by Gary Starta
Eva Davies, the down to earth, Boston-born, Emmy award-winning actress had purchased a handgun. She had bought it the day after she found out the Mayor was being blackmailed. She’d bought it, believing she would never use it, unless her life became threatened. But her mind no longer deducted with the sane reasoning of the actress. Today, she processed thoughts as if she were the street savvy, Marlene Baylor, a bitter woman who believed in street justice. When she pulled the handgun from her purse, the smile on Fritz Lamperti’s face segued into genuine shock. He should have taken care of her. He had underestimated the enemy. His last thoughts revolved around his brother, Vito. His face never had a chance to reveal the shame he was feeling. Three bullets ripped into him. He took two to the forehead and one to the chest.
By the time ‘Marlene Baylor’ had pulled her Jaguar from the lot, a huge pool of blood encircled him.
She had originally planned to turn herself in. She had even toyed with the idea of copping a plea of insanity. Maybe she could be institutionalized, but even the confines of a sanitarium would never truly shield her from the long arm of the Lamperti family. She had relinquished her turn in this game of death. Now they had the ball in their corner and they would hit back twice as hard, not only to avenge a loved one but to save face with other crime families.
She ripped the wig from her head, but the action did nothing to bring her back to reality. She opened the car’s windows and let the wind whip through her natural brown locks. She could hear crickets chirping, signaling the beginning of twilight and the choice she would be forced to make. Surrender or run. As she navigated her car along Interstate 93, she began to equate running with hope. Maybe a movie ending might yet be possible. The warmth of the summer night gave her comfort. Marlene Baylor just might get lucky. Hollywood proved the impossible was sometimes possible. Lost in character, she gazed into the periwinkle night. The sky seemed to cling to the last remnant of the pretty blue color as if it too hoped it could stave off the inevitable. She accelerated the car, but no matter how fast Eva Davies/Marlene Baylor drove that night, fate would not let her escape the inky black despair of nightfall.
Gary Starta Biography
A love of crime scene investigation and mystery inspired the creation of Murder By Association, a novel set in Starta’s birth state, Massachusetts. Starta plans to feature Detective Stanford Carter in several forthcoming books including Kindred Killers. Carter can also be found in the Caitlin Diggs series where he helps the FBI investigator with several ‘paranormal cases’.
READ ON FOR BONUS SHORT STORY – ANIMAL INSTINCTS
The first Stanford Carter appearance along with Celeste: Agent Diggs’ future beloved pet cat. This story also is a precursor to Demon Inhibitions in which Aldo Mollini escapes justice and leads Agent Diggs to a parallel dimension.
ANIMAL
INSTINCTS
Jill Calder’ attempt to bury her emotions was not going so well. While the young CSI poured through open case files at the Boston Police Department’s Crime Lab, the recent deaths of her parent’s best friends stole her concentration. Jill had a hard time coming to terms with the department’s official ruling: Mary and Benjamin Heinrich had murdered each other. Jill’s supervisor, Lt. Det. Stanford Carter, knew his rookie officer had every right to be upset. Carter also believed foul play factored somewhere in the equation. But the department couldn’t exhibit gut instinct in an evidence bag nor put it on a witness stand.
Calder and Carter suspected Aldo Mollini had murdered the Heinrich’s. He had been contracted by the late couple to remodel two bathrooms in their 12 room Cambridge mansion. Mollini had ample motive. His contract with the Heinrich’s stipulated he be paid in advance, in full. The baths were far from completion as Mollini had only begun to gut the downstairs shower stall when the murders occurred.
“Isn’t it convenient for Mr. Mollini,” Jill complained to Stanford, “He gets to collect one hundred grand all for just tearing a few tiles off a bathroom wall.” This theory ate away at Carter as well. But the veteran detective would offer little clues to his crime team that he was upset. Stanford employed the Zen technique of meditation to help him cope with the vicious crimes he investigated on a daily basis. Calder, on the other hand, was not doing quite so good a job at concealing her feelings. The rookie officer had dropped her pen twice in addition to spilling the contents of a case folder in the crime lab hallway. Carter suggested he and Calder take a coffee break to discuss the case. The lieutenant detective never had to be prodded more than once for an excuse to partake in his favorite beverage. He also could not deny his ever-increasing attraction towards Calder.
“Jill, I am going to keep a close watch on Mr. Mollini. I will share something with you; but you have got to promise me you will not act on this information.” Carter paused to pour a steaming cup of espresso into Calder’s over sized coffee mug. The young CSI squirmed anxiously in her break room chair. As Jill’s eyes grew wide with wonder, Carter’s mind flashed back to last month when he had saved her life. Calder had been taken hostage by the crime lab’s former medical examiner in her apartment. With gun in hand, Carter had come to her rescue. All it took was one shot to incapacitate the crazed coroner, who was now serving several life sentences for murder. Carter knew all too well crime scene investigators often walked a fine line to maintain their sanity. For this reason, Stanford felt compelled to offer his young CSI a small bone to quiet the inner voice in her head. He didn’t need another member of his crime team jumping off the edge.
* * *
Celeste, the Tonkinese cat, paraded on the kitchen counter like it was a Paris runway. Just a few months ago, the feline’s intrusion on the counter top would have resulted in a desperately unsuccessful scolding from her owners.
In recent days, Marlene and Carl Anderson were simply too distracted to reprimand their vivacious pet. The Anderson’s had also been friends of Mary and Benjamin Heinrich. And just like Jill, the Anderson’s couldn’t believe the couple was dead – let alone murdered by each other.
Marlena and Carl were comforted that Celeste was safe and sound. The Anderson’s had sold the cat to the Heinrich’s, who had been keenly interested in acquiring the pure bred feline affectionately referred to as a Tonk. As soon as Marlene heard the murders reported on the evening news, she rushed to the crime scene to retrieve Celeste. She struck up a conversation with Lt. Detective Carter who learned the Anderson’s had also contracted Mollini to work on their house. This was the news Carter was about to divulge to his rookie CSI. The department would continue to keep tabs on the contractor; but outright casing of Mollini or his helper would not be tolerated. This advisory had come down from the district attorney who warned any encroachment upon Mollini’s civil rights could easily result in a lawsuit against the city.
Aldo Mollini had told police he had been out of the house buying supplies when the murders occurred. Detectives had confirmed his story by tracking a credit card purchase he made at the local home improvement center. The cashier told the Boston PD she remembered a man who looked like Mollini’s helper; but she could not say for certain if she had seen Aldo himself in her store. Carter had decided to keep this tidbit from Jill. He wanted to calm Calder down, not fan the flames of fury.
Marlene Anderson was sure of one thing - Celeste had witnessed the murders. Every time she retrieved an iron skillet from her kitchen cabinet, the cat would start baying hysterically and pacing the floor in circles. This was because an iron skillet had been used to bash in the head of Benjamin Heinrich. Celeste would often repeat the same Shakespearean-like performance every time Carl used his carving knife. A similar type of utensil had been thrust into the stomach of Ms. Heinrich. Everybody knew Mollini and the cat were linked to the Heinrich household. But what degree were they separated from the murders? Both the Anderson’s and the Boston PD would continue to keep a wary eye on Mollini. Consequently, each was way too absorbed with the contractor to pay attention
to Celeste – the sole witness to the crime.
* * *
Aldo Mollini finished work early one gloomy, November afternoon. Marlene Anderson was only too happy to consent to his early departure from her house. Every time she tried to greet the contractor, her true fears conspired to plaster a worried look upon her pale, alabaster-colored face. She knew Mollini must be aware of her suspicions. How could she not suspect him? He wore the same stained overalls to her house every day. He also stared through the kitchen window at her when he took his outdoor smoke breaks. Marlene had no doubt, Mollini was a grade A - first class weirdo. But she had paid Aldo in full as required by contract. If she were to terminate the work, she would be out over 100 grand with two gutted bathrooms and an unfinished backyard Jacuzzi. Marlene and Carl decided to weather out the storm and allow Mollini to complete his work. The couple’s late night discussions did not sit well with Celeste. The gray-faced Tonk leaped back and forth from their laps in an attempt to dissuade them.
Clearly, Celeste did not believe money was more important than her owner’s lives. But try as she might, the blue-eyed ball of fur was not successful at changing their minds.
* * *
An errant gust of wind thrust a branch against Mollini’s bedroom window. The self-proclaimed “remodel professional” was back at his Wellesley Hills dwelling. Nearly all the orange and red colored leafs had departed the large tree that dwarfed his charcoal gray house. The decay of the leaves reminded Mollini of human frailty. Next to pilfering money from unsuspecting homeowners, Aldo was deeply possessed with remodeling his own humanity. He desperately wanted to evolve into a powerful force. Aldo was not modest. He desired power on the level with nature. On the way to this transformation, Mollini theorized some sacrifices might be necessary. Mollini’s twisted mind believed controlling the life and death of others would one day allow him to control his own life and death. It would also line his pockets quite well along the way. He fell asleep a few hours later with a book resting upon his chest. Its title was: The Occult and Self-Empowerment.
* * *
Beep. Beep. Beep. The digital answering machine spouted a series of consecutive electronic burps. Carl Anderson was in the midst of programming the electronic device given to him as a birthday gift from his wife. The shrill chirping noises intrigued the gray and white, Tonkinese. Celeste cocked her head carefully each time Carl programmed a new number into the machine’s speed dialing menu. The perky feline wanted to make sure Carl entered the next digits into the machine as if his life depended upon it.
In a way - it did. Carl was about to enter Stanford Carter’s personal cell number into the machine. Carter urged Marlene to call him, anytime – day or night – if warranted. Mr. Anderson paused a moment to ask if wife if he should put Carter’s number before Aunt Nora’s. Marlene brushed off her husband’s inquiry briskly, stating it made no difference to her. Carl’s instinct told him his wife was upset over Mollini. It also told reminded him of Marlene’s frequent annoyance with Nora. The prying relative never felt a hint of shame when pressing Marlene to reveal the most personal secrets of their marriage. And right now, Marlene was teetering on a steep enough precipice without being grilled by Nosy Nora.
Carl decided Carter’s number should precede Nora’s. “Either way you look at it,” Carl laughed to himself, “they’re both distress calls.” But the stern look resonating in Celeste’s jewel-like eyes should have told Carl this was no joking matter. Carl never looked up to notice how enraptured his cat had become with his task. Celeste pounced off the table when the programming was finished; arching her back as if the weight of the world was squarely placed upon it.
* * *
Molllini arrived bright and early at the Anderson’s the next day. The contractor eerily greeted Marlene with the phrase “it won’t be much longer now.” The short and cryptic statement sent a chill down Ms. Anderson’s spine. Celeste also seemed spooked.
The cat pricked her ears up, trying to discern exactly what Mollini had meant. Celeste’s usual motorboat like purr had been non-existent the past few days. More and more, the cat seemed like she was preparing to carry out a plan of great importance. However, to Marlene, Celeste’s expression constantly conveyed a certain air of nobility. Whether she was dragging around a toy mouse or eating her dinner, Celeste always seemed to be silently hinting that her actions warranted front-page headlines. The look upon the feline’s puss was no less earnest today. There was no question in her mind. She was on a quest to protect the Anderson’s. And that mission was no less urgent than saving the entire galaxy.
* * *
Later that afternoon, Marlene’s anxiety began to subside. A weariness took grip of her body. Lacking a full night’s rest for the past week, Marlene was succumbing more to her exhaustion than to fear. She had asked Carl to retrieve a sleeping aid at the local drugstore. Silent ramblings began to penetrate her mind during Carl’s absence.
Aldo sat in the bathroom, entranced in deep meditation, sifting subliminal messages through the confines of the ravaged first floor bath. Celeste paused a moment from her perch atop the kitchen counter to listen. The telepathic communication was too faint for the feline’s ears. Nevertheless, the Tonk refused to move from this spot all day. For Celeste, this position provided the last line of defense for her owner. She diligently resumed her bath by licking her paws after confirming no danger was imminent. Unfortunately for Celeste and the Anderson’s, Mollini was no longer dealing in the realm of physical barriers. He had penetrated a psychic wall, which was now in the process of crumbling.
* * *
“Do you think we could take a casual swing by the Anderson’s?” Jill Calder asked her boss. “It just happens to be on the way to my favorite sub shop, anyway.”
Stanford Carter mulled over the CSI’s request in his mind. There would be no harm in taking the route, which would place the detectives in close proximity to the Anderson’s neighborhood. As long as it didn’t include outright surveillance of the Anderson home, there should be no harm,” Carter told his conscious. Moreover, his stomach was grumbling for some nutrition – even if it came in the guise of a pastrami sandwich. The pair had just processed a local convenience store, which had been robbed the previous evening. There was no reason further analysis of the scene couldn’t be suspended for a few hours. All the thief had taken was a few grocery items, no cash. The investigation hardly warranted the efforts of two officers when murderers were loose on the streets of Boston. At least, that’s what Carter told a voice, which played devil’s advocate in his mind. The lieutenant detective navigated his vehicle towards the eatery, casting a few sidelong glances at his cell phone. Stanford wanted to make sure the phone was powered on. But there was no need for the detective to check on his intuitive senses. His gut instinct was always on standby.
* * *
Mollini’s diabolical plan was proceeding on course. This time, the unfortunate couple would not be persuaded to off each other. Aldo wanted to try another tact with the Anderson’s. The pair would both voluntarily commit suicide at his command. But either way, the maniacal contractor would be assured no forensic evidence would exist to stunt his spiritual quest. The couple would not be able to scratch Mollini to gather his DNA underneath their fingernails. In fact, he would be nowhere their bodies as they inhaled their final breaths. The Anderson’s would not only succumb to Mollini’s demented wishes; but be also deprived of any posthumous satisfaction of implicating their murderer. Mollini was confident he would achieve his results. But he was too quick to discount the one thing that could still thwart his plans – animal instinct.
* * *
Marlene Anderson began to pop the sleeping tablets into her mouth. She stood in the kitchen, glassy eyed, while her husband left her in peace. Carl immediately went back to the garage after unwittingly dispensing the death warrant for his beloved wife. A voice was instructing Carl to sit in his vehicle with the engine idling. He was
to remain there until carbon monoxide would send him on a permanent vacation.
* * *
Jill Calder stared at Stanford in uncomfortable silence while the detective munched on his pastrami hero. She looked like she was about to burst. Carter demanded the CSI to spit out whatever was preoccupying her mind, before he spit out his sandwich.
“Do you think this Mollini has psychic powers?” Jill blurted out.
The waitress at the counter named Wendy cast a wary eye in their direction. She hoped the pair would not become too immersed in their conversation to forget her tip.
“You mean he forced the Heinrich’s to murder each other,” Stanford answered.
Carter swished a swig of coffee in mouth as if he was weighing the possibility.
“It would explain why we have no physical evidence linking Mollini with the murders,” Carter theorized.
“What if he preys upon the Anderson’s in the same fashion?” Jill cautioned.
They will be helpless to call for aid if Mollini does possess this power. And don’t look at me like I’m crazy. Did you know Czarina Alexandra fell under the hypnotic influence of a monk named Grigory Yefimovich Rasputin in the early 20th century? Even famous Russian chess masters have accused hypnotists of impairing their skills during tournaments. There are also plenty of well-substantiated cases of this type of trickery being performed in Moscow during the last one hundred years. Russian President Vladimir Putin even went so far as to outlaw any psychotronic influence which intends to cause harm.”
“This is all very fascinating, Jill. But we cannot make a move against Mollini without probable cause. We don’t have any proof Mollini is influencing anybody with either his mind or a psychotronic weapon.”
Stanford silently cursed his predilections for following procedure. Deep down, he knew Jill was on to something.