September In The Rian

 

 

 

 

 

 

Counter Blow

by

Robert F. Clifton

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

PREFACE

 

The reader is advised that this is a work

Of fiction. Any similarity of any persons or the names, places or events are purely coincidental.

 

R.F. Clifton

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Copyright © 2013 by Robert F. Clifton

 

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission from the author.

 

Editor; J. William Blackmore

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter One

September In The Rain

 

It was a typical September night. By seven o'clock in the evening Abe Silverstein thought about locking the door and closing the store early. A steady warm rain had been falling since early that morning often pelting the large windowpane with wind driven drops of water. Rain had kept customers away from wandering into his liquor store most of the day and staying open for business for three more hours didn't make too much sense. The most he had sold since noon were three pint bottles of Tiger Rose Wine. Besides, he was tired. It had been a long day, one that didn't show too much profit. He had spent most of the day in the living room watching television. His living quarters were at the rear of the store, two steps higher then street level.

For the past fifteen years he had got out of bed, had his breakfast at the same time, reading the Nautilus Beach Press. Then, after a shave and putting on a clean shirt he would walk to the two steps and used them to descend into the store. There he would unlock the door and turn over the hanging sign that read, CLOSED changing it to OPEN.

He looked across the small living room at his wife Selma. She was seated in a stuffed, brown, corduroy fabric chair watching the end of the nightly news that came out of Philadelphia on Channel Six.

As he started to rise up out of his chair the door to the liquor store opened. When it did a brass bell situated over the entrance doorway gave a sharp ring as two men entered. Both men were black and their clothes wet from the rain. Drops of water dripped off of their clothing forming a small puddle on the linoleum cover floor. One man was taller and had a darker complexion then the other.

Abe stepped down one step and when he did he noticed that one of the men was carrying a, long, cloth sack.“Odd”, he thought to himself. Before his foot touched the last step he stopped, frozen in fear as the man with the sack said, “Alright Hymie, this is a holdup. Come down here and open the cash register”.

Moving slowly, Abe stepped down on to the floor and walked behind the counter. With a hand shaking with fear he pulled the large key chain connected to his belt out of his pocket and his fingers fumbled as he searched for the small, brass key that would open the register. Somehow he managed to unlock the cash drawer. He stepped back and to the two men said, “It's not much, I'm telling you. Not enough for an old man who works all day to scratch out a living. Fifteen years I've been in business. Fifteen years and never any trouble. No problems with people in the community. Now you rob me. Take, take, take my money then go away and leave me in peace”.

Abe stood and watched as the taller man reached over the counter and removed all of the paper money that was in the till. “That's it? That's all you got?”, said the tall man.

“How, much is there?”, asked the shorter man. He watched his accomplice count the money that he held in his hands.

“One hundred and thirty seven dollars”, the tall man replied.

“Come here from behind the counter”, said the man with the sack.

“Abe did as he was told, all the while hoping that his wife didn't hear what was going on in the store and sat continuing watching television.

When he stood in front of the men. The shorter man said, “How much is in your pocket, Heeb?”

“I'm telling you mister, I'm just a poor merchant. I sell beer and schnapps. I am not a rich man”.

“Give me your wallet”, said the man with the sack.

Silverstein reach back for the wallet he carried in his right, hip pocket. His fingers closed on the black leather billfold and he drew it out and handed it to the robber.

 

The thief opened the wallet and removed two fifty dollar bills along with a ten and twenty. “You stand there and lie to us. Poor, you said. Just making a living. You sad sack of shit”.

Abe saw the man raise the cloth bag, heard the loud explosion of a twelve gauge shot gun and the instant, agonizing pain as nine pellets stuck his leg just below the knee. As he fell to the floor in pain he watched the two holdup men leave and run past the large plate window. The red neon sign behind the window was blinking on and off, “Inlet Liquors. Inlet Liquors”.

He heard Selma shouting, “Oy vey ist mir. Oy vey ist mir”, over and over as she stood and watched her husband trying to stem the flow of blood pumping out of his injured leg. “You are calling for an ambulance Selma. You are calling for an ambulance”, yelled Abe.

The next morning, Captain Robert Wallace stepped off of the elevator on the second floor of the Nautilus Beach Police Department. He nodded to those who greeted him in the hallways as he made his way to his office. In his left hand he carried a white paper bag containing a Styrofoam cup of black coffee, three paper packets of sugar, three creamers, two stirrers and one large lemon doughnut, the bill of fare that he traditionally started with each day.

Before going into his own office he stopped at the Detective Bureau. As he entered, he walked by victims talking to detectives, those under arrest for one violation of one law or another and news reporters hovering about like hungry vultures needing a story which usually dealt with some one's misery.

Back in one corner of the room, Captain Ernest Haynes sat behind an old, coffee and tobacco stained wooden desk. He looked up from the paper work he was reading, looked at Wallace and said, “Morning, you need something?”.

“Nope, I had my receiver on last night, so I heard everything that happened with the robbery and shooting at Inlet Liquors. Right now I want to know if the victim is going to live. If not then I want to know everything that went down last night. If he's going to make it, then I wish you luck on making an arrest”.

“The old guy is going to live. They couldn't save his leg. He lost it”, said Haynes.

“Did he resist the robbery?”, asked Wallace.

“No, as far as we know he did everything the two of them told him to do”.

“And, still they shot him?”

“Yep”.

“Alright, keep me up to date. If the victim dies let me know”.

“No problem there, I'd gladly turn this case over to you Wally”.

“I bet you would. Talk to you later”, said Wallace as he walked out of the Detective Bureau and entered The Major Crime Squad, a unit that he commanded.

He placed the paper bag on his desk, removed the blue blazer he wore, placed it on the clothes tree then sat down at his desk. As he was stirring his coffee and thinking about the doughnut, Detective Carol Myers knocked on the door and walked in. “Morning sir”, she said.

“Good morning Myers. How are you?”

“Fine Captain. I've been going over three cold case files. One is the Kenning Jewelry Store B&E. I just discovered that the statute of limitations ran out”.

“Has it been that long ago?”, asked Wallace Wallace.

“Yes sir”.

“And the other two?”

“They are the Henry Mullen’s case. A larceny at the Flamingo Motel. The victim claims he woke to find that he was missing twelve thousand dollars that he was going to use to put down on a real estate deal. The limitations will run out in two months”.

“And, the last one?”

“The Gladys Verona Case. She claims she was drugged and a thirty thousand dollar diamond ring was taken from her. That case has four months until limitations”, said Myers

“Time sure flies. O.K. close them out as time expires. I still figure the Kenning case was an inside job. Mullen’s got what he deserved when he picked up a hooker. Hell, he couldn't even remember if she was white or black. And good old, Mrs. Verona who enjoys both sex with younger men and coke dealers was probably high the night her ring went missing. Anything else?”

“No sir”.

“Still on your diet?”

“Yep. I've lost three pounds”.

“Good for you. Let me know when you want me to bring in a pastry”.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Two

Mom & Pop

 

It had been a pleasant October day. Many who entered the small corner grocery store of Emanuel Weiss commented on the weather, calling it a nice Indian Summer day. At the same time business on this day was good. Yom Kippur was approaching and those in the neighborhood stopped and shopped buying items needed for the Erev Yom Kippur, a day when two festive meals are served.

Emanuel was not a pious Jew, but like many worshiped in the Synagog on Yom Kippur, the day of atonement. Each year on this day he would attend five services praying to God And asking forgiveness for any and all transgressions.

As he stood behind the counter he removed the watch from his pocket and noted the time, four fifteen P.M. soon it would be sunset, and when that occurred he would lock the door to the store and begin to prepare for the holiest day of the year.

He watched two black men entering the store. One man tall, the other short. The short man carried a cloth sack.

“Alright old man, just do as you're told and you won't get hurt”, said the tall man. The man with the sack kept turning his head, nervous, looking out through the large glass window, afraid someone would see what was happening.

The tall man pushed the key that opened the cash register and removed all of the paper bills. “Got it, let's go”, he said jamming the cash into his pocket.

“Right behind you”, said the shorter man as he struck Emanuel in the face with his fist repeatedly.

Semi-conscious, Emanuel lay on the floor of his store. One bruised eye was shut, swollen. Blood dripped out of his broken nose and he had trouble breathing with a broken rib caused by his assailant who kicked him again and again before he left. Through the pain and blood he said aloud almost in a whisper, “Why?, Why?”

***************

Captain Wallace looked for, found and took a seat at the rear of the conference room. With the other line unit commanders he waited for the arrival of Chief Jerry Monahan.

Those in the room stood at attention when the chief entered, then sat again when they heard the words,”As you were”.

Wallace leaned back in his chair, crossed his legs and made himself as comfortable as possible. He had been in these emergency conferences before. Each time it had been due to a recent particular crime spree that brought the unwelcome attention of neighborhoods, relatives, and ethnic groups of victims to the politicians.

When that happens, “shit slides down hill”, as the saying goes. Right then, in that room Monahan was the guy holding a sack full of that shit and he was about to unload it on the unit commanders.

“All of you are here this morning because of the two brutal armed robberies that have occurred in the Inlet section of town. One victim has lost a leg after being shot with a shotgun. The other victim remains in the hospital after receiving a savage beating. I want these robberies stopped. If they don't stop now someone is going to be killed. I don't have to tell you that the people of this community looks to us to protect them. They have the right not only to expect protection, but also the right to demand it. They deserve protection on the streets, in their homes and certainly in their place of business. And, ladies and gentlemen, we are going to give it to them.

Captain Haynes will now give you what information we have. Captain Haynes”.

Captain Ernest Haynes stood, walked behind the dais, placed a file folder on top, put on his glasses, cleared his throat and said, “What we have, and it isn't much, is that two black males, probably in their late teens or early twenties have committed two robberies. In one of those robberies the suspects was armed. Naturally, we know that since the victim was shot. We are also under the opinion that the last robbery one of the suspects was armed, but did not brandish a weapon. In both cases witnesses have told us that one of the men carried a long, cloth bag. We think that inside that bag is a sawed off or short barrel shotgun. We were able to retrieve one pellet from a victims leg indicating that the weapon used is a twelve gauge shotgun. We also were able to obtain additional evidence, that being stands of cloth also from the victims leg indicating that the assailant raised the weapon and fired through the bag. We know this from forensic examination of the cloth fragments which indicates a charring of the fabric threads and gunpowder residue

also contained in the cloth samples.

That ladies and gentlemen is what we have at the present time.”

Chief Monahan then stood and walked behind the dais. “Alright do any of you have any ideas? If so now is the time to speak”, he said.

“Is there any other physical evidence? You mention two black men. How black? Are they dark complected or light complected? How tall are they? How much do they weigh?”, asked Captain Jankowski, Commanding Officer of the Juvenile Division.

Captain Haynes spoke from his chair. “Sorry about that. One witness described the man with the cloth bag to be light complected, about five foot six, weighed about one hundred and fifty pounds. The other man was described as tall about six feet thought to weigh between one hundred and eighty to two hundred pounds and is dark complected”.

“Thank you”, said Jankowski as she made notes.

“I notice that in both cases the victims were elderly Jews operating Mom and Pop stores. The first, a small time liquor store situated in the Inlet section of the city. Next, was the robbery and assault in a small grocery, also in the Inlet. It seems to me that these two are operating against these type of business establishments knowing that there will be no or little resistance in the commission of the robbery. These two know that the elderly Jews will not fight back. They also know that there is always money in the till. At the same time what they're getting in these two robberies is small amounts of cash. A hundred here, Two hundred there. These types of holdups leaves these two hungry for more. I'll predict that the next hit they make will be for big bucks,” said Wallace from the back of the room.

“Anything else, Captain Wallace?”, asked Chief Monahan.

“Yes sir. If I had to profile these two I would say that one of them is definitely sadistic and psychopathic. He probably enjoys placing his victim if fear then either beating them or shooting them”.

“Interesting. Inspector Lewis, as Commanding Officer of the Patrol Division I want an increase of units operating in the Inlet. At the same time all patrol units in the city are to pay particular attention to Jewish owned businesses. Although the descriptions of the suspects is meager at best, I do not want young black men harassed. One thing I don't need right now is the black community on my back. If there is nothing else, you are dismissed”, said the Chief.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Three

Double Trouble

 

On, Friday night, November 5, 1976, Nautilus Beach High School's football team beat Oceanville 20-12. After the game the fans, most of them teenagers walked down the main street singing, dancing and cheering. Automobiles filled with high school students blew horns and shouted as they leaned out of open car windows.

Several blocks away, on the North side of town Donovan Bennett and Leroy Dunbar sat at the kitchen table of Iris Mitchell. The two man sat taking sips of whiskey from shot glasses. As they talked, they went over their plan again and again.

“I say that we take him right at closing, That way he be counting his money. Just be him in there. That mean less trouble for us. You show that shotgun and threaten to blow his dago ass away if he don't comply. You know what I'm saying?”, said Bennett.

“Yeah, I hear you. Still think it best we take them all, him, them that's in there drinking. Could be some rich out of town people be there. Some might even have their bitches with them. That mean diamond rings, watches, pearls. We take all that along with the dagos money”, Dunbar answered.

“Who be it that thought up this here deal?”, asked Bennett.

“You”.

“Then I'm sayin we do it my way. At closing. Making the hit with people in the club means a hell of a lot of witnesses. Sides, you too damn anxious to shoot that gun you got. We don't need another shooting. Bad enough you got the man on our ass after you shot the old kike”.

“You didn't see the look he gave me. He gave me no respect”.

“Bullshit. I seen the look in his eyes. Looked like a deer caught in a headlight when he took out his wallet. Tonight, you just keep your cool. Show the gun. Don't use it”.

“Yeah yeah, and don't talk so loud. Iris hear you and will want to know what's going on.”

“You leave Iris to me. She my woman. Does what I tell her. Sides, she in there watchin television. You got another sack to cover the gun?”

“Got me a new one. A laundry bag. Dyed it black. Make it hard to see when we walk down the street”.

“I guess that's a good idea. I'm telling you again. Don't use it. Just show it”.

“Man, I hear you. Get off my ass about it. What time is it?”

“Clock on the wall say ten fifteen”.

“And what time you say the Hobby Horse Club close?”

“Midnight. He stay open till two in the morning during the season. This be November. Midnight”.

“Well since I gotta wait, I'll have me another taste. You want one?”

“No and make this your last taste. You be crazy enough sober. Don't need you half hit in the ass”.

At eleven forty five pm. Bennett and Dunbar walked slowly up to the doors of the Hobby Horse Club. Bennett tried the doors and found them open. He opened it slowly and looked in.

Johnny Gargiulo, stood behind the bar counting the receipts of the day. The bar maid and a waitress were putting on their coats ready to leave and go outside into the cold night.

Bennett stepped back and in a low voice said.”Bar maids leavin. They come out of the door you let me do the talkin. You know what I'm sayin?”

“Man I hear you”.

When the door to the club opened Janice Miller the bar maid and Cynthia Helms came out. Bennett then said, “How was business tonight ladies? Hope you all made plenty of tips. Is Johnny inside. Got to talk to him. It be important”.

“He's behind the bar”, said Miller as the two women left, walking to their automobiles.

Bennett walked through the unlocked doors. Dunbar followed. Johnny Gargiulo looked up from counting money. “Sorry fellas we're closed”.

The two men walked up to the bar then stopped. Dunbar removed the shotgun from the black laundry bag.

“Just handover what you been counting there and don't do anything stupid,” said Bennett.

Gargiulo stiffened when he saw the shot gun. “Hey. You don't need to point that thing at me. Take what you want. Hell, it's only money”, he said as he handed the bundle of cash to Bennett.

“Outside, on the corner of Brighton and Pacific Ave. Patrolman Roger Grant stopped his patrol car in front of the Hobby Horse Club. He looked at his wristwatch noting the time to be Eleven Fifty P.M. In five minutes his tour of duty would be over and as usual he would drive to the police garage and turn in his vehicle.

As he waited he reached into his shirt pocket, removed a pack of Lucky Strike Cigarettes, took one out, lit it and inhaled. As the smoke was leaving his lungs he rolled down the drivers side window and as he did he heard what sounded like a gunshot. When he got out of the car two men ran out of the nightclub.

Grant reached for his revolver and at the same time radioed in, “Hobby Horse Club Shots fired. I'm in pursuit of two black men. Repeat shots fired.”

He exited the car and began chasing the subjects on foot, shouting “Halt! Police!”

Suddenly both men stopped. Bennett put up his hands. Dunbar didn't. As Grant walked up and stood in front of them he said to Dunbar “Put up your hands”.

Dunbar raised one hand and then the other, the one with his finger on the trigger of the shotgun. When it was high enough, he fired.

The two men then began running. As they ran the sirens of on coming radio cars blared in the night.

Robert Wallace was in a deep sleep. Somewhere a bell was ringing. As it rang it slowly brought him out of his slumber. Half asleep he reached out with one hand and pushed the button on the alarm clock. Still, the ringing continued. With eyes closed he pressed the alarm button repeatedly. Even so, the loud, disturbing sound remained.

Mary Wallace sleeping next to him said in a sleepy-voice, “Answer the telephone”.

Wallace grabbed the receiver and placed it next to his ear. “Hello”, he said weakly, not yet fully awake.

“Captain? Sergeant Stiles. We got a bad one. Two murders, one of ours. You'll be needed down here”.

“Down where?”

“The Hobby Horse Club”.

 

“Who was killed?”

“Johnny Gargiulo and Officer Grant”.

“How?”, asked Wallace as he sat on the edge of the bed.

“Looks like a shotgun was used on both of them”.

Wallace stood up and walked to his closet. “Do you have the crime scenes protected?”, he asked as he pulled a pair of pants out of his wardrobe.

“Yes sir”.

“Do not allow the bodies to be touched by anyone. I'm on the way”.

“Yes sir, but there's starting to be a large crowd of curious by-standers forming.

“Call in for uniformed officers to come to the scene for crowd control”.

“Yes sir, got it.”

Wallace placed the receiver back on the cradle and began getting dressed.

“What's the matter?”, asked Mary.

“Double homicide. Night club owner and one of ours”.

“Oh no”.

“Go back to sleep. I don't know when I'll be home. This is going to take some time.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Four

A Day Of Drums

 

Captain Wallace made his way through the crowd of people all eager to see the body of the slain police officer who laid now on the cold concrete of the city sidewalk. It was covered by a sheet, put there by some responding officers.

Wallace crossed the yellow police tape strung from a parking meter to the doorknob of an empty building. Sergeant Stiles stood with a notebook and pen in his hand. Seeing Wallace he went to him. “Which crime scene do you want to examine first? This one, or the one inside the club?”

“I'm right here. Let me see what we've got and keep the damn people out of the way”, said Wallace as he knelt down, lifted the sheet and gazed upon the lifeless body of Patrolman Roger Grant.

What he saw was a gaping wound in the victims throat. Lacerations caused by shotgun pellets had tore away flesh from the chin, right cheek and one eye. The plastic wad used to protect buckshot pellets and improve patterns for low recoil buckshot was visible, sticking out of the dead officers throat.

“He got it point blank. Probably no more then three or four feet between him and the killer. Frank, make a note of it and I want close up photographs of the wound. Also, notice that there is only a small amount of blood. This indicated that he died almost immediately. His revolver isn't in his holster. Do we know where it is?”

“Yes sir. A woman by the name of Janice Miller, the barmaid of the club was getting into her automobile when she saw Grant approach two black men. Then, she heard the shot, saw Grant fall backwards and the two men running away. She went to Officer Grant to see if she could help him, saw that she couldn't and saw the revolver on the sidewalk. She picked it up and placed it in her purse and handed it over to the first Sergeant she saw”.

“Can she identify the one's running away?

“She told me that there were two black men, one tall, the other short. One dark complected the other lighter.

She spoke to the tall man as she and a waitress were leaving. The tall man asked if Johnny was inside. He wanted to talk to him”.

“OK, we'll talk to her later. Let me see what we have inside the club”.

Wallace followed Sergeant Stiles into the Hobby Horse Club. Stiles stopped at the entrance that led behind the long, mahogany bar. “There he is”, said Stiles pointing to the lifeless body of Johnny Gargiulo.

Captain Wallace waited until the crime scene investigators were finished taking photographs then stepped carefully to and around the dead body of the nightclub owner. The first thing he noticed was loose coins scattered on the floor around the body. A Nautilus Beach

Security and Trust money bag was in his right hand. There was also a large round deep wound just below the victims sternum. Inside the wound was a paper wad from the shotgun shell that killed the man.

“Interesting”, said Wallace as he stood up. “Here we have a paper wad. Outside we have a plastic wad. A paper wad is used for compression, not that it matters at close range. However, it does tell us something. Whoever is doing the killing is using a collection of different shotgun shells, some plastic, some paper. That tells me that the ammunition is old, not from the same box. Anyone with a full box of shells would take either all plastic or all paper. Also it appears that Johnny Gargiulo was killed first and officer Grant next. If so, the killer had to extract a spent shell in order to reload to kill Grant. Have some of our people start looking for a spent paper shotgun shell. It's got to be between the interior of this club and the location of Grants body”.

 

Donovan Bennett was scared, angry and sweating profusely from running. Dunbar killed two people this night. One of them a cop. Now, the entire world would be on his ass. He had to get out of town. He stopped behind the house that he and Iris Mitchell rented. Slowly, grasping the back porch railing he turned to look at Leroy Dunbar. “You simple son of a bitch. I told you not to use that god damn shotgun. Now we're not only wanted for robbery, but you got our ass be known as cop killers. Get the hell away from me”.

“Whatcha goin to do?”, asked Dunbar.

“Get out of town and hide. What the hell else can I do. Them women comin out of the club tonight got a good look at me.

At daylight Captain Wallace sipped lukewarm coffee from a paper cup. He ran his hand across his cheeks, knowing that he needed a shave. Someone told him that a used shotgun shell had been found inside the night club. He ordered it checked for fingerprints. He stood and watched as a fireman off of a pumper washed away the blood from the sidewalk. “Tomorrow there won't be a sign where Grant was murdered and where he lay. For the next week people will slowly stop talking about the murder and eventually forget about it entirely. Such is life. Such is the life of a policeman”, he thought to himself.

Wallace walked back to his unmarked radio car slid into the drivers seat and drove away, leaving the crime scene to Sergeant Stiles and the Forensic Unit.

After arriving home he told Mary what had happened and asked her to put a pot of coffee on the stove, He then went to the bedroom where he undressed, entered the bathroom` shaved and showered. Somewhat refreshed, but still tired from a lack of sleep he ate a quick breakfast. Using the telephone that was mounted on a kitchen wall he dialed the number for the Major Crime Squad. He waited patiently for someone to answer knowing the amount of work that was going on there.

“Major Crime Squad. Detective Myers”.

“Carol, Captain Wallace. I'm heading for the morgue. Notify Forensics and have them send someone with a camera down there to meet me”.

“Yes sir. Everything here is running smooth. All of us have feelers out with our informants”.

“Good, I'll be in touch. If anyone needs me, except the press you know where I am. Good bye”.

Twenty minutes later Captain Wallace walked through the white, painted double door of the hospital morgue. When he did Doctor Bell raised her head after looking at something she was studying under a microscope. “I've been waiting for you. Which one do you want to examine first?”, she asked.

“Johnny Gargiulo. Right now it looks like he was the first to get it'.

“Fine”, said Doctor Bell as she walked over to a white enameled steel examination table. She pulled back a sheet covering the cadaver. “There he is. I know you don't want me to tell you how he died”.

“No, not this time. I want to look at the fatal wound however”. Wallace answered.

“Are you looking for something in particular?”

“Yes, cloth fabrics and the paper wad that's inside the wound”.

Doctor Bell went to the instrument cabinet and took out a long pair of forceps. She took a long, close look at the massive wound in the mans wound just below the sternum. “You're lucky.

There are several threads embedded in the wound and as you can plainly see, a paper like substance. I imagine that's the paper wad”.

“Yes. Leave them in place until I have everything on film. While we're waiting, I'll look at Officer Grant”.

The pathologist covered the body of Gargiulo and went to the next table. There she pulled back the covering cloth, then stood silently as Wallace approached the body.

“He stood looking down at the remains of the young police officer. He remembered Roger Grant. He was one of many young police recruits he had trained in the academy. A young man dedicated to the profession that he chose to follow in his lifetime. Unfortunately that lifetime was short and over.

The plastic shotgun shell wad was still there in place, but if there was any cloth fabric threads he could not see them. Looking at the face of Grant Wallace noticed something. “What caused that white foam to form on his lips. I didn't see it early this morning in the dark?”

“That's spinal fluid. The impact of the shot in all probability broke his spine”.

“Was that what caused his death?

“If it is, then he never felt the pain of the wound. It was over quick”.

****************

Three days later on a cold, still, November morning. Captain Robert Wallace attired in his uniform stood with other superior and line officers in front of Saint Elizabeth Catholic Church. From far down the street he saw the motorcycle escort in front of the black, Cadillac hearse with their red lights flashing. In the still air came the sounds of drum beats as they sounded a cadence for the honor guard marching and escorting the` body of their slain, brother officer.

As the body was removed from the hearse by uniformed pallbearers he watched the six men turn in unison then march slowly to the church steps. Then, one step at a time they carried the coffin containing Patrolman Roger Grant into the church where as a baby he had been Baptized, Later in life he was confirmed and married there. Now, he would be given a Requiem Mass.

Undertaker staff positioned the coffin on a wheeled carriage and it was then moved to a place in front of the alter. As the coffin passed those assembled and seated in pews, the sounds of crying could be heard.

At the grave site Wallace again heard the sounds of drums as the Police and Fire Drum and Pipe Band marched into the cemetery. As they marched the priest prayed as he stood over the bronze colored coffin covered with the American Flag Then, three uniformed officers fired their rifles in unison, three shots, one at a time a salute to their fallen comrade.Then, before the coffin began it's decent into the ground, the pipers played, “Going Home”. Many of those there wiped tears from their eyes including Captain Robert Wallace.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Five

Questions

 

Captain Wallace stood behind the old, pine dais. He blinked his eyes from time to time as the flashbulbs in the Press cameras kept going off. However, it wasn't the cameras that aggravated him. It was the reporters of the news media that usually pissed him off when they wanted answers to their stupid questions. He waited until the news people were seated and reasonably quiet. Then, he spoke. “I know that all of you want answers to questions. That's why I'm here. Nonetheless, those of you who know me are aware of the fact that I do not and will not answer any question that will jeopardize our investigation. That means anything that would be confidential as to evidence that is both tangible and intangible. Now, if some of you think that doesn't give you too much room to try and maneuver me, you're right. With that in mind, let's get the show on the road. First, question”.

“Captain at this time do you have any suspects responsible for these two murders?”,asked Harvey Cobb of the Philadelphia Bulletin.

“No. Right now all we have is that two Black men working together are suspected of committing armed robberies prior to the murders at the Hobby horse Club. However, the evidence we have ascertained in the investigation so far, in all probability will identify one or both of the subjects. Next question”.

“It has been said that you have two eye witnesses. Is that true?”, asked Merlin Parker of the Nautilus Beach News.

“We have witnesses. How many? Some. Would we like more yes and if you ask me their names I'm going to kick you in the ass”.

When the laughter in the room subsided Loretta Cummings of the South Jersey Times stood and asked, “Captain in your investigation can you find any mistake that Officer Grant made that could have contributed to his death?”

Wallace didn't answer immediately. He had asked himself the same question time after time, day and night. Certainly Grant had made a mistake. The mistake was not waiting for backup patrols to arrive. Yet, was he to be blamed for acting immediately? He evidently heard the shot fired. He said,” Shots fired! I'm in pursuit of two Black men. “I repeat. Shots fired”. Grant was then placed in a difficult position. If he waits, the two subjects get away. There was people on the street that night, citizens watching who expect their police to serve and protect. Grant reacted and it was to apprehend and arrest. The second mistake he made was getting too close to the subjects. Miss Miller related that she heard Officer Grant shout, “Halt Police” and the subjects did stop and put up their hands. It appears that Grant could of stayed where he was, out of range of the shotgun and had the two subjects covered with his revolver.

For some reason he walked up to them. When he did, he died.

“In any death of a police officer there is an added investigation. That investigation is how and why did the officer die. The findings then are examined, studied and given to all members of the department in training and retraining hopefully to prevent such a mistake to be prevented in the future. To answer your question, yes, in all probability he did make a mistake. However, other than death by natural causes, most deaths are the result of mistakes. There are fatal traffic accidents, drownings, falls, lung cancer caused by smoking and the list goes on. Next?”

“How is Officer Grant's family at this time?, John Casper, Atlantic City Press”.

“Mrs. Grant is devastated. She and Officer Grant had only been married for three years. They were planning to raise a family”. Wallace answered.

“Will the Nautilus Police Department make sure that she is taken care off financially? Adam Green, Salem Gazette”.

“I'm sure. However, I suggest that you talk to Officer

William Hopkins. He is the President of the Patrolman's Benevolent Association. He can answer any and all questions related to Officer Grants benefits. Next?”

“Harvey Maddon, Cumberland Record. During these robberies , beatings and shootings it appears that the victims were elderly Jewish businessmen. At any time during your investigation was there any indication that the Jewish Defense League was or wanted to get involved and if so how would you have handled the situation?

“ There has been no signs of the Jewish Defense League wanting to come into Nautilus Beach to protect Jewish businesses or the Jewish community. As to how I would deal with their presence if that occurred the answer is simple. I would expect that my superior officers, those being the Chief of Police, Commissioner of Public Safety and the Mayor would contact the Attorney General of New Jersey. Someone in that group would then make a decision based on law. I would then enforce that law. That's it. If you have any further questions Sergeant Gale Wimberg will try to answer them”. Wallace walked out of the room.

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Six

Man Hunt

 

The members of the Major Crime Squad including Captain Wallace were working twelve hour days. They interviewed persons of interest, the latest victims and in particular those who in the recent past were subjected to armed robberies by black men. After the first week of the double homicides they were still searching for a breakthrough.

Captain Wallace read again and again all reports submitted in reference to the crimes and all he had from the two witnesses was the fact that one man was dark complected and tall, the other lighter complected and short.

His attention to detail was interrupted by the ringing telephone on his desk. “Captain Wallace”, he said answering the call.

“Forensics Captain. We retrieved two latent prints from the shotgun shell found inside the Hobby Horse Club. One forefinger, one thumb.

They match the prints of one Leroy Dunbar. Dunbar has a long rap sheet. Including armed robbery”.

“Is there anything else?”asked Wallace.

“Yes Sir. The fifteen fiber strands you submitted from the body of John Gargiulo are cotton. There is evidence of a black dye. The two fibers removed from the body of Officer Grant are also cotton with black dye and are consistent with coming from the same source”.

“Do you know the source?”

“We are sure that the fabrics came from a cotton sack, such as a laundry bag. We base that on the similarity of the holdup and robbery of the Inlet Liquor Store where fabrics were found in and on Mr. Silverstien's leg”.

“Is that it?', asked Wallace.

“Yes Sir”.

“O.K., thank you”.

As Wallace was hanging up the telephone, Officer Gwen Shapiro knocked lightly on the open door of the Captain's door.

Wallace looked up and seeing the officer beckoned her to enter. “I hope you got something good to tell me”, he said.

“I finished the composite drawing from the information that the Miller woman gave me. I thought that you would like to see it”.

“Of course”, said Wallace holding out his hand.

“Officer Shapiro handed the drawing to the Captain and said. Miss Miller said that what you see here is identical to the man she saw and talked to as she left the club on the night of the murders”.

“Excellent. Have Records Unit print enough copies of this, get them to the patrol division and make sure we get enough up here”.

****************

In the city of Nautilus Beach, the citizens, residents and tax payers have the luxury of having their trash cans picked up and moved to the sidewalk by Sanitary Workers on trash day. On the day just before Thanksgiving at seven o'clock in the morning Peter Bannister walked behind the house located at 213 Hampton Court. As usual he placed his hand truck next to the trash can with the numbers 213 crudely painted on the side of the can.

When he leaned forward to tilt the can and place the folding nose of the hand truck beneath the bottom of the can, he looked down. He stood silently for a moment as he gazed upon the walnut stock of a shotgun. Bannister slowly lowered the trash can, putting it back as close as possible to its original place. He then turned and walked back through the ally to the street. There, he saw his supervisor sitting in the city car, a car with a two way radio with the ability to talk to city hall.

Carol Myers rushed into the Captain Office. “They found the gun! They found the gun!”, she said excitedly.

*****************

Robert Wallace sat silent for several moments gathering his thoughts, mentally arranging the questions he wanted answers to from Iris Mitchell who sat quiet, but with a resentful expression on her face. He had already connected Leroy Dunbar to Donovan Bennett through informants. He also knew that Iris and Donovan had been living together for some time. She nodded her head after she was given her rights under the Miranda Warning.

Wallace handed Iris a printed copy of the composite drawing of one of the subjects wanted for the two murders. “Could you tell me who that is?”, asked the Captain.

Iris glanced at the drawing and said,?”No”.

“Come now miss Mitchell, isn't that a drawing of Donovan Bennett?”

“How would I know. I don't know any Donovan Bennett”.

“Well, unless he's using another name he's living in the same house as you”.

“Ain't no one living with me”.

“How about a man named, Leroy Dunbar? Do you know him?”

“Nope”.

“Funny, we have information that Dunbar was either in or near your house”.

“No way?”

“Then, how do you explain the fact that the murder weapon, a sawed off Remington shotgun was found in your trash can. A shotgun that has Dunbar's finger prints all over it”.

“Any fool could have put it there. The ally behind my house runs from Hampton Court to Chester Ave. People all the time cut through the ally goin one way or the other night and day”.

“Let's change the subject just a bit Iris. What I have here on my desk is your arrest record. You've been busted twice for using narcotics. One time marijuana, the next for possession of heroin. Also, three arrests for prostitution.”

“So? What do you expect? I can work as a maid in the hotels for sixty cents an hour or open my legs to a john for thirty dollars a half hour. That be a dollar a minute. What would you do?

Make beds, or make money?”

“Hey, I understand where you're coming from. Unfortunately for you prostitution is still against the law. This other piece of paper I'm holding in my hand is a copy of the court order placing you on probation for three years. This is year two. Looks like we got you by the short hairs. Now, before I call your probation officer, which means three years at the Edna Mahan Prison for women in Clinton for you, I'm going to ask you one more time. Do you know Donovan Bennett?”

Several minutes passed before Iris answered, “Yes”.

“How do you know him?”

“He's my man”.

“Does that mean he lives with you?”

“Yes”.

“Where is he?”

“I don't know. Honest, I don't know”.

“Leroy Dunbar, do you know him?”

“Yes”.

“When was the last time you saw him?”

“Bout a week ago. Maybe ten day ago, maybe longer”.

“Think. Was it on November the fifth?”

“Could have been”.

“Where did you see him?”

“Sittin at my kitchen table drinkin whiskey”.

“With who?”

“Donovan”.

Wallace stood up and looking at Iris said,“Alright. You're free to go for now. I or the County Prosecutor might want to question you later. Play it smart, don't try and bullshit us. If you have contact with Donovan tell him he's better off coming in and giving himself up. The longer he runs and hides the worse it will be for him”.

After Iris Mitchell left police headquarters Captain Wallace left the interrogation room and returned to his office. As he sat behind his desk reading reports the telephone on his desk rang. He answered it. “Major Crime Squad, Captain Wallace”.

“Cool Loo”.

“I haven't seen you in months. You're either in trouble or need money. Which is it?”, asked Wallace.

“Money man”.

“How much and for what?”

“Two or three C's for knowing where Donovan be”.

“You know where Donovan Bennett is?”

“Damn straight”.

“Is he close?”

“Real close”.

“In the city?”

“Yes sir”.

“Alright, meet me at our usual place. I'm on the way”.

“Man, I'm already here. Just bring the cash”.

Twenty five minutes later Wallace sat on the fender of his unmarked sedan listening to one of his informants, Henry, “Cool Loo,” Harris.

“Listen, not that I'm interested in just how poor you are and how much you need scratch. Tell me what I want to know”, said Wallace.

“Man what I got for you got to be worth five C's maybe more'.

“I'll be the judge of that. Where is Bennett?”

“He be at the Westly Holmes Projects. He hiding in his sisters place. It be number 717. Third floor in the rear”.

“You're sure?”

“Man have I ever jived you What I'm tellin you is gospel”.

“Yeah like you just came from church. Alright, here's three hundred. Thanks, and stay out of trouble”.

“Only three? Man, my info worth more than that”.

“I haven’t got him yet. Besides, I'm a returning customer. If you're smart you'll keep your prices reasonable. Remember what they say. Never bite the hand that feeds you. Have a nice Thanksgiving”.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Seven

Line Up

 

Captain Wallace stood behind the two way glass contained in the wall of the line up room. Standing beside him was Selma Silverstein, Cynthia Helm, Janice Miller and Emanuel Weiss. Seated in a wheelchair was Abe Silverstein,

“In a moment, several men will be standing on the small stage you see there”, said Wallace to the three other people in the room. “You can see them, but they can't see you or hear you. I want you to take your time. Study the features of each individual and if you recognize anyone let me know”.

“You are being certain that they can't see us?”, asked Selma Silverstein

“I'm positive Mrs. Silverstein”.

“If you are saying so. Good”,Mrs. Silverstein replied.

Wallace turn off the light in the small observation room. When he did the light in the line up room illuminated making the interior of the room appeared bright and clear.

Six men entered the room and stepped up on the stage. Each man held a number, one through six. Sergeant Frank Stiles in charge of the lineup said to those on the stage. “All of you hold your number to your chest.'” All six men did as they were told.

In the observation room Captain Wallace said, “Now, take your time. Look at these men carefully. If you recognize anyone let me know”.

Abe Silverstien said, “I'm recognizing number five. He was

 

there in my store. I'm telling you he was there but he is not the one that shot me”.

“Alright, good, but I want you to look at the other men on the stage. You have to be certain”.

“What ever you want Officer, but I'm telling you he is the one”, Silverstein replied.

In the line up room Sergeant Stiles ordered the six men to turn to the left giving the observers a side profile.

Do any of you notice anything?”,asked Wallace.

“Same man, number five”, Abe Silverstein answered.

“Miss Miller? Anything?”

“I'm almost certain, but I'm relying on the voice I heard that night. Can I hear his voice?”

“Certainly”.

Wallace activated the microphone in the observation room. “Each man step forward. Then say, How was business tonight ladies, Hope you all made a lot of tips”.

When number five stepped forward and repeated the words he was ordered to say Wallace looked at Janice Miller and said, “Well?”

 

“Could I have him say it again?”, asked Miller.

“Number five, repeat what you just said. When number five was finished talking, Miller looked at Wallace and said, “That's him. That's the man who spoke to me as I was leaving the club”.

“How about you Miss Helm. Do you recognize anyone?”

“No Captain”.

“Mr. Weiss do you recognize anyone?”

“I too am seeing and hearing the man that was with the one that beat me”.

“What man and what number?”, asked Wallace.

“It's being number five”.

“You're certain”.

“Absolutely.”

Wallace opened the observation room microphone again.

“Alright. Sergeant, you can wrap this up. Thank you”, he said as he watched the six men walk off of the stage.

****************

Back in his office after questioning Bennett in the interrogation room, a questioning period that led no where. Wallace made sure that Donovan Bennett was arrested and booked for the murder of John Gargiulo and Patrolman Roger Grant, the robbery and atrocious assault and battery on Abraham Silverstein along with the robbery and assault and battery of Emanuel Weiss.

An hour later he answered the ringing telephone on his desk and when he did he recognized the voice of Saul Cohen, the County Prosecutor. “I just heard that you made an arrest in that double homicide, congratulations”, said Cohen.

“Thank you”, Wallace replied.

“Without knowing at this time I called to ask just how strong is your evidence in this case?”

“Well, I've got three eye witnesses, one for an armed robbery and assault with a deadly weapon. One for robbery and assault and battery. The other witness places Donovan Bennett and Leroy Dunbar at the Hobby Horse Club at closing the night of the two murders”.

“How were they identified?”

“Bennett in a line up, Dunbar's photo was picked out of a stack of fifteen mug shots”.

“Anything else?”

“Iris Mitchell. She's Bennett's girlfriend. She places Bennett and Dunbar together in her kitchen the night of November the fifth”.

“Sounds good Captain. What about Dunbar?”

“I don't know. I think that both Bennett and Iris really don't know where he is. However, we have the shotgun with his fingerprints all over it as well as the spent cartridge, also with his prints. At the same time we have an all points bulletin out for him.”.

“I see. Where is Bennett now?”

“In our jail. He should be arraigned in city court tomorrow”.

“I think I'll represent the State. Can you have your reports ready by tomorrow? I'll call the court and postpone the arraignment until the day after tomorrow. That will give me time to go over your reports and the physical evidence”.

“No problem Mr. Cohen”.

“Good, I'll see you in court and again congratulations on the arrest”.

“Thank you. Oh, one more thing”, said Wallace.

“What's that?”

“I'm sending all news media persons to you”.

“Thanks a lot”.

Two days later, Captain Wallace, Sergeant Stiles and Detective Carol Myers sat in Municipal Court watching and listening to the County Prosecutor present the States case against Donovan Bennett.

Judge John Shelby presiding asked the defendant to stand. When Bennett complied that judge asked, “Are you Donovan Bennett?”

“Yes sir”, Bennett answered.

“Mister Bennett, you have heard the charges against you, those being armed robbery and homicide that occurred on the night of November 5, 1976. How do you plea?”

“Not guilty. Your honor”.

“Do you have an attorney?”

“No sir”

“Can you afford council?”

“No sir”

“Alright, this court will see that an attorney will be provided. That's all. Next case”.

Wallace stood up from the court room seat and when he did he saw Iris Mitchell leaving. He also saw Donovan Bennett, his wrist's handcuffed led from the docket to the door that led downstairs to the city jail.

Back in his office Wallace took off the blue blazer he wore and placed it on the clothes tree that stood in the corner of the room. After taking a seat he began an additional report related to the arraignment of Bennett when once again his thought process was interrupted by a ringing telephone.

“Captain Wallace”, he said speaking into the receiver.

“Captain. This is Franco Gargiulo. I'm calling to thank you for sending two of your detectives to my son's funeral. That meant a lot to me”.

“You are quite welcome Mr. Gargiulo. I am just sorry that I couldn't be there. I do want to inform you that we have made one arrest in the case of your son's murder”.

“Yes, I know. Several of my associates that reside in South Jersey keep me apprised of the situation. Nonetheless,

I, like you, look forward to the apprehension, arrest and conviction of the other subject.”

“Absolutely”, Wallace replied.

“Fine, as I have said, thank you for your kind consideration in my time of bereavement and if there is anything I can do for you, just let me know. Good by”.

Before Wallace could reply he heard the click of the telephone on the other line hang up.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Eight

Speak No Evil

 

November went by as did December. January 15, 1977 arrived on a day of a strong northeast storm bringing a mixture of snow and rain to Nautilus Beach. The next day hungry seagulls with their feathers ruffled by the wind perched on the top rails of the boardwalk ocean side railings hoping that someone, anyone, would drop a morsel of food on the wooden way.

Like the seagulls on the rail Wallace sat in his office desk hoping for a morsel of any information on the location of Leroy Dunbar. His informants came up with nothing. The informants of the members of the Major Crime Squad kept coming up without any new information.

As he sat sullen behind his desk Carol Myers appeared at the open door. “Captain, there is a Mr. Lambracca asking to see you.”

“Why?”

“I didn't ask sir. Here is his business card', she said handing it to Wallace.

Captain Wallace leaned back in the high back office chair and read the card. “Louis Lambraca, Attorney At Law,1300 Raleigh Lane Unit 5, Baltimore, Maryland'.

“Show him in”, said Wallace.

As the attorney walked into the office Wallace observed a man of medium height weighing perhaps one hundred and seventy five pounds. He wore an expensive, dark, blue suit a white shirt and a fifty dollar blue and white striped necktie. The man held out his hand and said, “Captain, thank you for seeing me. I know that I come unannounced, but since I was in your city on another matter I thought I would take the chance of seeing you here”, he said as the two men shook hands”.

“And, just what do you want to see me about?”

“Leroy Dunbar”.

“Let me advise you Mr. Lambraca, that unless you are engaged as a member of the district attorney's office in Baltimore County I can't and won't speak to you about the one you're inquiring about. You could of course get permission from Mister Cohen, our County Prosecutor”.

Lambraca smiled. “I understand Captain. However, let me assure you that I do not and will not practice Criminal Law. My practice is corporate law. As a matter of fact I must apologize for not mentioning the fact that I represent Mr. Franco Gargiulo. The information I seek for the benefit of my client is, could you use a certain sum of money to be used as a reward for anyone supplying information to the location and whereabouts of one Leroy Dunbar?”

“How much are we talking about?”

“You name it Captain, keeping it reasonable of course”.

“I have to run this by Mr. Cohen first. If he approves I'll let you know. Right now, knowing the people of this town I'd say no less then five thousand and no more then ten”.

“I shall pass this information on to Mr. Gargiulo. You have my number. Call when you have a decision. Thank you for seeing me and have a nice day”.

“One thing, before you leave. Just what does Mr. Gargiulo do for a living?”

Lambraca smiled. “Many things Captain. Many things.”

******************

They say that the month of March comes roaring in like a lion. To Captain Robert Wallace, Tuesday, March 8, 1977, he roared like a lion, an angry lion. Standing in the office of Saul Cohen the County Prosecutor with a clenched fist and a red face, speaking in a slow aggravated voice asked, “Just how in the hell did this happen?”

“From what we can determine a Catholic Priest married Iris Mitchell and Donovan Bennett on Friday, February the eleventh”.

“Was it legal?”

“We're checking on that. It seems that the Catholic Church does have such a thing as a secret marriage. Such a marriage must have the approval of the bishop, as I understand it. Nonetheless,

If there was a marriage license issued to the couple and the priest married them then, it's legal”.

“And, in New Jersey you can't make her testify against her husband”, said Wallace.

“That's correct”.

“Son of a bitch! O.K. how much damage has been done to our case?”

“A considerable amount. We have to throw out Iris Michelle’s statement that on November 5, 1976 Leroy Dunbar and Bennett were in her kitchen. That testimony would have put them together on the night of the murders. That then leaves us with two other witnesses, Janice Miller and Cynthia Helm. Miller identifies, Helm doesn't or won't. A smart defense team will put Helm on the stand and with no problem at all, raise doubt in the minds of a jury”.

Wallace began pacing the floor, his mind racing as he tried and tried to find a way to still convict Bennett.

“I have two questions Mr. Cohen”.

“Sure what are they?”

“Can we still win in court on the Inlet Liquor Store case?”

“That's the way I see it. Mr. Silverstein can certainly place Bennett in his store the night of the holdup. I can probably get a conviction. I'll ask for s sentence of thirty years. The judge will probably go for twenty. Bennett could be out in ten. However, Abe Silverstien is an elderly man. A man who has been shot and injured. A smart lawyer will look at that fact, watch and wait and if and when the old man dies, file an appeal. Bennett could be out in three years. However, as a last resort I'm holding the robbery and assault on Emanuel Weiss in reserve. What’s your other question?”

“What's the name of the priest that married them?”

“Father Salvador Presti. He's a priest at St. Elizabeth's located on the corner of Pleasant and Pacific”.

“I know where it is. Then, I assume we're going ahead with the armed robbery and deadly assault case”.

“Yes, I wish we had both of them. I take it that there's nothing new on the whereabouts of Dunbar”.

“Right, nothing new”.

*******************

Robert Wallace sat in silence at the dinner table. Once in awhile he would place his fork into the mashed potatoes on his plate, but for the most part was not eating. At the other end of the table Mary Wallace watched her husband, aware of what was on his mind, The marriage of Iris Mitchell and Donovan Bennett had brought his investigation to a screeching halt. Two people had been murdered. More over, one of those murdered was a brother, a police officer. Every man and woman carrying or wearing a badge were looking for justice and at the same time he felt that they were also looking towards him.

“Robert, I know what you are going through, but you have to eat”, said his wife.

Wallace shifted his attention to Mary. “A priest! A priest. He had to be on Mars not to know that marrying a key witness to a suspect hindered our investigation.”

“Are you inferring that the priest deliberately married those two in order to prevent Bennett being tried for murder?”

“No, I'm not inferring. I'm saying it outright. I'm saying that he did it with knowledge of Bennett's guilt and did what he did deliberately”.

“Why? Why would he do that?”

“Honey, we are living in troubled times. There are two large issues confronting us. One is the Civil rights Movement. The other is the Vietnam War. Catholic priests and other clergy have been joining civil rights demonstrations and anti war demonstrations through out the country”

“Is that so wrong?”, asked Mary.

“Of course not. What is wrong in my opinion is that some of the clergy of all denominations have become somewhat anti-police”

“Why? What evidence do you have that they are against the police?”

“I'm sure you have watched and seen southern police using billy clubs, water cannons and dogs on protesters. Several clergymen have been assaulted and jailed. I don't know for sure, but I'm willing to bet that the good Father Presti was either one that was jailed or very sympathetic to either movement, Civil rights or Anti-War”

“And there is nothing you can do, legally?”

“Evidently not. I tried to get Saul Cohen to arrest Father Presti for Obstruction of Justice. His answer was that what he did was not against the law. Personally, I think he doesn't want to take on the Catholic Church and the Camden Diocese”.

“That might be. Right now, knowing you I'm telling you as your wife do not make matters any worse by arresting Father Presti”.

“I won't, but I'm sure as hell going to confront him”.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Nine

Baltimore

 

Captain Wallace answered the ringing telephone on his desk, “Major Crime Squad, Captain Wallace”.

“Good morning Captain, Louis Lambraca. How are you this morning?”

“I've been better”, Wallace answered.

“I'm sure. I'm sure. Mr. Gargiulo is concerned about a few matters and has asked me to contact you”.

“And just what are the matters he's concerned with?”

“It has been said that you have lost a key witness needed to testify in the murder of his son and the young police officer”.

“No sense denying it. We did”.

“I see and could you possibly tell me how this happened?”

“In New Jersey a wife can not be made to testify against her husband. Somehow, someway, a priest was able to marry them in the County Jail. The woman in this case was a key witness.”

“It has been brought to the attention of Mr. Gargiulo that you are somewhat upset with this development”.

“I'm not upset. I'm pissed off”.

“I can understand how you feel. Let me assure you that Mr. Gargiulo does not hold you responsible. As a matter of fact he hopes that you could meet with him here in Baltimore”.

“For what reason?”,asked Wallace.

“I am sure it is in reference to the murder of his son, such as the money he is willing to provide for any and all information that would help your investigation. At the same time you would perhaps be able to answer any questions Mr. Gargiulo might have”.

“Most likely I could meet with him there. Where exactly does he want to meet?”

“At his home. Are you familiar with Baltimore, Captain?”

“Somewhat. I use to pull liberty there when I was in the Navy. There was a burlesque theater on East Baltimore Street. It was called the Gayety.”

“The building is still there. However, if possible I suggest that you drive to the Benihana Of Tokyo Restaurant. That's on the seven hundred block of Eden Street. What time do you expect to arrive?”

“Between one and two in the afternoon”.

“Excellent. I will waiting for you. Now, shall we pick a day?

“The day after tomorrow. Will Mr. Gargiulo be free?”

“I am certain that he will make sure that he is available. Thank you Captain I look forward to seeing you again. Good by”.

 

 

Two days later Robert Wallace drove the unmarked radio car on Route Forty riding through the outskirts of Richland and Elmer passing empty fruit and vegetable stands and empty, harvested, farm fields. When he entered Woods town he stopped at the Woods town Diner and over a stack of pancakes with sausage studied the city Map of Baltimore, Maryland.

He paid for his breakfast and soon crossed over the Delaware Memorial Bridge. As he did he reminisced, remembering the many times he hitch-hiked these same roads when he was a young kid in the Navy. Old signs and landmarks began to appear, Rising Sun, Perryville, Havae de Grace, Susquehanna River and Aberdeen.

At one twenty in the afternoon Wallace pulled into the parking lot of the Benihana Restaurant located on Eden Street. Across the parking lot he saw the long, silver, limousine with black film covered windows. After getting out of his vehicle He stood and watched as Louis Lambraca walked up to him.

“Captain, how nice to see you again even though I must admit it is rather sudden. Come, leave your car. One of Mr. Gargiulo's employees will keep a watch. We will ride in the limousine”.

Twenty minutes later the limo pulled into a circular driveway, a driveway constructed of multicolored stone. Wallace followed Lambraca through the front door, opened by a butler. They stepped on to a stone inlaid foyer floor. Wallace looked down at the floor then he looked up admiring the marble statues that lined the walls.

“This place must have cost a million dollars” he said to Lambraca.

“Actually it cost over two million if you include the art work”, Lambraca replied, just before they entered the library.

When they entered a tall, muscular man attired in expensive, light blue, polo shirt, black trousers and black loafers, about sixty years old stood in the middle of the room. Wallace noticed that the man appeared to be in excellent physical shape. His jet black hair had traces of gray at the temples and his deep olive complexion offered a picture of health.

“Captain Wallace. How nice to finally meet you. I trust that your drive from New Jersey was safe and uneventful”, he said as the two men shook hands.

“Yes sir, it was and may I thank you for this invitation”.

“You are quite welcome. Come, Let us talk while we have lunch. I expect that it's been a while since you had breakfast”.

“I could use a cup of coffee”, Wallace replied.

“Ah yes. I have heard that you are a coffee and doughnut man. I'm afraid my kitchen staff was not prepared. My fault you see, not theirs”.

“Please Mr. Gargiulo, I don't expect you to go to any trouble on my account. A cup of coffee will be fine”.

“Nonsense, it is no trouble. My chef is preparing a lunch of shrimp cocktail, crab cakes, french fired potatoes, country stewed tomatoes and for desert sweet potato pie. You are in Baltimore Captain, a city well known for it's crab and seafood. I'll leave it up to you to select the wine. Take a seat here. Louis always sits on my right. He's my right hand man so to speak,”said Gargiulo with a laugh, pointing to a chair.

Wallace sat down at the long dinner table. When he did a footman filled the glasses with water poured from a silver pitcher.”

“You have a very beautiful home sir”, said Wallace.

“Thank you. At times I find it somewhat ostentatious. Nonetheless, I find that other times the appearance of it is required in my business interests. At the same time I use the home as a space to not only display my art collection but also a place where I can enjoy it. My hobby, so to speak.”

“May I ask what business you're in?”

“Certainly, I import and sell marble and stone. Most of what I buy comes from Italy or Spain. I have it shipped to the Baltimore Port. That's why I live here. The port is just a short ride away”.

“I see”, said Wallace as the footman placed a silver cup filled with ice and five, peeled, jumbo shrimp in front of him.

Franco Gargiulo smiled.”I hope I haven't disappointed you. I think you were expecting a member of organized crime. I assure you Captain I am not connected to any Mafia or Cosa Nostra types, although I will admit, I do know some of them”.

“So do I”, said Wallace as he dipped a cold shrimp into the cocktail sauce.

“Excellent, now tell me, why is it suddenly a difficulty in charging the man known as Donovan Bennett for the murder of my son. Giovanni?”

“Somehow a Catholic priest was able to get into the county jail and married Bennett to our key witness. The county prosecutor doesn't feel that he can get a conviction with only one witness.

He has decided to try Bennett for an armed robbery of a liquor store”.

Gargiulo wiped his mouth with a napkin, then spoke. “This Catholic Priest, do you know his name?”

“Yes sir. Father Salvador Presti”.

“Is he still in Nautilus Beach?”

“No sir. I don't know where he is. I went to the church and met with the Monsignor. It seems that the bishop of the dioceses moved him to another parish, but I don't know where and they won't tell me”.

“And, this Bennett, is he still in jail?'

“Yes, no bail”.

“That leaves one Leroy Dunbar. Where is he?”

“I wish I knew sir. I wish I knew”.

“Alright Captain. I am willing to pay five thousand dollars for the man known as Dunbar and another five thousand dollars for the location of the priest”.

“Good, now, may I have a cup of coffee?”

“Oh, I'm so sorry. Of course. Sergio, bring Captain Wallace a cup of coffee.”

Wallace raised the hot cup of coffee to his lips took a sip and placed the cup on the table. “I'm sorry that I had never met your son Mr. Gargiulo, but I'm not much for using night clubs as entertainment. I will say there was never too much trouble at the Hobby Horse, an occasional drunk from time to time. That was about all”.

“Giovanni, he was a good son. Not interested in joining me in the business. He was young, good looking. He enjoyed cars, music and girls. So when he wanted to go into the night club business I said, fine, go into the night club business, but as my son, you keep it clean. No cheap watered down booze. No hookers fleecing customers or turning tricks in the back rooms”. This he did. He ran a legitimate business. I backed him financially. Little did I know I was setting him up to be a murder victim I'm only glad that his blessed mother did not live to see her son shot and killed, like an animal”.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Ten

Verdict

 

On Monday, September 12, 1977, Robert Wallace sat at the kitchen table taking occasional sips of coffee as he read the newspaper. He found that what he was reading was not registering in his mind and he had to go back again and again in order to retain the printed words. Finally, he gave up. He folded the paper and placed it on the table.

“Nothing interesting?” ,asked Mary.

“Not really. I've got this trial that begins today on my mind” Wallace replied.

“As I recall this is Captain Haynes case, not yours”.

“They're related. Bennett is just as guilty of murder as Dunbar. He didn't pull the trigger, but he was there from the beginning. What pisses me off is if he beats this robbery charge he walks free from the homicide. So far we can't find Dunbar and the case remains open”.

“I'm sure there are other open, unsolved cases. Why is this one so important?”,asked Mary.

“First of all, homicide investigations in this town are my responsibility. Second of all, they killed a police officer. That's what makes it important. Important to me”.

“Very true my dear husband. However, you have already solved the case. You know who did it, why they did it and how they did it. What remains now is the trial. The trial is the responsibility of the prosecutor, not you. Aren't you the one who preaches that a police officer shouldn't get emotionally involved in his case. Aren't you the one who says the police investigates, preserves evidence, arrest those who violate law, testify in court and walk away leaving the matter of guilt or innocence to the people?”

“Yes”.

“Then stop concerning yourself about Ernest Haynes robbery case”.

“Hey, thanks for the lecture. I'll be in that court room today”.

“Why?”

“I want to see who shows up. Someone may walk into that court room that knows the location of Leroy Dunbar”.

“You're impossible”.

“Is that the same as saying I'm a pain in the ass?”

“Bingo!”

Two hours later Captain Wallace sat on an antiquated wooden folding seat in the rear of Court Room Four. He watched those seated like himself, spectators to the criminal justice system. People divided in their desire for justice, those seeking a guilty finding, others wanting an acquittal. As much as he wanted to adhere to his own teachings and belief's in this case he wanted Bennett found guilty, imprisoned and the key thrown away.

In the first row of seats directly behind a walnut railing that separated spectators from the lawyers sat Iris Mitchell, seated on the defense attorney's side. She would be as close as possible to her now, husband.

Sitting at the side of the room were twenty five men and women, all under subpoena. Most of them not wanting to be there, many of them tried and failed to get out of serving. Now, they sat, hoping they wouldn't be selected for this jury. Still, they wanted the fee that the court system provided. They would hear and see the evidence that would be presented by the state. They would listen to Bennett's attorney as he attacked that evidence planting seeds of doubts in the mind of the jurors. He only needed one of them to have a doubt. Then, they would be asked to reach a verdict, guilty or not guilty.

For the next two hours Wallace watched Saul Cohen, the prosecutor try to select white, sympathetic, Jews for the panel. At the same time Leonard Goldberg, Bennett's court appointed attorney tried to place as many Blacks as he could on the jury. Each lawyer trying to tilt the odds in favor of their client, the State or the defendant.

To Wallace it was like a game. The prosecutor was the offense. The attorney representing Bennett was the defense. The judge was the referee, making sure that the game was played fair or in this case according to law. The defendant and witnesses were the players. The goal was either acquittal or guilty. Someone wins. Someone looses. Some one walks. Some one pays.

It took until four o'clock in the late afternoon for both attorney's to pick a jury. Judge William Burns noted the time then announced that each lawyer should be prepared as the trial would began tomorrow morning at nine A.M.

Arriving at the County Court House early the next morning, Wallace walked into the diner situated across the street from the court rooms. He sat on a stool at the long counter, ordered a cup of coffee and since there were no lemon doughnuts selected a large fat, jelly doughnut that was one of many covered by a clear, plastic cover.

The diner was busy. People were coming and going. Some were lawyers, grabbing a quick breakfast before their respected cases where to be heard. Others were witnesses or spectators, like him. He looked around and noticed two Black women seated in a booth. One of them was Iris Mitchell, the recent bride of Donovan Bennett.

Wallace was surprised that he felt no animosity toward Iris. Actually his ill will in the marriage that tied his hands in the homicide investigations was generated by the Catholic Priest. The priest knew what he was doing. In the law of the church, canon law, what is referred to as canonical impediment prevents a sacrament to be valid. One of those impediments is murder. So, in Captain Wallace's opinion, Father Presti knew what he was doing, knew the pending charges against Bennett and went ahead with the marriage, eliminating Iris Mitchell as an eye witness. To assure that the marriage was binding somehow, a marriage license was obtained.

Seated in the court room with the other spectators Wallace stood as Judge William Burns entered, took a seat and said, “You may be seated.”

Wallace watched as Bennett turned his head, smiled and gave a two thumbs up signal to Iris Mitchell, now Iris Bennett.

Saul Cohen gave his opening remarks to the jury, followed by Leonard Ginsberg who told the jury that there was no direct evidence to link Donovan Bennett to the robbery of the Inlet Liquor Store and that his client was innocent.

Cohen only had two things going for him. Selma and Abe Silverstein and the sawed off shot gun. After informing the jury what happened that dark and raining night the prosecutor called Abe Silverstein to the witness stand. There, under questioning Silverstein told those in the court room that as he headed for the front door of his store to lock it, he was met by two black men who told him it was a holdup and to give them the money in the cash register.

“And, did you give them the money in the cash register sir”.

“Yes, yes I did”

“Then what happened?”

“The other one, not this one asked for my wallet”.

“Did you give it to him?”

“I'm not remembering if I gave it or he took it. I do know he took what money was in my billfold”.

“And, what happened next?”

“He shot me”.

“I see. No further questions”.

“You may cross examine Mr. Ginsberg”.

“Thank you your honor. I shall be brief. Mr. Silverstein during the robbery, did my client, Mr. Bennett tell you or use the words, this is a holdup?”

“No sir. He took the money from the till”.

“Your honor, I ask that the statement of the witness be stricken from the record. The question was did Mr. Bennett say, This is a holdup”.

“The jury will disregard the statement of the witness, he took money from the till. Mr. Silverstein only answer yes or no to the question. You may continue Mr. Ginsberg”, said the judge.

“Thank you your honor. I'll repeat the question. Did Mr. Bennett say to you, This is a holdup?”

“No sir”.

“Did Mr. Bennett ask for or take your wallet and the money that was contained in it?”

“No sir”.

“Did Mr. Bennett shoot you?'

“No sir”.

“Your honor I respectfully request that the charges of robbery and atrocious assault and battery be dropped due to lack of evidence which resulted in my client being arrested and charged.”

“Your honor, the State has shown and the witness confirmed that the defendant, Donovan Bennett was in the store that night, He came into the store` with Leroy Dunbar. He might not have said a word to the witness. He might not have touched the witness or removed money from the wallet. But he was there. He was there when the robbery took place and he was there when the witness was shot and eventually lost his leg”.

“Your honor. Permission to approach the bench?”, asked Ginsberg.

“You may”.

Both Ginsberg and Cohen stood in front of the bench. In a low tone Ginsberg said, “Your honor, my client is willing to plead guilty to armed robbery with the conditions that the charge of atrocious assault and battery be dismissed and the penalty sentence be less then ten years in a penitentiary”.

“Mr. Cohen, what says the State?”, asked Judge Burns.

“I'm willing to accept providing the penalty phase is at least seven years”, said Cohen.

“Mr. Ginsberg?”

“I request time to speak to my client in private”.

“Granted, you can have thirty minutes”, said Judge Burns.

After both attorney's returned to their tables Judge Burns announced, “Court will be in recess for thirty minutes”.

Forty minutes later with the jury still out of the court room, Leonard Ginsberg stood with Donovan Bennett who pleaded guilty to armed robbery.”

The last words that the pissed off Captain Wallace heard as he walked hurriedly out of the room was “I hereby sentence you to seven years in the penitentiary”.

Bennett could be out in three years, if not sooner”.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Eleven

The Barrio

 

Leroy Dunbar sat at the kitchen table of the rundown house in a Cuban barrio. At one time the hacienda had been a quality home for the middle class. Now, it stood as just a residence in another poor neighborhood in Havana. The white paint was intact as was the red tile roof. However, inside the floors sagged, the doors would not close all the way, swollen and warped. Mildew grew on the walls. Cracks in the jalousie windows had been covered with tape while outside grass and weeds grew tall and unintended.

The front door and all of the windows were open with the hope that eventually a cool breeze would appear and move through the house cooling the occupants. Usually the only thing that moved were the flies.

In one of the bedrooms two whores were fast asleep, tired after walking the streets from seven o'clock the previous night until three o'clock this morning. Dunbar sat and counted their earnings. Like most pimps he wasn't satisfied with the amount his girls turned in.

Dunbar had become a pimp both by accident and by necessity. He had fled New Jersey the day after he shot and killed the night club owner and the cop. Receiving money from friends as well as a new identity he had flown to Canada and from there to Cuba where upon landing there asked for a visa. He received it with no questions asked.

Alone, in a new country, unable to speak Spanish he walked the streets looking for work. He found himself in a place where jobs were scarce and those that were available paid low wages.

One night, hungry and broke he stood on a corner watching old, nineteen fifty seven Chevrolet and Fords held together by wire and makeshift parts go up and down the street. As he did a good looking girl maybe seventeen or eighteen years old spoke to him in Spanish. He could tell by the way she was dressed that she was a hooker. She wore tight ass black shorts, an azure blue, off the shoulder blouse exposing just enough cleavage to get a man interested, but not enough to get arrested for indecent exposure.

Dunbar smiled and said, “Sorry, I don't speak Spanish”.

The girl replied, “No problem, I speak English. Would you like to party?”

“Sorry sugar, got no bread”, answered Dunbar as he walked away. When he got to the middle of the block he heard a woman scream. He turned and saw a guy beating the woman he had just left. At a run he made it back to where the beating was taking place. He pushed a Cuban guy off of the female. The Cuban came back at him and a fight began. Knives flashed in the dimly lit street and Dunbar came out the victor. That night after giving a Cuban pimp a beating and slashing that sent the procurer to the hospital, Leroy Dunbar received not one but two prostitutes willing to walk the streets at night, sell their bodies and turn over their earnings. He also got the house they lived in. In return Dunbar provided protection to his women from john's and other pimps. In his spare time he learned to speak Spanish most of which he learned when living and sleeping with either one of the girls.

To his women and others he was known as Ramon Delgado. Included in the list of others was the National Revolutionary Police and Major Alejandro Guerra the man he paid off once a month in order to stay in business.

The prostitutes, Gabriela age nineteen and Rosalinda fifteen were well known on the street and sought after. Gabriela was tall and black. Rosalinda light complected and petite. The two girls got along like sisters. Dunbar was satisfied with his operation but wanted a good looking white girl or two to place in his stable. He was always on the lookout for some Russian, Italian or Canadian hooker who came to Havana on vacation. Since the American boycott many European woman vacationed in Cuba. Hopefully he could convince one or two of them to stay and go to work for him.

Dunbar was fortunate. After the 1959 Revolution, Castro abolished prostitution. Before then, Cuba was known as,”The Brothel Of The Caribbean”. However, due to a weak economy, high unemployment and European vacationers wanting to be entertained the National Republic Police looked away, for a price. The only thing different was that the girls operating under the Castro regime now had college educations. This was due to the fact that the new government emphasized education for the people and the young girls and women of Cuba took advantage of the opportunity.

Dunbar felt safe in Havana. Still, he missed Jersey. He missed the hood, the dudes and bitches that looked up to him. They knew he was tough and rugged. They knew he took no shit from anyone. They knew he demanded respect and anyone that disrespected Leroy Dunbar went on his shit list. At the same time he missed soul, soul music and soul food. He was tired of listening to the salsa, zapateo, fandango and paso doble. He yearned to hear jazz, blues, and rock and roll. While listening to the music he wanted to eat collard greens, mac and cheese, and chicken and waffles, not red beans and rice. These were the things he gave up in order to be safe. Here, no one could reach him.

 

One thousand and fifty miles away from Cuba, Captain Wallace answered the ringing telephone on his desk. “Major Crime Squad. Captain Wallace”.

“Cool Loo”.

“What?”

“Word on the street be that some white, rich dude be willing to pay big bucks for the location of Piggy”.

“Who the hell is Piggy?”

“Piggy be the name in the hood belonging to Leroy Dunbar”.

“Do you know where he is?”

“Man we got to talk business for I give you the info”.

“Not my money. Let's just say it's a type of reward”.

“Word I hear is that the so called reward be in the area of five thousand. That be right?”

“Could be. Let me tell you how it works. You get any information you give it to me. I then pass it on to the benefactor. He then gives me the money and I give it to you”.

“That's cool. Just want to know if I'm hearing straight. The so called reward is five grand, right?”

“You deliver, you make a big score”.

“That be good enough for me. You be hearing from me in a couple of days. Later”.

Wallace place the receiver back on the cradle.

Cool Loo Harris had been a pain in the ass for local law enforcement beginning when he was nine years old. Then, as a juvenile delinquent his forte was purse snatching. At age thirteen he was breaking into telephone booth coin boxes and parking meters. When he turned fifteen he organized a gang of youths and forced railroad commuters who parked their automobiles in the parking lot to pay for protection. His security fee as he called it was five dollars a week for each car. Each morning, Monday through Friday one hundred cars

pulled into the parking lot.

At age eighteen he ran numbers for the Black bookmakers in the hood. At age twenty one he spent three hundred and sixty days in the county Jail for atrocious assault and battery. He used that year to develop criminal element contacts that he could use anytime in the future to gather information. The information he received was then for sale to law enforcement, local, county, state and federal, who ever offered the best price. Cool Loo had many, many, contacts

******************

Leroy Dunbar sat on a sidewalk bench located on the El Malecon, also known as the Avenida de Maceo a broad walkway that stretched five miles along the coast of Havana. Here the tourist came. In the daytime they walked, bought souvenirs, ate from the many sidewalk vendors carts and took photographs of each other. At night, the male tourists walked the sidewalk looking for girls and women. And, this night like many nights before Dunbar had his women walking the street.

 

Donovan Bennett went through processing at the penitentiary in Trenton New Jersey After being checked physically for weapons, drugs or other contraband he was fingerprinted and photographed given clothing and shoes a number and finally a cell. His cellmate, a tall black muscular man sat on the lower bunk reading a book. The man nodded his head as a form of greeting and with a thumb pointed to the upper bunk.

In Running Deer Montana, Father Salvador Presti knelt in the small Catholic Church and said his rosary.

Three men from Nautilus Beach New Jersey all connected to one another as a result of one particular crime were now attempting to begin new and safe lives.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Twelve

The Messenger

 

Captain Wallace walked through the aisles of bookshelves of the Nautilus Beach Library. He stopped when he reached the many volumes of botany and horticulture. Then, he reached up and removed a book titled, “The Use Of Horse Manure And Its Effect On Roses”. He pretended to stand and read it as he waited for Cool Loo Harris to join him. When he did the two men began to talk in hushed tones.

“What have you got?”, asked Wallace.

“Man, I got what you want. First, you be tellin me how much and when”.

“Have I ever screwed you?”

“No, but like they say. There's always a first time”.

“Look, let's get right to it. If you want to do business it will be on my terms. Don't think that you're the only informant I have on the street”.

“Man I know that. Don't go getting your ass in an uproar”.

“Here's the deal. You talk. I listen. If what you have for sale is worth it I pass the information to a, let's say concerned, civic minded, group who support law and order by offering a reward”.

“I get it. No problem. What I got is the location of Piggy Dunbar.”

“Where is he?”

“Cuba”.

“Where in Cuba?”

“Word is Havana. He be a small time pimp, has his bitches working the ocean front, catering to the tourist trade”.

“How do you know?”

“His Grandmother died last month. His sister Earlene sat in the funeral parlor cryin and talkin. When she talk she told someone where her brother be. That someone then told me. Seems Piggy sends his letter by goin to the Swiss Embassy who then sends it here.

“Did you get an address?”

“Man whatcha want from me? I tell you where he is and what he do. Shit, next thin I know you want me to fly down there and drag his ugly ass home. Word I got is his girls workin the Av Del Puerto. You got to be reasonable Wally”.

“Alright, stay on it. I'll pass what you told me on to the right people”

“What I told you gotta be worth big bucks”.

“We'll see”.

*****************

Two days later Wallace sat across from Louis Lambraca in a booth they shared at the Jewel Restaurant. Next to Lambraca was a black, leather briefcase. The lawyer kept his sunglasses on even though they were having lunch inside.

“If the information is true and we believe it is, we would still require a permanent address or location for Mr. Dunbar. Still, Mr. Gargiulo feels that this news you sent is welcomed and appreciated. Naturally, he leaves the, let's call it reward money amount up to me. At this time I think the, again let's call it a finders fee should be in the amount of five hundred to one thousand dollars. What is your opinion?”

“It depends on just how bad Mr. Gargiulo wants Dunbar”.

“We both know he wants him bad”.

“Then, go for a thousand. My informant's information is solid. If he says Dunbar is in Havana, then he's in Havana. If you stiff him the search then ends. If you want a positive location. My man will up the ante. You like playing word games like, "let's call it." Well. Let's call the thousand dollars a retainers fee. Since you are a lawyer I'm sure you understand.

“Lambraca smiled. “Do you want the money now?”

“Nope. I don't touch it. Someone might get the idea that you have me in your pocket. To tell you the truth I wouldn't be involved at all, but a police officer was killed. His family deserves justice. I'm going to see that they get it one way or another.”

“Then, may I ask how do we transfer the funds?”

“If you look over my shoulder and through the window you'll see a shoeshine stand. The bootblack is a messenger for my informant. You go there a get your shoes shined and give him the money. He'll see that it goes to the right person”.

“Then what?”, asked Lambraca.

“Then I listen to my informant rant and rave on how he got screwed and that he'll never work for me again. After he settles down and thinks things over he'll accept the payment and will look for more. Meanwhile you sit tight and tell Mr. Gargiulo to be patient”, said Wallace.

“Have you heard anything about the priest?”

“There, we have a small problem. Police informants travel in criminal environments. You wont find them attending mass or going to confession. However, I'm working on it, but it's going to take awhile”.

“Alright Captain I'll pass the money after we have lunch. Do you want to count it?”

“I don't have to. My informant will tell me if you come up lame”.

“It seems to me that you have your own little network operating out here in Nautilus Beach”, said Lambraca.

“Merely the needs of the profession. Unfortunately it seems that we need each other.” Wallace stopped talking as the waitress refilled his coffee cup. When she walked away, he continued. “The secret is one controls the informant, not the other way around.”

In Toronto, Canada Veronica Babula, also known as, Mildred Perkins or Molly Squires finished packing her suitcase. She had packed enough clothing to last her for five days. At the same time in New York City, Delores Campbell, also known as Frances MacDonald or Theresa Jenkins sat waiting for the arrival of the taxi cab she had requested. As she did she studied her airline ticket to Mexico City.

Three weeks went by and in those three weeks the Major Crime Squad, Robbery and Vice Squad kept pressure on their informants. Still, those in the know on the streets couldn't come up with any new information. Then, at ten thirty on a Monday morning. Wallace received a telephone call from Cool Loo.

“Call me at 43 5666, I'm in a phone booth”, said Cool Loo”.

“Why?” asked Wallace.

“Man do you want what I got or do I sit on it and give it to someone else?”

“This better be good. Hang up”.

Wallace dialed the number. “Yeah?”, Cool Loo answered.

“Let me hear what you have and it better be right”.

“First, we talk business”

“Fine, name your price”

“It be ten grand, four for Piggy on account I already got one for tellin you where his ugly ass is. I want five grand for information on the whereabouts of the priest”.

Wallace sat up straight in his chair. “You know where the priest is?”

“Damn straight”.

“Where is he?”

“Oh no. No sir. This time I want the money up front. Ain't goin to be no down grade of my fee this time”.

“I'll have to run it by the benefactor. Even if he approves he won't have the cash until at least by Wednesday.

“I can wait”.

“Good. Then what?”

“You go to Old Frank's Shoe Shine Stand. Take a seat. Get your shoes done. Old Frank will have the info. It be on an envelope. You get the info from that. Up to you how you do it. Write it down, memorize, whatever. Then you give the envelope back to the old man. After that you hand over nine grand. Old Frank see that I get it. You hear what I'm sayin?”

“Got it”.

On Wednesday, November 7, 1977 at one thirty in the after noon. Captain Wallace parked the unmarked radio car across the street from the Jewel Restaurant, got out, locked the drivers side door and started across the street to Frank Beal's shoeshine stand. As he walked he read the sign hanging on the wall, “You Can't Look Neat If Your Shoes Are Beat.”

Wallace knew the background of Beal. As a young man he was a boxer. He was good, good enough to get a shot at the middle weight title. Instead, he made his money taking dives. As fast as he made it he spent it, booze, parties, women, gambling, he pissed it all away. Now at age seventy he scratched out a living shining shoes.

“Mornin Captain. Care for a shine?” Asked Beal.

“I think I will”, said Wallace as he climbed up and into the wooden chair.

Frank Beal began brushing the Captain's shoes using one hand. With the other hand he passed a white, business size envelope to Wallace.

Robert Wallace turned the envelope over and saw that the letter or its contents was addressed to Father Salvador Presti, Saint John Monastery, Running Deer, Montana.

Wallace reached into his inside pocket of the blue blazer he wore. After removing a manila envelope he placed it with the letter and handed both to Frank Beal.

“Looks like it goin to be a right nice day. Yes it do”, said Beal.

“It sure does”, Wallace replied.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Thirteen

Retribution

 

On Tuesday, December 13, 1977 Ramon Delgado, also known as Leroy Dunbar sat on a bar stool sipping from a shot glass filled with rum. The tavern was filled with the usual clientele, the pimps and whores that worked the barrio near the ocean front.

The smell of rum and whiskey mixed with the aroma of cigar smoke together were unable to mask the odor of stale, rancid piss on the sawdust and dirt floor.

As he looked around Leroy noticed two young white women sitting at a table nursing Cuba Libra’s, which consisted of rum, cola and lime juice. One was a redhead who had her hair styled like a beehive. The brunet had a pixie cut.

He could tell they were hookers. The mere fact that they were in this place was enough to convince him that they were prostitutes. As he looked at them one, the brunet raised her glass and smiled.

Leroy got up off of his stool and walked to their table. He put his drink on the table and sat down in one of the empty chairs and said, “You girls look thirsty. Can I buy you a drink?”

“You can do that and other things”, said the other woman a red head.

“That right? And just what that be?”, asked Dunbar.

“We need jobs”, said the brunet”.

“Why you tellin me this?”, asked Dunbar.

“We talked to Gabriela and Rosalinda. They said that you were looking for a white woman to put in your business”

“That be true. Seems the white, European johns like the dark Latino babes. At the same time the hometown boys want you white bitches. Which one of you wants the job?”. Asked Dunbar.

“Both of us”, said the redhead.

“I got to think it over. Two would double my take. I'll need to test the product if you know what I'm sayin”, Dunbar replied.

“Naturally, but we can't do it here”, said the brunet”.

“First, let's get to know each other. They call me Ramon Delgado. You go to work for me, I takes care of you. You hustle, I protect. You hustle we both make money. You be responsible for the clothes you wear, condoms, and doctor visits. You get clapped up, your ass is out of here. You know what I'm sayin?

“We understand baby. No problem.”

“Good, one more thing. I feeds you and put a roof over your head. Usually I goes sixty forty, other times I goes fifty fifty. Depends on how good you are at your job”.

“Sounds good to me sugar. Now, when do we audition?”, asked the redhead.

“In awhile. What be your name Red?”

“Mildred Perkins. They call me Molly”.

“You got a New England kinda accent. Where you from?”, Dunbar asked.

“Boston”.

“You hustle in Bean Town?”

asked Leroy.

“Scollay Square”, answered Molly.

“Heard of it. Ain't never been there. How about you. What be your name and background?”, asked Dunbar speaking to the brunet

“Tess. I worked New York, Times Square. My real name is Theresa Jenkins”.

“Why you leave, Tess Jenkins?”, asked Dunbar.

“My pimp beat me up. I had enough so I left”.

“Your pimp a brother or a white dude?” Dunbar asked.

“He's black”.

“And, you Molly. Why you leave Bean Town.?”

“I saw a murder on the Square. I don't want to get involved so I packed up and left”, Perkins answered.

“Seems alright. How did you bitches get into Cuba?”

“I flew out of Toronto to Havana. Got here three days ago”, said Jenkins.

“I went to Mexico City and from there to here. I got here last week.”said Perkins”.

“On Cubans de Aviation”, said Jenkins.

“Same here”, said Perkins.

“How come it is that you two are from two different places and one of you flew out of Canada and the other Mexico yet here you are sittin in front of me, best friends, both hookers and both want to go to work for me. It seem odd. Got to think this over”, said Dunbar.

“The answer is simple we both just happened to be working the same hotel lounge when we met each other. Instead of competing against each other we decided to work together. Unfortunately we don't know who or how to pay off. We don't want to work for a Cuban. So we asked around and your name came up”, said the brunet.

“Why don't you think it over as we audition. It could be that our bedroom skills might help you make up your mind”, said the redhead.

“Absolutely, you can try us one at a time or both of us at the same time. That's up to you”, the brunet suggested.

“Damn girl. You puttin some kinky ass ideas in my head. Unless you want another drink, we're out of here”.

Later, an old Ford sedan converted to a taxi cab stopped in front of the hacienda of Ramon Delgado. Both girls followed him into the building, ignoring the odor of the unkempt dwelling, filled ashtrays, empty beer and rum bottles and a filthy sink filled with dirty dishes.

“Where's the bathroom. I have to pee”, said the redhead.

“That door on the left Red. We'll wait right here for you”.

Ten minutes later Molly joined Tess and Leroy and

said, “Alright, let's have some fun”. Dunbar led both girls into his bedroom then stood and watched as both women took off their clothes. When they were nude he undressed and got on top of the bed.

He was joined by the brunet and as she lay there next to him he leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. Looking up at the redhead he said. “Come on baby. You know why you're here. Ramon want both of you”.

“I'm coming. I just want to fix my hair “.

Dunbar watched the woman as she reached up to the back of her hair and removed a hairpin which she placed in her mouth. After adjusted her hairdo she replaced the pin.

“How come you still wear your hair in beehive? Thought that went out a couple of years back”, said Dunbar.

Mildred Perkins got on the bed and smiled “This isn't a beehive baby. It's called a big hair”.Dunbar laughed and turned his head towards the brunet. When he did Molly carefully removed the straight razor from the back of her hair, opening and placing it quickly between her thumb and forefinger. As Dunbar was involved in trying to kiss Tess the redhead nimbly ran the edge of the blade across the throat of Leroy. The cut was long and deep, severing the jugular vein and carotid artery. Both women jumped up off of the bed. Then stood and watched as blood gushed out of the wound flowing on to the dirty sheets and pillow on the bed. They heard him gasp. They saw him stand and reach his hand to his throat in an attempt to stop the flow of blood. Then, they saw him collapse, unconscious as blood did not reach his brain.

As the two women dressed they saw that the man no longer breathed. Blood no longer flowed. He was dead.

Outside in the dark. Molly and Tess looked up the street. There a man in a black sedan blinked his headlights. Molly waved and the car's engine started. It then moved to where the women stood. They both got into the rear of the automobile and the driver slowly drove away from Ramon Delgado's hacienda.

The next day, Cubana de Aviacion flight 327 from Havana to Toronto took off as scheduled. On board and in First Class two young women one a brunet the other a redhead ordered Cuban Libre's from the stewardess.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Fourteen

Requital

 

Donovan Bennett didn't like being in prison, but then again, who did? Still, it was better than being executed or facing life with no parole for his part in the murders of the nightclub owner and the cop. In his mind he wouldn't be here at all if he hadn't hooked up with Leroy Dunbar. Dunbar was not only a dumb son of a bitch be was also a blood thirsty bastard. One of those who demanded respect even though he didn't deserve it. The kind that used the lack of respect as an excuse to maim or kill. He was also the asshole that was causing Bennett to serve time in prison.

Many times, as he lay in his bunk in the cell he thought of Dunbar who shot the two men that night and ditched the shotgun in the trashcan belonging to Iris. “The fool didn't have enough brains to think just how easy it would have been to slide it right into the sewer drain on the corner. No, the simple bastard put it in the trashcan of his woman. Thank Christ, the Catholic Priest married them. That took Iris out of the picture. No questions asked. No answers given. Sweet.

Now it becomes a waiting game. Do the time. Stay out of trouble. Be a model prisoner. Yes Sir, no sir. Do two, maybe three years. The old Jew gotta die sometime. When he do, my lawyer makes an appeal. Only witness be gone, no sweat, I walk,” he thought to himself.

His cellmate was Calvin Epps, age twenty eight, a man doing life for the murder of his girl friend when he caught her cheating on him. He was a weird dude. He was a brother, but he acted and sounded like a white dude. The bro read constantly. Most of the time he was reading about the stars and planets. Instead of soul music he listened to classical music and opera. He stood at six feet, eight inches and weighed two hundred and twenty five pounds. There wasn't An ounce of fat on his body. His morning routine was one hundred push ups on the cell floor and one hundred pullups using the bars on the cell door. The color of his skin was a deep black and when he spoke he used big words like those found in a dictionary. Sometimes Bennett didn't even understand what the man was saying.

Calvin Epps played chess. The board was set up and the pieces left in position day after day. Epps and somebody in the cell block below had a continuing game going. They passed notes to each other in the prison mess listing each others next play.

Epps had long ago realized that he would spend the rest of his life in prison. Instead of being distraught about his circumstances he decided to take advantage of them. He had entered prison as a high school drop out. In his confinement he studied and got his G.E.D.

He learned how to play chess and got good at it. He currently was involved in a match with Doctor Emile Winters, a physician also doing life for killing his wife by injecting air into her bloodstream.

Epps looked at the positive things of being in prison. As a prisoner he received three meals a day, clothing and shoes, plus health and dental benefits. He also had access to the prison library which aided him in his pursuit of knowledge. His one burning desire was to have a good telescope and a cell with a window so he could continue his study of astronomy. At the same time he wanted a college degree but lacked the necessary funds and way to obtain it.

Calvin Epps did not miss the outside world. To him it was an unjust society that he was born into. Discriminated upon most of his life he withdrew into himself, creating his own safe world.

At age eighteen he met the love of his life, Latisha Webster. With her he felt comfortable. With her he felt that there was no barrier that would stand in his way. One day she told him that she was pregnant. That made him happy. “Let's get married', he said. When she told him that the baby wasn't his something snapped and with his hands around her neck and his thumbs on her throat he strangled her to death.

Bennett learned all of the information about Epps from other Cons and as far as he knew there was nothing to fear. To him, Epps was a perfect cellmate, he was just weird.

The two men had one thing in common. They both were allowed visitors. Iris would travel by bus from Nautilus Beach to Trenton on weekends. Visitation days for them were Saturday and Sunday. Originally there were window visits. Eventually, with Bennett behaving as a model prisoner he was allowed contact visits. It was the visits of Iris that got him through the days, weeks and months spent behind the high thick walls of the New Jersey State Prison.

The mother of Calvin Epps came as much as she could. With her son in prison she had been forced to go on welfare. As a diabetic there were times when she couldn't afford the price of a bus ticket needing what money she had for medicine.

Sometimes, her brother would drive the distance from Nautilus Beach to Trenton, his old Plymouth automobile burning oil as it made its way over route 206.

A few times Bennett noticed a white man in a business suit seated at a table with Epps. One day Donovan asked Calvin who the man was. Epps told him the man was his new lawyer.

As model prisoners Bennett and Epps were given jobs in the prison. Epps was assigned to the library. His assignment called for him to place returned books to the shelves using the Dewey Decimal Classification. He was one of the few prisoners in the prison that knew and understood just what the system was and how it worked.

Donovan Bennett was assigned to the paint shop. His job was to either chip old paint off of cell bars, walls or floors, or apply a new coat of the traditional, battleship gray or sea foam green paint. It was easy work and it got him out of the cell for eight hours a day.

At the same time He received one day off of his sentence for every five days he worked. Calvin Epps wasn't so lucky. He was in for life.

Bennett quickly learned that the three most dangerous places in the prison were the yard, shower and mess hall. Even though there were constant searches and shake downs of the prisoners cells homemade weapons still got by the guards and the rate of fights, beatings and stabbings were an on going situation. Donovan made it a point to try to get along with everyone.

Iris Mitchell Bennett sat across from her husband at the provided table. As he watched she unpacked the canvas carrier bag that had been searched and the items permitted by a guard. She placed three packs of Chesterfield cigarettes, one Ebony magazine, a bag of hard candy and a Hersey's Chocolate Bar on the table.

“Don't see any Tasty Kakes baby”, said Bennett.

“The guard told me the last time I was here that you had to eat them here where you sit. He say your not allowed to take them into your cell”.

“He's full of shit. You bring them next time. You hear?”

“Same kind? Butter Scotch Krimpets and Chocolate Cupkakes?”

“Yeah and two apple pies.”

Iris smiled and took his hand in hers. “How you holding up baby?”, she asked.

“I'm cool”. Better off than Brother Epps sitting over there. Man been meeting with his new attorney time after time. He's sitting there right now hoping that by some chance he could get a new trial. Shit, white man sitting with him is just giving him jive. Did you bring me the radio?”

“Sure I brung it. Got just what you asked for. A.M., F.M radio and a set of earphones. Here it is”.

Bennett smiled.

That night in his cell, Donovan Bennett turned off his pocket sized radio and removed the earphones from his head. He leaned over from his bunk and looked down at Epps. “Hey Calvin. Any time you want to listen to my radio just ask. I think I get more stations then you. Just be careful with the earphones. Seems to me there's a short in the wires. The wires are kinda thin. I don't want to break them”, he said.

Calvin Epps stood up. “That right? Let me see them”.

Bennett handed his cellmate the earphones. “You're right. Here, use mine. See how mine has thicker wires?”Then, with the instrument is his hand Epps quickly wrapped the wire around Donovan's throat and began to strangle him. Using brute force Epps watched the wires dig deep into the skin of the man's throat cutting off air to his lungs.

Donovan kicked his feet. He attempted to strike Epps, but the more he tried the tighter the wires became. Finally, with no oxygen reaching his brain he passed out. Even in his unconscious state Epps continued to twist the wires. Ten minutes later he released his grip. Bennett was dead.

****************

Calvin Epps was charged with the murder of Donovan Bennett. He spent six months in solitary confinement. While there he enjoyed the solitude it offered him. He read, he wrote letters to his mother. After six months he was placed in a cell with a window. On that day he was given a Mede LX 2000 Telescope. It was valued at three thousand dollars.

His mother was moved from the project apartment where she lived on welfare and placed in an Assistant Living Facility where the cost of her stay along with any other expenses such as doctors and medicine were paid for by an unknown benefactor.

Calvin was tried and convicted. He received another life sentence for the murder of Donovan Bennett. Sentence to be concurrent with the life sentence he was already serving.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Fithteen

Bless Me Father

 

The Village of Running Deer, Montana is known for being right in the middle of excellent hunting and fishing areas during the seasons. It is also known for the Monastery of Saint John used by the faithful for religious retreats. The monastery had twelve monks, an Abbot, and three priests. Located on twenty acres there was also a convent housing twenty nuns. Both the monks and the nuns reported to each one's superior.

There was only one road in and out of Running Deer, Route Two. On one side of the road were two motels and a gas station. The Gulf station was located between Johnson's Rest and the Running Deer Inn. On the other side of the road were two hunting and fishing lodges, Sunset Lodge and Deer Creek lodge. They were two miles apart.

At six o'clock on a Friday evening. A man calling himself Edward Parsons checked in at the Deer Creek Lodge. Parsons was five feet ten inches tall, weighed one hundred and seventy five pounds. He had brown eyes and black hair. His reservation was confirmed and in the next half hour he paid for his required hunting and fishing license. The fee was eight hundred dollars. Parsons paid for his permit and his lodging with an American Express credit card. He was shown his room and then went outside with an attendant. There he opened the automobile trunk, removed one large suitcase, a rifle, fly rod and tackle box.

Father Salvador Presti arose before sunrise as did the monks. He got washed and dressed and after saying his morning prayers went to breakfast. He waited for the Prior to say grace and at the end of the prayer ate his breakfast consisting of a bowl of oat meal, bread and butter and coffee. He had an hours wait until he heard confessions.

Seated at the dining room table at the Deer Creek Lodge Edward Parsons sat eating a breakfast of bacon and eggs, toast and coffee. As he ate he asked questions about the hunting and fishing conditions. His guide for the day sat drinking a cup of coffee and assured Parsons that he would be guaranteed either a trophy fish, elk or deer, possibly all three.

At nine o'clock in the morning a young woman entered the confessional, and blessed her self making the sign of the cross. She waited until she saw the screen slide open and said, “Bless me father for I have sinned. It has been three weeks since my last confession.” Father Presti prayed and gave her a penance of five Our Fathers and ten Hail Mary's.

When the woman left the confessional Father Presti sat in deep thought. In his thirty five years of life all he wanted to do was to serve God. At age five the nuns in the parochial school had steered him into becoming a priest. After high school he entered the seminary. Ordained he was sent to Nautilus Beach where he was assigned to Saint Elizabeth's Catholic Church.

Father Presti anticipated that the life of serving God and the church would be difficult. However, when he was advised by the monsignor to simply attend to his duties and refrain from political situations he refused to believe that he should not support the civil rights

Of Blacks and Hispanics. As a result he dedicated most of his free time to the cause of the disenfranchised.

With the murder of the nightclub owner and the police officer, Father Presti read about the killings in the newspaper. He learned more about the case when he talked with Iris Mitchell, a parishioner who came to him for help.

It was after that when he decided to solve her problem of being a witness against Donovan Bennett. Fortunately, Donovan and Iris had applied for a marriage license before the murders. Their blood test results were in and the application approved.

On a Saturday visitation to the County Jail, Father Presti married the couple and under New Jersey Law Iris could not be forced to testify against her husband.

The County Prosecutor raised hell. People in the community were incensed. Their complaints went to the Attorney General of the State and when it was learned that the marriage was legal all complaints then went to Monsignor Andrews. The majority of the population of the city openly complained and demanded either an action or an explanation. Monsignor then sent the matter to the Bishop of the Camden Dioceses. After a short review the bishop ordered a transfer of Father Presti to a parish and place unknown. The place turned out to be Running Deer, Montana. Father Presti was discouraged even though he was told that the transfer was for his own safety.

Unknown to the priest one day Sam Pilgrim, a mailman picked up the mail for delivery at the rectory of the Catholic Church. Around the corner and out of sight Pilgrim found the letter addressed to Father Salvador Presti, Saint John Monastery, Running Deer, Montana.

At the first sight of a telephone booth Pilgrim entered, placed his leather bag on the cement sidewalk, placed a nickle in the slot then dialed a number.

“Hello?”

“Cool Loo. I got what you been looking for”, said Pilgrim.

“Yeah? And what that be?”

“The location of the priest”.

“You ain't tryin to bullshit me now are you?”

“Man, why would I do that. You ask me to be reading the rectory mail and I did”.

“Alright, when you get to the shoe shine stand you give what you got to old Frank Beal. He'll see that I get it. If it be what I want then I'll handle it my way. Tomorrow, you go by Franks stand again. He give you the letter. You make sure it gets delivered. You hear what I'm sayin?”

“Yeah, I got it. What's happens on my end?”, asked Pilgrim.

“You got two C's comin bro”.

“That's cool”.

“That's what they call me. Cool Loo”.

Ed Parsons uttered a happy laugh as he reeled in a large cut throat trout. His guide netted the fish and asked Ed what he wanted to do with it. “Release it he replied.” As he stood examining the fly on his line he asked. “Do they hear confessions at the monastery”.

“Yes. Everyday except Sunday from nine in the morning until three in the afternoon.

“Thank you”, Parsons replied as he cast his line hoping to catch another fish.

On Sunday Ed Parsons sat and listened to the young priest saying the Mass, When it was time for the Eucharist Parsons knelt and opened his mouth. Father Presti placed the wafer and said, “The Body Of Christ. Parson made the sign of the cross after taking the wine.

The next say at ten o'clock in the morning. Parson parked his automobile in front of the Church Of Saint John. He got out of the car and walked to where a monk was pulling weeds. “Could you tell me where Father Presti is?”

“Yes, right now he is hearing confessions”.

“Thank you, to tell you the truth I'm way behind in saying mine”, said Parsons as he left and went inside. He walked down the epistle side of the nave passing aisles of pews, then he stopped in front of the confessional.

Parson opened the door to the booth and went inside and sat down. When the small screen was slid open, he said, “Bless me father for I have sinned. It has been three months since my last confession.”

“And, what have been your transgressions??”asked the priest.

“I am sorry father. I have a hearing problem?”

Father Presti moved his head close to the screen. When he did Parsons Fired three forty four magnum rounds from a Desert Eagle automatic pistol that was fitted with a silencer. There was the pop, pop, pop, sound of the rounds being fired and a clunk, as Parsons tossed the automatic on to the wooden seat. He walked out of the confessional and up the aisle passing two young nuns that were kneeling in prayer.

It took Parsons eleven hours to drive from Running Deer, Montana to Denver Colorado. He stopped twice to refuel, take a piss and purchase a ready made sandwich and a coke from two machines. Instead of turning the rental car into the Avis agency he parked the Chevrolet sedan in long term parking. In the parking lot using a Bic lighter he destroyed the stolen American Express Credit Card and New York drivers license. After carefully removing any and all fingerprints he had left the rifle and fishing tackle in his room. Reaching over the front seat of the car he grabbed an over night bag. Opening it, he took out his passport and airline ticket to Newark, New Jersey. Walking slowly on his way to the air terminal he dropped the melted plastic balls that once were a credit card and drivers license into one of the many trash cans located in and around the parking area.

At the counter of United Airlines he stood and smiled at the young lady who asked, “How may I help you sir?” He answered, I believe you have a reservation for a Vincenzo DeMarzo. I know I go from here to Newark, my question is how long a wait will I have until I can board for my flight to Rome?”

The young lady looked at the screen of the monitor, brought up the flight numbers and times for take off and arrivals and said, “You will have a one hour lay over in Newark and your flight on Air Italia is on time.”

“Thank you very much”, said DeMarzo.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Sixteen

Counter Blow

 

Captain Wallace sat at his desk looking at two F.B.I. agents sitting in front of him. One agent was dressed in a blue suit, the other in one of brown. They had introduced themselves by name then began their questioning.

“Captain, do you know a man named Franco Gargiulo?”

“Yes I do”

“Would you tell us how you came to know him?

“Certainly, he is the father of a victim killed in a robbery?”

“I assume you are talking about Johnny Gargiulo”.

“That's right”.

“Were you ever at Franco Gargiulo's home in Maryland?”

“Yes I was”.

“For what purpose?”

“To offer my condolences and to discuss a financial reward for the information leading to the arrest and conviction of those responsible for his son's death.

“How much of a reward?”

“It seems to me that five thousand dollars was mentioned. I'm not sure. He also offered reward money for Leroy Dunbar”.

“Are you familiar with a convict named Calvin Epps?”

“Nope.”

“How about a man named Edward Parsons?”

“Never heard of him”.

“Are you familiar with a Desert Eagle?”

“No, I'm not into bird watching”.

“Captain, a Desert Eagle is an automatic pistol. It comes in different calibers. It's manufactured in Israel”.

“That right? I'm partial to revolvers. Revolvers seldom jam”.

“Let's get back to Franco Gargiulo. Do you know that he has connections to organized crime?”

“As far as I know he is in the imported stone business. If he is involved with organized crime then I didn't know then and I'm not too sure now. Your boss, j. Edgar Hoover maintained for years that there was no such thing as organized crime. So he sat on that kind of information instead of giving it to state and local law enforcement agencies. If he did we would at least be aware of who they are”

“Are you aware that Father Salvador Presti was murdered?”

Wallace sat up quickly in his chair. “Our Father Presti?

“Yes. He was killed while hearing confessions”.

“Really. How about that” Wallace replied.

“You don't seem to be concerned”, said the Agent in the brown suit.

“Let me lay it out for you. In regards to Franco Gargiulo, he lives in Maryland, the last time I looked that is out of my jurisdiction. Unless the priest was killed in Nautilus Beach then his death where ever it occurred is also out of my jurisdiction”.

“Father Presti was killed in Montana”.

“Like I said, not my problem”.

****************

Three days later Wallace met Louis Lambraca in the dining room of the Albatross Hotel. When the Captain approached the table where Lambraca was sitting the lawyer got up smiled and shook hands. “Thank you for coming. How about we talk over lunch”,he said.

“No problem. To tell you the truth I look forward to hear what you have to say”, said Wallace.

Their conversation was interrupted when a waiter appeared at their table. Lambraca ordered fried oysters. Wallace ordered a ham and cheese sandwich and told the waiter to bring a pot of coffee to the table.

When the waiter left Lambraca said, “I understand that you had a visit from the F.B.I.”.

“Yes I did”

“Then, I assume that you have a question to ask”.

“I do, but it can wait until you're finished”, Wallace replied.

“Fine. Do you know where Leroy Dunbar is?”

“The last I heard he was in Havana”.

“He still is. He's now buried in a cemetery.”

“How did he die?”

“It seems someone slit his throat”.

The waiter brought the coffee pot to the table. When he left Lambraca continued the conversation.

“It was brought to our attention that a convict, one Donovan Bennett was killed by his cellmate.”

“He was”, Wallace replied.

“And, just recently the Catholic Priest, Father Presti. How strange”, said Lambraca “I believe you said that you have a question or two to ask me”, the lawyer continued.

Wallace took a sip of coffee and said, “I do. The F.B.I. is under the opinion that Mr. Gargiulo is involved in organized crime. Is that true?”

“Positively not. Mr. Gargiulo is of Italian origin and has many friends and associates both in Italy and the United States. If per chance any friend and associate is involved in organized crime Mr. Gargiulo is not aware of it.”

“The word on the street is that Calvin Epps mother is being, let's say subsidized. Her rent, food and medical needs are all paid for by someone unknown”.

“Who ever it is must be a really good person.”, said Lambraca as he looked at his wristwatch. “It's getting late and I have to drive back to Baltimore but first I have one other duty to perform”, said the lawyer as he signaled the waiter.

“Yes sir”

“Would you bring me a telephone and install it here at the table. Make sure my call goes through the hotel switchboard and add the cost of the call on my check”.

“This must be a very important telephone call if you're going to all this trouble”, said Wallace.

After the telephone was connected Lambraca told the switchboard operator the number he wanted. A few minutes later he said. “This is Louis sir. I have the Captain right here with me”. The lawyer handed the telephone to Wallace.

“Hello?”

“Captain, how nice to hear your voice. I trust that you are well?”

“I am sir, thanks for asking.

“I'll come right to the point Robert. I may call you Robert, is that alright?”

“Yes sir, no problem”.

“The point is Robert I want to thank you for all that you have done in completing the investigation of Giovanni's

murder”.

“You're welcome sir. However, I didn't do too much, at least

not as much as I would have liked to do”.

“I understand Robert. I am well aware of the obstacles that you ran into hindering your investigation. I saw it as the criminal types aided by loopholes in the law and outside influences prevented you to arrest those responsible for the murders. I am sure that loosing a very important witness was a tremendous blow”.

“Yes sir. It was”.

“Well, in life one takes punches. For every punch there is a counter punch. And, for every blow in life, there is a counter blow. Always remember that. Once again thank you. Stay well and safe Robert. Good by”.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Table Of Contents

 

Chapter One September in The Rain

Chapter Two Mom and Pop

Chapter Three Double Trouble

Chapter Four A Day of Drums

Chapter Five Questions

Chapter Six Man Hunt

Chapter Seven Line Up

Chapter Eight Speak no Evil

Chapter Nine Baltimore

Chapter Ten Verdict

Chapter Eleven The Barrio

Chapter Twelve The Messenger

Chapter Thirteen Retribution

Chapter Fourteen Requital

Chapter Fifteen Bless Me Father

Chapter Sixteen Counter Blow

Impressum

Texte: Robert F. c,lifton
Lektorat: j. William blackmore
Tag der Veröffentlichung: 12.05.2014

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Widmung:
Dedicated to my grandson, Paul A. Clifton with whom I am so proud.