Chapter 12: A Conundrum

Chapter 12  starts with Ray Grandisha and Ramon discussing the relative value of the prevent defense.

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.    

As Albert Moffit was receiving his latest revelation, Grandisha and Ramon were chatting at the bar. Ray had been in the “Fine Time” for close to three hours. He was working on his fifth drink. After the third serving, Ramon started cutting back the Glenlivet ratio. It was going to be a long night. They were discussing everything imaginable, except crimes and criminals. Ramon mostly listened.  

Grandisha had started the day early. He had planned to review each piece of evidence and information. For the umpteenth time. Half way through, he realized everything was already committed to memory. He was wasting his time on a rote exercise.  

Something was there, some clue or hint, it just had to be discovered and cultivated. Ray closed the Donas file and spent the balance of his working day trying to answer the question he knew was important. Why would strangers intentionally butcher two people, and then search their home?  The only answer he could come up with was that someone sent them. But that led to another question. Wouldn’t that someone tell the strangers two people lived in the residence? The conundrums had sapped Ray’s reasoning and investigative powers. He hoped the scotch and idle banter would cleanse the slate and give him a new perspective. At least there were no new massacres. Yet. He doubted this was a one time slaughter. 

Margie had arrived at work sans police uniform. Instead, old jeans, off white, medium weight sweater, and worn, navy blue, wool sports coat. When Ray shot her a questioning look, she said she would tell him later. He wasn’t worried; her spirits seemed high.

Grandisha sent Margie and Joe Crownder back to the apartment complex. One more time. Talk to people again. Go door to door. Find residents that hadn’t been interviewed before. Maybe concentrate on other buildings in the complex.  

The two detectives spent the entire day chasing shadows. As they were preparing to leave, empty handed, they came upon two middle aged tramps, dressed and reeking accordingly, trying to peer in the Donas picture window. Margie wanted to send them on their way. Joe, treating them like Leopold and Loeb, insisted on bringing them in for questioning. He arrogantly reminded Margie about criminals returning to the scene of the crime. She relented, to prevent a scene at the scene of the crime.  

Late in the afternoon, Grenk and Crownder arrived back at the office, Bonnie and Clyde in tow, just as Ray was preparing to leave. He stayed for an extra hour. Margie’s spirits had fallen, noticeably. She explained her position to Ray, Joe his. Although he silently agreed with Margie’s objection to hassling the two, he told them to question the bums, run prints, and if nothing developed, no warrants or prior related convictions showed up, to release them. Crownder sneered smugly.  

Transcript

Chapter 12

As Albert Moffit was receiving his latest revelation, Grandisha and Ramon were chatting at the bar. Ray had been in the “Fine Time” for close to three hours. He was working on his fifth drink. After the third serving, Ramon started cutting back the Glenlivet ratio. It was going to be a long night. They were discussing everything imaginable, except crimes and criminals. Ramon mostly listened.  

Grandisha had started the day early. He had planned to review each piece of evidence and information. For the umpteenth time. Half way through, he realized everything was already committed to memory. He was wasting his time on a rote exercise.  

Something was there, some clue or hint, it just had to be discovered and cultivated. Ray closed the Donas file and spent the balance of his working day trying to answer the question he knew was important. Why would strangers intentionally butcher two people, and then search their home?  The only answer he could come up with was that someone sent them. But that led to another question. Wouldn’t that someone tell the strangers two people lived in the residence? The conundrums had sapped Ray’s reasoning and investigative powers. He hoped the scotch and idle banter would cleanse the slate and give him a new perspective. At least there were no new massacres. Yet. He doubted this was a one time slaughter. 

Margie had arrived at work sans police uniform. Instead, old jeans, off white, medium weight sweater, and worn, navy blue, wool sports coat. When Ray shot her a questioning look, she said she would tell him later. He wasn’t worried; her spirits seemed high.

Grandisha sent Margie and Joe Crownder back to the apartment complex. One more time. Talk to people again. Go door to door. Find residents that hadn’t been interviewed before. Maybe concentrate on other buildings in the complex.  

The two detectives spent the entire day chasing shadows. As they were preparing to leave, empty handed, they came upon two middle aged tramps, dressed and reeking accordingly, trying to peer in the Donas picture window. Margie wanted to send them on their way. Joe, treating them like Leopold and Loeb, insisted on bringing them in for questioning. He arrogantly reminded Margie about criminals returning to the scene of the crime. She relented, to prevent a scene at the scene of the crime.  

Late in the afternoon, Grenk and Crownder arrived back at the office, Bonnie and Clyde in tow, just as Ray was preparing to leave. He stayed for an extra hour. Margie’s spirits had fallen, noticeably. She explained her position to Ray, Joe his. Although he silently agreed with Margie’s objection to hassling the two, he told them to question the bums, run prints, and if nothing developed, no warrants or prior related convictions showed up, to release them. Crownder sneered smugly.  

As Ray was finally leaving, he passed by Margie’s desk. She was alone. Joe was off giving the necessary information to the computer people. Grandisha placed his hand on her shoulder and quickly told her he would be at the “Fine Time.” Late. She slowly reached up, ran her fingertips across the top of his hand and nodded.  

Carol Lombard had gone home immediately after her ten to seven shift. Not really immediately. She had one drink with Ray and Ramon. But then, immediately. Her daughter was sick. She had no second thoughts about leaving. Ray understood. He did his goodbye shtick, she pressed her full bosom against his chest, kissed him, and left.  

Ray and Ramon were finishing their twelfth topic. Or their twentieth. No one was counting. The current issue was the relative value of the prevent defense. Both agreed it prevented nothing and should be scrapped. Like the drop kick or the Statue of Liberty play.  

During a lull, prior to the next topic magically presenting itself, Grandisha noticed his therapy partner staring towards the entrance. Ray was in the process of draining his glass and by the time he turned to look, Margie was standing behind him. The corner of her lip was split, and new blood had trickled to replace previously cleansed clots.  

Grandisha blurted out, “What the fuck?” Margie sadly said, “Joe boasted he was going to get a confession from our hobos... He went a little too far.”  

“Crownder did this to you?” Grandisha demanded.  

Margie moved her head up and down, in embarrassment and pain.  

Ray took hold of Margie’s hand. He half turned to Ramon, and said, “Give me a clean washrag and bar towel? Put some ice in the towel.”  

Ramon bent to his side, prepared the nostrum and handed it to the Lieutenant. Expression unchanged. He could have been serving a drink.  

Grandisha rose from his bar stool, drink and towel in hand. “We’ll be in the men’s room. If anybody complains, tell ‘em to piss outside.”  

Ramon gestured assent. Then wiped the bar top.  

The Lieutenant, still holding Margie’s hand, led her out of the bar area, through the foyer and into the men’s bathroom. He neglected to check for patrons. Luckily, no one greeted them.  

The lavatory was typical for restaurants. Two urinals, each with its own big white pill. Four tan, abutting stalls, each with housed double rolls, and since it was an upscale place, doors that locked. Long, white speckled, formica counter, across from and running the length of the stalls. Two sinks, centered equidistantly in the counter. All protected by a wall mirror, spanning the formica top and reflecting everything, including stained, fake marble floor tiles. It always smelled clean.  

Ray placed his drink, washrag, and iced towel on the corner of the counter. He coaxed Margie a few steps closer, grabbed her just above the hips, and hoisted her to a sitting position, between the two sinks. With his hands still touching her, he said, “Don’t move.”  

Grandisha left the washroom, snagged a stray, black table chair from the foyer, returned, and jammed the door from the inside.  

Satisfied they wouldn’t be disturbed, Ray approached his patient and centered himself between her angled, jeaned legs. He lightly touched her chin with his thumb and forefinger, turned her head to better view the outer lip, and said, “Let’s take care of this first.” Grandisha reached for his drink, dabbed the rag into the scotch, and applied it to the gash. He repeated the process three or four times. Margie winced, but didn’t say anything. 

The sterilization procedure complete, he ran the washrag under cold water, then wiped the wound again. He retrieved the iced towel, put it against the injury site, and told her to hold it. Ray then rested both of his hands on her kneecaps, and staring directly into her clouded eyes, said, “Tell me what happened.”  

Margie exhaled slowly and adjusted the towel so she could speak. “We had been questioning one of the guys for about an hour. There was nothing there, but Joe kept pushing. He was really into the bad cop role.” Margie jerked painfully, readjusted the towel and continued. “I decided to go check the computer, to see if there was anything on them. The records guy said they were clean, a couple panhandling complaints but nothing violent. On my way back to the room, I decided to tell Joe we had to let them go.”  

The towel slipped down from Margie’s mouth. Ray moved her hand away from her lip, wiped the area again with the cold rag, and returned the compress to her face. He smiled and said, “Go ahead.”  

“I walked into the room. Joe had forced the guy to sit on the floor, against the wall. He had his gun in the guy’s mouth, threatening him. I didn’t catch everything he was saying, something about knowing the guy did it, and promising to blow him away unless he admitted it...” Margie paused again. Ray let her collect her thoughts, without interruption.  

“I yelled, ‘Joe...’ And went to grab him. When I was just about next to him, he backhanded me. I got hit in the corner of my mouth. I spun around, fell into the corner of a table, against my shoulder.”  

Ray lifted the lapel of her sports coat. An ugly red stain blotched a jagged tear in her off white sweater. “You had the jacket off?” Grandisha asked. She said, ‘Yes.” He continued, “Has anyone looked at it?” She said, “No.”  

The bathroom door rocked against the crooked chair. Twice.  Followed by some banging. Ray glared towards the door and  yelled, “Go away.” Whomever was there, left.  

Grandisha returned his attention to Margie. He removed the towel from her hand and started to slip off her sports coat. She helped. Once off, it was laid on the corner of the counter, near his scotch. He started to tug up her sweater, from the waist. She hesitated. “It’s okay,” he said, “I won’t leer.” Margie finally chuckled.  

Ray gently pulled the sweater up and off her arms, then laid it on the coat. It hurt her to move her shoulder. She gritted her teeth, but didn’t say anything. Margie started to maneuver her arms to somehow cover the bra, felt silly about it, and rested her hands on the formica counter. “You’ll have to bear with me. It’s been eight or nine months since I’ve sat half naked, with a man between my legs.”  

A smile crossed Ray’s face. He reached up, put his hand behind her neck, and kindly touched her forehead to his. After a few seconds, he straightened. “Don’t think of me as a man between your legs. Think of me as your doctor... or nurse.”  

“Yeah, right,” she laughed. The scotch/cold water/iced towel treatment was repeated on the bloody gash just below her clavicle; the procedure took fifteen minutes. One additional door banging. Four frozen boob jokes. Two by her, two by him.  

When the shoulder injury stopped bleeding and was clean, Ray helped her don the sweater and jacket. She remained sitting on the counter. Grandisha picked up his drink glass, eyed it, and said, “I hope you don’t have any other injuries, I’m out of scotch.” Margie smiled and asked, “How do I get down?”  

Ray, still between her legs, returned his hands to just above her hips, backed up a step or two, and said, “Ready?” and helped her off. When Margie’s feet hit the stained tile, she put her arms around Grandisha’s neck and pulled tight. She eased the hold, tilted her head against his neck and said,  “Thanks. That’s the first time in a long while anyone has taken care of me... It felt good... I think I’ll cut my inner thigh tomorrow.” Ray hugged her, laughed and said, “Doctor Grandisha’s available, just call.”  

They broke the embrace, and looked at themselves in the mirror.  Each made corrections to their coiffures. Ray had nothing to  correct, but went through the motions, anyway. Both then dusted  imaginary bits from their attire. Grandisha said, “I need another drink. Feel like one?”  

“I think I deserve one. Yes, I’d like a drink.” 

“Do you feel okay? Do you need to go to the emergency room?”  

“No. I’m a little sore, but all in all I feel okay. Do you think I need stitches or butterflies or anything?”  

“I don’t think so, they’ve stopped bleeding.”  

“Okay. Then what I definitely need is a drink.”  

As Ray was dislodging the chair from the door, Margie looked  around one last time. “So this is the men’s bathroom?” 

Walking in the bar, Ray got Ramon’s attention and pointed to one of the tables against the back wall. Ramon acknowledged him. The two police officers sat at a back corner table. Grenk’s mind registered the appearance of a unique relationship between Ray and Ramon, then buried it prior to its emergence as a conscious thought. A waitress brought Ray a new Glenlivet, paused, took Margie’s order, and immediately returned with it. A number of patrons rose to use the bathroom facilities.  

They each took a sip and Margie said, “What happens now?”  

“I’ll take care of it. He shouldn’t be a police officer...  How many people were in the station when it happened?”  

“Not a whole lot. I don’t think anyone noticed. We were alone with the two most of the time.”  

“What happened to the two hobos?”  

“Joe left. I cleaned myself up, cut both of them loose, and came here. I don’t think they’ll do anything. They couldn’t wait to get out of the station.”  

Ray wanted to change the subject. “You were going to tell me what happened to your police uniform.”  

Margie thought for a second and shook her head.  

“Your psychological conditioning?”  

She remembered. “Oh yeah.”  She curved her hand around her glass, sighed and continued, “He finally said he realized he had a problem. He promised to set a limit of six drinks for himself; when he reaches the limit, he said he’d come straight home. He promised not to pass out any more. Said he could do six drinks standing on his head, it won’t affect him.”  

“So how come no more uniform?”  

“It was driving him crazy. He said he felt like an inmate. I promised to stop wearing it, if he would make an honest effort to clean himself up.”  

Grandisha summarized, “Well, it might not be textbook, but it’s a start.”     

“Yeah, it’s a start.” Margie took another sip of her drink. “If we didn’t have the kids, if we weren’t a family, I don’t know if I’d still be there.”  

Grandisha didn’t respond.  

“He came home, around eleven, the last two nights. Relatively sober. So far, so good.” Margie sagged in her chair. then finished her drink. “I’d better go. I’m exhausted, all of a sudden.” She set her glass down on the table and stood. “Thanks Ray. For everything.” They maintained eye contact for a few seconds, and then she left.  

Ray returned to the bar and discussed one or two more topics with Ramon. He already knew how he would handle Crownder.