A Murder Is Denounced

by Cenarth Fox

  ‘Take it,’ said the surgeon. ‘I keep no digital records and lose paperwork when the customer has the bill paid by the DEA. But you already know that.’

  DJ didn’t but did now. He nodded to the surgeon and left, feeling fantastic. He returned to the motel in eager anticipation of a bumper payment from Cam. Stepping inside his room, he copped a smashing blow to the back of his head.

  Down but not out, he looked up to see a belligerent Scruffy holding a half empty beer bottle. ‘I told you to stay here. I’m callin’ the boss and he’ll tell me to knock you. No Vlad, no money, no life, Shithead,’ he roared. ‘Now stay there.’

  Holding his phone, Scruffy keep watching DJ as he called Cam.

  ‘Boss, it’s me. This useless prick just tried to clear out. He’s bleeding you dry. Do you want me to …’ Scruffy stopped speaking then held out the phone to DJ. ‘The boss wants to speak to you.’

  With one serious headache, and while bleeding on the cheap carpet, Donny spoke to his employer. ‘Hello Mr Gonzales.’

  ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘All done, Mr Gonzales; I’ve found your missing package here in this fine city.’

  ‘Great,’ said Cam.

  ‘Fuck,’ gasped Scruffy.

  ‘I’m chasing the new label but I have a photo of your former and now new-looking product. I can email it to any address you like.’

  ‘Great. Do nothing. I’ll be in touch. How is Scruffy treating you?’

  ‘Scruffy?’ DJ looked up at the now worried thug. ‘Oh he’s fine. Treating me like a brother.’

  The call ended and Donny held up the phone. Scruffy took it and also DJ’s hand helping him to rise. ‘Sorry, man’ he whispered and backed off pronto.

  Cam felt great. Vlad was found; sort of. Word had spread about Cam being shafted which infuriating the drug lord. Now word would spread about Vlad being hung, drawn and quartered which made Cam glow.

  ‘Excuse me, Mr Gonzales,’ said his Spanish-speaking housekeeper. ‘There are some gentlemen to see you.’

  ‘What? Who? I have no appointments.’

  ‘They say they have a warrant.’

  Cam went back to being furious. ‘What!’ He headed out of his main living-room into the freeway-type hallway leading to the massive front door of his mansion, in another zip code. There stood four uniformed officers from the Drug Enforcement Agency of the US Justice Department. Their senior officer held out a piece of paper.

  ‘Mr Gonzales, we’re from the DEA and this is a warrant to search your property.’

  Cam’s joy at learning that Vlad had been found, or at least a trace of him, died. Cam’s lawyer was on speed dial.

  Chapter 8

  NEXT MORNING, HOMICIDE DETECTIVES were addressed by their hands-on boss. DI Elly Rose led from the front.

  ‘I know all murder investigations are equal but in this case, some are more equal than others, and the brutal death of Christine Grande is a perfect example. This case must be solved. The dead woman must get justice as must her young kids, her family and friends. Let’s nail the bastard who did this. No mistakes, missed witnesses, or lost forensics—let’s build a rock-solid case and charge this killer.’

  She would’ve made a good football coach or motivator. There were no comments or questions as the detectives awaited her instructions.

  ‘Kevin Grande is a bully and a thug with a violent record. This was a premeditated and callous murder. He knows the system and will admit nothing. We must break his alibi. It’s the only thing stopping us from charging him. So, questions?’

  ‘Anything new from Forensics, ma’am?’ asked Charlie Baldwin.

  ‘DS Hughes?’

  Billy spoke. ‘We’ve heard the assailant knew what he was doing and must have worn protective clothing. The knife, never found, was used only to wound and torture. The suspect’s prints are in the house but then he used to live there. This was a prolonged and brutal murder.’

  ‘What was the cause of death?’ asked DI Blunt, still being sidelined after his cock-up trying to arrest a war veteran in a wheelchair.

  ‘Asphyxiation,’ replied Rose. ‘She was deprived of oxygen due to blood and mucus in her airwaves. She choked on her own fluids.’

  Detectives cringed, some groaned. Rose didn’t pull her punches. ‘There were no bruises on the roof of her mouth but just about everywhere else, and the killer wore gloves.’

  Blunt continued to try and make a name for himself rather than catch the culprit. ‘So no prints, shoe prints, hair, clothing fibres; nothing left by the killer?’

  Rose snapped. ‘Forensics reckons he could have worked for them.’

  The room fell silent. Jo got thinking. It was hard to push Gabrielle Strange, her grandparents and her love life to one side but try she did. ‘If the suspect refuses to co-operate, ma’am,’ asked Jo, ‘can we get something out of his mate?’

  ‘We can try. He too is in custody and DS Fleming and your good self, Senior, will soon brilliantly unpick his lies. DS Hughes and I will have first crack at the suspect.’

  Other detectives were used to the lowly Detective Senior Constable Best getting handed important tasks although DI Blunt, being new, raged inside. His dislike for Jo Best kept growing. Hatred beckoned.

  Before they entered the interview room, Rose asked Billy to lead. Grande chose not to have a lawyer. He’d been around the block and knew how the system worked, although he’d never been arrested on suspicion of murder. With a confidence which unsettled the detectives, he grinned across the table at Rose and Hughes.

  ‘Two ladies,’ he said, ‘I’m impressed.’

  ‘You seem to have a fondness for women, Mr Grande,’ began Billy. ‘Women on their own, slight of stature, and worried about the welfare of their helpless children. Is that a fair comment?’

  Grande kept grinning. He ignored the sarcasm exuding the air of a man confident he wouldn’t be charged. ‘No comment.’

  ‘Why did you ignore the AVO taken out by your wife?’ asked Billy.

  The grinning disappeared. ‘What’s that got to do with anything?’

  ‘Motive and attitude; you’ve got a violent streak and don’t give a toss for authority. The fact you were charged with assaulting her reinforces your propensity to torture and brutalize.’

  ‘Propensity? Listen, lady, I’m a bloody tram driver. You’ll have to speak English if this is gunna continue.’

  ‘Don’t undersell yourself, Mr Grande. The killer was so smart he dressed so as not to leave any fibres from his clothing. We reckon he wore a shower cap and gloves with covers on his shoes, and such behaviour takes a clever person, Mr Grande. Don’t sell yourself short.’

  ‘I’m impressed.’ He paused. ‘Oh, was there a question in there? Sorry, I must have missed it.’

  The interview made zero progress. Rose shifted her position and Billy passed the baton to her boss.

  ‘Kevin,’ began Rose and the mood changed. There was no subtlety in this good-cop bad-cop routine.

  ‘Ah,’ replied Kevin, ‘the good cop speaks.’

  ‘How well do you know your kids?’

  He knew what she was trying to do but took the bait anyway.

  ‘Nowhere near well enough because the bitch told the court lies about me, and they stopped me from seeing them.’

  ‘You say lies, she points to bruises.’ Billy wished she’d said that as Grande didn’t have an immediate reply. Rose continued.

  ‘Do you want to see your kids, Kevin?’

  He turned nasty. ‘Oh, what is this? Confess to killing the slag and we’ll let you watch your kids through a two-way mirror for ten minutes on the fifth Sunday of the month? You’ll need to do a lot better than that, girls.’

  The word “girls” was smeared with oil of pejorative.

  ‘What do you suggest Mrs Lemon tells your kids about their mother?’

  ‘That evil bitch.’

  ‘It’s a serious question, Kevin. You claim you didn’t kill Christine. Someone did—and in a brutal way.’
Rose opened a folder. ‘We have photos.’

  He pushed back. ‘Not interested.’

  Rose placed them in a row facing Grande. He looked at her and not the pics. ‘Someone who hated your wife did this.’ She paused. ‘Can you help us catch the bastard?’

  ‘You want me to do your job?’

  ‘We want your kids to grow up knowing their father didn’t kill their mother.’

  He shouted and slapped the table. The photos jumped. ‘I didn’t kill her. I sure as hell wanted to but I didn’t, and you can’t prove I did.’

  Rose attacked in kind. ‘You hated her. You still hate her. You threatened and bashed her.’ She slapped the photos. ‘The person who did this is a loser filled with hate, a coward who thinks he’s brave because he can bash a helpless woman.’ She mocked him. ‘A Mister Toughness who, when faced with a fair fight, runs a mile.’ She paused and looked at him. ‘Ring any bells, Kevin?’

  Grande glared at the detectives, ready to lash out then, in a second, went all calm and smirked. ‘Nice try, ladies, close but no cigar. I had nothing to do with her murder so charge me or let me go.’

  The interview ended. Rose and Hughes met with Fletcher and Best in the adjoining room with the monitor which featured the interview.

  ‘You saw all that?’ asked Rose.

  ‘Yes ma’am,’ replied Fletcher and Jo. ‘He’s right. We’ve got motive but no forensics and his alibi clears him. But a chain is only as strong as its weakest link. If Grande’s buddy breaks, we’ve got him. Okay?’

  ‘No pressure then,’ said Fletcher as he and Jo went off to war.

  Justin told Jo he would open the bowling but she could share the new ball. Cooper Yale was 40, a driver delivering sand and screenings and who lived alone in an apartment in North Melbourne. His mate, Kevin Grande was crashing on Yale’s sofa till he found new digs.

  Cooper was not under arrest, and Justin explained his rights. Cooper waved a dismissive hand.

  ‘Let’s start, Cooper, by telling us how you first met Kevin Grande?’

  ‘We ran into each other.’

  ‘What, literally?’ Cooper nodded. ‘Where?’

  ‘Ah, corner of St Georges and Arthurton Roads. He had right of way, passed me, braked suddenly and I clipped the end of his tram.’

  ‘You crashed into his tram?’

  ‘We agreed to have a beer and get our stories straight and found we had a bit in common.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Like both having a bitch of a wife who shafted us in the Family Court meaning we got ridiculous restrictions on seeing our kids.’

  Jo cleared her throat and Justin pulled back. She attacked.

  ‘Kevin’s been arrested for beating his ex.’ Cooper shrugged. ‘Have you ever been arrested, Cooper?’

  ‘Never,’ he boasted.

  Fletcher couldn’t believe Jo would ask the next question but she did.

  ‘So, Cooper, when did you stop beating your wife?’

  He nearly fell into the dumbest trap. ‘Ha, bloody ha,’ he sneered.

  Fletcher copied his boss and produced photos of the wretched victim. Justin and Jo worked as a team. He spoke. The photos were facing Cooper who couldn’t help but look, although from a distance.

  ‘Kevin’s ex, Cooper. I guess you haven’t seen these. They’re not pretty. She was tortured before being murdered. Take a look.’

  He pushed back from the table. ‘Get lost.’

  ‘Come on, have a close look.’ The photos were pushed closer.

  Cooper leant forward and snapped. ‘Okay, I’ve seen ‘em, all right?’

  ‘Only a sick bastard would do this to another person.’

  Cooper shrugged. ‘So?’

  ‘We reckon we know who killed Mrs Grande, and there’s only one thing stopping us charging the killer.’

  Jo jumped in. ‘Making a false report to police, Cooper, is a serious offence. How does 15 years inside sound.’ Cooper went quiet.

  ‘Ever visited anyone in jail, Cooper?’ asked Justin. Cooper kept quiet. ‘Can you swear an oath in a court that Kevin was in your flat all that time?’

  ‘He was there.’

  ‘Answer the question,’ said Jo.

  Justin increased the pressure. ‘So you were in your flat the whole time and Kevin stayed with you?

  ‘That’s what I said.’

  ‘What did you have for tea?’

  Cooper got angry. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Did you eat in or out?’

  ‘Can’t remember.’

  ‘Cooper,’ said Jo, ‘it was two days ago. You were with your mate. Did you go to the pub?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Which one?’

  ‘Me local.’

  ‘What did you order?’

  ‘Steak.’

  ‘What did Kevin order?’

  Cooper shook his head, his stroppy attitude accelerating. ‘Dunno. Ask him.’

  ‘We will and then we’ll ask you again.’

  Cooper was close to shutting down. He hated his ex and the Family Court and the ruling it made against him. If he could have killed the judge, sanctimonious prick, he would have done so without hesitation. Kevin was the only person who understood. They were in the same boat and must stick together.

  Justin was guessing but attacked again. ‘So we can go to your local pub, check their CCTV, and see you and Kevin having fish ‘n chips?’

  Cooper leant forward. ‘I hate fish ‘n chips.’

  ‘And you were with Kevin at the pub and then back at your place the whole time until 3 the next morning?’

  Cooper paused. ‘Did you say I was free to leave at any time?’

  ‘Only if you’re not arrested.’

  Cooper’s mind was working overtime. ‘So tell me, when did his ex get killed? What time, exactly?’ He was taunting them now.

  Justin and Jo knew they were stuffed—for now. They ended the interview and Cooper was free to go.

  The four detectives discussed the two interviews. ‘Cooper’s the weak link,’ said DI Rose. ‘Well done you two but we need to attack from another angle.’

  ‘What about his family?’ asked Jo.

  ‘His mother and sister are here in Melbourne but his old man shot through to North Queensland,’ added Billy.

  ‘Bags interview the old man,’ volunteered a grinning Fletcher.

  Rose kept probing. ‘What about his work colleagues?’

  ‘They may not tell us anything helpful,’ said Hughes, ‘but if Cooper knows we’re snooping around, we could get right up his nose.’

  ‘Good,’ said the DI. ‘Do it. Justin, you tackle his family and Billy, you ruffle his work mates. Choose your teams.’

  Hughes and Fletcher spoke as one. ‘Jo,’ they said, both wanting the best player on their team.

  The detective sergeants were a tad embarrassed. Jo was pleased as was Rose who liked to see her players tackling one another hard on the training ground.

  ‘Sort it out,’ she said and left.

  Chapter 9

  VLAD TOOK THE CHEAPER OPTION. He gave the DEA a detailed dossier on Camilo Gonzales, and in return got a nose job, plumper lips, some cash, a new name, a Canadian social insurance number, an Australian Medicare card, and two passports. Plan A was to rescue his wife and child, leave drug running, and start a new life in Canada.

  He flew to LA where he lived when he first arrived in the US, and where people knew him. If he survived there, he could rescue his family and start again. He booked into a motel, dyed his fair hair dark, bought a pair of weak glasses, and changed his wardrobe.

  Nervous, he set out to test the new him. He entered a bar where he used to drink. Sure enough he spotted a couple of former drinking buddies. This was the test. If his disguise failed, the Mob would find him sooner rather than later.

  The barman scared the shit out of him because Vlad forgot about Freddie Mercury, real name Ian Walker. Their families were friends.

  ‘What’ll it be, pal?’

  Vla
d stared at him. ‘Beer.’

  Freddie went to grab the drink but stopped. ‘Do I know you?’

  This was it, the moment of truth time. Other drinkers, including Vlad’s old pals, looked to see who Freddie was talking to.

  Vlad went for a slower and deeper delivery. ‘I’m new in town.’

  Freddie decided he was mistaken and Vlad’s pals lost interest. For Vlad, that beer never tasted so good.

  From his new phone he sent a coded and short text to his wife. Minutes later he got a reply and froze. The innocent short message from his wife was oh so wrong. Was it ever?

  Vlad panicked. His wife knew the code. The fourth word in any text she sent him must start with the letter k. hi babe luv u was all it said.

  Somebody had pinched Vlad’s wife’s phone; somebody called Scruffy. He gave it to Camilo Gonzales in Florida. Cam got excited when Vlad sent a text to Carrie his wife. Cam replied without using the code. For Vlad, it was time for Plan B where the first step was to lose his phone.

  Cam’s feelings for his former lieutenant went beyond hate. This non-person stole Cam’s money and drugs, and ratted on him to the DEA. Both acts were unforgiveable. The mobster raged.

  The DEA search of the Gonzales “bungalow” took forever basically because it was so big. Cam was “invited” to take a trip downtown for a formal chat. Cam had his swish lawyer, A. J. Hurschenfeld III, by his side. AJ’s attire was worth more than Cam’s housekeeper’s annual wage. His scarf alone had its own valet.

  AJ earned his keep. Cam was so far removed from any link to his drug dealing it would take a team of forensic accountants consulting daily with Sherlock Holmes to even guess at Cam’s involvement. There were no records of his drug dealing full stop. Cam was a cleanskin. However, his legit business interests were an open book. And why not? Cam was a New Age Mafioso.

  The DEA let him go.

  ‘How did this happen?’ asked AJ in Cam’s palatial car as they drove to freedom. Cam explained about the heinous Vlad who, unbeknown to his former boss, was no longer called or even looked like Vlad.