Many Cones, Based On True Crime

Chapter 31 starts with Ray and Margie in pursuit of Richard Sparne and Ricardo Morales.
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 was nearing Gina’s neighborhood. As they sped through the city, neither he nor Margie spoke. The siren and lights caused traffic to part, allowing them to proceed unimpeded. The pressure of the hunt was spooking Margie. She finally had to say something. “If he didn’t take the card with the address, why do you think he’s going to her house?”

“He didn’t ‘not’ take the card. His mother took it out of his pocket without his knowledge. When he left, he thought he had it. She’s his important thing to do this morning.”

“Even so, there’s no way he’d remember the address.”

Ray paused, then completed the equation. “I think he’s been there. He wrote the address down as a backup.”

Margie considered the answer. Decided Grandisha was correct. Asked a new question. “How did you make the connection between ‘Lawyer’s bitch’ and the attorney you called?”

“The background we got this morning on Morales. His paternity case. Regis Cahan was listed as his attorney. No other legal types mentioned for Sparne or Morales. It had to be him.”

A surprised look crossed Margie’s face. Her eyes opened wide. “Your mind works like a fucking computer.”

“I hope I’m wrong, but I don’t think so.”

Ray began circling attractive residential streets. The siren and lights were still blazing. People working in yards stopped what they were doing and gaped at the clamoring car. Grandisha and Margie both strained their eyes reading addresses. They finally found the correct street name and were nearing the right set of numbers.

Margie pointed through the windshield, excitement shading her voice, “There it is.”

A quaint two story house with an attached garage loomed in their vision, like a gothic castle. Ray jerked his vehicle onto the driveway and skidded to a stop. He and Margie jumped out of the car and sprinted to the front door, amid lawn mowers competing with the squelching siren for Saturday morning dominance.

The residence was too quiet. Something bad was happening. Ray didn’t waste time trying the door or knocking. He drew his gun and shot the lock. He slammed his shoulder into the hardwood, snapping the inside chains previously hooked to protect the residents. They rushed in, paused at a battered bathroom door, then ran to the source of screams and curses.

Chapter 21 starts with Carole Lombard and a total lack of words.
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.
Carol Lombard had no words. They were all gone. Drained out of her body with everything else. She managed to utter some mid range, feral moans, but they couldn’t be classified as words. Her arched, glistening body became limp, and she fell forward against Ray. Luckily, her breasts cushioned the contact. No one was injured.

Her skin was wet and musky. She tried to say something, but her mouth was dry as hot desert air. Carol feared her tongue would stick against her palate. She closed her mouth to conserve moisture, and breathed heavily through her nostrils.

She rested. After five or six seconds, a misguided dread of hyperventilation caused her to throw open her lips and gulp air. She finally settled into a rhythmic breathing pattern. Ray was stroking her back during the entire descent.

Carol’s gums dampened and she made another stab at conversation. Her tongue made clicking sounds, while she performed exaggerated chewing motions to try to rid herself of the cotton that had somehow grown in her mouth. She closed up again and became quiet. At least the respiration remained normal. She tried to speak one more time and finally succeeded. “Baby, that was worth waiting for... That was memorable.”

Ray, still stroking her, and trying to conquer his own pins and needles, said, “That may be the only thing I’ve done right in the last two weeks.”

Carol remained on top of Ray, neither one wanting to waste additional precious energy. Both fell into a deep stupor. At some point during the night, Ray turned; Carol slid off and their bodies laid dormant, regenerating, leaning against each other.

Ray awoke, eye to big round nipple. He panicked for a second, actually thought he had died and gone to heaven. After a moment, he recalled the prior night’s adventure, and rolled to his back.

The stir roused Carol. She scooched closer to Ray and half mounted him again, then immediately fell back into unconsciousness. Ray let her sleep for another twenty minutes, then gently shook her. “Carol honey, I have to go to a funeral.”

Carol Lombard came to her senses the fourth time Ray shook her. It took some additional focusing before she fully understood what he was saying. Finally, she asked, “Should I go with you?”

Grandisha had escaped to the edge of the bed and was sitting erect. He started bending to make sure everything worked. Carol repeated the question from a prone position. Ray, still sitting, turned and answered, “No. This is a personal and department thing.” He twisted his upper torso, grimaced at the bone popping sounds, and continued, “I told you about her, her name’s Margie Grenk, you met her. She was with me and the guy I fired.”

“Her husband was the one killed at the bar?”

“Yes, he was. I think it would be better if I went alone.”

Mini Cones: Ramesh Recaps Chapters 27-30
Great friend of the podcast, Ramesh Unni, recaps chapters 27-30 ahead of the release of the LAST 4 chapters. Ramesh starts with some wonderful words about the author's sister and brother-in-law.

Chapter 29 begins with Delores Sparne tiptoeing through her son's room.
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.
At the crack of dawn, Delores Sparne was tiptoeing around her son’s room. The elation she felt, caused by the end of the phase he was going through, stoked deep maternal instincts. Yesterday’s phone call made the sadness worthwhile. A simple “How are you doin, Mom?” and he was her baby again.

She had wanted to sit by his bedside and gently stroke his brow, just as she had when he was a little boy recovering from illness. That couldn’t happen now. She convinced herself that picking up and straightening his strewn clothes was enough. As long as she was tiptoe quiet, and didn’t touch him.

The room was a mess. Jeans, shirts, and socks scattered in small piles, like oversized ant hills on the sidewalk. Dog-eared school books lay stacked on his battered dresser. Crumpled papers and even a dirty dish or two that she had somehow missed.

The only thing orderly in the room was the row of trophies guarding the wall abutting the bed. Best this, best that, most valuable player, time and time again. Delores smiled as she counted the individual awards. Her husband had added the ledge to the wall when they ran out of surface space. The long wooden rack was quickly filled.

Echoes of his boasts saddened her a bit. “I’m gonna be a star,” she heard from deep in her heart. Now, he said it didn’t matter. Her hand was resting on his covered foot. She didn’t recall extending it. Delores indulged herself for a few more seconds and then began harvesting clothes.

The crumpled, dirty togs were piled near the door. The outfit, worn yesterday by Richard, had a few more days left. Delores lifted the jeans from the floor and tried to add crease, before draping them over a chair. She felt something in the back pocket and deftly removed it. Another three by five index card.

Delores squinted to read the inscription, straining the meager light from the still dim, venetian blinded bedroom. “Lawyer’s bitch,” and an address, whispered from her mouth. I have no idea in the world, what that means, she thought. The other side of the card said something about one man speaking for another. She shook her head. Kids always have their own brand of talk. I’m sure it’s important to Richard.

The jeans were still folded over her arm, and as she started to replace the card, Richard turned over. His stirrings commanded her attention. Her shoulders sunk in, her chin lowered, and she bent slightly, as if becoming smaller would erase her presence. It worked. Her baby continued on in slumberland.

She subconsciously deposited the card in the front pocket of her brightly flowered apron, then folded the pants over the chair. The shirt was hung across the seatback, left to unwrinkle itself. She softly tread across the room, retrieved the bundle near the door, and quietly exited.

Delores was too happy to start the laundry. She opened the basement door and flung the clothes down the steps, as much of a fling as an older, somewhat frail woman was able to perform. Some pieces littered the stairs. She would get them later.

Chapter 33 starts Ray and Margie arriving at the Fine Time with a hero's welcome.
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 “Fine Time” was relatively uncrowded for a Saturday night. Word of the late morning and afternoon arrests had spread. As Ray and Margie entered the establishment, all discussion ceased. Half the patrons nodded or waved. Then everyone went back to their own problems and celebrations.

Ramon raised his cocktail glass in salute as Ray passed, heading for a back table. By the time he sat, a waitress was serving his scotch. Margie was asked her preference. She requested a vodka, rocks.

They settled comfortably into their chairs. Margie was served. They toasted each other, touched glasses, and took a long sip. Ray set his glass on his white napkin, and lit a Pall Mall. Margie pulled a cigarette from her pack, which Ray also lit. He pocketed his old zippo and stared warmly at his companion. She took a deep hit, and asked, “So where’s the girl without the E?”

Ray thought for a second, realized what she was talking about, and said, “Carol Lombard!”

Margie smiled at Ray’s discomfort. “Yeah. Carol Lombard. Is she working tonight?”

Ray’s discomfort slowly disappeared. “No. We were together last night. I told her I would probably be busy all night. I didn’t know how lucky we were going to get or how long everything would take.”

Ray was leery of sending the wrong message. He decided he was being juvenile and finished his thought. “She took the day off, and her and her mother and daughter went out of town to visit relatives.”

Margie noticed the contradiction. Ray staring at her with big moony eyes, and yet telling her he was with his girlfriend last night. He was a piece of work. No wonder his relationships didn’t last long.

She continued the flirtation. “Do you and her have a serious thing going?”

“Yes we do. As serious as I am capable of. I seem to surround myself with experienced, understanding women. Like Carol. And like you.”

Before Margie had a chance to respond, Regis Cahan walked in. Ramon pointed to Ray’s table and Regis approached the two. Ray introduced Regis to Margie, and he joined them. As he sat, the waitress served his Black Jack.

Cahan held his glass high. “You guys saved her life. I can’t thank you enough. She means more to me than any person I have ever met.” He took a sip.

Ray said, “We got lucky. Actually, she saved herself. How is she doing?”

“She took sixteen stitches in her breast. Everything else was bumps and bruises. Nothing broken. She wanted to go home after they cleaned her up, but they’re making her spend the night. To be on the safe side.”

Grandisha continued, “How’s her family handling it?”

“They’re petrified. Worse off than she is. But that’s to be expected. They’re all very close. Very loving...” Regis paused, smiled, and asked, “Did she really elbow the guy?”