Chapter 16 starts with a 911 call routed to Ray Grandisha.
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.
Grandisha had put in a full day and night. His gnarled knuckles were still sore from hitting Crownder. The violent streak he had worked so hard to control had reminded him that it still lurked somewhere in the recesses. Deep down like a painful childhood memory, but always there.
He was no closer to figuring out who did what and why to the Donas’s, and that made his whole body sore. Ray had cleared the top of his desk and was getting ready to leave when the call came in through his direct office line. The 911 operator was smart enough to recognize the similarity, and routed the call directly to him. The news stunned him. It shouldn’t have. He knew something was going to happen again. Just not when. Just not this quickly.
Ray called everyone involved in the Donas investigation and arranged for them to meet at the scene. Except Margie Grenk. She needed to get laid. And except for Crownder. He was out. Four bodies this time. Fuck.
Driving down the boulevard, he picked up the strobe effect of the Mars lights about six blocks from the scene. Twentieth century’s Delphi. The oracle of sadness.
As he neared the location, a bar called Zola’s, the squad cars came into view. Two black and whites. Both parked on the avenue in front of the establishment. Ray slowed and stopped as he reached the tavern. Then jerked his vehicle up and over the curb, blocking the sidewalk, front fender facing a sterile parking lot. Two cars were still on the grounds, angled against the building.
Four uniformed officers were guarding the two entrances. They had checked for signs of life inside. Found none. They were trained to avoid the possibility of tainting evidence and followed their instructions perfectly. Higher ups and professionals would do the sifting and marking.
Ray noticed a man, looking to be in his late forties, sitting in a police car, directly across from the bar’s front entrance. Must be the phone call. Grandisha questioned a uniformed policeman near the front door and verified the man’s identity. Then briefly heard the quick, sad story, from the same officer.
The Lieutenant entered the vehicle. “Sir, my name is Ray Grandisha. I’m a detective and I will be investigating this case. I want to talk to you, but I have to go in the bar first. I have to see it for myself, then ask you some questions. Are you okay sitting here?”
Donald replied, “I won’t go back in there.”
Grandisha turned in the seat. “You don’t have to go back in.” Even though no response was forthcoming, Grandisha knew the man understood. He exited the vehicle.
Grandisha spoke to one of the uniformed officers again. He wanted a mental picture of where everything was, before he entered the building. Apprised of body location, he decided to go in the side door. The parking lot was unpaved and rutted with desert hued, hard, small mounds. As he carefully took his first step, he heard other vehicles arriving.
Chapter 16
Grandisha had put in a full day and night. His gnarled knuckles were still sore from hitting Crownder. The violent streak he had worked so hard to control had reminded him that it still lurked somewhere in the recesses. Deep down like a painful childhood memory, but always there.
He was no closer to figuring out who did what and why to the Donas’s, and that made his whole body sore. Ray had cleared the top of his desk and was getting ready to leave when the call came in through his direct office line. The 911 operator was smart enough to recognize the similarity, and routed the call directly to him. The news stunned him. It shouldn’t have. He knew something was going to happen again. Just not when. Just not this quickly.
Ray called everyone involved in the Donas investigation and arranged for them to meet at the scene. Except Margie Grenk. She needed to get laid. And except for Crownder. He was out. Four bodies this time. Fuck.
Driving down the boulevard, he picked up the strobe effect of the Mars lights about six blocks from the scene. Twentieth century’s Delphi. The oracle of sadness.
As he neared the location, a bar called Zola’s, the squad cars came into view. Two black and whites. Both parked on the avenue in front of the establishment. Ray slowed and stopped as he reached the tavern. Then jerked his vehicle up and over the curb, blocking the sidewalk, front fender facing a sterile parking lot. Two cars were still on the grounds, angled against the building.
Four uniformed officers were guarding the two entrances. They had checked for signs of life inside. Found none. They were trained to avoid the possibility of tainting evidence and followed their instructions perfectly. Higher ups and professionals would do the sifting and marking.
Ray noticed a man, looking to be in his late forties, sitting in a police car, directly across from the bar’s front entrance. Must be the phone call. Grandisha questioned a uniformed policeman near the front door and verified the man’s identity. Then briefly heard the quick, sad story, from the same officer.
The Lieutenant entered the vehicle. “Sir, my name is Ray Grandisha. I’m a detective and I will be investigating this case. I want to talk to you, but I have to go in the bar first. I have to see it for myself, then ask you some questions. Are you okay sitting here?”
Donald replied, “I won’t go back in there.”
Grandisha turned in the seat. “You don’t have to go back in.” Even though no response was forthcoming, Grandisha knew the man understood. He exited the vehicle.
Grandisha spoke to one of the uniformed officers again. He wanted a mental picture of where everything was, before he entered the building. Apprised of body location, he decided to go in the side door. The parking lot was unpaved and rutted with desert hued, hard, small mounds. As he carefully took his first step, he heard other vehicles arriving.
Ray stepped back to the sidewalk, waited until everyone was assembled, then gave instructions to the incoming team members. He wished Margie was present to talk to the guy in the squad car. As the instructed detectives were fanning out, John Lupico arrived .
Grandisha, still on the sidewalk, waited for him. John approached and said, “Whadda we got?”
Ray replied with the usual, “Good evening to you too, John.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Good evening. Whadda we got?”
Ray smiled for a second. “Four bodies. Shotgunned.”
“What the fuck’s goin on? Is this part of the other one?”
Ray confirmed, “I think so. It sounds like an execution. Like the other one.”
Lupico tilted his tired head. ”Have you been in there yet?”
Ray said, “No.”
The coroner started to turn, “Well, let’s go.”
As Lupico was approaching the front door, Ray said, “I’m going in the side.”
John followed Ray through the shadowed lot. The umbra from the structure across from “Zola’s” bisected the posted parking notice. The two men stepped gingerly, conscious of tire tracks, but the hard ground held no secrets.
Grandisha entered first and stopped suddenly, blocking Lupico. Two spent green shell sleeves were to his right, about three feet away. A third casing, farther towards the opposite wall, still on his right. The body of a torn man, on his back, directly in front of Ray, stomach and chest gaping. Behind the man a frail woman, crumpled near the base of the payphone.
Ray approached the bar, stepping around body parts and blood smears, John in tow. Work was beginning in earnest. Men and women moved slowly through the area, dodging flashbulbs and flotsam.
Lupico stopped, bent over the prone man, and began his grisly task. Grandisha slowed and eyed the empty cocktail glass. It still contained a thin film of clear moisture. Next to it lay five red swizzle sticks, abutting each other, like miniature pick-up sticks. He turned to locate the bathroom; satisfied, he stepped to the middle of the bar.
Twin corpses blocked his access to the double mounds of broken mugs. Ray maneuvered to a side view of the bar top. Not too far from the slumped bodies, two more spent, green shell sleeves. Two more a couple feet away, closer to the front entrance.
Grandisha turned to the end of the bar shaded by the window. A full Bud bottle reflected the pastel glow of the neon sign.
He walked the length of the bar back to Lupico; John was still tending to the dead. “I’m gonna go talk to our witness,” Ray said.
John looked up. “We got a witness?”
Ray shook his head and said, “He didn’t see anything, he was in the bathroom, but he heard everything.”
Lupico straightened and stood slowly, like an achy old man. Tired joints issued protests that only the two of them could hear. John asked, “So what happened, Sherlock?”
Ray looked around the bar again. “At least two guys came in, one through each door, shotguns blazing.” He pointed to the man facing up to them, from the floor. “I think he was leaving, surprised the guy that came in the side door.”
Grandisha turned towards the payphone. “She tried to run. Probably to the kitchen. Whoever came in the side door blew her away.” Turning again, he pointed, “The front door guy blew these two away.”
Lupico shook his head and returned to his work. Ray spoke to a few of the investigators, walked to the picture window, gazed out, then exited the front door. He told one of the uniformed men guarding the outside to go and get two cups of hot coffee from somewhere.
Donald Recker was in the backseat of the Police vehicle. Same position as before. He hadn’t moved a muscle. Ray got into the back seat, next to the man. “I understand you were in the bar when it happened. Why don’t you tell me about it?”
Recker spoke without facing Grandisha. “I was drinking a beer. I went to the bathroom. I was in the bathroom when it happened. That’s all I know. I didn’t see anything.”
“How many people were in the bar?” Ray asked.
“Two guys in the middle. A guy on the end. That was it.”
Ray responded, “How about a bartender?”
“Yeah. There was an older woman tending bar. She was short. Small.”
“What did you hear when you were in the bathroom?”
Recker made a grunting noise, then said, “Shotguns. A bunch of them. I knew what it was right away.”
Grandisha knew he was getting nowhere with Recker. The man was probably suffering from some form of traumatic shock. His mind was closing. Shutting out everything he experienced. Ray had to relax him. The questions shifted to personal areas: home, job.
Donald talked for ten minutes about his family. The patrolman returned with hot coffee. Both drank it black. Recker slumped back against the seat, said he could use a drink. Ray shifted back to the bathroom.
“Now, Donald, please tell me again. You’re standing in the bathroom. What happened?
Donald turned to Ray and said, “OK. I pissed. Ran water over my hands and dried them. That machine with the circulating white cloth. It was filthy. I was looking in the mirror, getting ready to come out and I heard one blast and then another, real quick. Then it was real quiet, it seemed like a long time, then it started again.”
Recker stopped talking and put a hand to his mouth. Dredging something up. Ray didn’t break his concentration. Finally Recker continued, “No.... It was quiet, but somebody yelled something, before the shotguns started again.”
Ray probed, “What do you mean, somebody yelled something? Somebody screamed?”
“No. It wasn’t a scream.... It was like... like a war cry.”
Grandisha’s voice raised an octave. “A war cry?”
“Yeah. You know. Like in the movies when a bunch of guys are attacking something. Somebody always yells something. ‘Viva’ something, ‘Remember the Alamo”
“Do you remember what was yelled?”
Recker shook his head. “It didn’t make sense. Something like ‘Mary cone’... ‘Many cones.’ Something like that.”
Grandisha had been highlighting their discussion on a small pad. He underlined the words and looked back at Recker. “Anybody say anything else?”
“No. Then they shot; four, five, six times. It came real quick.”
Grandisha shared, “There was a total of seven shell casings. Five more times?”
“Yeah. Easy. Five sounds right.
“Then what?” Ray prodded.
“Then it was quiet again.... Then I heard people talking. I couldn’t make out any words. Just like when you hear people talking in another room, but can’t make out words. Like that. Then the door closed. Then I sat in the bathroom like a baby. Afraid to come out.”
Ray rested his pen on his lap, clenched his fist and tapped Recker’s knee a couple of times. “Donald, my friend, I would have done the same thing.”
“Thanks.... I finally came out, straddled the woman to use the pay phone and went outside.”
“We know what time you called 911. Any idea what time the shooting started?”
Recker was shaking his head again. “Had to be within fifteen or twenty minutes before I... Wait a minute... As I was walking by the guy on the end of the bar, I looked at the wall clock. It was 10:35.”
“Are you sure it was 10:35?”
“Yeah. The bartender was standing by the guy and I heard her say something like, ‘Aren’t you leaving at five?’ I thought it was strange, because it was way after five, so I looked back at the clock.”
“That’s strange. I wonder what she meant?”
“I don’t know.”
Grandisha spent another ten minutes with Recker, getting other information. Donald wasn’t a regular and didn’t know anyone in the bar. Ray told him a detective would contact him, have him come to the station for an extended, typed statement. He again wished Margie Grenk was there to do it right now, but she needed to get laid.
They shook hands and as Ray was exiting the vehicle, a morbid thought clicked. He suppressed the thought and instructed a plain clothes officer to provide a ride home for Recker and explain to him about keeping his car in the lot until tomorrow.
Ray went back in. He made his way to the cocktail glass again. Fuck. The guy was keeping count of his drinks with the swizzle sticks. The rest of the set ups were clean. The bartender wouldn’t have left the straws unless she knew that.
Lupico was hovering over the two men near the middle of the bar. Ray approached him. “Have the bodies been I.D.’ed yet?”
“No, not yet. We need to finish some more things before we move them.” John answered.
“Can we check the guy on his back, by the side door? I need to know who he is.”
“Let me make sure everyone is done with him.”
Lupico checked with a couple of his people, then met Ray near the body. They shifted the man and John removed his wallet from the back pocket. He opened it to the driver’s license and passed it to Ray. Grandisha read the name, “Jason Grenk.”