Chapter 23 starts Margie Grenk's return to work and Grandisha's daily meeting.
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.
Margie Grenk arrived at work early. She wanted to catch up on everything that had occurred the last few days. Not much, she discovered. The other detectives treated her with deference when she first walked in. Within a half hour, she was one of the boys. Lascivious remarks and all.
The daily meeting began at 9:00am sharp. It didn’t last long. Old information was reviewed. Nothing new was added. Grandisha didn’t share the Morales file. He needed an explanation of where the information came from.
One of the detectives was assigned to find a Spanish speaking officer and to run “Many cones” by him. See if maybe it was a foreign phrase. Someone from the audience quipped, “We’re reaching now aren’t we, Lieutenant.”
The session ended. Ray returned to his office. Margie followed. He thought she looked good. Light weight, soft red, pull over sweater. Shiny, creased jeans. Tan cowboy boots.
He eyed her suspiciously, then asked, “Are you sure you’re okay? You know you don’t have to be here. You can have more time.”
“I need to be here. If I wasn’t here, I’d be sitting home, staring at walls. This is a piece of cake compared to that.”
Grandisha made a snap judgment. He rose, closed the office door, returned to his seat and stared at Margie. “I have a lead. It may or may not pan out, but it’s all we have so far. I haven’t told anyone about it. I was gonna work it myself, but I could use your help. It has to be completely confidential, and no questions are asked.”
Margie returned his stare. “You know how much I respect you. I’d lie under oath for you. Tell me what you want done, and it goes no further. No questions asked.”
The Lieutenant gave her the name and address. “He’s a high school student, probably at school right now. I don’t know what he looks like. I need to have him followed after class. I want to know the names and addresses of everyone he hangs with and where he goes. He lives in a cul-de-sac. If he goes home, don’t follow him in. And don’t approach him. He may be very dangerous. Plus, I don’t want anyone to know we're interested.”
The quick flicker of her green eyes betrayed her. She was dying to ask. Grandisha said, “Go ahead, one question.”
“Ricardo Morales. Does that have anything to do with the Spanish speaking officer?”
“I think it might. We’ll find out.”
Chapter 23
Margie Grenk arrived at work early. She wanted to catch up on everything that had occurred the last few days. Not much, she discovered. The other detectives treated her with deference when she first walked in. Within a half hour, she was one of the boys. Lascivious remarks and all.
The daily meeting began at 9:00am sharp. It didn’t last long. Old information was reviewed. Nothing new was added. Grandisha didn’t share the Morales file. He needed an explanation of where the information came from.
One of the detectives was assigned to find a Spanish speaking officer and to run “Many cones” by him. See if maybe it was a foreign phrase. Someone from the audience quipped, “We’re reaching now aren’t we, Lieutenant.”
The session ended. Ray returned to his office. Margie followed. He thought she looked good. Light weight, soft red, pull over sweater. Shiny, creased jeans. Tan cowboy boots.
He eyed her suspiciously, then asked, “Are you sure you’re okay? You know you don’t have to be here. You can have more time.”
“I need to be here. If I wasn’t here, I’d be sitting home, staring at walls. This is a piece of cake compared to that.”
Grandisha made a snap judgment. He rose, closed the office door, returned to his seat and stared at Margie. “I have a lead. It may or may not pan out, but it’s all we have so far. I haven’t told anyone about it. I was gonna work it myself, but I could use your help. It has to be completely confidential, and no questions are asked.”
Margie returned his stare. “You know how much I respect you. I’d lie under oath for you. Tell me what you want done, and it goes no further. No questions asked.”
The Lieutenant gave her the name and address. “He’s a high school student, probably at school right now. I don’t know what he looks like. I need to have him followed after class. I want to know the names and addresses of everyone he hangs with and where he goes. He lives in a cul-de-sac. If he goes home, don’t follow him in. And don’t approach him. He may be very dangerous. Plus, I don’t want anyone to know we're interested.”
The quick flicker of her green eyes betrayed her. She was dying to ask. Grandisha said, “Go ahead, one question.”
“Ricardo Morales. Does that have anything to do with the Spanish speaking officer?”
“I think it might. We’ll find out.”
Margie said, “Okay boss. I’m on it. I’ll call in periodically.” She stood. Flashed him a “Thank you for trusting me” smile and left. She immediately drove to Ricardo’s dead end, to familiarize herself with it. By the time she reached the high school, a plan had materialized.
Sergeant Jose Vasques knocked on Grandisha’s outer door. He had worked vice for many years, and was now the Police Department’s “Officer Friendly.” Ray and Jose had seen each other in passing, but had never really spoken. Ray came from behind his desk and shook hands with the man. Both sat. The Sergeant said, “You need something translated?”
Ray smiled and said, “Yeah, in a manner of speaking. Have you followed the news accounts on ‘Zola’s?”
“Yeah. I have. Just what’s in the papers.”
“Well, that’s everything. You know we have a witness, a Pisser who heard somebody yell ‘Many cones’ or something like that.”
Jose nodded his head. “Yeah, I read that.”
“It dawned on me that maybe the Pisser heard a foreign word he thought was English. Is there anything in Spanish, probably slang or foul, that sounds like ‘Mary can’ or ‘Many cones’ and would be associated with violence?”
Vasques smiled, then said, “Maricon.”
“What does it mean?”
“The literal translation is ‘queer’ or ‘queen.’ It’s picked up all kinds of meanings, though, more like calling someone a ‘mother fucker’ or something like that. You’d hear it right before an all out brawl.”
“Any other time you’d hear it?” Grandisha asked.
“Yeah. I was in vice.... you’d hear it screamed from dark alleys when someone was getting a blowjob from a prostitute.”
Ray rocked back in his chair. His lips quietly whispered, “Mother fucker...”
Margie parked in the school parking lot and went to the office. A very old lady and a very young girl were on duty. Margie approached the young girl and flipped her badge quickly. “My name is Officer Grenk. Would it be possible for me to check around the school for ‘No Smoking’ signs? Nothing major. I won’t bother anyone or go in any classrooms. My boss is on a crusade.”
The young girl formed an “Are you for real” sneer and said, “Sure, if you want.” She slid a red hall pass over to Margie’s hand. Margie took it and walked out. No record was made of her being there. She was counting on that.
Margie found the library. She entered and flashed the hall pass to a student monitor. The young boy glimpsed at the red card and returned to his homework. No one else was present.
She walked to the stacks and fingered various books, as a browser might. A third of the way around the bookcases, she found the shelves with the most recent year books and pulled the last one. Ricardo’s junior year.
The annual contained two pictures of her prey. A group photo that didn’t help. A single, miscellaneous head shot that was pure gold. Margie studied the details. Referred back to the group photo for some idea of size. She refiled the book, left the library and started walking the halls, red card obvious.
During a class change, she spotted him. He was with a tall, rangy kid. They both strutted obnoxiously and forced serious expressions. Other students ignored them. Two or three younger boys walked a few paces behind and may have been with them. They entered the cafeteria.
Margie left, red card in hand, and had lunch, more to kill time than because she was hungry. She reported in to Grandisha. At the end of the school day, as the two important boys were walking out, the Kid said, “Did you call the lawyer’s office?”
Ricardo answered, “Yeah. The bitch answered. I hung up as soon as I heard her voice. I can’t wait to do her tonight.”
“Are you sure they close at 5:00?”
“Yeah. That’s what she always said.”
Sparne detailed the plan. “We’ve got a couple hours. I’ll take you home, and then pick you up at 4:15. Then it’s payback time.”
Richard drove his father’s vehicle out of the parking lot and headed for Ricardo’s neighborhood. He didn’t notice the watchful widow three vehicles back. Margie stopped short of the entrance to the cul-de-sac. She had a decision to make. She opted to follow the tall, rangy kid.
As he came out of the dead end, alone, she fell in two cars back. Margie was in her personal car, and had no means of mobile communication with Ray. Fuck. Bad move. She did have a cellular phone, but it was sitting on the kitchen counter.
Margie was able to maintain the two car distance all the way to the next stop. She parked a half block away from Sparne’s vehicle, at an angle, and watched him approach the side door to a residence. It looked like an attached office. He rang the bell and knocked.
Richard had decided to check with Mr. Moffit, to see if their message had been acknowledged, and if he would be able to assume his rightful position soon. He and Ricardo had stopped the night before and Mr. Moffit had said one or two more days, if everything went as expected.
While the boys were present, Moffit had slowly opened one of his desk drawers and pulled another index card. On it he wrote, “This man speaks for me,” and slid it across the worn oak desk. Sparne grabbed it, read, and beamed like a first time parent. He showed Morales. It was finally about to happen. The fact the card was unsigned didn’t register. The Kid slid the commendation in his back pocket. The ride home was filled with talk of achievement.
No one was answering the door. Mr. Moffit must have been involved in some high level meetings.
Albert Moffit was in the middle of a highly technical revelation. The preacher was speaking in tongues so rapidly, Albert was having a difficult time keeping up with the translation. But he was succeeding. The television audience was clapping and hooting, a sure sign to Moffit that they had no idea what the oracle was saying. The side door bell rang. Someone knocked heavily. Albert looked to his wife. She was in the same spot on the divan. She made no move to answer the door for him. He couldn’t leave. What was being said was too important. Then the knocking stopped and Albert forgot about it.
When the tall, rangy kid got back in his car and left, Margie had to scramble to get the address of the house he had visited. The Kid was parked on the side street, but the front porch carried the numbers. As the Kid drove away, Margie raced to a spot in front of the house and copied down the numbers and street name. She backed up into the side street and tore off after her subject. After a block she had him in sight. Luck was on her side. She reestablished the two car interval and followed him to another residence. This time he parked on the driveway and walked in.
Richard’s mother hugged him as he came through the kitchen. He didn’t respond. It hurt, but mothers learn to live with pain. Sparne went to his room, thought about calling Mr. Moffit, and realized he didn’t have his phone number. He looked banefully at his surroundings. One or two more days and he was gone.
He’d get a nice apartment, downtown, so he’d be close to everything. Part of the job for the hookers would be to take care of his place, and him. Maybe he’d make a rule that two of them always had to be at his place. They could work out the rotation, like shift work. Of course, they couldn’t wear clothes when they were in his pad.
Margie had another decision to make. She copied down the address for what was probably the tall, rangy kid’s house. She searched the immediate streets, but could find no public telephones. It was 3:45. Where would the kid go at 3:45? She had to report to Ray. Get him these last two addresses. Luck was on her side, right? She’d go find a phone, report in and be back in five minutes, ten max.
She found a phone seven blocks away, in a gas station. Ray was on another line, she had to wait three minutes before he finished. She gave him the addresses, described the houses and her short odyssey. He told her to stick with it, and call in every chance she got. She tore back to the residence.
Richard stayed in his room for two or three minutes, then strutted to the old kitchen. Delores was at the stove preparing some lovely smelling creation. When she heard her son come in, she opened a wood grained cupboard door and removed a flowered, almost antique, white dish. She set it on the table and said, “Your dinner will be ready in a minute, Richard honey.”
Sparne didn’t say a word. As Delores was returning to the range, she spotted the index cards by the coffee pot. She picked them up, and turned to ask Richard about them. He was gone from the kitchen. Then the back door slammed shut. Delores returned the cards to their perch and quietly sat at the kitchen table. She let dinner burn.
The goddamn car was gone. Fuck. I was only gone fifteen minutes. Where the hell would a high school kid go at 3:45? Alright, I’ve got two choices. He either went back to Ricardo’s or to that other house. Two high school kids don’t get together at 4:00 or 4:15; it’s too early to do anything. I’ll bet he went back to that other place. It’s the only logical choice.
Margie tore back to Moffit’s. No goddamn car. Alright, he’s at Ricardo’s. They’re probably playing video games or whatever the hell high school kids play these days.
She made it back to Ricardo’s in twenty minutes, and was thankful no cops were around. Time to enter the cul-de-sac. Goddamn, no car. People starting to gather, for what looked like a block party, but no car. Nice going, Sherlock.
Margie found another public phone and reported the bad news to Ray. He told her to come back.