Chapter 16: A Second

Chapter 16  starts with a 911 call routed to Ray Grandisha.

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 had put in a full day and night. His gnarled knuckles were still sore from hitting Crownder. The violent streak he had worked so hard to control had reminded him that it still lurked somewhere in the recesses. Deep down like a painful childhood memory, but always there. 

He was no closer to figuring out who did what and why to the Donas’s, and that made his whole body sore. Ray had cleared the top of his desk and was getting ready to leave when the call came in through his direct office line. The 911 operator was smart enough to recognize the similarity, and routed the call directly to him. The news stunned him. It shouldn’t have. He knew something was going to happen again. Just not when. Just not this quickly. 

Ray called everyone involved in the Donas investigation and arranged for them to meet at the scene. Except Margie Grenk. She needed to get laid. And except for Crownder. He was out. Four bodies this time. Fuck. 

Driving down the boulevard, he picked up the strobe effect of the Mars lights about six blocks from the scene. Twentieth century’s Delphi. The oracle of sadness. 

As he neared the location, a bar called Zola’s, the squad cars came into view. Two black and whites. Both parked on the avenue in front of the establishment. Ray slowed and stopped as he reached the tavern. Then jerked his vehicle up and over the curb, blocking the sidewalk, front fender facing a sterile parking lot. Two cars were still on the grounds, angled against the building. 

Four uniformed officers were guarding the two entrances. They had checked for signs of life inside. Found none. They were trained to avoid the possibility of tainting evidence and followed their instructions perfectly. Higher ups and professionals would do the sifting and marking. 

Ray noticed a man, looking to be in his late forties, sitting in a police car, directly across from the bar’s front entrance. Must be the phone call. Grandisha questioned a uniformed policeman near the front door and verified the man’s identity. Then briefly heard the quick, sad story, from the same officer. 

The Lieutenant entered the vehicle. “Sir, my name is Ray Grandisha. I’m a detective and I will be investigating this case. I want to talk to you, but I have to go in the bar first. I have to see it for myself, then ask you some questions. Are you okay sitting here?” 

Donald replied, “I won’t go back in there.” 

Grandisha turned in the seat. “You don’t have to go back in.” Even though no response was forthcoming, Grandisha knew the man understood. He exited the vehicle. 

Grandisha spoke to one of the uniformed officers again. He wanted a mental picture of where everything was, before he entered the building. Apprised of body location, he decided to go in the side door. The parking lot was unpaved and rutted with desert hued, hard, small mounds. As he carefully took his first step, he heard other vehicles arriving.