In chapter six, Ray Grandisha dissects his approach to the crime scene. Despite the thoroughness of his approach, Grandisha noted that he would likely find nothing unless they caught a break. His interview with the Pranets, similarly, led nowhere.
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.
Lieutenant Grandisha was in charge of the murder investigation. The morning following the grisly discovery, he assembled eight men and two women. They formed the team that would sift through the commonplace bits of life from a violated apartment. Statements would be taken from people who may have seen something or may know something. Sophisticated tests would be run to see if inanimate objects had stories to tell. Freaks on the street would be questioned; the street usually knew when weird things were going down.
Fingerprints lifted from the complex would be compared to millions of others for matching ridges and swirls. All of the information would be squeezed, sifted, shaken, and inverted; hopefully an answer would pop out. In the end, it was usually a lucky break, somewhere, that would make sense out of everything.
Ray sent a male/female team back to the apartment complex to follow up with witnesses and statements. Neighbors were questioned the night of the bloodshed, but since no one admitted seeing strangers or known persons, entering or leaving the Donas flat, in-depth interrogation was continued.
A team was sent back to the apartment to re-sweep the personal belongings. Sometimes answers came from checkbooks, personal phonebooks, diaries, letters, or phone bills.
Two detectives set about checking the work associates and employment histories of Jim and Sue Donas. Two more were responsible for the financial affairs of the family and all related avenues.
The remaining staff was office bound. Their charge was to accumulate, correlate, file, run computer printouts, and do whatever else was necessary.
Ray began his first day of the investigation by interviewing the Pranets and meeting with John Lupico.
Jules and Liz Pranet, unfortunately, had no information that could justify the massacre. The Donas’ were everyday people. Average amount of vices. They drank, periodically smoked a joint, went to work every day, spent more than they should have, but nothing out of line, liked to have a good time, argued now and then, and loved each other. Lately, Sue had been talking about having children.
No girlfriends, boyfriends, bent friends, juice loan collectors, pushers, bookies, closet skeletons, extreme political, sexual, religious, or racial affiliations. No stalkers, stalkees, disagreements, bitter neighbors, ex-spouses, or unpaid parking tickets. No reasons for someone to butcher them.
Their dinner date had been set up three or four days in advance. No special occasion, they often went out together. Sue picked the restaurant. It was her favorite location.
She was notoriously late; waiting for her, for a half hour or forty-five minutes, was not uncommon. There was a rude waiter that could verify their hour-long stall. Even though the Pranets weren’t suspects, Ray would send someone out to double check.
Chapter 6
Lieutenant Grandisha was in charge of the murder investigation. The morning following the grisly discovery, he assembled eight men and two women. They formed the team that would sift through the commonplace bits of life from a violated apartment. Statements would be taken from people who may have seen something or may know something. Sophisticated tests would be run to see if inanimate objects had stories to tell. Freaks on the street would be questioned; the street usually knew when weird things were going down.
Fingerprints lifted from the complex would be compared to millions of others for matching ridges and swirls. All of the information would be squeezed, sifted, shaken, and inverted; hopefully an answer would pop out. In the end, it was usually a lucky break, somewhere, that would make sense out of everything.
Ray sent a male/female team back to the apartment complex to follow up with witnesses and statements. Neighbors were questioned the night of the bloodshed, but since no one admitted seeing strangers or known persons, entering or leaving the Donas flat, in-depth interrogation was continued.
A team was sent back to the apartment to re-sweep the personal belongings. Sometimes answers came from checkbooks, personal phonebooks, diaries, letters, or phone bills.
Two detectives set about checking the work associates and employment histories of Jim and Sue Donas. Two more were responsible for the financial affairs of the family and all related avenues.
The remaining staff was office bound. Their charge was to accumulate, correlate, file, run computer printouts, and do whatever else was necessary.
Ray began his first day of the investigation by interviewing the Pranets and meeting with John Lupico.
Jules and Liz Pranet, unfortunately, had no information that could justify the massacre. The Donas’ were everyday people. Average amount of vices. They drank, periodically smoked a joint, went to work every day, spent more than they should have, but nothing out of line, liked to have a good time, argued now and then, and loved each other. Lately, Sue had been talking about having children.
No girlfriends, boyfriends, bent friends, juice loan collectors, pushers, bookies, closet skeletons, extreme political, sexual, religious, or racial affiliations. No stalkers, stalkees, disagreements, bitter neighbors, ex-spouses, or unpaid parking tickets. No reasons for someone to butcher them.
Their dinner date had been set up three or four days in advance. No special occasion, they often went out together. Sue picked the restaurant. It was her favorite location.
She was notoriously late; waiting for her, for a half hour or forty-five minutes, was not uncommon. There was a rude waiter that could verify their hour-long stall. Even though the Pranets weren’t suspects, Ray would send someone out to double check.
The interview lasted two hours. They were nice, heartbroken people. Grandisha liked them. He gave Jules his direct line number. Told him to call if they thought of anything new or curious, or if they wanted to know how the investigation was proceeding. Ray seldom did that.
John Lupico had acquired no additional information. He would need a couple of days to complete the autopsies. The best he could do right now was that they were stabbed to death.
The forensics team that had dusted, photographed, outlined, indexed, and combed everything in the apartment, had brought boxes of information back to the station. They were in the process of finalizing their reports for filing. Ray sought out some of them to get preliminary impressions.
There were three to six people involved, probably all male. Jim Donas was killed, the apartment was ransacked, then Sue Donas was killed. No one thought Sue Donas was sexually abused, although her breasts were slashed. No drugs were found. No drug paraphernalia.
A few bits of something resembling diced oregano was found in one of the dresser drawers. Probably from a couple joints. Consensus. This wasn’t about drugs.
Ray returned to his office; to think. What the fuck? Was this a Clutter thing? Somebody thought they had a pile of money hidden? Didn’t seem to wash. No display of wealth and this wasn’t a Kansas farmhouse.
A Manson thing? No freaks running around town. Problems still existed, big problems, but the disillusionment was different back then. Didn’t feel like it.
What’s left? Something new? No. There were no new things. He wished he had a reason. A reason would make it easier. Concentration could be focused on certain avenues. Without a reason, everything had to be pursued.
Ray spent the rest of the day meeting periodically with most members of his team. He started to go through the boxes of things from the apartment. Mundane things. Nothing jumped out at him. Nothing appeared to want to tell a story.
At about six, Grandisha and the male/female team from the complex went to the “Fine Time.” They had been gone the entire shift and Ray wanted to talk to them. All agreed drinks were necessary. Nothing confidential would be said.
Joe Crownder, Margie Grenk, and the Lieutenant found a corner spot, as isolated as a bar table could be. Joe was a seventeen-year veteran of the force. A detective for the last five. He was good at talking to people. Didn’t impose and made them feel at ease.
Margie was cute. In an old-fashioned way. Shoulder length black hair. Sparkling green eyes. Full red lips. The girl next door that you thought about, at night, when you were a young boy, just beginning to have erotic thoughts about the opposite sex. She was good with people, too. Men wanted to tell her what they knew and women didn’t feel threatened.
Grenk was married and had a couple of kids. Ray didn’t remember what her husband did. For the last six months or so she had been having marital problems. The husband started drinking too much and couldn’t handle it. He had been passing out in various neighborhood bars. It never interfered with her career though. She continued to raise her family and do everything possible at work. If she were a man, she would have been a captain by now. That bothered Ray.
Carol was working the bar area and came to the table, even though it wasn’t in her station. She smiled and said, “Hi, Baby. What are your friends drinking?”
Ray responded, “Hi Carol Lombard, without the E.” He looked at Joe and Margie. Joe said, “Beer, any kind,” Margie followed, “Vodka, rocks.”
Both started to say, “Who’s Car...”
Grandisha interrupted, held his hand up and said, “Don’t ask.” Every time I explain I feel a year older.”
Each looked at him and smirked. After ten seconds or so, all three lit cigarettes and comfortably settled in their seats.
Ray started; “Did anybody see anything?”
Margie answered, “Nobody saw a thing. We talked to every resident in the Donas building and all the people in the adjoining complexes. Nothing. I even....”
Carol was back. She served the drinks. As she bent slightly forward and reached across with the beer, her breast brushed Ray’s brow. She continued on as if nothing had occurred. “I’ll check back in five or ten minutes. Enjoy!”
The “Fine Time” was beginning to fill up. Lawyers, judges, politicians, and other detectives. As the recently served trio watched Carol ebb away to other tables, Regis Cahan walked in. Ray and Regis acknowledged each other. Cahan was with his secretary and they found the last open spot in the opposite corner.
Ray’s party returned their attention to each other. Margie said, “Well I guess I’m warned. It’s kinda flattering.”
Joe and Ray stared at Margie.
“The little boob thing; I guess I shouldn’t say, little. The boob thing. That was meant for me. Just telling me, ‘Don’t get any ideas.”
Ray felt a need to respond. “Well, Carol and I are friends, in a manner of speaking.”
All three sipped their drinks through halfway leering lips. Neither Joe nor Margie commented.
Joe finally spoke up. “So, you know Cahan?”
Ray answered. “Yeah, we’ve been on opposite sides of a few cases.”
“How’d you do?” Joe asked.
“Won some, lost some.”
Joe continued, “What do you think of him?”
“Very good at what he does. Nice guy, too. We’ve shared drinks waiting for juries to come back.”
Joe followed strongly, “Doesn’t it frost your balls when these defense attorneys get some scum bag off?”
Ray threw high and inside to back him up. “No. It doesn’t. They do their job, we do ours.”
Joe didn’t stop. “Yeah but, you know when we catch whoever did this, some do-gooder out there is gonna try every fucking trick to get ‘em to walk.”
Ray made a mental note to double check Crownder’s work and to make sure someone always accompanied him. “Look, let’s catch these fucks first, then worry about those other things. Now, anything else from the complex?”
Margie had been quietly taking in the bashing. Joe’s comments surprised her. She had been with him on a number of cases and he had never vented those feelings before. He was at the crime scene, as was she. Maybe the depravity was getting to him. Grandisha’s abrupt termination of the pseudo-philosophical discussion caught her off guard, as well. She fidgeted a bit, regained her concentration, and continued her informal report. “Oh. Yeah. We had an almost.”
Margie explained, “The people that lived across the hall. I forget their names, it’s in my notes, they heard a knock at the Donas’ door. The husband was watching television, the wife was doing something, she didn’t recall what. They heard a knock; she was going to look through the peephole. As she stopped whatever she was doing, her phone rang. She answered the phone and never went to look.”
“What time?” Ray asked.
“They thought seven, eight, something like that.
“Was it loud knocking?”
Joe rejoined the conversation. “Just a regular knock. She was surprised because she didn’t hear anyone on the stairs.”
Margie added, “The lady talked on the phone for about forty minutes. It was her sister. She couldn’t get her off the line. Her husband finished watching his show and went to the bathroom, in the back bedroom.”
Margie paused for a few seconds. She had a halfway amused grin on her face. “He sat on the throne for over a half hour. Reading some book, he claimed.”
Joe jumped in, “He was probably whackin off. He looked the type.”
Ray and Margie exchanged quick eye contact. Joe didn’t notice. He thought he was impressing them.
Margie continued to finish the story and to keep Joe from saying anything else. “Neither of them heard anything until the in-laws arrived. The woman heard them on the stairs, looked through the peephole, and saw them knock.”
Grandisha moved to sum up the meeting. He had all the information he was going to milk and he was done with Crownder. “So, these people were smart enough to sneak in, stupid enough to knock, crazy enough to butcher two people, and lucky enough to pull it off.”
Joe jumped back in, ready to impress even more. “Was the poor bitch raped?”
This time Joe noticed the facial exchange between his two table mates. Ray took a deep breath, sipped on his scotch and said, “Joe, why don’t you go home and get a good night’s sleep? It’s been a long couple days.” Margie remained silent.
Crownder appeared somewhat shocked by Grandisha’s remarks. He sat quietly for a few seconds, and then knew what needed to be said. “Hey, what the fuck, guys? I was just rambling. You know what I mean.”
Grandisha wanted to end the conversation as quickly and as gently as possible. He would talk to Crownder about this a different time, alone. “Look, Joe, I get it. It’s time to go, anyway. As soon as I finish my drink, I’m leaving.”
Margie sensed what was happening and added, “I have to leave, too. I’ve got kids at home that I haven’t seen for a couple of days.” She picked up her glass, held it in front of her eyes, measured, and took a gulp.
Joe stared, looking somewhere between the other two, pursed his lips and then started to rise. “Yeah, you’re right. We all need to get some rest.” Once he was on his feet, he started to put his hand in his pocket.
Ray waved his arm in an arcing motion. “I’ve got it, Joe. You can buy next time.”
Crownder said, “Thanks. See you guys tomorrow.” He turned and left the table. Since his back was to them, neither of his two companions heard him mumble, “Fucking wimps.”
After a brief interval, Ray asked, “What’s with the macho bullshit?”
Margie shook her head and started to say, “I don’t...” She stopped and tilted her head to a spot just over Ray’s shoulder.
Carol Lombard, tray in hand, looked at the table and arched her eyelids in a questioning manner. “Either of you need another drink?”
Ray said, “Yeah, I should. “Margie shook her head and offered, “No thanks.”
Carol flashed a big smile. “Okay, baby,” and made her way to the bartender. She returned a minute later, set the drink on the table, breast bumped Ray again and left.
Margie chuckled. “I guess you don’t buy into the ‘more than a mouthful’ concept.... No future for us.”
Ray returned the chuckle. “I believe in it, it’s just that my mouth is so damn big. It’s a real curse I have to live with.” Over Margie’s laugh he continued, “You were saying?”
“Oh yeah, I don’t know what all that was about. I’ve worked with him a few times, but I’ve never heard him talk like that before.”
“How was he with the apartment people?” Ray asked.
“Perfect. Everybody talked to us like we were out of town, favorite relatives, passing through for the day. He has that effect on people when he interviews them.”
Ray responded, “Maybe it’s the strain of this thing. Whatever. Keep an eye on him, would you? I don’t want this case screwed up because of some ‘good ole boy’ shit.”
Margie nodded her head. She finished her drink. “I have to leave. I’ve got some home problems and I want to check a couple of places before I greet my family.”
Ray understood her reference about neighborhood bars and her husband. He was a bit uneasy with her sharing private confidences. He didn’t respond.
She rose, in a half-bent motion, edging her body from between the chair and the table. Gazing towards the bar area, she noticed Carol Lombard, dealing with the bartender, with her back to them. For some reason, Margie navigated her breast into the side of Ray’s head as she inched by him.
Grandisha jokingly approved, “My kinda mouthful. Maybe we do have a future.” Margie Grenk laughed all the way to her car. A welcome break between the pain of work and the pain of home.
Ray finished his drink, paid the tab, said goodnight to Carol Lombard and to Ramon, and went home.