by Owen Parr
“Yes, the same.”
“Joey, remember the doctrine of the ‘fruit from the poisonous tree,’ make sure we don’t screw this up with those.
“Thank you, Agnes, I’m well aware we can’t use these illegally obtained photos in our case. If so, we could blow the entire case. But, I know what I’m doing. Just print two of them, any two.”
I picked up my phone from the conference table and dialed Lucy at the precinct. “I love Lucy,” I said as she answered.
“What’s up Joey?”
“We need to go to visit Mrs. Gruntel, can you pick Dom and me up at the pub?”
“Now, you want to go?”
“Yes, I want to question her before her husband comes back. I have a plan.”
“Oh, oh. One of your plans? Do I want to be there? Keep in mind honey. I only have one year before I hang it up. Don’t screw it up for me.”
“When was the last time I led you wrong?”
“See you in twenty minutes. Be outside the pub,” disconnecting the call.
My phone went off and immediately rang. I was happy to see a smiling picture of Marcy. I answered, “Hey love, que pasa?”
Marcy replied, “I’m in town, just got back a few minutes ago.”
“So, how you doing?”
“Feeling great, Joey. I spoke to Victoria Stewart, my boss. I’m taking the firearms test tomorrow. I can’t wait to get back to work.”
I hesitated a moment. I didn’t think she was mentally ready. Perhaps physically, she was. But, her demeanor after shooting Belford dead, was as if nothing had happened. She did not react to killing someone.
“Joey, did you hear me?”
“Yes, I did. I’m excited for you. I know you’ll do great. Anything I can do to help?”
“No, just come over tonight. Can you?”
“I’m wrapping this case up. I’ll call you and let you know. Your parents in town?’
“No, they stayed in Miami Beach. Is that time of the year when they hang there.”
“Good, good. I’ll call you later. Did you pick a date yet?”
“About that, let’s talk when we get together.”
“Will do,” I responded. Was that a good thing, or a bad thing? Did she have a date picked out, or was she having second thoughts again?
38
We arrived at the Gruntel home, in Paramus, New Jersey. As we had done before, Lucy knocked on the door and flashed her creds, as Mrs. Gruntel ushered us inside, after Lucy asked if we come in.
“I’m afraid my husband is not here. He’s still at NYU teaching a class,” she said, seeing Father Dom for the first time.
I said, “That’s quite alright Mrs. Gruntel. We wanted to talk to you.”
“Oh, okay. Please call me Harriet, she requested, as she smiled at Father Dominic.
“Harriet, this is Father Dominic, he’s the Associate Pastor at Saint Helen’s in Brooklyn.”
“Oh, what a captivating and enchanting church that is. Happy to meet you, Father,” she said, bowing her head.
Dom glanced at me, and I motioned with my head towards the larger than life crucifix on the wall. Dom’s eyes opened widely, as he saw it.
“May I get you some tea or freshly made lemonade?” Harriet asked, with her eyes fixed on Dominic.
I replied, “We are fine Harriet, thank you. Father Dominic was admiring your crucifix, weren’t you Father?”
“Indeed, I was, it’s very nice,” Dom let out.
“Oh, thank you, Father. It belonged to my mother. God bless her heart.”
“Mrs. Gruntel, Harriet, as you know,” I began, “we are still involved in the investigation of this man who somehow was using the identity of your husband. And, using your mother’s cabin in Wawayanda Park.”
“Oh, my God, yes. Was he captured?” she inquired, turning to look at me.
“Is all working out,” I replied. My cell phone and that of Lucy’s both chirped at the same time.
A news app. had just posted a ‘breaking news’ story. The headline, which was the only two lines visible on the texted message read; ‘FBI Agent killed in Miami Beach two days ago, linked to the Manhattan Red Ribbon Killer.’
Lucy glanced at me, as we both read the same message.
Shit, I said to myself. We either get this guy now, or we’re SOL.
Seeing the lull in the conversation, Father Dominic asked, “Harriet, which church do you and Mr. Gruntel attend?”
“Father, we go to Saint Phillip here in Paramus. Are you familiar with the church?”
“I’m afraid I have not visited Saint Phillip,” he answered.
Time was of the essence, and I needed to get down to business. “Harriet, may we ask you some questions?”
“Please go right ahead,” she replied.
I wasn’t going to play games, “Harriet, the man was in your mother’s cabin was hiding there because he abducted a young girl.”
“Oh, my,” she said, as she made the sign of the cross.
“The man told us when questioned, that he knew your husband. He further told us that your husband kept pornographic photographs.”
Harriet sat back on the sofa, rapidly covered her face with both hands and started weeping. I was seating next to her, on the couch, with Dom and Lucy across from us, in two chairs. I said, “Father, sit here please.”
I got up, and Dominic sat next to Harriet. Then I took the seat vacated by Dom. “Harriet, do you know where these photos are?”
She put her hands down, took out her rosary and tissue from a small bag that was on the coffee table. She turned to Dominic and with her had quivering, she grabbed his right hand and held it tight.
Her breathing became erratic. I was getting a little concerned for her, and at the same time felt horrible for pushing her.
“Harriet,” I started again, “There are five dead young ladies who were victims and died horrible deaths.”
She began crying, but held on to Dom’s one hand, and attempted to dry the tears with her other hand and the tissue.
“Harriet, we believe that your husband has pictures of these victims amongst his collection of other dirty ones.”
She wept uncontrollably, and was seemingly out of breath. She reached for an asthma inhaler from her small bag and took a hit.
I nodded to Dom, and he got the cue.
He took both his hands and held on to hers, “Harriet, do you know where your husband kept these pictures?”
Her green eyes fluttered and inundated with tears, opened wide and she nodded in the affirmative.
Dom added, “Harriet, trust me, as soon as you tell us, you’ll feel a lot better.”
Putting her head down in embarrassment, I assumed, she whispered, “In the attic,” as she pointed up with her index finger. She let out a sigh. “Peter doesn’t know I know, about those photos. They are horrible. Father, he needs to confess to you.”
“Thank you, Harriet,” Lucy said, then inquired, “may we look in the attic and retrieve those photos?”
She nodded.
“Harriet, I need you to verbalize your answer. May we, —”
Harriet interrupted, “Yes, you can take all those pictures. They’re in a box labeled ‘student pictures.’
I retrieved the box from the attic, as Lucy stood below the stairs leading up to it. Dom was still consoling Mrs. Gruntel.
I asked, “Harriet, may we sit in your dining room?”
She started to get up from the sofa, “I meant detective Roberts and me, you and Father Dominic stay there. Is that alright?”
She waved us off and remained quiet next to Dom, still holding her rosary.
Lucy and I opened the box. It was a file box full of letter-sized envelopes. But, it did not take us long to find what we were hoping to see. The top five envelopes were the pièce de résistance, as Agnes had said. Each envelope had photos of our naked victims during sex. As we looked closer to all the pictures in each envelope, we could tell two different naked men had been with each victim. Phot
os from a side shot, showed both Belford and Gruntel, having anal sex with our victims at different times, as the other photographed the event. Both were shown holding the red satin ribbon around the vics’ neck. The last photo in each deck was a shot of the dead victim from behind.
I got up from the dining room table horrified. This was not my first rodeo, after sixteen years in the force and ten in homicide, I had seen my share of horrific murders. But, to think I was seeing the victims live minutes before their death, was revolting.
I came back to the living room. I had to solve another small mystery. “Harriet, may I see your husband’s bathroom?”
She replied in a slow cadence, “We have but the one upstairs. Yes, you may?”
Going upstairs, I took two steps at a time anticipating the results. Once in the small bathroom, I opened the medicine cabinet, and there, I could smell it. The intense fragrance of the cologne scent I had picked up at the last murder scene.
Using my handkerchief, I brought the bottle with me. I wanted the ME, Doctor Frankie to confirm the cologne. But, that was immaterial. We had these two with the incriminating photos. I began to walk downstairs when I heard the front door opening.
39
“What do you think you people are doing here?’ inquired an indignant Peter Gruntel.
Lucy waited for him to ultimately enter his home. She got up from her chair, went behind him and said, “Mr. Gruntel you are under arrest for multiple murders. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say, may and can be used against you. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford, —”
He exclaimed loudly, “Blah, blah, blah. I’m a law professor. I know my rights. Where is your warrant to enter my home?”
“Your wife invited us in, sir,” replied Lucy, as she finished cuffing him.
He turned to look at is wife. In a demanding fashion, Gruntel shouted, “I want to call my lawyer, now.”
I said, “Just as soon as your booked for multiple murders, we’ll notify your attorney. In the meantime, perhaps you want to cooperate.”
“You’ve entered my home illegally, you’ve violated my fourth amendment right. I have no reason to cooperate with…” his voice trailed off, as he saw the file box labeled ‘student pictures’ on top of the dining room table. He shouted, “Why is that box there?”
“Mrs. Gruntel told us where to find it. She permitted us to retrieved it from the attic.”
He again turned to look at Mrs. Gruntel, whose head was down unable to look at her husband. “Harriet, what have you done?”
Harriet looked up, her eyes were full of fury now, “You’re despicable and a sick person. All these years, I’ve put up with your dirty pictures. But now, now, you went too far. You’re doomed for eternity. May God, forgive you.”
Peter Gruntel’s legs went wobbly. He stumbled backward, as I grabbed and held on to him.
“Can I sit,” he asked.
Holding on to his right arm, I helped him sit on a chair in front of the sofa. “You want to talk about it, Peter,” I asked.
“I’ll talk, but not in front of my wife.’
I nodded to Father Dom, as he got up and said, “Harriet, let’s make some tea in the kitchen.”
Catatonically, she replied, “Chamomile is the best. With lemon.”
Lucy sat on the sofa with me, both of us in front of Gruntel. She opened the ‘recorder app’ on her phone, and asked, “Mr. Gruntel, do you wave your rights to an attorney?”
“I do,” he responded.
We moved to the dining room table. I sat at the head, while Peter sat to my right, with Lucy following him. The oval table was a six-top, we removed the doylies from the top of the glass cover. Lucy recorded the time, the date, location and those present at this interrogation. Then told me to conduct the questioning.
Gruntel sat there with his hands cuffed in front of him. He became introspective. His head was looking down, but it didn’t seem he was focusing on anything. “Did you kill my brother?” he inquired in a somber tone.
Lucy looked at me, as surprised as I was, to hear that question. “Excuse me?” I replied.
“My brother, was it you that killed him?” he asked, without raising his gaze.
“Are you referring to Special Agent Tony Belford?” I asked.
Still without looking up, but excited and raging, he asked, “Did you kill him?”
“No, Peter. I did not kill Tony Belford.”
His body relaxed, he took a deep breath, keeping his gaze down.
“You and Peter were brothers?”
He whispered, “Yes.”
“Was your father Reverend Thomas Stiles? Peter’s stepfather?”
“No, I’m the firstborn of Richard Belford.”
“So, you and Peter had the same father?”
“And, the same mother, Annamarie Belford.”
“Your father died when Tony was one year old, correct?”
Still looking down, he grinned and said, “My father was poisoned and died, yes. Tony was one, and I was nine.”
Lucy’s eyes were about to pop out, as we exchanged glances. “You said, he was poisoned?” I inquired.
“Rat poison.”
“Did you,” I paused, “did you kill him?”
He raised his gaze and looked at me, his eyes were hollow, “Our mother had a knack for marrying perverts. He started molesting me when I was five. Four years I took it until I could no longer contain my hate. Yes, I killed him. Only wish I could’ve have done it sooner.”
“How old were you when your mother divorced him?”
“My mother was screwing with Reverend Thomas, and my father found out. So, he used that to make me part of the settlement when they divorced, and he agreed to keep it quiet so that the Reverend wouldn’t be embarrassed. I was six years old.”
“Where are you guys from?’
“Bethlehem, New York, just south of Albany.”
“What happened after the death of your father?”
“I was adopted by the Gruntel’s, Alicia and Robert.”
“How did that work out?”
“Very nice people. God-fearing family. Raised me correctly and put me through law school.”
“When did you and Tony meet?”
“Tony left his home when he was sixteen, I think. He moved in with our maternal grandparents. They told him about my existence, and he looked me up. I was twenty-four, or five.”
“Did you know he killed your mother and his stepfather?”
Peter chuckled, “I told him what to do, and how to do it.”
“You were present when he did it?”
He glanced at me. “Wouldn’t miss it for anything in the world. How did you know?”
“You guys took what your mother did personal, blamed her for what happened to you both.”
“And you wouldn’t? She stood by, allowing both her husbands to abuse her sons, while she fucked around town.”
“The shot to the face signified an emotional reaction,” I said.
“I wished we had had two guns, believe me, I would have shot her myself.”
“Peter, tell me about the serial killings. How were you involved?”
He sighed, shook his head, and replied, “Might as well. Can I have some water?”
After a few moments, we reconvene in the dining room. Lucy took a minute to call Captain Johnson. He would be coming over with Detectives Farnsworth and Charles.
Lucy had the recorder going again.
I asked, “Peter, tell about the serial killings.”
“Tony confessed to me his obsession with the extreme sex. He also confessed to the satisfaction of killing these women. He said it felt like killing our mother over and over again.”
“When did you start?”
“Chicago.”
“How did you select your victims?”
“We both did it. He did in Chicago since he lived there. Once he had chosen the lady, he followed her to make sure they lived alone, and that there were fe
w cameras or potential for witnesses.”
“Then what?”
“He would entice them with the extreme sex idea, and if they agreed, back to their place.”
“And they didn’t have a problem with you showing up?”
He moved uncomfortably in the chair. “Mancuso, I know I don’t look handsome, I’m skinny like a rail, big ears, my big-rim glasses don’t help,” he paused, glanced at Lucy, looked back at me, smiled and continued, “but, I’m extremely well endowed, believe me extremely.”
I glanced at Lucy and while African-American, she was turning beet red, rosso come un peperone. I rolled my eyes.
He noticed the roll of my eyes, “You doubt me? You want to see?”
Lucy had been quiet, but she quipped, “Keep it zipped.”
I held back from laughing, “So, what you’re saying, the ladies had second thoughts, but once they saw Super Johnson, they acquiesced?”
“Exactly, they could see it would be like a once in a lifetime experience.”
I was thinking of Harriet outside. Was she having a once in a lifetime experience on a regular basis?
“Why killed them?”
“As I said before, it was killing our mother over and over.”
“That’s what Peter felt, and that’s what he told you. You, I think you are simply a psychopath. And you’re going away for the rest of your life.”
“I didn’t kill anyone.”
“Really. So, you’re going with Tony did it. What? You watched?”
“I didn’t kill anyone.”
“Fine. I have one more question,” I hesitated.
“What about.”
“Marcy, why abduct her?”
“Your Marcy? My brother was obsessed with her. Frankly, if she had returned the attention to him, I think he would have been done with the killings.”
“That’s bullshit. You're saying Marcy was the antidote to his personality disorders. All that hate and rage you both have inside of you would be over? Sorry, I don’t buy that. Your both psychopaths and murderers. Marcy was simply an excuse to continue the killings.”
We packed Peter Gruntel in the detective’s car and had them take him back to New York City.
Now, I felt the Manhattan Red Ribbon murders were solved for real. What a screwed-up pair of brothers these were. Unfortunately, they suffered as children, and yes that experience influenced their behavior. But becoming serial killers was a choice they made.
