The latter seemed apparent as my eyes locked on Frank Cipriano sitting in a dining room chair completely naked. White plastic zip ties secured his hands to the chair. Frank had something bunched in his mouth with duct tape fastened over it. I could hear the pounding of my heart inside my head. I was scared to touch anything, even though I was wearing the pair of plastic gloves Donny gave me in his car. Frank’s eyes widened and he breathed more heavily as he realized that standing before him in the living room were the two cops who stopped his van earlier.
Donny motioned to look into the bedroom at what this pervert had been watching. As I peered into the small dark bedroom, I was disturbed to see a homemade movie starring this fat fuck. The girl in the video appeared to be approximately thirteen years of age, with braces on her teeth. It became clear to me why this fat bastard had no clothes on. A tall bottle of lube sat next to his bed with toilet paper wrapped in a ball nearby. I clenched my fists as I watched this monster in action. The girl had tears rolling down her face, and I wanted to help her so bad. I wanted to grab her right out of the television and run as far away from this deviant as possible.
I returned to the living room amidst a plethora of anger mixed equally with disgust. I walked up to Frank and punched him as hard as I could in his face. The blow opened up his right eye and it was instantly purple. I felt no remorse for this animal. There was no stopping me now.
Donny whispered, “Yes,” every time I cracked Frank in the face.
I could only imagine if that little girl was someone in my family, this would have been over a lot sooner. Frank would die tonight in silent payment for all his unnamed victims.
Frank started to say something that sounded like, “Please.”
I couldn’t entirely make it out, but it was obvious he was pleading for his life. I suddenly realized Donny and I had nothing covering our faces. I started to shake even more as the realization I was about to take part in a murder sank in. A cold chill motored up and down my spine and out through each appendage. There was no way we were leaving this man alive to testify against us. I wanted to run for my life. I wanted out of this place. What the hell was I doing taking part in a homicide?
Donny walked up to Frank, gripping a box cutter. The whites of Frank’s eyes bulged as Donny sliced Frank’s face from cheek to cheek. Red blood dripped wildly from Frank’s face. It ran down both jowls and made squiggly rivers on his chest, carving circles around his enlarged nipples. The pervert was freaking out. He tried desperately to communicate with Donny. His screams sounded like a loud whisper, but the pain was evident in his pleading eyes. Everything I had sworn to uphold went out the window as Donny stepped behind the victim and slit his throat without even blinking. Blood shot from the wound like a geyser. Seemed like I couldn’t move back far enough to keep it from showering me from head to toe. I had never seen so much blood in my life.
Donny had moved around front and was looking directly into Frank’s eyes. He mouthed something I couldn’t understand. What happened next was totally unexpected but warranted for a piece of shit like Frank. As Frank’s head dropped forward, Donny cut his penis and testicles off. Watching this occur directly in front of me was nauseating, but I held back the urge to vomit. I wasn’t leaving anything to chance, especially my bodily fluids.
At least Donny waited for the dirt bag to die before exposing the sharp blade to the flaccid flesh. I watched as he removed the duct tape and white sock from inside Frank’s mouth and replaced it with Frank’s testicles and penis, being careful to avoid the blood. There would be no DNA left at this scene. Not a fiber, hair, or fingerprint would be found. The best part was that we would be the detectives assigned to the scene once the body was found. If any of our DNA turned up, it would be ruled out by contamination protocols.
Before we left, Donny took one more look at Frank. Donny muttered something in Italian that I did not understand. The words rolled off Donny’s tongue and I was shocked, not really knowing he was fluent. We left and disappeared into the night, staying in the shadows of the surrounding trees.
We slid into the car without shutting the doors. Donny popped the clutch into neutral and let the car roll down the incline. He didn’t start the engine till we reached the intersection where the patrol car first turned into the neighborhood. The BMW started instantly and we were gone in seconds.
Frank Cipriano, the pedophile, was dead and no longer able to threaten the lives of Hutchville’s children. He would be missed by no one. It would probably be days before the smell of death reached the hallway of Frank’s building. I didn’t kill Frank, but I was there and did nothing, so I was just as guilty as Donny. As much as the man deserved his horrible death, a small part of me was remorseful. I still held on to a small amount of empathy, which is something Donny clearly lacked. I was suddenly more scared of my partner than I was of getting caught. Donny was a stone cold killer. How many people had he murdered? I never wanted to find out. The less I knew about Donny’s extracurricular activities the better.
Four days later, Hutchville received a call from the superintendent of Cipriano’s building. A foul odor was permeating throughout the lobby of 325 Adams Place. After patrol made entry with the help of the Super, Donny and I were dispatched to process the crime scene. I was not looking forward to seeing Frank again, but if Donny and I were alone, we could move through processing the scene a lot faster. I had every reassurance that we would find nothing. There would be no evidence; however there would be a lot of questions regarding this murder. After the videotape was shown to the brass, and the public was notified through the press release, Frank’s murder would be, for all intents and purposes, swept under the rug.
Upon our arrival at Frank’s apartment, Donny and I put on a show for patrol that was worthy of an Emmy. Officer Bill Pruitt was holding steady at the front door, keeping a written log of who entered the crime scene. This was basic police work, textbook crime scene investigations right out of the New York State Manual for Police. This book is a police officer’s bible that provides the officer with the know-how to respond to any type of scene. It is the only book needed to be studied in order to advance in rank—if you can tolerate the bland material. I have read it cover to cover many times while working midnights when I was assigned to patrol.
In the midst of our investigation, Captain Grassio showed up unexpectedly. The Captain informed Officer Pruitt not to log him in as he wanted to keep himself out of court, if this case ever went to trial. Of course this was not standard procedure. Putting someone on the list would guarantee them a trip to court if the defendant wanted to have a trial. A defense attorney wants to create as much doubt as possible, and the more people who contaminate a crime scene, the better it is for their client. Officer Pruitt didn’t even flinch as his superior walked right through the door.
On first glance, Captain Grassio couldn’t make heads or tails of this homicide. Frank Cipriano was so obese and bloated it made it next to impossible to see he was missing his penis and testicles. “Is this a man or woman, because it looks like he has a vagina where his cock and balls should be?” The Captain kept talking, and I couldn’t help but laugh. “Are those tits or man boobs?”
After the Captain realized the sexual organs were missing, he was left baffled as to where they could be located. The hard wood floors of the dining room were soaked in dried blood, but there was no sign of the missing sexual organs. Donny, having a more aberrant personality than myself, motioned to the Captain that they were in the victim’s mouth. With gloves on, Donny opened Frank’s mouth. The bloody discovery made Captain Grassio burst out, “What a sick sadistic fuck we have on our hands here, people.”
The stench from the organs worsened, and I frantically required some fresh air. I couldn’t listen to my boss making any more jokes, and my nerves got the best of me. As I exited the apartment, I hurled the entire contents of my stomach over the wrought iron railing. I don’t know if the guilt of what I had taken part in had made me sick, or if just the gruesome s
ight aggravated my stomach. I was definitely feeling pain right now, and the confusion of doing something totally wrong was apparent—hopefully just to myself. I collected myself quickly, seeing the Captain heading my way. I was embarrassed to see a news van up the street with a reporter going live with cameras aimed at us. It would suck if they had me puking on video. I would never be able to live that down, especially from the ball-breakers I hang out with.
Captain Grassio looked up at me with sweat on his forehead. “Matt, you all right? This should be a piece of cake for you; there are no cats here to eat Cipriano.”
I shook my head and continued to spit repeatedly for some time. I informed Captain Grassio of the video playing on repeat inside the bedroom. Captain Grassio immediately understood the significance of the genitals placed in Frank’s mouth by the killer(s). Captain Grassio’s expression of disgust turned to gratifying happiness, knowing that this must be the pervert lurking around our schools.
“Only time will tell,” the Captain said as he collected himself and headed towards the news van.
While I stood outside, Dr. Scavone pulled up in his white van. He had a perky new assistant who was hurriedly jumping to his beck and call. I didn’t even make eye contact with the asshole. I was sure Donny wouldn’t hesitate to have some fun with the doctor, especially since his new assistant appeared to be fresh out of college. I hoped he prepared her for what she was about to embark on inside apartment 3A.
This was definitely something I would never forget. Blood was on my hands. Nothing good could come from this. Emotionally I needed to prepare myself for any type of outside law enforcement snooping around. This was Donny’s thing, not mine. I needed to make it clear to him that this could never happen again. Deep inside I knew it was futile; my friend, and partner, was dangerous, and I was unable to do anything about it. Donny owned me at this point. I could either fight, and take my chances, or stow this in the vault and move on. One thing was certain—Donny wouldn’t hesitate to kill someone else. He must have had a lot of practice in the mother country. Someone would have to stop him in the future; I prayed it wouldn’t have to be me.
Chapter Thirteen: No More Dreams
August 26, 2007
I decide it is time to see my parents. After what I had dreamed the night before, I realize I need to start putting some things behind me and start getting my life back to normal. It’s not easy to hold in a secret that may well guarantee a lengthy prison sentence. Cipriano’s murder was years ago but time doesn’t make it any easier. I won’t talk about it, no matter who is asking the questions. The case is done; there is no evidence to point to me, and I couldn’t see Donny turning on me for any reason; he is my friend. But what kind of friend puts someone in this situation?
As I exit my lobby door, I notice a dark Dodge Charger parked up on the hill, all tinted—and occupied. I wonder if my shooter has come back to finish the job. I reach to my back to make sure I haven’t forgotten my gun and am relieved to feel the cold steel against my spine.
“Fuck it,” I say under my breath, deciding that nothing will keep me from my mother’s ravioli. Sunday dinner is something you don’t miss, and I have already missed the last few. I crank the Jeep’s engine, pop the clutch, and proceed south on Forest Avenue.
The drive to my parents is only a couple of minutes. The warm sun beating on my head makes this summer day feel incredible. But then I see the black Charger move from its perch and come my way ever so slowly.
Surveillance is an art form if done correctly. Watching someone perform it poorly for me is similar to a professional musician playing crappy music. It is obvious at this point the car is following me. I decide to have some fun with this asshole, and perform a quick, sharp right turn. The Charger tries to make the turn but can’t as a delivery truck blocks the front end of his car. If he really is following me, he can find me at my parents’ house. I’d let my dad have a Q and A session with him.
As I pull into the driveway, I see Franny’s Land Rover parked in my spot, as usual. I sit in my Jeep admiring the landscaping my father has done to the front of the house. He is a master gardener. He has a tomato garden in the backyard second to none. His cucumbers are my favorite, right after his Italian style hot peppers. He labors in the garden all day long; it’s a tradition passed down from his father. Even though his father is gone, I think he feels a connection to him while touching the soil.
Out of the corner of my eye, I spot the Charger driving slowly up the road. At this point, a confrontation is necessary. This is my town anyway. Who could possibly have the balls to follow me in my own town, let alone on the very street I grew up on? I walk towards the Dodge with my Glock out and hidden behind my back. I am surprised to find a female sitting in the driver seat fumbling through a yellow legal envelope. She quickly rolls down her window as she can tell I am pissed off.
“Who the fuck are you, and why are you following me? What press agency are you affiliated with?”
If she is with the press, she will have to tell me. But she isn’t. Instead, she flips open a small black wallet revealing a glimmering gold badge and an ID card with three unmistakable letters emblazoned on it.
“Shit! FBI,” I think to myself. The fucking feds are following me. Why? The butterflies in my stomach return.
“Hello detective. Special Agent Cynthia Shyler,” she states coldly.
She is a very attractive woman in her early thirties, with long blonde hair pulled into a very sexy ponytail. She takes her Aviator sunglasses off as she tries to hide paperwork from my sight. Cynthia looks at me with the cutest blue eyes I have seen in a while.
“I heard about your shooting. How are you feeling?” she asks.
Who is this agent, and why is she asking me about my shooting? I wonder. Surely the FBI has better things to do with their time than check up on local cops recovering from an injury. I sense that there is more she wants to ask me but is biding her time and trying to get me talking. I want out of this conversation as soon as possible. Even cops know not to talk to the feds unless you are ordered to by your superiors.
“I am feeling great thanks, and hungry. My family is waiting for me. Nice to meet you,” I say, walking away as I speak.
“One more thing, detective, and then I will let you get to that dinner. Have you heard from your partner, Donny Mello?”
Her question stops me dead in my tracks. A nervous twinge runs through my body, making me instantly lose my appetite. Why do the FBI want to know where Donny is, and why are they asking me?
I spin around to face her again. I want to yell at her for asking me about my partner but from this vantage point, I can see how truly beautiful she is. It is almost hard to concentrate on what she is asking me. But my anger takes over once again, and I stammer to give her an answer.
“Aren’t you the FBI, special agent? Shouldn’t you know the answer to that question?” I shout. She raises an eyebrow and doesn’t answer. Her blue eyes zero in on mine, and I can tell she isn’t satisfied with my response. She is obviously annoyed with me, but I can’t take my eyes off her.
Hearing my shouting, Franny ventures out to the front porch to smoke a cigarette and starts yelling “Yo” over and over until I acknowledge him with my middle finger. I reluctantly let go of the woman’s gaze, releasing the unspoken tension that has built between us.
“Well, detective. I really do hope you are feeling better,” she says coolly. I can’t tell if she is being sincere or sarcastic. Cynthia looks into my eyes, cocks her head to the left, and says, “Tell your partner I need to talk to him immediately.”
Without even a goodbye, Special Agent Cynthia Shyler closes her window and leaves. I finally look at Franny and wave. The pain in the ass keeps saying, “Yo” until we embrace on my parents’ front porch. I have to remind him my left arm is still hurting.
“Who the hell was that?” he questions me. There is no way I am going to tell Franny what had just happened. At least not until I have time to process it myself.
“She looked hot. Did you get her number?” Franny is always looking to get laid.
Before I can answer, my mother comes bursting through the front door. She must have heard me from inside and almost throws Franny out of the way to get to me, hugging me and sobbing all over my shirt. Right behind her comes my father, who gives me a slap on my ass and a man hug that could have broken my neck.
It is nice to see them. We all go inside. My mother yells at Franny for smoking too close to the house. Nothing has changed with these people and I love them for it.
I am tired of thinking about my past, I tell them. There will be no more nightmares. I am a detective who got shot, plain and simple. And I am going back to work immediately. Franny is slightly upset because my return means that he’ll be headed back to patrol. A necessary disappointment.
After dinner, I phone the Captain, who sounds out of breath. I inform him I will be returning to work tomorrow. I ask if I need a doctor’s note since I have been out for a month. He laughs, catching his wind from playing with his kids.
“See me tomorrow at nine sharp. We have to find the scum who shot you.” And then he really gets my attention. “Your partner will be back tomorrow. I finally got hold of him.”
For a moment I wonder if I should mention my run-in with Special Agent Shyler to the Captain. After all, she wants to know where Donny is and now I know. I decide to keep it to myself for now. I need to speak to my partner and try to make some sense of his absence. According to the Captain, Donny is returning from Italy, so it all makes sense that I should return as soon as possible.
In A Small Town (A Small Town Series Book 1) Page 9