Chapter 31: A Hunt

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.