Chapter 8: A Week

Explicit content warning

03/23/21 • 9 min

Chapter eight starts a week after the murders. Grandisha still has no leads other than the estimated timeline of the murder and that it was likely 3 to 5 perpetrators. John Lupico confirmed that Mrs. Donas' murder included a beating and that she was carrying an early pregnancy.
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.
A week had elapsed and the Police were no closer to knowing what had happened than they were the night of the murders. Grandisha had read, re-read, and re-re-read all of the accumulated information. Nothing jumped out. Nothing waved a flag. Nothing out of place or odd.

Ray had met with his team of investigators daily. No progress. Witnesses’ stories had changed a bit, but that was normal. After four follow up interviews, Crownder and Grenk were finally able to wheedle a time frame for the knock from the people across the hall. Mr. Throne King remembered the show he was watching when the rap occurred and the phone rang. The timing fit with the telephone records from the restaurant call made by the Pranets.

Mrs. Throne King was positive that only one person knocked on the Donas’ door. She claimed it was impossible for more than one person to come down the stairs without her hearing a clamor.

Forensics had fingerprint and shoe print evidence confirming that three to five people were involved. They also believed that Jim Donas was killed, the apartment was in the process of being ransacked, and then Sue Donas was brutally murdered. The evidence and clues in the bathroom verified her presence within a short time prior to her death. Big deal, Grandisha thought. I knew that a week ago. Tell me something I don’t know.

John Lupico had completed the autopsies. Mr. Donas had died almost immediately from the deep stomach wound. The other slashes and gashes were an afterthought. Mrs. Donas had taken longer to die. She had been pummeled in addition to being stabbed. Someone enjoyed hurting her. There was no evidence of rape or molestation though. Lupico believed the injuries to the breasts were simple slash wounds rather than erotic deviancy. She was also three weeks pregnant.

Grandisha was meeting with the Pranets later in the day; he would have to tell them about the pregnancy.

Margie Grenk tapped on Ray’s door, interrupting his deliberation. “You wanted to see me?”

The Lieutenant snapped to attention and said, “Margie, yes. Please come in.”

She was dressed in her police uniform. The dark blue cloth and black leather/silver steel combination gave her a mistress/pixie look. Ray didn’t know whether to submit or to flirt. As she sat, he asked her, “Why the outfit? I thought all the years of hard work were primarily so you didn’t have to don the garb?”

Margie took a breath and decided to be truthful with him. “It’s a home thing.”

Grandisha knew what she was talking about. He sensed a strong need for conversation and decided to act on it. “What are you gonna do, arrest him?”

She laughed. “I probably should. No, I read in a women’s magazine that authoritative clothes reinforce critical problem solving. When we have our heart-to-hearts, I’ve been wearing this. Trying to convince him that he has to stop what he’s doing and get some help.”

Ray maintained an invested look throughout her explanation. “Has it worked?”

Mrs. Throne King was positive that only one person knocked on the Donas’ door. She claimed it was impossible for more than one person to come down the stairs without her hearing a clamor.

Grandisha was meeting with the Pranets later in the day; he would have to tell them about the pregnancy.

Margie Grenk tapped on Ray’s door, interrupting his deliberation. “You wanted to see me?”

The Lieutenant snapped to attention and said, “Margie, yes. Please come in.”

Margie took a breath and decided to be truthful with him. “It’s a home thing.”

Grandisha knew what she was talking about. He sensed a strong need for conversation and decided to act on it. “What are you gonna do, arrest him?”

Ray maintained an invested look throughout her explanation. “Has it worked?”

Previous Episode

Chapter 7: A Lawyer

Chapter seven opens from Regis Cahan's perspective. He is talking to his secretary about work and then mentions Ricardo Morales. Cahan was surprised to learn that the normally respectful Morales was rude to his secretary and referred to the pregnant woman using profanity.
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.
Regis Cahan watched Ray walk out of the “Fine Time.” Good man, he thought. Regis’ secretary, Gina Drozler, noticed his far away stare. She waited a few brief moments and decided it was time to reclaim his attention. Regis was seated directly across from her. A small table, containing ashtrays and a cantaloupe shaped candle holder, between them. Theirs was beige, although each table sported a different color.
The secretary tilted sideways, like a deadpan clown, waived her hand and said, “Remember me?”
Cahan’s reverie was interrupted by his secretary’s out of focus face and hands. He snapped back to his bearings. “Sorry, I spaced out for a second there.”
He was an imposing man. Tall and well defined. He played handball three times a week to keep the body fat off. For a man too close to fifty, Cahan still caused hearts of all ages to flutter. He had a classic, square jawed face, what appeared to be deep, black eyes and a ready smile. Regis had learned during the sixties and early seventies that long hair, if maintained, made the big girls cry. It looked good on him, as it usually does on men of height.
The secretary returned to her normal posture. She asked, “What were you staring at?”
Regis recentered his attention to her. “I Saw Ray Grandisha leaving. Remember the guy I waved to, when we walked in?”
Gina shook her head. “No. I didn’t see you wave at anyone. I was in front of you. The name sounds familiar, though. Who is he?”
“A cop. I’ve had three or four cases with him.”
“How’d you do?” Gina asked.
Regis puckered and stretched his shoulders slightly. “Won some, lost some.”
A barmaid approached the table and politely asked, “Another Black Jack, Regis?” He said, “Yes, please.” The waitress looked at his companion, without uttering a sound. Gina, mildly put off, said, “One more vodka and Seven-Up, please.”
The waitress dryly said, “Okay honey.”
As the server was leaving, Gina followed her approach to the bar. Then returned her stare to Cahan. “Geez, it’s nice to be remembered. She’s waited on me twenty times and doesn’t know what I drink. She can repeat your Black Jack in her sleep... Are you fucking her?”
Regis chuckled. “No. I’m not. But most of the girls here are very protective of their male patrons. She probably thinks I’m fucking you.”
The secretary giggled softly. “My husband would frown on that. He likes the fact that he’s the only man I’ve ever been with.”
Regis tilted his glass in her direction. “He’s a lucky man to have you. I envy your relationship and your family. And you can type.”

Next Episode

Chapter 9: An Argument

Chapter nine opens with Richard Sparne arguing with his parents, again. His growing agitation and anger are apparent. He tells his parents that he is done with basketball, and doing more important things with his life now. He went to get his girlfriend, Bobby, with the intention of being aggressive sexually.
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.
Richard Sparne was in the middle of his fourth argument of the week with his parents. He didn’t remember the reasons for the first three. This one was about him being out late every night. Not having dinner with them. Not doing homework. Plus, the idiot basketball coach had called. No Richard in the gym for a long time.
His father wanted to know what in the hell was going on. Richard was tempted to tell them about his good fortune, but he decided against it. They wouldn’t understand. Besides, he was getting a little pissed about their prying.
They were all seated around the kitchen table. It was an older house, well built, and the room was quite large. The table was an old, reddish-brown mahogany relic. It had belonged to Richard’s maternal grandparents. As far back as Richard could remember, it has always been there. It sat four comfortable and could accommodate eight if the leaf was inserted.
As a child, Richard had tried to carve his initials into the tabletop, but the wood was too hard. Then anyway. He thought about getting a knife, carving, “Fuck you” into the wood and just walking out. He had no doubt about his ability to conquer that table now.
While his parents were talking, he realized he was staring through them, looking at his drab surroundings. As a youngster, he relished the aromas wafting from his mother’s creations on the big white thing that spit blue fire and made everything taste great. It was a fucking old stove. In fact, all of these things were old; refrigerator, dishwasher, cabinets. His parents.
Richard was jarred by his father’s open palm slapping the table. “Are you listening to us?”
“What?” Of course, I’m listening,” he rudely answered.
The father tempered his voice. “Why aren’t you shooting in the gym, anymore?”
The Kid replied, in a provocative tone, “For what?”
“I thought you were going to walk on, in college?”
Richard was shaking his head and said, “No. That’s over with. I have more important things to do. I was stupid to waste all my time.”
All emotion and animation drained from his father’s face. He seemed to get smaller. In an almost beaten, cracking voice he asked, “What more important things do you have to do?”
Richard pushed himself away from the table. As he was standing, he said, “You wouldn’t understand.”
He slid his chair back to the table. Richard rested his hands on the dark, curved decorations at the top of the chair back. “I have to go. Don’t wait up for me.” He turned and walked out, confident that in a short time, he wouldn’t be coming back at all.
His parents sat at the table for another hour. Neither of them spoke.

Many Cones, Based On True Crime - Chapter 8: A Week

Transcript

Chapter 8
A week had elapsed and the Police were no closer to knowing what had happened than they were the night of the murders. Grandisha had read, re-read, and re-re-read all of the accumulated information. Nothing jumped out. Nothing waved a flag. Nothing out of place or odd.