Captain Grassio got on his radio and called for a video camera. I knew who would be capturing the action and prayed this day would end, because at midnight it was going to be my birthday. I had plans with Donny, Franny, Chris Finley and Benny Triano. Even Scotty Franks was coming out tonight. What a way to celebrate my twenty-fifth birthday, in a psychotic killer’s basement of death.
Officer Chris Finley brought down the camera and handed it to me.
“Okay, Matt, you’re going to film this entire scene. Have you ever done this before?” Captain Grassio appeared as serious as I had ever seen him. He knew what was inside the trunk and this was no time for any ball breaking. But I couldn’t help myself.
“No, Captain, but I’m great at capturing birthday parties and weddings.” I waited for laughter that never came.
The captain put on a plastic glove and slowly lifted up the trunk lid. The four of us, including Chris Finley, who hung around, set our eyes on something so bizarre it belonged in a horror movie. There was a naked old man stuffed in the trunk, looking right at me. I couldn’t turn my eyes away as I looked upon his blown apart face. There was only one weapon that could cause this much damage. A shotgun must have been used to kill this man. He was missing his right eye and his mouth looked like a twisted pretzel. His face was split into four pieces that were still barely attached, hanging by strands of bloody flesh. It almost looked fake, but the stench confirmed the reality of the situation. I videotaped everything with the volume off, not taking any chances that someone would say something so stupid it would aid in the suspect’s defense.
Donny was the first to speak. “What a mess.” I think he was actually impressed.
“Well, this is definitely one of those moments you never forget,” Captain Grassio said, trying to be as respectful for the victim as possible.
“Cap, should we check for a pulse?” Chris Finley was as white as the dead guy. He was sweating now. He almost looked to be in shock.
“A pulse? Are you okay? Chris, he has no fucking eyeball. Did you see the size of that fucking hole? What’s behind your eyeball? Your brain, right? Where’s your fucking brain? He’s dead.” Captain Grassio closed the trunk door carefully. I just looked at Chris, and he shrugged. I shook my head and put a finger up to my lips. I couldn’t remember the last time I had shushed someone. I began to film again.
There was a small coffee table a few feet away from the trunk. As I looked more closely into the viewer of the camera, I could see a tan shotgun shell. I picked it up with my gloved hand and was startled to see writing on it. Someone had placed a piece of masking tape on the side of the shell. The words in quotes were as follows: “Now, Dad, be nice to Mom!” I quickly pointed it out to Captain Grassio and Donny, who both shook their heads. I could tell from the appearance of the shell that it may have been used on the male victim in the trunk. It was covered in speckles of gun powder, because it was a fired shell.
The message made me wonder what Johnny may have been referring too. I was only speculating at this point, but it seemed to me that Johnny’s mother could have died sometime earlier.
“Let’s keep looking, men. I saw a woman in those photographs. Let’s pray she’s on vacation and not another victim of this mad man’s sick plan.” Captain Grassio continued hoping our first discovery of death was a single occurrence.
I didn’t talk. I just kept filming, even when I smelt a fart explode within close proximity. Chris Finley’s stomach was starting to do him in. I moved the video camera away from my right eye for a second and looked at my friend. His face was pure white, expressing a look of total shock. I pointed to the steps and nodded for him to leave. Chris quickly made his exit as quietly as he could—for someone incapable of being discreet! Captain Grassio walked into the one bedroom that was off to our left. He came out shaking his head and gestured for me to video the contents of the room.
It’s a dreadful feeling to know you’re walking into something awful and there’s nothing you can do about it. This was my job no matter how disturbing the situation may be. Nothing can prepare you for viewing the end result of pure evil. In these moments I am forced to reflect on my faith and whether or not there is a God. The cruelty that police officers are required to examine and document is something very difficult to describe. How do you speak of such atrocities?
My thoughts wandered as I thought of my grandfather who was a World War II veteran. He didn’t speak of the war much to his children. His early passing made it impossible for me to ask even a single question. The message conveyed to my mother’s family was always the same. “I did enough killing for our entire family for the next hundred years.” As the recipient of four purple hearts and a silver star, I would say he was correct. I wish I’d had the chance to talk to him about the war. Men like him rarely talked about it. It was their job; mine was similar in that I would observe bizarre and horrific scenes of death. They will stay with me forever, as I’m sure they stayed with my grandfather. I just hoped his early passing had nothing to do with all he had seen during the war. The way my career was shaping up, I was the closest observer of obscene deaths, next to my maternal grandfather. I could only hope my dreams wouldn’t kill me.
Donny’s cough brought me back around. Daydreaming at a time like this seemed out of place. Maybe it was my brain’s own defense mechanism, trying to make sense of this day. The bedroom light worked but could use a new bulb. The light kept flickering on and off. It made the room feel small. I could see the top of someone’s head in the bed. The pink duvet was pulled up to reveal only the top of a head with blonde hair. I could see red streaks within the blondeness, not done professionally in a hair salon, but created by a mad man thirsting for blood.
With plastic gloves on, Donny started pulling the blanket down from the head and exposed a very graphic sight. A good detective always has a pair of plastic gloves in his back pocket because you never know when a crime scene will find you. My partner was all business at this point and didn’t say a word. As the face was exposed to the dim light, we could make out the horrified expression. Initially it was not as startling as the stiff in the trunk, but it was still hard to wrap your head around it. Frank Cipriano, the alleged pedophile’s neck wound was minor compared to this.
As I scanned the victim’s face with the video camera, I observed her eyes. The pretty green eyes were wide open and slightly bloodshot. There were speckles of blood smeared on her pale face, indicating someone had tried their best to clean her face. As Donny pulled the duvet down further, I could see a large, gaping hole in the neck area just below the chin. It looked like a four inch circular black hole cut by a skilled surgeon. I wondered where the missing flesh could be. Could he have eaten it? Could Hutchville have a Hannibal Lecter in its midst?
The questions lingered in my thoughts for a second or two. It was my first logical guess. Why would he remove her flesh? There was a small pool of dried blood under her neck, but no splatter on the walls or comforter. A lot of the blood was smeared around her neck, again indicating that someone may have tried to clean up. I had never been to an autopsy; however, I had seen hundreds of pictures of autopsies while in the police academy. We could only assume that we were looking inside the exposed area of the neck. Both carotid arteries appeared to be intact. I was surprised, because had he sliced her artery, that wound would have spit blood everywhere. Both upper arms displayed large bruises, indicating the assailant held her down. Donny pulled the blanket down further. The victim wore no clothes.
My stomach was empty. I could hear the growls. I wouldn’t dare eat anything right now. The queasiness I felt, mixed with hunger pains, created a conflict inside my bowels. No two dead bodies are alike, no matter if they died from natural causes or at the hands of a psychopath.
Every once in a while, when I see something so unnatural, I shake my head quickly. It is almost as if I am trying to shake an image out of my view. I guess this job has given me a tic. Rarely am I successful at shaking the disturbing image from my mind. It i
s left there permanently to remind me of where I have been.
It was obvious at this point how this victim was killed. The hole in her chest wasn’t very large, maybe an inch wide. A larger pool of blood had dried somewhat where her back met the bed sheets. Once again the skin appeared washed. My thoughts shifted to the kitchen upstairs, remembering the bloody knife by the sink. Her legs were spread to display her private parts to the world. I had to pause the camera because I noticed something most alarming. I had to stop myself from gagging, as the smell was almost agonizing. I had found the missing flesh. I motioned to Donny who turned his head away in disbelief. The missing neck skin was sewn onto our victim, completely covering her vagina. There was no blood around the stitching, which seemed to suggest this act was done post-mortem. I hoped for her sake it was, but only the medical examiner could determine this. This observation threw me for a loop. I had to zoom in with the video camera. I wanted to throw up. The smell was toxic. Then I remembered what I had seen in Johnny’s bedroom, the strips of leather sewn together. He was practicing his craft all right. Then I thought of all those love letters to that “Lisa” person.
I called to Captain Grassio. He was speechless upon his arrival. His face clearly expressed his anger and disgust. He motioned for me to kill the video with a finger across his throat. I was happy to oblige and slung the camera over my shoulder with its attached sling.
On the nightstand next to the bed was a handwritten note in plain view. I picked it up with my gloved hand. The first words were, “Dear Lisa.” My stomach turned as I realized I was looking at Lisa Sanders, Johnny’s older sister, the woman in the photographs on the fireplace mantle. As I started reading the letter I felt somewhat out of sorts. I began to wonder if I was truly experiencing this situation or if I was in the middle of a nightmare that would not end, no matter how much I begged. I handed Donny the note.
“He fucked his sister?” Donny broke the silence of the room. Captain Grassio grabbed the note from Donny’s extended hand. The anger on Donny’s face was absolute. I thought for a long moment about how this situation would have been handled had we known this information earlier. Johnny would be dead, plain and simple. Even I wanted this animal dead. The criminal justice system would put him away in a nice hospital for the rest of his life on our dime.
“Why did he go to all the trouble to cut her neck and use the skin to cover her vagina?” I thought I knew the answer but I wanted to hear what these guys had to say.
“It was his. Her vagina belonged to him.” Captain Grassio answered the million dollar question. What Captain Grassio said next caught me off guard.
“Had I seen this while that sick mother-fucker was still in this house, I would have thrown my career away.” Captain Grassio put his head down as he spoke and I could see the tears forming in his eyes. He walked out of the room without saying another word.
Obviously the knife from upstairs was the weapon used on this poor woman’s chest. But it didn’t seem sharp enough to cut the neck open so precisely. There would be a complete search of these premises in the near future, as soon as a search warrant was filed. Everything we had done up to this point was by the book because of that blood trail we followed downstairs. Every crevice of this house would be turned upside down.
As messed up as her face was, I could tell this woman was the older sister in the photographs. A brutal death was not something I saw every day in Hutchville. This appeared to be a double homicide at the hands of Johnny Sanders. He stabbed his sister to death and blew his father’s face apart. And he was setting his sights next on the people of Hutchville, N.Y. Luckily for us, Mrs. Altamero, a senior citizen, alerted us of the shooter. If not for her heroic actions, someone else would have been shot and quite possibly killed.
“Alright, Matt, great job on the video. Why don’t you start processing the scene. Donny, head up to headquarters and get a confession out of the sadistic fuck.”
“Sure, Cap. Do you want me to be nice?” Donny asked, knowing the answer before it left the captain’s lips.
“Nice, no. I want you to make damn sure we get everything we need for a conviction on this maggot. Don’t let him bullshit you. I know if anyone can get it done, it’s you, Detective.” Captain Grassio’s face was flushed and his anger was starting to take over. His cell phone vibrated on his belt. He picked it up and quickly updated Chief Ramsey on the situation.
“Hey, Boss, this guy killed his father and sister. It’s the worst I’ve ever seen. Donny is heading up for the interrogation, Matt is processing the scene, and I’m getting the fuck out of here as soon as I can. I’ll see you up at the office.” Captain Grassio looked at me and continued, “Okay, Matt, the medical examiner is on his way. Dr. Scavone is in store for a circus. Now, do you think Franny can handle this scene with you or should I call in someone else?”
“Franny needs to see what types of situations he’ll be exposed to, Captain. Nobody held my hand when those cats chomped on Mr. Douglas, did they?” I badly wanted to ask the captain about my promotion.
“Matt, you’ve been doing this work long enough and need to be promoted. I know how frustrating this is, but just know I am working on it with the Chief. I don’t know of another person who deserves it more than you do. You work well with Donny and I know how stressful that can be. Do your thing here and I will get back to you. I’m heading back to headquarters and I’ll send Franny down. Show him the ropes. Let’s see if he can stomach this shit.” Captain Grassio headed up the staircase.
I felt better and knew I wasn’t getting smoke blown up my ass. There was no other promotion I had ever wanted. If anyone could get it done, it was the captain. Franny made his way down the stairs with all my detective gear in tow.
“So, I hear there are some dead bodies down here. Can I take photos of them on my camera phone?”
“No, Franny. Come on, man, you have to respect the dead, bro. You can’t treat this like a fucking joke. Captain Grassio is watching to see if you can handle this shit. He’s going to want a full report from me.” I reminded Franny to be professional.
“Matt, I’m just kidding. Do you think I would really do that?” Franny smiled and it took me back twenty years. I was so proud of my little brother and not surprised in the least why he chose this profession. “Oh, by the way, Happy Birthday, bro,” he added.
“Okay, Matthew, you can open your eyes now. Three, two, and one. Eyes open please.”
As my eyes open, I smile, realizing where I am.
“Doc, am I alright? How did I do?”
“You did great, Matthew. We made a lot of progress today.”
“But I don’t remember what I said. Is that normal?”
“Hypnotic regression therapy is an excellent tool for treating individuals suffering from traumatic episodes. Matthew, your work subjects you to the most disturbing incidents that the normal person would never look upon. It’s one thing to see a dead body after it is prepared for viewing at a funeral parlor. This could be very upsetting for an everyday person to experience. To see someone brutally murdered is beyond explanation. The only situation that could be worse is if that victim was a family member or a good friend. The death of a child is also truly difficult to overcome, because it’s just not the norm to ever see such a tragedy.” I can see Dr. Berger’s mood change right before my eyes. He is clearly troubled by something.
“Doc, is everything okay?”
“Yes, Matthew, I’m fine. It’s just difficult to accept such heinous crimes occurring within this community of ours. I remember when this happened. I called Chief Ramsey to offer my services to the department but he declined. You know, my wife passed a few years ago. I thought about retiring to Florida, but my children have settled right here in Hutchville. Judy, my late wife, and I were so pleased because we have four grandchildren right here living in town.”
“I’m sorry to hear about your wife, Doc. That is very sad.”
“Matthew, are you married?”
“No.”
; “Matthew, don’t waste your youth chasing something. Look at me. Except for my children and grandchildren, I am all alone in this life.”
“I hear you, Doc. Same time next week?”
“Before you go, Matthew, you mentioned Detective Donny Mello while in trance. So sorry to hear about his passing.”
I stiffened. My pulse must have skipped a beat. “Thanks, Doc, it’s been a crazy week.”
“As the department psychiatrist I feel I should be on hand at the funeral if any of your fellow officers require my services.”
“I’m sure they will need it. Thanks for your help.”
I leave the office, closing the door behind me. I think about everything that has happened this past month. I stop myself, not wanting to relive my shooting and the information on Donny.
One day at a time, Matt.
Dr. Berger is right to pay his respects. He doesn’t know the truth. That maggot Donny Mello has everyone fooled. His double life almost cost me everything. I should have never got into his BMW that night. Frank Cipriano would probably still be alive. Donny didn’t wait. We had no real evidence, just what was inside the van and that disgusting video. I’m paying for my part in it every day of my life.
Chapter Eight: Date Night
I arrive at my apartment and smile as I look upon Cynthia Shyler, sitting on the front stoop, texting away. She is so beautiful.
“Hey, Cyn, are you hungry?”
“Yes. Can we get Mexican?” Her smile is magnetic and our lips meet.
“Sure. I know the best sangria joint around.”
“Good. Hopefully you won’t run out on me again.”
Back In Town (A Small Town Series Book 2) Page 6