Old Wounds, a Gino Cataldi Mystery

by Giacomo Giammatteo

  Silence, then, “Are you still watching him?”

  “I don’t go in for this shit. I don’t like it one damn bit.”

  “I didn’t ask for you to like it,” Coop snapped.” It’s not my cup of tea either, but I’ve got to find out what happened.”

  “You need to find out your own damn self. I’ve got better things to do.”

  “Getting a bad cop off the street is a priority.”

  “He’s not a bad cop.”

  “We’ll see,” Coop said.

  CHAPTER 7

  AN UNSCHEDULED VISIT

  Houston, Texas

  I spent most nights worrying about one thing or another, and I had plenty to worry about. Ron’s drug problem was a continuous concern, and what I’d done that night with the undercover cop bothered me. But the big one, the one I couldn’t shake off, was Rico. The look in his eyes when I shot him. Even worse than that was seeing his wife and kids at the funeral.

  I had gone to the cemetery that day and pretended to be visiting another grave while I watched them bury Rico. I went to gloat at the big bad drug dealer being put six feet under. But then I saw his wife, looking so pitiful in her black dress with the black veil across her face. Her hands rested on the shoulders of two young boys, maybe 8 or 10 years old. I couldn’t see their tears, or hear them cry, but I could see the grief in their posture, in the shaking of their heads, the denials—refusing to believe their father was gone. I could imagine them wishing for someone to play ball with or watch a movie late at night when they were supposed to be in bed. And at that moment, I felt their aching hearts. Just like mine ached the day I put Mary in the ground. Thank God her plot wasn’t in this same cemetery. It would have been too much for me to bear.

  A horn beep warned me that I’d drifted into the next lane on the freeway. A sharp pain pinched the left side of my chest. It tightened. I let off the gas, took a deep breath. It was anxiety, I knew, but when the pain started, it made me worry it was something with my heart. God’s final punishment for my sins. I had been getting chest pains ever since the day I saw Rico’s kids at the funeral.

  Maybe if I go there…

  I exited the freeway, made a U-turn, and headed south. I hated cemeteries, and yet I seemed to spend a lot of time there.

  I drove past the entrance twice—afraid to enter, but I didn’t know why. What could hurt me? My conscience? On the third pass, I turned and drove slowly down the narrow road, parking on the side, past the spot where they buried him. I sat in the car, asking myself why I was here, but then I got out and walked to his grave. There was a picture—sitting on an easel—of what his marker was going to look like—a huge stone marker with a big cross. It must have been placed there by his wife.

  For a second or two, I got angry, wishing Mary had such a nice tribute, but then I cleared my thoughts. I didn’t hate Rico for the monument. I felt sure he didn’t pick out his own gravestone. Rico was the kind who thought he would live forever.

  I stood for what seemed like a long time, staring. And as I wondered again what I was doing there, words came from my mouth.

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  I heard myself say it, but almost didn’t believe it was me. What was I sorry for? I wasn’t sorry for Rico. In a different life, under the same circumstances, I’d do what I did again. I guess I felt bad for his kids.

  A few beads of sweat rolled down my neck. I took a deep breath and turned my head, checking to see if I was alone. It was then I realized I was done. I walked back to the car, not feeling any better than when I came. It made me wonder if I’d done any good or if I’d simply humiliated myself.

  As I drove home I gave a lot of thought to death, and for the first time I realized I wasn’t afraid of death; I was afraid of going to hell and never seeing Mary again.

  ***

  Sitting in his truck, across the street from the cemetery, Officer Christopher Frueh put down his binoculars, picked up his phone, and dialed a number.

  “Cooper.”

  “He’s gone.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “Like I said, he went to the cemetery. Now he’s gone.”

  “Which cemetery?”

  “The one inside the loop.”

  “I asked which one, Frueh. Don’t make me treat you like a hostile witness. You don’t want that.”

  “Glenwood.”

  “Whose grave did he visit?”

  “You gonna make me walk all the way over there?”

  “Unless you can fly, yeah.”

  “I’ll call back.” Officer Frueh got out of the truck and walked to where Gino stood. His head was shaking even before the words came out of his mouth. “Son of a bitch.”

  He dialed Captain Cooper’s number.

  She answered right away. “What?”

  “Rico Moreno.”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  “What the hell’s goin’ on?” Frueh asked.

  “I don’t know yet, but don’t say a goddamn word to anyone.”

  “I won’t,” Frueh said. “But this settles the score between us. I’m through following cops.”

  “I hope I am too.”

  CHAPTER 8

  NEW DREAMS

  Houston, Texas

  Barbara Camwyck sat naked on the sofa, hands tucked between her legs and a smile on her face. Last night had been magnificent—almost perfect. There was something magical about their relationship—even at this age—and every time they got together it seemed even better. It wasn’t just the lovemaking either. She could tell by his smile, and the feeling she got when their eyes met. Maybe tonight would be a repeat performance. If he could get together.

  Nothing had ever been so good in Barbara’s life. So…perfect. Goosebumps ran up her arms, chased away by a shiver. She picked up the disposable cell phone and walked to the bathroom to run a hot tub. There were few things in life as relaxing as a hot tub—a good meal; a good book; sex; that first cigarette in the morning, accompanied by that first cup of coffee. She gave the list more thought then shook her head. That was about it. She placed the phone on the sink and stepped into the water, swishing it around with her left foot.

  The water swirled around her legs. She let herself down slowly, until the warmth wrapped around her bottom. It rushed up her legs, caressed her genitals. She closed her eyes as she slipped into deeper water, head cushioned by a plush towel at the back of the tub. She let her fingers dip down, tickling the sides of her thighs. Barbara shivered, then splashed herself and rolled her knees.

  The ring of the phone startled her upright. Smile vanishing, she groped for a towel, which had fallen to the floor, then stepped out of the tub, dried her hands and grabbed for the phone.

  “Hello?”

  A familiar voice said, “Barbara?”

  “This is she.”

  “It’s on for tonight.”

  Her heart raced, a combination of panic and excitement. “Where?”

  “I’ll provide directions later. Instructions come first.”

  Barbara couldn’t help the sigh that escaped her. She understood precautions, but this bordered on paranoia. “I remember: Talk to no one; wear a hat and sunglasses; use the back stairs, not the elevator; drive slowly.” She waited through a long silence. I must have forgotten something.

  “Leave nothing in the room.”

  Barbara trembled. “I’ll make sure.”

  “And you remember, of course, that no one is to know about this.”

  “No need to worry.”

  “I’ll see you at nine o’clock. Here are the directions.”

  Barbara finished writing the notes, then she hung up the phone, her smile returning. Another night with the best lover in the world. Since her rendezvous were always in different locations, she wondered what surprises this one held.

  She finished drying, all the while examining herself in the mirror. What had once been a proud, taut, stomach showed signs of movement, and her pert little butt was not quite as pert and not
nearly as little as it once had been. Anxiety crept through her. She’d have to start exercising.

  For almost two hours, Barbara walked around the room naked. It made her feel sexy, prepped her for the night to come. She situated herself in front of the mirror, one leg resting on the vanity while she applied her eyeliner.

  Lace underpants, not much more than a thong, tickled her legs as she slipped them on, followed by a matching bra. No nylons, though she seldom wore them anymore. The blue dress—a gift from Damian’s Fine Fashions—and brown Ferragamo low-heel pumps finalized the outfit.

  She stuffed the extra clothes into her bag, flushed the cigarette butts down the toilet, slipped on her sunglasses and hat, then left, checking first to ensure the corridor was empty. Quick steps carried her past the elevators into the stairwell.

  Only two flights to go, she thought, breaths coming in anxious gasps. It was ridiculous to have to go through this ritual, but she did it so they could be together. She’d do anything for that.

  Barbara took a deep breath, held it, and opened the door into the side of the lobby, her head held low, eyes fixed on the floor. She tried to wish her heels to be quiet, but they wouldn’t heed her. She prayed she wasn’t attracting attention.

  She pushed the exterior door open with a bang, and hurried across the parking lot to the blue Ford sedan parked in the center aisle. As the car door slammed shut, she exhaled a huge sigh and locked the door, her head resting against the seat. She lingered a moment, started the engine, then slowly drove off, following the signs to I-45 N. With her head turned to the left, she made her way onto the freeway entrance ramp and gunned it to merge with the traffic. A familiar looking car followed and pulled into the same lane, maybe two cars back. Barbara panicked.

  Suppose someone knew?

  She pulled into the left lane then slowed down, and all the while she checked the mirror to see what the car behind her did. When it passed her, she relaxed. A few miles later she thought another car was tailing her, but it passed by her also. Paranoia was setting in and she didn’t like it.

  Convinced that no one was following her, she drove the rest of the way in quiet anticipation. The only time she checked the mirror was to make sure her eye liner hadn’t smudged or her lipstick hadn’t bled. Forty minutes later she turned down a narrow, dark road and followed it for several miles, relieved when she finally saw the lights of the house through the trees. A long concrete driveway took her under a canopy of old oaks flanked by tall East Texas pines and eventually led to a sprawling two-story house nestled on the north shore of Lake Conroe.

  She got out of the car and made her way up a brick sidewalk—herringbone design—that led her to massive double doors with ovals of stained glass in the center. She rang the doorbell, waited as footsteps crossed the marble entry. She put on a wide smile to light her face, tense as the door opened.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked, smile disappearing.

  CHAPTER 9

  AN UNEXPECTED MEETING

  Houston, Texas

  Barbara stared. “Where’s—”

  “Never mind where he is. I was sent to greet you. And by the way, I made you a drink when I saw you pull up. Gin and tonic with a twist of lime?”

  She nodded and accepted the drink, looking around as she walked through the foyer toward the kitchen. It was a grand entry, with a sweeping staircase, two-story ceiling, and alcoves adorned with statues.

  She was confused but decided to see what was going on. “Gorgeous house,” Barbara said, and took a few sips of the drink. Maybe it would help calm her.

  Her heels clicked loudly on the tile as she followed her host into the kitchen. A sheet covered with a plastic tarp lay across the floor ahead of her. Something didn’t seem right. “Where is—”

  “Let’s say I came to negotiate.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” She hoped her voice didn’t betray her fear.

  “It means you should have been satisfied with your normal blackmailing; this time you took things too far.”

  She lowered her head, shaking it. “I should have known. Was it money or sex?”

  “Both.”

  Barbara took a moment to compose herself then raised her head and pushed back her shoulders, putting as much confidence as she could into her voice. “What are you here for? I haven’t changed my mind.”

  A smile greeted her last statement. “I realized that before I came. But did you forget we knew where you lived?”

  Barbara frowned.

  “It didn’t take me long to find the DVD. How clever of you to keep it with your other movies, hiding in plain sight. Watched a lot of detective shows have you?”

  “The DVD will do you no good,” Barbara said, but her confidence was waning.

  “Follow me,” the host said, “And step over the sheet.”

  Barbara looked down at the floor. She felt dizzy. “What’s the sheet for?”

  “To cover the blood.” The killer reached for a knife sitting on the counter, and with the other hand grabbed an ice pick.

  Barbara heard the words, but they didn’t register. Even when she saw the knife in one hand and an ice pick in the other, it didn’t sink in. Everything moved in slow motion, as if the world had slipped to one-quarter speed. A scream built in her, started in her stomach and roared up through her chest. She felt it tearing at her throat, pushing through that narrow channel toward her mouth.

  “I would have killed you quickly if you hadn’t tried the blackmail.”

  Then the ice pick plunged into her throat. It severed the larynx, cutting her scream off before it began. Her muscles spasmed. She tried to force a scream out, but the only thing she heard was the gurgling of blood coming from the hole in her neck.

  The knife raced toward her. Cold steel punctured her left side, tearing through flesh, breaking a rib, then rupturing the lining of her lung.

  Pain infused her body. It wasn’t as bad as she imagined. She felt numb. Her left side collapsed. Air rushed out.

  The ice pick continued through her lung, and up, lodging in the cavity beneath her heart. Blood oozed into her lung.

  Coughing blood, she fixed her eyes on the killer, pleading for an answer. The killer had cold eyes, as cold as the steel ravaging her body.

  Barbara’s knees hit the ground first. She fell forward, but got kicked back. Her head cracked when it hit the floor. She felt the warmth spreading under her—blood pooling.

  Please, God, let me die quickly.

  The ice pick plummeted toward her left eye, but she couldn’t turn away. She screamed again but nothing came out, like dry heaves only worse.

  The ice pick struck, sinking into her eye as if it were going through jello. Blood filled the socket. She could no longer see, but she still felt a dull, throbbing pain.

  The killer grabbed the ice pick with both hands, pulled it out, then slammed it back in. One final surge of excruciating pain. The last plunge stopped the pain. She could see nothing. Feel nothing. Thoughts of her dog, Sacco, came to her. She wondered who would take care of him, or if anyone would even find him. Then Barbara Camwyck drifted away.

  ***

  The killer hacked at her, cutting off part of her breasts, an ear, a piece from her genitals. Sliced pieces of flesh from various spots on her body and stuffed them into her mouth. A piece of her nose was inserted into her vagina. Other things went other places, and when finished, the killer filled plastic bags with what was left, positioned the body on the tarp, then rolled everything up into a sleeping bag that had been under the sheet and the tarp.

  Clean-up took a long time, especially the dismemberment of the body, but there was plenty of time. When the killer finished, the bags were deposited in the trunk of Barbara’s car then driven to the parking lot of an apartment complex where the truck had been left.

  After transferring the body parts, the killer put them in two dumpsters, one in Houston behind a mall, the other behind a Starbucks, north of town. The head and clothes were another matter
. Those bags got buried in the woods, not far from a creek. That proved to be a difficult and trying expedition.

  The killer knew the bags in the dumpsters would be discovered, fitting into perfectly laid plans. In retrospect, it had been a productive night.

  CHAPTER 10

  A ROUND OF GOLF

  Houston, Texas

  Some people prepared for emergencies by keeping first-aid kits in the kitchen and the glove compartment, having a can of “Fix-A-Flat” in each car, and keeping extra keys hidden under doormats.

  Tip Denton was like that too, but in a different way. He never went anywhere without a set of golf clubs in the trunk and a spare gun in his leg holster. He never knew when the opportunity to catch a “quick nine” might pop up—or the need to shoot someone. Today was the quick nine type of opportunity.

  Tip rode in the passenger seat, half asleep. He didn’t like to get up before the sun, but he did it twice a year for a special golf outing with a few of his buddies. The crazy bastards dragged him halfway across Texas to a place where deer outnumbered the golfers.

  “Hurry up, Joe,” Tip said. “I need some time on the putting green before we start.”

  “We have time. It’s still dark.”

  “You think that matters?” Tip said, and then his phone rang.

  “Tip Denton.”

  “It’s Cindy. We have a body in a dumpster.”

  “I know a body in a dumpster seems important to you, darlin’, but I’m on my way to play golf.”

  “It’s still dark. Are you up.”

  “I’m going to make it a lot clearer for you. This isn’t any old round of golf. I’m going to The Falls.”

  Cindy didn’t laugh. “And this isn’t any old body in a dumpster; this body was found in two dumpsters.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Legs in one can, torso in the other.”

  When she didn’t finish, Tip felt a twist in his gut. An instinctive suspicion. “And the head?”