Chapter 14: A Hangover

 Chapter 14  starts with Richard Grandisha waking in a surly mood after drinking too much the night before. 

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.    

The morning broke overcast. Grandisha woke in a surly mood. He had drank too much and there were blackout patches he had trouble recalling. Maybe he should quit drinking? Then what? He couldn’t come up with an acceptable answer. Well, I can’t quit drinking then, he thought. Have to get some control back though. 

He remained flat on his back, in bed. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted a red rectangle. Good. A lazy arm reached over, shook a Pall Mall out and placed it to his lips. The arm went back for the Zippo. He lit the cigarette, inhaled deeply and coughed heavily. Jesus Christ, next I’ll have to quit smoking, too. Once over the spasm, he felt better. He leaned on an elbow, found an ashtray, laid back again, and finished his smoke. 

Grandisha thought about Margie. A seriously, seriously vulnerable friend. Breaking her ass to do a good job at home and at work, she was too good a person to be saddled with an alcoholic. Hopefully her husband would straighten out. Things had to start falling her way. He could solve the Crownder problem and he would, today. Maybe the other thing would work out, too. He’d give her whatever help he could. 

Thinking about her lifted his spirits. Good. A reason to get up and face everything, again. Ray did all the bathroom things and went for breakfast, then to work. 

The first item on the agenda was to meet, en masse, with all the investigators, again. Nothing new. Everything was reviewed for the umpteenth time plus one. Every piece of information discussed, even those highlighted and explained. Theories put forward. From Asian drug lords to Zodiacal bayers on the moon. Nothing. Ray was running out of fresh ideas to pursue. He gave the group another pep talk, more for himself than them. Assured everyone that sooner or later the team would solve the case. He had his doubts, but no one saw them. 

Crownder was not present. Margie was. Clad in a knee length, dark skirt, white blouse, and a man’s black vest. Preppy cute was the thought that flashed in Ray’s mind. He couldn’t believe the next idea forming. Bubbly. She was bubbly. Christ, he’d never thought of anyone as bubbly before. 

Sitting in the crowd of investigators, ten yards or so from Ray, Margie’s cracked lip was unrecognizable to him. She must have been a master cosmetician. Her co-workers were unaware of the prior night’s events. The make-up job kept them from quick double takes and gossipy whispers. No one noticed the damage. 

The meeting broke up and people scurried to pursue their individual tasks. Grandisha thought the morale was still good. He collected his information and returned to his office. Margie followed him. 

Ray sunk his old bones behind his desk. Margie brightened the drab room. Picked up Grandisha’s spirits, again. Being closer to her, he noticed the powder job on the corner of her mouth. The lip was cracked, but covered by the natural shape of her grin. You had to know what you were looking for to recognize the disguised injury. 

Transcript

Chapter 14

The morning broke overcast. Grandisha woke in a surly mood. He had drank too much and there were blackout patches he had trouble recalling. Maybe he should quit drinking? Then what? He couldn’t come up with an acceptable answer. Well, I can’t quit drinking then, he thought. Have to get some control back though. 

He remained flat on his back, in bed. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted a red rectangle. Good. A lazy arm reached over, shook a Pall Mall out and placed it to his lips. The arm went back for the Zippo. He lit the cigarette, inhaled deeply and coughed heavily. Jesus Christ, next I’ll have to quit smoking, too. Once over the spasm, he felt better. He leaned on an elbow, found an ashtray, laid back again, and finished his smoke. 

Grandisha thought about Margie. A seriously, seriously vulnerable friend. Breaking her ass to do a good job at home and at work, she was too good a person to be saddled with an alcoholic. Hopefully her husband would straighten out. Things had to start falling her way. He could solve the Crownder problem and he would, today. Maybe the other thing would work out, too. He’d give her whatever help he could. 

Thinking about her lifted his spirits. Good. A reason to get up and face everything, again. Ray did all the bathroom things and went for breakfast, then to work. 

The first item on the agenda was to meet, en masse, with all the investigators, again. Nothing new. Everything was reviewed for the umpteenth time plus one. Every piece of information discussed, even those highlighted and explained. Theories put forward. From Asian drug lords to Zodiacal bayers on the moon. Nothing. Ray was running out of fresh ideas to pursue. He gave the group another pep talk, more for himself than them. Assured everyone that sooner or later the team would solve the case. He had his doubts, but no one saw them. 

Crownder was not present. Margie was. Clad in a knee length, dark skirt, white blouse, and a man’s black vest. Preppy cute was the thought that flashed in Ray’s mind. He couldn’t believe the next idea forming. Bubbly. She was bubbly. Christ, he’d never thought of anyone as bubbly before. 

Sitting in the crowd of investigators, ten yards or so from Ray, Margie’s cracked lip was unrecognizable to him. She must have been a master cosmetician. Her co-workers were unaware of the prior night’s events. The make-up job kept them from quick double takes and gossipy whispers. No one noticed the damage. 

The meeting broke up and people scurried to pursue their individual tasks. Grandisha thought the morale was still good. He collected his information and returned to his office. Margie followed him. 

Ray sunk his old bones behind his desk. Margie brightened the drab room. Picked up Grandisha’s spirits, again. Being closer to her, he noticed the powder job on the corner of her mouth. The lip was cracked, but covered by the natural shape of her grin. You had to know what you were looking for to recognize the disguised injury. 

“I want to thank you again for last night,” Margie said. “I was kind of walking around in a daze. Didn’t know what to do.” 

Ray thought it a good idea to keep the discussion light. “Think nothing of it. Half naked damsels in distress are my forte. It’s the do-gooder in me.” 

After a brief pause, he decided he’d better change the subject. “How’d things go at home last night?” 

“Couldn’t have gone better, actually. My husband was there when I got home. He was worried about me.” 

Ray could discern that her inner joy sprang from the home front. He let her continue without interruption. 

“I explained the fat lip as an accident. He bought it. I didn’t want him going off halfcocked to defend his woman.” Margie took a breath and went on. “Tonight will be the fourth night in a row that he has followed his limit and come home to me. We’re gonna celebrate. The other three nights, six drinks meant eleven o’clock. He said maybe he’d be home before eleven, tonight... maybe just five drinks.” 

She hesitated, then decided anybody that had been between her legs was entitled to know what she had planned. “My sister is picking up the kids after school, she’s gonna keep them overnight. I’m gonna meet him in a sexy little outfit when he comes home. Hopefully I’ll finally get laid tonight.” 

Grandisha looked at her askance. “Why not last night?” 

“Why not what, last night?” Margie asked. 

“It sounds like you could have gotten laid last night.” 

Margie countered, “It wasn’t right last night. It wouldn’t have meant anything. Tonight will be special, romantic. And it will be a good reward for him. Give him a good reason to keep following his limit. Then we lower the limit.” 

Ray’s questioning look remained. Margie said, “You really don’t understand?” Grandisha shook his head, “Nope.” 

“You poor man. Your loss...” Margie paused and looked back over her shoulder. Then returned to face Grandisha. “I didn’t see Joe in the meeting this morning.” 

Ray turned serious again. “He wasn’t here. He’s missing in action. I’ll track him down and resolve the whole thing this afternoon.” 

“Do you need me to stay after, for anything?” 

Ray responded with no hesitation. “No. You go home tonight... get laid.” 

Margie grabbed the chair arms and stood. She laughed at Ray’s comment. “I better or I’ll have to hit the streets and pick somebody up.” Ray was shaking his head as he watched her return to her station. 

The balance of the day was spent highlighting and initialing explained entries on the inventory of property from Jim and Sue Donas. And trying to locate Joe Crownder. And answering questions or giving directions to members of the team. 

Ray finally located Crownder near the end of the normal work day. He would be in within the hour. Margie left to prepare for her big night. Others straggled out at close intervals. Everyone a phone call away from returning immediately, hour be damned. 

The detective bureau resembled an elementary school classroom at the height of flu season. Sparse attendance. Two members of Ray’s team were still present, trying to chase down information that wasn’t available during regular hours. Two other officers, a man and a woman, not assigned to Grandisha, were finishing their work. A janitor dry mopped the floor and dumped ash trays. Empty desks were waiting for the next assault on the public conscience. 

A scowling Joe Crownder entered the department loudly. Ray looked up from his paperwork, alerted by the racket. He watched, as the man came towards his office, head rigid, ignoring the glances of the skeleton crew. They felt the tension and returned to their tasks, not wanting to witness anything. 

As Crownder neared the office entrance, Ray rose from behind his desk, came around it, and waited for the man to come all the way in. After his entry, Ray quietly closed the door. He turned and stood face to face with the man. The right cross came from nowhere. Ali couldn’t have blocked it or bobbed in time. 

Crownder crashed to the floor. The others in the office, responding to the sudden, sharp intrusion, looked up, for a second, then quickly returned to their own problems. Joe remained on the floor, as bullies often do, when confronted with superior determination. The scowl had vanished, and was replaced by blood droplets from the corner of his mouth. 

Grandisha continued to stand over him, arms at ease, no signs of exertion present. When Joe placed his fingers against his face, in child-like fashion, Ray returned to his chair. 

The Lieutenant waited a few seconds and coldly said, “Get your ass off the floor and sit down.” The detective soundlessly pulled himself up and, still pampering his wound, sat in front of the desk. He waited, without comment, as Ray, with rock steady hands, lit a cigarette, inhaled, removed it from his lips and leaned back in his seat. 

“Resign immediately, right now, or I will file Federal Civil Rights Violation charges against you.” 

Crownder removed his hand from his face and finally spoke. “For questioning those two fucking bums? You gotta be kidding. Who would believe ‘em, even if you could find ‘em?” 

“I know where to find them. I’ve got a lawyer lined up, ready to move, first thing in the morning,” Grandisha bluffed. 

Joe took a long look at Ray’s glare and decided to fold. “Yeah, you would. You always stayed close with those Jew bastards, no matter what their fucking scum clients did.” 

Ray had heard it all before from other miscreants, here and in other faraway places. His glare remained unchanged. He opened a thin file resting on his desk, and removed a letter of resignation he had prepared earlier in the afternoon, between working on the Donas case and directing his workers. It was short, maybe eight lines. He read it again, held the top of it between thumb and forefinger and slid it across the desk. 

Crownder picked it up, read it, smirked, and then signed it. He slid it right back. “So this is what a patriotic, God fearing white man has to look forward to? You and your scum.” 

Grandisha put the letter of resignation back in the file, and stored it in one of his side drawers. He didn’t respond to Joe’s remarks. Instead, he ordered, “Get out.” 

Crownder rose, and took one more shot. “You self-righteous fuck, you’re probably humping Grenk. Don’t think I didn’t notice your little footsie game with her. That’s what this whole thing is about, isn’t it? I accidently hit your secret little piece and the little bitch went crying to you. Those fucking bums have nothing...” 

“Get out. Get out before I close your mouth,” Grandisha warned, expression still unchanged. Crownder returned the stare, opened the office door and stormed out. The remaining workers didn’t look up. 

Ray remained in his office for another fifteen minutes, then left for the “Fine Time.” No one in the department acknowledged his exit. 

Carol Lombard was on break and they had dinner. Ray didn’t feel like drinks. When Carol asked him about the light bruise on the back of his right hand, he told her he cut himself shaving. Without smiling. She didn’t inquire further. She still had a sick child, so no plans were made. Carol almost cried, when he quickly kissed her goodbye and left without his usual shtick. 

Ray returned to his office. Two new detectives were present when he walked in. They exchanged pleasantries and he went to his desk and started digging through the Donas file again. It was 10:00 P.M.