither Jules nor Liz was able to see clearly. They walked in; Jules flicked the light switch up. It took four seconds for their eyes to adjust.
Liz’s screams drew everyone from the adjoining apartments.
A neighbor helped with Liz. Cold washrag to the forehead while she despaired on a recliner. Jules used the phone again.
Lieutenant Grandisha checked the body lying on the front room floor. Jim Donas was supine. Arms straight, bordering his head, at an approximate forty-degree angle to his neck. Palms up, Madonna style. His eyes were wide open, staring at the ceiling, fixated, but seeing nothing. Lips closed. No grimace, no smile, no emotion, no humanity. Grandisha thought of a death mask.
There was a huge puddle of dried and drying blood under and around the corpse. The white shirt had puncture holes and was no longer white. The throat gash was obscene. A clown like exaggerated smile. The folds of skin around the wound puckered like a second sardonic mouth. Red specks dotted everything.
Grandisha’s attention was diverted by commotion from other areas. Uniformed and un-uniformed men were everywhere. He knew most of them. Heads were nodded back and forth between comrades. Not necessarily friends. The shock and the apparent evil still cast its pall throughout each room. Morbid banter would come soon. It was the only way to handle the shock. Except for alcohol. And drugs. And strippers. And other mind-numbers.
The coroner approached from a different part of the apartment. John Lupico. He was a studious looking man. Short, glasses, ill fitting clothes. A pained look on his face. He stopped shy of Ray Grandisha.
“There’s another one in the bedroom. It’s not pretty... A young girl.” Lupico tilted his head towards Jim Donas. “His wife. She was butchered.”
Grandisha needed human conversation before he proceeded. “Good evening to you too, John.”
Lupico let his head tilt a fraction. “Hi Ray. Fancy seeing you here.” “Good enough?”
“Yeah, I guess so. Do I have to go in the bedroom?”
Lupico, still staring at Ray, said, “What do you think?”
Grandisha replied, “Yeah, I do. How long will you be here?”
Lupico followed, “I’ll wait until you’re done looking around. We can talk briefly, if you want.”
“Thanks.”
Grandisha started towards his second body, stepping gingerly to avoid possible evidence and other investigators.
The bedroom was worse. Way worse.
Sue Donas was curled in a half fetal position on her left side. She was naked. Her tan body was drenched in blood. Gaping wounds called attention to themselves. Grandisha stood sphinx like and observed the horror. Two lower level technicians, working in the room, stopped their activity and acknowledged the lieutenant contemplating malfeasance.
Lieutenant Ray Grandisha was a tall, stooped man. Approaching fifty. He was a baby-boomer gone bad; or good; depending on one’s point of view. His entire life had been devoted to authority; first the army and then Police work. Two tours in Nam. Too many tours since then.
He became addicted to opium while in Asia. First Thai sticks, then snorting, then mainlining. No one ever discovered his addiction. He kicked it towards the end of his second in-country hitch. Cold turkey. Unfortunately or fortunately he replaced opium with Glenlivit. He was probably a highly functioning alcoholic. Had been for over twenty-five years.
The stoop was caused by a degenerative disc disease. He had surgery every eight or nine years, but the stoop always returned. The scotch helped that pain, too. Twenty years ago he started balding, slowly. His pate was down to twenty-five percent hirsute.
He was known on the streets as a fair man. Not everyone was run in. Except people involved in violent crimes. The prosecutors loved working on files he put together. Evidence was always logically developed and corroborated with believable witnesses. Rare problems that developed in cases were always inherent rather than tainted.
The woman lying at his feet had even been stabbed in the back and sides. Swellings on her face, arms and torso indicated she had also been hit, maybe punched. Many times. There was no ripped or torn clothing anywhere, so she must have been naked when the attack began. Grandisha made a mental note to check the bathroom.
Before he broke his gaze from the mutilated human, Ray felt the scent of a stale, dormant malignity. The sensation caused a fleeting flashback to the only other time he had experienced palpable evil. He had gone through My Lai, two days afterwards.
Blood was on the walls and furniture. The dressers and closets had been ransacked. Ray had a feeling that this murder was the last thing to happen. The technicians would eventually discern the series of events.
Grandisha left the broken body and found the bathroom. He entered, paused, and tried to sense the most recent occupant. The mirror had pale streaks, as if someone had wiped steam from it. He stepped to the bathtub and bent his crooked frame to inspect. Small droplets of water remained in the center of the tub. He reached and touched black hair on the top of the drain. Damp.
Ray straightened. He touched the towels on the rack. Still moist. A pink robe folded gently and perfectly on the bar evidenced a conscious decision to leave it behind. He knelt and placed his hand across the pile of the throw rug. Not wet, but not dry. Someone had stood on it recently. Grandisha grudgingly stood, remained erect and motionless for about ten seconds, and exited. He found the coroner in the front room.
John Lupico was in discussion with various men and women. They appeared to be listening. At quick intervals some would leave and new ones would arrive. People were starting to talk to each other and the noise level was increasing. The strain had evaporated and professionals were going about their business.
Lupico saw Ray, finished his instructions, and tilted his head to the open doorway. Grandisha followed. They walked outside the complex and leaned against the black iron railing framing the concrete steps. Ray lit a cigarette.
“You know those things will kill you,” Lupico lectured.
“Yeah, I do. So what?”
No response followed. Grandisha said, “How many people involved?”
“Two, three, four... They’ll analyze the blood tracks and see what they can find out. It’ll be difficult though, all of us walking around...”
Ray took a long hit on his cigarette. “The woman walked out of the bathroom naked. They were there. Like jackals on some poor lamb.”
Lupico waved his hand to ward off secondhand smoke even though the mild breeze had sent it in a different direction. “Yeah; her make-up was relatively fresh; she had worked on her hair. They were supposed to meet their in-laws for dinner. The in-laws found them and called. They’re at the hospital. They’re pretty shaken up. One of the investigators is with them. She’ll try and get a statement tonight. If not tonight, tomorrow.”
“You should have been a cop, John.”
“I am, Ray.”
Grandisha crossed his legs, putting more pressure on the railing and said, “Does your wife come out of the bathroom naked..? When you’re getting ready to go out?”
Lupico started shaking his head slowly, from side to side. “No. But she doesn’t look like her. He paused. Lost in thought for a few seconds. Viewing some old kinescope. A wry grin appearing. “I guess she used to, once in a while, when we were living together, thirty some years ago. I’d forgotten... Why?”
Ray uncrossed his legs. “I don’t know. It seems... so nice... So natural. Makes them seem like real people. Not slabs of meat.” He took another drag and then flicked the cigarette into the parking lot. Realizing his mistake, he walked to its spot, stepped on it, picked it up and put it in his jacket pocket. Grandisha returned to the railing and the coroner.
Lupico said, “So, what do you think; drug hit?” Ray shook his head. “I don’t think so. It just doesn’t feel like it. I could be wrong. We’ll find out.”
The coroner replied, “If it’s not drugs, why were they chopped up so bad?
“I don’t know. Something real fucking bad did go down though.”
They said their goodbyes to each other. John Lupico went home. He awoke his wife of thirty years, both overweight the last twenty, and they got naked together. It had been some time since they had done that. She never knew why.
Ray Grandisha went back into the apartment and took direct control of the investigation. He spent a half hour issuing orders. Satisfied that all the bases were covered, he left to find a bottle.