Many Cones, Based On True Crime

Mini Cones: Ramesh Recaps Chapters 31-34 Great friend of the podcast, Ramesh Unni, records his final recap of Many Cones. Chapters 31-34 are summarized, then Ramesh concludes with some wonderful words about his brother, family, and all our lives together.

Chapter 34 summarizes the future and past for significant characters in Many Cones 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. There were eight other teens arrested. Four of them were not part of the murders. They flipped like golden brown pancakes. The other four also turned state’s witnesses, but were looking at substantial jail time. All of the high schoolers told the same story. Albert Moffit was the head of a criminal organization with far reaching tentacles. The victims picked were criminals double crossing a bigger, more powerful criminal. The aunt and uncle Ricardo Morales complained about, gave up their immediate dream of moving from the cul-de-sac to a safer place to raise children. Instead, they hired a top-notch criminal attorney to defend their nephew. Ricardo thought they were stupid for spending the money. He expected Mr. Moffit to fix everything, after the furor passed. The block parties continued. Ricardo became a legend at the gatherings. As a result of his status, his family was spared from the growing violence that prompted weekly police raids. Ricardo’s mother, debilitated by his arrest and prosecution, quickly returned to her previous occupation. Two months after his conviction, she was found dead in a dark alley. Her neck was broken, and dried semen spotted her chin and lips. Joe Crownder, drunk one night, was involved in a fender bender with some black teenagers. He pulled a missing, Police issue revolver, and shot two of them. Luckily they lived. He disappeared, and was rumored to be living somewhere in Montana. A 24x20 framed photograph of him was hung behind the bar in the “Rebel Yell.” He was toasted nightly. Margie Grenk was promoted to Lieutenant. Multiple men and women within the detective bureau had threatened to quit unless she was elevated in rank. Delores and Richard Sparne sold their house and cashed in their life savings to hire the best criminal lawyer in the state. Richard, the Kid, treated his lawyer with disdain, upset that his mouthpiece didn’t understand the power exercised by highly organized criminal enterprises. The Kid and Ricardo remained close, and defended each other during continuous jailhouse attacks. Mr. and Mrs. Sparne leased an apartment in Ray Grandisha’s building. They became friends. Ray considered them some of the finest people he had ever met. Albert Moffit was appointed the most experienced public defender in the area. Since the state was paying for everything, his attorney was able to hire expensive consultants and psychiatrists. It didn’t help. No one was able to communicate with Albert or decipher the odd language he spoke. Finally, an egghead psychiatrist with a double doctorate in Archaeology and Historical Linguistics, determined he was speaking an obscure form of Druidish Gaelic, used primarily during the ritual of human sacrifice. No one could be found to translate.

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?”

Chapter 32 starts with a convoy to Albert Moffit's house. 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. It was almost noon under a pleasant Saturday sun, as the convoy proceeded to Albert Moffit’s house. No sirens or lights for this venture. Grandisha was driving the lead vehicle. Margie was navigating. She also wanted to make sure she had a correct understanding of what really had occurred. “My tailing job, yesterday, when I followed the Sparne Kid to Moffit’s, never occurred, right?” Ray nodded his head. “That’s correct. Nothing you did yesterday occurred. You were home, recovering.” “That’s two things I was involved in recently that never occurred. Grandisha shot a questioning glance at her, then understood. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asked. Margie shook her head. “No. I thought about it because of Gina Drozler, and what those two fuckers did to her... They basically did the same thing to me. We were both naked in front of you... You saved both of us... You’re a regular knight in shining armor.” “So how come I can’t maintain a relationship?” “I can’t help you with that... I just wanted to thank you, again.” Ray smiled at her and said, “For what?” Margie laughed. “That’s right. Nothing occurred.” She sat quietly for a few minutes, then continued, “What’s gonna happen here?” “I don’t know. After you called, during your non-existent tailing job, I ran the computer on this guy. Nothing. No arrests. No problems. Just him and his wife. No kids. He’s some kind of salesman. He’s a non-entity.” “Do we rush the house, or knock and get invited in.” Margie asked. “Oh, we’ll go in gangbusters. If that’s a mistake, we can apologize, and they can sue the department. But, I don’t think it’s a mistake. This guy’s connected in a major way to those two. I just don’t know how, or why.” Margie came to attention and alerted Ray. “There it is. On the corner. That red brick house.” Grandisha parked in front of the residence. Two vehicles parked behind him, the others on the side street. It was a quiet, older neighborhood. No one was working on lawns. Moffit’s was overgrown, the others had been tended recently. They gathered at the street corner. Ray explained what he wanted done. Everyone understood. One group approached the front door, and another group the side. Albert Moffitt hadn’t moved from the divan since hurrying Sparne and Morales out the night before. Modern technology provided him with twenty four hour access to a wide range of gifted bible thumpers. He no longer understood the spoken English drawl that was spewing from the set ninety five percent of the time. But that was okay. That part wasn’t important. At some point during the night, Albert used the remote to increase the volume. It had remained blaring. Every half hour or so, a few lines of the special language, the tongues, came through clearly. He understood the sing song banter perfectly. It mostly praised him. Even when it didn’t, it still mentioned his name.

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.

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 30 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. The cul-de-sac bore witness to a party gone bad. Broken bottles and empty, crushed cans littered the pavement. Richard avoided the clutter and pulled into the driveway. He sat for ten minutes before Ricardo came out. The Kid exercised self control to keep from laying on the horn. Teenagers did that sort of thing, not made men. However, punctuality would be discussed. Ricardo entered the vehicle in a mean rush. The car door was slammed shut. Sparne backed out to the roadway and glared at his companion. “What’s the problem? I told you to be ready.” As they drove off Ricardo answered, “My uncle. He picked this morning to play daddy. Wanted to know where I go at night and what I’m doing. . Told him me and my mother would be gone from his stupid house tomorrow. I may kick his ass when we leave. Teach him some respect.” “It must be something that’s going around. My parents had a bunch of questions for me, too. I finally had to tell them to leave me the fuck alone. I may not even tell them where I’m moving to.

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 28 begins with Ray and team feeling pumped. They are confident the big break is about to happen. 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. By 8:00 A.M., the Detective Bureau was a hive of activity. The entire special team had arrived, all with the same idea. Each tiny desk was littered with white styrofoam cups, brimming with steaming black liquids and multicolored rectangular boxes of donuts. The men and women were pumped. Ray’s belief that a break would come from the publicity was infectious. He purposely allowed them to mingle, without purpose, until the meeting. They were hyping each other. No matter what happened, today would be a good work day. Grandisha remained seated in his office. He didn’t mix. The dark wooden desk was piled with information from the two massacres. His balding head barely hovered over the stacks. The stoop didn’t help. He looked busy, but was doing nothing. Waiting for time to pass until the meeting started. The plan had been reviewed in his mind, over and over again. They would start from the beginning. Go over every printed word a fifth or sixth time with an eye toward young men and teens, and brace themselves for the break. The break had to come. At approximately 8:30, Ray sauntered into the bureau, centered himself amongst Long Johns, Danishes, and Bismarks. The meeting was easy. Everyone wanted to listen, wanted to work. The constantly ringing phones didn’t disrupt. Calls were answered without an interruption of attention. Two of the men transferred the files from Ray’s desk to Ray’s side. He passed them out to the group with specific instructions. Each team had a separate road to travel, but all roads would meet at the same place. Not a lot of questions were asked. Every person was required to man the phones, in addition to everything else. The phones had been ringing since 7:30. Kooks, revenge seekers, little old ladies with too much time on their hands, and do gooders trying to help. Some with the right mix of suspects, setting, and description. Each member of the team was experienced enough to separate the wheat from the chaff. Grandisha wanted the wheat brought to him immediately. Even if it was the end of the day. The meeting lasted a half hour. The call came at 9:15. A female detective sitting one desk over from Margie was the lucky one. The caller was a person with a Spanish accent. Male. Wouldn’t leave a name. Claimed to be a student at the high school. Could have been. Sounded young. But could have been older too. Knew a student by the name of Ricardo Morales. Had heard him say “Maricon” during the last couple of years, always said it in an angry way. His best friend was Richard Sparne. A white kid. They did everything together. The last couple of months they had been acting like Al Capone and John Gotti. End of conversation. Call traced to a public pay phone. The female detective hung up the phone, stood and yelled, “I got one,” like a greedy stockbroker. She had been writing on a notepad during the conversation and waved the paper sheet in the air. The bureau quieted and watched her triumphant march to Grandisha’s office.

Chapter 27 begins with Gina Drozler preparing for a nice relaxing Saturday morning. 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. Gina had promised herself a sleepy Saturday morning, but old habits prevailed. The persistent dawn shone through the bedroom’s sheer curtained windows, then raced its way to fill the dark corners. She felt the insignificant warmth of the rays somewhere deep in her comatose center, like a rosebud, poised to flower. Then the brightness drummed its presence through her fluttering, closed eyes. She stirred quietly, careful not to disturb her husband. Once fully alert, Gina listened intently for the sounds of children roaming. Satisfied all were still tightly tucked in, she soundlessly peeled back the soft sheet and wooly blanket that had held her through the night. She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, stood, and stretched. She was clad in a striped white pajama top. Nothing below. Her husband wore the counterpart. They had shared nightclothes since returning from their honeymoon. The arrangement assured neither went to sleep mad or hurt. You couldn’t carry a grudge, if you had to assign bottoms and tops before retiring. It was fun, too. A fluffy, pink robe was folded over a bureau chair, two giant steps from Gina’s side of the bed. She finished shaking the sleep from her bones, and reached between the mattress and spring. She grabbed her panties and slipped them on. The hiding place became necessary when the children were old enough to burst into the room, unannounced, and wise enough to ask about underpants on the floor. Two long strides to a nearby robe, and she was sufficiently dressed to retrieve the morning papers from the cold concrete porch. The aroma of coffee filled the downstairs. Gina sat at the rustic kitchen table and read through the news, intentionally avoiding reports of “Maricon” madness. After downing four cups of black stimuli and beating a semi-tough, patternless crossword puzzle, she heard her husband stumble around, upstairs. He was a horrid morning person. His bones and muscles refused to function until properly coaxed. A hot shower usually helped. Gina removed bacon and eggs from the refrigerator, sausage links from the freezer, and pancake mix from the pantry. Within a half hour, breakfast smells chased the sweet coffee presence. When the thumping sounds of the children announced their morning excitement, she began sizzling the bacon strips. The table was set with trays of steaming food and warm plates, as the balance of the family came down the stairs. They devoured the calorie laden repast. Gina’s husband, the slow starter, was finally able to converse. “I thought you were going to lay in bed all morning? Rest your weary bones.” “I was going to, but my mind wouldn’t cooperate. When you’re wide awake, you have to get up.” George flashed a contented smile and said, “Why don’t you come with us? You’re up. No reason to stay home.” “I haven’t made myself pretty yet. You know how long that takes.” “We’ll wait. It’s Saturday. No rush. And you don’t need to make yourself pretty. You always look beautiful. Right kids?”

Mini Cones: Ramesh Recaps Chapters 23-26 Great friend of the podcast, Ramesh Unni, recaps chapters 23-26 ahead of the release of the next 4 chapters. Ramesh starts with some wonderful words about the author's best friend. He also played the role of his literary agent, and partially inspired Ray Grandisha.

Chapter 26 begins with Ray walking into the Fine Time for a much needed night of chatter and other recreation. 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. It was Friday night, and the “Fine Time” was packed. When Ray walked in, there were no bar stools available. He spent five minutes circulating through the filled tables, greeting friends and acquaintances. Regis Cahan was in the middle of the room, seated across from an auburn haired, stunning, thirty something. They had eaten dinner in the bar area and Carol Lombard was clearing the empty plates. The auburn haired lady was clothed in a rather formal, black, tight dress, with a deep v-neck that accentuated her obvious bounty. She was somewhat overdressed for the surroundings. Cahan introduced Ray to his tempting partner. There was no hint of the conversation that never took place. Both men had learned long ago to mask worry, if you’ve done everything possible to control the problem. As Ray bent his crooked frame and reached towards the beauty, Carol said, “Baby, I’ll be done in an hour or so.” He droned, “Yes dear,” as he shook the soft, tanned hand. Regis and friend laughed at the not so subtle interruption. Grandisha noticed a space at the bar opening up. He excused himself and joined Ramon. His scotch was waiting before he climbed the stool. Ramon sensed Grandisha needed chatter. He stayed close and engaged Ray on a number of topics. The recent murders even made their way into the discussions. Ramon frequently sidled back and forth, preparing drinks for everyone. He was professional enough to continue his conversations uninterrupted. Additional spaces opened as the amateurs went home, having drank too much too soon. Within an hour of Ray’s arrival, the seats on his right and left were vacant. The slower pace of the professionals allowed Ramon more time to tend to the care of his charge. The empty stools gave them sufficient privacy to speak of more serious matters. The therapy helped. Carol Lombard sat on an empty stool next to Ray. His mood was such that the movie star shtick was repeated. She appreciated it. Ramon served her and gave Ray his third Glenlivet. Cahan and his conquest, finished with cocktails and on their way out, walked behind Carol and Ray. The beauty said, “Bye Ray.” Cahan just smiled. Ray gulped. Carol elbowed Ray. Ramon laughed out loud. When the third scotch was finished, they left. Both felt frisky. After a decent round of relations, Ray lay on his back, angled against the headboard, naked. Carol, also naked, lay on her side, against and partially on him. Her head and one breast nestled on his chest. A smallish, square, glass ashtray was positioned at the base of Ray’s sternum, on his stomach. He was inhaling a Pall Mall deep into his lungs, following the exhaled smoke as it rose, filling the room with a haze. Without lifting her head, Carol said, “A penny for your thoughts?” Ray’s laugh caused a rumble in his stomach and almost tipped the ashtray. “What did you say?” “A penny for your thoughts.” Grandisha responded, “My God. You did say that. I thought I was hearing things.” “Yeah, baby. I did say that... So... Tell me.”

Chapter 25 starts with Margie heading back to the office after losing Sparne and 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. As Margie skulked into the station after losing Sparne and Morales, she saw a man she didn’t recognize in Grandisha’s office. Ray and the man were standing behind the windowed door. Ray was gesturing, his visitor listening. Eight other members of the team remained in the bureau. All of them stopped their work and turned tired eyes towards her as she neared her desk. She snuck a peek down herself, to make sure everything was in order, like a man surreptitiously checking his zipper. One by one, each detective returned to his or her task, no longer interested in the straggler. Before sitting at her desk, Grenk asked, “Who’s the guy with the Lieutenant?” A voice from a desk abutting hers answered, “The Pisser.” Margie pulled her battered chair out and sat. A semi-understanding look framed her face. She knew who the “Pisser” was, now if she just could figure out where she was supposed to have been. Ray said to keep her activities quiet. Luckily, no one asked. Grandisha’s office door opened. The Pisser came out and stood a foot away. Ray closed the door, then yelled something. The Pisser shook his head and pointed to his ear. Ray cocked his head, opened the door a fraction, then yelled again. A thoughtful haze crossed Recker’s face. He raised his hand, cupped his fingers and stroked them back, almost nicking his cheekbone. Ray repeated the shout. The Pisser hung his head for a second, looked up, and smiled. The department had become very quiet by the second test run. All eyes were glued to the pantomime. The silence was interrupted by a surprised, “That’s it.” The other familiar noises immediately returned. Grandisha jerked the door wide open, shook Recker’s hand and pulled him back in. The Pisser was thrust into a seat. Ray stayed with him for a second, then rushed out to the middle of the detective bureau. He spoke quickly and forcefully. “I need all the media up here, right now. I want TV and radio exposure tonight, newspaper stories tomorrow morning. Drop whatever you’re doing and start contacting them. Tell them we have new information and need coverage.” Ray returned to his office, spent five minutes with Recker, then hustled him out. One of the team escorted the Pisser to his car, to prevent anyone else from talking to him. Grandisha stood in his office doorway and loudly asked Grenk to come in. The inflection contained a tinge of displeasure. Margie rose and trod through the door, like a disorderly kid entering the principal’s office. She sat, readjusted her elbow-hugging, sweater sleeves, crossed a leg and demurely cowered. Ray closed the door and returned to his desk. He saw the reserved demeanor and asked, “What’s wrong?” She hesitated, then spoke, “Well, for starters, I let a high school kid outfox me. I know that doesn’t make you too happy.” Grandisha backswept his hand in a dismissing motion. “You were out on a limb with no backup or phone, and I told you to keep me advised. You did a hell of a job, considering the situation.” Margie perked up. “Thanks... How come I got the cold shoulder from my brothers and sisters, when I first walked in?” Ray looked through the office windows at his crew. “I’m sorry, but I told them you weren’t ready yet. You were going home to regroup, maybe try it again, later. I thought it was a good cover.”

Chapter 24 starts with Sparne and Morales heading to a certain lawyer's office. 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. Ricardo was waiting outside. When the Kid pulled in the driveway, he entered the car. The cul-de-sac was starting to buzz. Young men and women were exiting their homes, carrying old card tables and benches. Surveying the landscape for prime locations. Sparne peered through the streaked windshield as he began to maneuver the vehicle. “Jesus Christ, what the fuck time do these parties start?” “It’s Friday. It will be packed tonight. All weekend.” Morales waved to some of the settlers. It wouldn’t hurt to maintain the old ties. “The party won’t start for two or three more hours, but these people are getting a head start. Setting things up. Staking out their claims.” The Kid became serious. “After I dropped you off, I went by Mr. Moffit’s. Nobody answered his door. I’ll bet everything is happening right now. Tonight, or tomorrow, we’re in. No more shit from nobody.” A worried presence creased Ricardo’s face. “Are we gonna hafta cut our hands and speak Italian and shit, like they do in the movies?” Richard didn’t seem concerned. “I dunno. We’ll hafta ask Mr. Moffit. Probably.”

Chapter 23 starts Margie Grenk's return to work and Grandisha's daily meeting. 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. Margie Grenk arrived at work early. She wanted to catch up on everything that had occurred the last few days. Not much, she discovered. The other detectives treated her with deference when she first walked in. Within a half hour, she was one of the boys. Lascivious remarks and all. The daily meeting began at 9:00am sharp. It didn’t last long. Old information was reviewed. Nothing new was added. Grandisha didn’t share the Morales file. He needed an explanation of where the information came from. One of the detectives was assigned to find a Spanish speaking officer and to run “Many cones” by him. See if maybe it was a foreign phrase. Someone from the audience quipped, “We’re reaching now aren’t we, Lieutenant.” The session ended. Ray returned to his office. Margie followed. He thought she looked good. Light weight, soft red, pull over sweater. Shiny, creased jeans. Tan cowboy boots. He eyed her suspiciously, then asked, “Are you sure you’re okay? You know you don’t have to be here. You can have more time.” “I need to be here. If I wasn’t here, I’d be sitting home, staring at walls. This is a piece of cake compared to that.” Grandisha made a snap judgment. He rose, closed the office door, returned to his seat and stared at Margie. “I have a lead. It may or may not pan out, but it’s all we have so far. I haven’t told anyone about it. I was gonna work it myself, but I could use your help. It has to be completely confidential, and no questions are asked.” Margie returned his stare. “You know how much I respect you. I’d lie under oath for you. Tell me what you want done, and it goes no further. No questions asked.” The Lieutenant gave her the name and address. “He’s a high school student, probably at school right now. I don’t know what he looks like. I need to have him followed after class. I want to know the names and addresses of everyone he hangs with and where he goes. He lives in a cul-de-sac. If he goes home, don’t follow him in. And don’t approach him. He may be very dangerous. Plus, I don’t want anyone to know we're interested.” The quick flicker of her green eyes betrayed her. She was dying to ask. Grandisha said, “Go ahead, one question.” “Ricardo Morales. Does that have anything to do with the Spanish speaking officer?” “I think it might. We’ll find out.”

Mini Cones: Ramesh Recaps Chapters 19-22 Great friend of the podcast, Ramesh Unni, recaps chapters 19-22 ahead of the release of the next 4 chapters. Ramesh starts with some wonderful words about an inspirational person very close to the author.

Chapter 22 starts with Regis Cahan heading to the Fine Time with a very important purpose. 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. Cahan was early. He again sat in the middle of the horseshoe curve. His location allowed him full access to anyone entering or leaving the “Fine Time.” Someone approached him from behind the bar and asked, “What would you like, sir?” The question caught him by surprise. He stammered, “What? Where’s Ramon?” The pretender smiled and said, “He doesn’t start till seven.” Regis settled down and ordered a Black Jack. Ramon arrived before the drink was half finished. More than a few patrons looked relieved. Grandisha walked in. Cahan did a double take. Ray was wearing a black pin striped suit. The combination of the fancy duds and his stooped appearance didn’t really mix. Unless you knew him. Before Ray settled in the bar stool, his Glenlevit was waiting. Ramon was busy, so there wasn’t a lot of banal chatter with the customers. Two or three people stopped at the bar to gab with Grandisha. The conversations usually only lasted a couple minutes. Cahan was nursing his drink. After an hour, he had only downed two. A colleague sat next to him, but quickly left after receiving terse answers to questions and comments. Regis wanted no distractions. Finally, Grandisha rose from the stool and walked to the foyer. He may have been going to the washroom. Regis laid a bill on the bar, asked Ramon if ten was enough, and started around the curve of the horseshoe. His right hand was pocketed. He stopped and dawdled where the bar straightened. Within a minute, he spied Grandisha back in the foyer. Regis continued on, towards the entrance. The two men were face to face before Ray reached his seat. Cahan extended his right hand, then said, “Ray, how have you been?” Grandisha saw the hand come out of the pocket, recognized the gesture and shook the hand before it was fully extended. He returned the greeting. “I’m fine Regis, nice to see you.” Cahan continued on, and left the establishment. The move was smoother than any maitre d’ could ever hope to achieve. Ray felt the paper enclosure, and was surprised for a half second. No trace of the brief, fleeting startle crossed his face. He climbed the bar stool and pocketed the note in one motion. Ramon’s back was turned at the time. Grandisha wondered if he would have noticed. After five minutes, Ray excused himself again and proceeded to the washroom. The bartender watched him leave. He entered a stall, sat, and unfolded the note. “I need to talk to you in private. I’ll be outside, in the back.” Grandisha rubbed his questioning face, mumbled, “Okay,” stood, ripped the note to shreds, flushed it and returned to his station at the bar. He finished the scotch, paid Ramon, and left. The “Fine Time” had ample parking in front and on the sides of the building. The back abutted a wooded, overgrown vacant lot. A narrow sidewalk surrounded the entire structure. Previous owners had planned to pave the vacant lot, and decided they needed the rear sidewalk in place. The current owners didn’t know the back concrete strip existed.

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.”

Chapter 20 starts with Regis Cahan in full swing. The day flies by before Gina has the chance to discuss the newspaper with him. 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 was in full swing. He had an early hearing, and then planned to spend the balance of the morning and afternoon seeing clients and catching up on neglected work. Regis had woken late and rushed out of his apartment, without benefit of juice, coffee, or morning papers. Prior to his hearing, other lawyers jockeying for position on the court’s calendar were discussing the recent slayings and newspaper accounts. His attention was on the good things he was going to say about his client, so he only half listened and absorbed nothing. Regis was able to maintain his status as the first case was called, even though two or three other lawyers concocted outrageous stories to try and leapfrog him. His presentation took a half hour. The results were as expected, and he headed back to the office. Talk of Manson type hippies roaming the dark streets dominated the radio. Cahan tired of the wild sightings being reported and found an oldies station. He caught the end of “White Rabbit” followed by “For what it’s worth.” The music and words transported him back to a more honest time. He caught a reflection of himself smiling in the rear view mirror. Jesus Christ, he thought, I’ve driven into a time warp. Manson and Grace Slick on the radio. I hope my computer still exists. By the time he parked and headed for the office, he had forgotten about his musings. The computer was still present. Gina Drozler worked for an hour and a half, prior to getting ready for her day job. She made a hearty breakfast, as she had every morning for her husband and children. A rushed shower afterwards, then dress for success. The schedule gave her a half hour to relax at the kitchen table, alone. She sucked down coffee and read the morning papers. The stories on “Zola’s” and the Donas slayings grabbed her attention. She read every word; it took her twenty minutes. Gina used the final ten minutes to put finishing touches on her appearance. She liked to look good for her boss. Nothing sexual. It was a pride thing. She tucked the morning daily under her arm, and took it to work. Gina arrived early, as always. Household chores at work too. Make coffee, clean desks and tabletops, arrange magazines in the waiting area, and turn everything on. The copy machine took five minutes to warm up. She didn’t know why, but accepted it as a fact of life. House in order, she sat at her desk and began the grind. The newspaper was behind her on the floor.

Chapter 19 starts Delores Sparne rising early to clean her son's laundry. 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’s mother, Delores Sparne, rose early. She was unaware of the previous night’s quasi-confrontation between her husband and son. But that didn’t matter. Her child could do no wrong. She tiptoed into Richard’s room and gathered up his pile of dirty clothes. Pausing by his dormant form, she resisted an urge to reach out and brush his tussled hair. Satisfied that his sleep was peaceful, she began her household chores. The washer and dryer were in the drab, concrete block basement of their old home. The early morning creak of her aging bones rivaled that of the open railed stairs she descended. Some day soon she wouldn’t be able to hear the steps at all over her own reverberation. Once in the basement, she emptied her basket on a dinged and dyed rectangular table. Delores separated and inspected the clothes prior to washing. Richard’s brightly colored plaid shirt and old jeans contained brown flecks that reminded her of blood stains. She knew they weren’t blood stains though, because Richard wasn’t a little boy anymore, running around the neighborhood getting banged up. Probably food and oil and grit and all the other things a young man would deal with. Delores sprinkled detergent on the shirt and tried to scrub the larger spots. She held the jeans by the waist and laid them straight across her stand. When she ran her hand across the fabric, she felt something in the back pocket. Another index card with a name and address. Richard may need this, she thought, and placed it in her apron pocket, trying at the same time to recall what she had done with the other index card. When all the clothes had passed muster, she loaded them, started the cycle, and trudged back upstairs. Halfway up, she heard a stirring in the kitchen. At the top of the stairs, she said good morning to her husband. He was standing at the counter, pouring coffee. They met in the middle of the room and hugged each other. She joined him at the table for a morning cup. He spared her his concern about their son. When Richard straggled out, he didn’t join them. Didn’t hug anyone, either. By then, Delores had forgotten about the white lined card in her apron. Later, she found its mate and put both of them on the counter, standing them against the wall near the coffee pot. She’d see them whenever she got a cup of coffee as a reminder to return them to Richard. Carol Lombard heard the alarm at seven. Her and Ray had slept in semi-fetal positions on their sides, backs facing each other. Carol’s backside extended over the midline of the bed, into Ray’s space. He was up at the third ring of the clock and curled his bent form, half on/half off the bed. His big hands went to his face and he tried to rub the sleep from his eyes. After a few seconds, he glanced over his shoulder, recognized Carol’s attractive, rounded flesh and reached over to pat the moon. Through tired lips, without moving, Carol managed a “Hey, Baby.” She didn’t hear him shower, dress, or leave.