Chapter 28 begins with Ray and team feeling pumped. They are confident the big break is about to happen.
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.
By 8:00 A.M., the Detective Bureau was a hive of activity. The entire special team had arrived, all with the same idea. Each tiny desk was littered with white styrofoam cups, brimming with steaming black liquids and multicolored rectangular boxes of donuts.
The men and women were pumped. Ray’s belief that a break would come from the publicity was infectious. He purposely allowed them to mingle, without purpose, until the meeting. They were hyping each other. No matter what happened, today would be a good work day.
Grandisha remained seated in his office. He didn’t mix. The dark wooden desk was piled with information from the two massacres. His balding head barely hovered over the stacks. The stoop didn’t help. He looked busy, but was doing nothing. Waiting for time to pass until the meeting started.
The plan had been reviewed in his mind, over and over again. They would start from the beginning. Go over every printed word a fifth or sixth time with an eye toward young men and teens, and brace themselves for the break. The break had to come.
At approximately 8:30, Ray sauntered into the bureau, centered himself amongst Long Johns, Danishes, and Bismarks. The meeting was easy. Everyone wanted to listen, wanted to work. The constantly ringing phones didn’t disrupt. Calls were answered without an interruption of attention.
Two of the men transferred the files from Ray’s desk to Ray’s side. He passed them out to the group with specific instructions. Each team had a separate road to travel, but all roads would meet at the same place. Not a lot of questions were asked.
Every person was required to man the phones, in addition to everything else. The phones had been ringing since 7:30. Kooks, revenge seekers, little old ladies with too much time on their hands, and do gooders trying to help. Some with the right mix of suspects, setting, and description. Each member of the team was experienced enough to separate the wheat from the chaff. Grandisha wanted the wheat brought to him immediately. Even if it was the end of the day. The meeting lasted a half hour.
The call came at 9:15. A female detective sitting one desk over from Margie was the lucky one. The caller was a person with a Spanish accent. Male. Wouldn’t leave a name. Claimed to be a student at the high school. Could have been. Sounded young. But could have been older too. Knew a student by the name of Ricardo Morales. Had heard him say “Maricon” during the last couple of years, always said it in an angry way. His best friend was Richard Sparne. A white kid. They did everything together. The last couple of months they had been acting like Al Capone and John Gotti. End of conversation. Call traced to a public pay phone.
The female detective hung up the phone, stood and yelled, “I got one,” like a greedy stockbroker. She had been writing on a notepad during the conversation and waved the paper sheet in the air. The bureau quieted and watched her triumphant march to Grandisha’s office.
Chapter 28
By 8:00 A.M., the Detective Bureau was a hive of activity. The entire special team had arrived, all with the same idea. Each tiny desk was littered with white styrofoam cups, brimming with steaming black liquids and multicolored rectangular boxes of donuts.
The men and women were pumped. Ray’s belief that a break would come from the publicity was infectious. He purposely allowed them to mingle, without purpose, until the meeting. They were hyping each other. No matter what happened, today would be a good work day.
Grandisha remained seated in his office. He didn’t mix. The dark wooden desk was piled with information from the two massacres. His balding head barely hovered over the stacks. The stoop didn’t help. He looked busy, but was doing nothing. Waiting for time to pass until the meeting started.
The plan had been reviewed in his mind, over and over again. They would start from the beginning. Go over every printed word a fifth or sixth time with an eye toward young men and teens, and brace themselves for the break. The break had to come.
At approximately 8:30, Ray sauntered into the bureau, centered himself amongst Long Johns, Danishes, and Bismarks. The meeting was easy. Everyone wanted to listen, wanted to work. The constantly ringing phones didn’t disrupt. Calls were answered without an interruption of attention.
Two of the men transferred the files from Ray’s desk to Ray’s side. He passed them out to the group with specific instructions. Each team had a separate road to travel, but all roads would meet at the same place. Not a lot of questions were asked.
Every person was required to man the phones, in addition to everything else. The phones had been ringing since 7:30. Kooks, revenge seekers, little old ladies with too much time on their hands, and do gooders trying to help. Some with the right mix of suspects, setting, and description. Each member of the team was experienced enough to separate the wheat from the chaff. Grandisha wanted the wheat brought to him immediately. Even if it was the end of the day. The meeting lasted a half hour.
The call came at 9:15. A female detective sitting one desk over from Margie was the lucky one. The caller was a person with a Spanish accent. Male. Wouldn’t leave a name. Claimed to be a student at the high school. Could have been. Sounded young. But could have been older too. Knew a student by the name of Ricardo Morales. Had heard him say “Maricon” during the last couple of years, always said it in an angry way. His best friend was Richard Sparne. A white kid. They did everything together. The last couple of months they had been acting like Al Capone and John Gotti. End of conversation. Call traced to a public pay phone.
The female detective hung up the phone, stood and yelled, “I got one,” like a greedy stockbroker. She had been writing on a notepad during the conversation and waved the paper sheet in the air. The bureau quieted and watched her triumphant march to Grandisha’s office.
Through the windows of the office, the detectives watched a pantomime unfold. The messenger sat across from Ray and handed him the white note. She spoke unheard words, gesturing in rhythmic time. Grandisha studied the paper, then her, then the paper again. He appeared stern. Contemplative. Buddha-like. His lips moved. The facial expression suggested a question. The detective nodded her head yes. Emphatically. A wide, beaming smile enveloped the Lieutenant’s face. The audience cheered. Some with raised “Power to the people” fists.
Things developed rapidly. Grandisha assigned two detectives to track down all the information available from the computer room. He gave them five minutes. Another detective was placed in charge of copying all data concerning the two, for distribution to everyone. Calls were made to families advising their loved ones to eat dinner when it was ready. And not to wait up.
The computer people returned quickly with addresses, driver’s license photos, and family member information. No rap sheets on either kid. Morales showed up as having a paternity case pending. An attorney by the name of Regis Cahan was representing him.
Ray chanced a wild gamble. He loudly announced both names and addresses. Then asked, “Is anyone familiar with the Morales address?” His eyes were lasing holes in Margie Grenk.
She responded in a split second. “I’ve handled a complaint there. Wasn’t much. But I’ve been in the neighborhood.
“Is it police friendly? Will they talk to us?”
Another split second response. “I don’t think so. It’s a pretty rough neighborhood. Cops aren’t welcome.”
Ray asked the same question about the Sparnes. He looked away from Margie. A different detective said it was an older, quiet neighborhood. People would talk. Help if they could.
Grandisha pushed, “Will they let us in their house? Let us look around without warrants? Answer questions about their kid?”
The other detective nodded his head. “I think so.”
Grandisha assigned four detectives to Ricardo’s neighborhood, just to watch. He told them to be unobtrusive. Follow Morales, if he goes somewhere. He returned his attention to Margie. “You come with me. We’re going to see if the Sparne’s will let us in. I need you to turn on your famous charm.” Margie blushed.
The balance of the team was to stay in the bureau, unless desperately needed. They were to be available on a second’s notice. If not needed in the field, they were to program both names against the accumulated information and witnesses.
Margie and Ray rode together to the Sparnes. She had to ask. “I assume I gave the right answers?”
“One hundred percent correct, but we still don’t have any evidence. My gut tells me we can get it from the Sparne’s. We’ll see.”
They slowly approached the house. Margie said, “Fuck, the car is gone.” Ray pulled in the driveway and parked. He looked at Margie and said, “Showtime!”