Old Wounds, a Gino Cataldi Mystery

by Giacomo Giammatteo

  She didn’t flinch. “I heard your loud mouth, Denton. But if I was half the son of a bitch you pretend I am, you’d be in deep shit.”

  Coop grabbed a folder from Cindy and turned to face us. “The phone hasn’t stopped all morning. Ingle must have been calling people since he got up.”

  “Who’s pressing the hardest?” I asked.

  “Rusty’s been the worst, but that’s not surprising considering what he stands to lose. But I’m getting pressure from the chief, Cybil, the councilman, and quite a few business leaders.”

  “Damn,” Tip said. “Sounds like we stirred the pot with that article in the paper.”

  “Like you wouldn’t believe,” Coop said. “I even had a call from the senator.”

  “The senator! What makes him think he can stick his nose into our case?” I said.

  Coop walked into her office and took a seat in one of the guest chairs. “Tom Marsen pulled those strings,” she said. “I’m sure of it.”

  Tip plopped into the chair next to Gladys.

  “Don’t tell me we’re holding off on this.”

  She shook her head. “Not one damn bit. In fact, I want you to gather every bit of evidence you’ve got, put it all in order, and bring it to me. I’m taking it to the DA. I want to make sure we’re good before moving on this one.” She balled her fist and slammed it on the desk. “If that son of a bitch thinks he can run roughshod over me…”

  I took the seat across from Tip. “We’ll get him. Don’t worry about that.”

  “The question isn’t getting him, it’s making something stick,” Tip said.

  “I want Ingle in prison,” Coop said. “I know it’s a long shot, but we’re not going to stop trying.”

  I filled Coop in on my visit with Mrs. Ingle this morning. “She’s convinced that her husband didn’t have anything to do with the murders. I wouldn’t go that far, but I agree with her that I don’t think he did it himself. At least not alone.”

  Coop nodded. “He might not have done the deed, but he had something to do with it. I’d bet money on that.” She looked at me, then Tip. “Either of you have a good suspect?”

  Tip stood and stretched. “We think it might have been Ingle’s driver/bodyguard.”

  “Do you really think he’s a suspect, or is this just bullshit?”

  “I don’t know, Captain, but he’s our best shot right now. Besides, something’s going on. Both victims were blackmailing Ingle, so even if RB isn’t involved in the murders, he’s guilty.”

  Coop narrowed her eyes. “And you’re betting on the bodyguard. Why?”

  “He’s a former Ranger and he knows the president; in fact, Marsen is the one who got him the job with Ingle.”

  “That cinches it as far as I’m concerned,” Coop said. “If Tom Marsen arranged his job it was for a reason.” She stood and went behind her desk, making a note on her calendar. “Get your files in order and then go question the bodyguard. Let’s see what develops.”

  Tip headed for the door. “Hold onto your ass, Gladys. Before the day’s over there might be a lot of people after it.”

  We left Coop’s office and went to work, scrutinizing all of the information in the files and double checking to make sure we had made no mistakes.

  “We should pay another visit to Cybil,” I said. “She knows a lot more than she’s told us and since she knows Ingle from the old days there’s bound to be information we need; it’s tucked away somewhere.”

  “I agree, but the problem is going to be convincing her to share,” Tip said.

  “We’ll have to find a way to persuade her,” I said.

  Tip and I dug in to compile the facts. We were almost finished when the phone rang. I picked it up. “Cataldi.”

  “We have a 9-1-1 call at Ingle’s house. Shots fired. Get moving!”

  “Holy shit. We’re on it.” I hung up and looked to Tip. “That was Coop. There was a 9-1-1 call at Ingle’s house. Shots fired.”

  He grabbed his phone and keys and we headed out.

  When we arrived at the house there was an ambulance in the driveway and two patrol cars parked in front, not to mention a gallery of onlookers gawking from behind the line the uniformed officers had set up.

  As we walked toward the house, one of the techs from the medical examiner’s office was exiting the house.

  “Is Ben here?” I asked, and then, “What’s it look like?”

  “Ben’s inside. Two cold, two warm.”

  Two cold, two warm. I ran it through my mind a dozen times in a few seconds, but the only way it played out was murder suicide. Ingle and Anne were dead, and Reggie and the maid were alive.

  Tip picked up the pace. He greeted the uniform at the door and then we went inside. I heard crying as soon as we entered the lobby. When I looked to the left, I saw Anne sitting in a chair, her face buried in her hands, crying. Now I was really puzzled.

  Who the hell got killed?

  Tip and I went to her.

  “Mrs. Ingle, are you all right?” I asked.

  She looked up at us, but she was still crying. The left side of her face was bruised and her nose was bleeding, possibly broken.

  I knelt beside her. “Are you all right?”

  She nodded, slowly. “He’s gone. I had to do it.” She sobbed. “I thought he was going to kill me.”

  I looked up at Tip, surprised. If Ingle was gone… “Who’s gone?” I asked.

  “Bob. I shot him.”

  Tip tapped me on the shoulder and leaned down to whisper, “I’m going to have a look.”

  “Mrs. Ingle,” I said, “Would you like something to drink? Can I get you anything?”

  She shook her head.

  Just then the ambulance tech came over. “We need to get you to the hospital, ma’am.”

  I stood and got out of his way. Another tech was coming in the door pushing a gurney.

  “We’ll talk later,” I said, and they wheeled her out.

  I found Tip standing next to Ben Marsh, the M.E., who was examining a body on the floor. It was Reggie. “What the hell is going on?” I said.

  Tip gestured down the hall. “Ingle’s down there. Looks like he tried breaking into the bedroom. She must have shot him when he broke through.”

  “Then who shot Reggie?”

  “We’ll know soon enough,” Ben said.

  “This is a hell of a way to wrap up a case,” I said.

  Tip nodded. “I’ll take it. It’s another marble in the box.”

  I had no idea what he was talking about, and I didn’t want to ask now. “We’re going to need to question her at the hospital. I don’t want too much time to go by.” I looked around. “And where’s the maid?”

  “I sent her out back,” Tip said. “Let’s go chat with her now.”

  We walked out the back door. The maid was sitting on the edge of a chair near the center of the pool, rosary beads clutched in her hand.

  I extended my hand. “Señora, are you all right? Are you hurt?”

  She shook her head but didn’t look at us.

  Tip pulled up a chair and sat next to her.

  “Can you tell us what happened?”

  She looked at Tip, then up at me. “Señor Ingle yelling at señora. He say she tell papers about him. She yell back, then he yell louder.”

  “Where were you?” Tip asked.

  She pointed to the study. “Cleaning, but when yelling start, I left. Went to room.” She moved one bead up on the rosary. “I don’t like when they yell.”

  I made a note to ask her later if they yelled often, but I wasn’t comfortable enough with my limited knowledge of Spanish to ask myself. “What happened next?”

  “I closed door on room so I don’t hear fighting, but then I hear gun.” Manuela shook, blessed herself, then ran her fingers over the rosary beads.

  I jotted this down in my notebook. “You heard a gunshot? How many?”

  She took her hand off the rosary and used her fingers to count, as if recalling the scene.
“I hear one, then two, then one more.”

  “How much time between the shots?” Tip asked. She looked confused, and Tip repeated the question. “How much time?”

  “No se. Maybe one minute before two shots. Then maybe one minute again.”

  “Are you sure?” Tip asked. “A minute is a long time during an emergency. Could it have been less?”

  She shook her head. “I think one minute.”

  “Okay. Then what.”

  “I stay in room until policia come.”

  “You didn’t call anyone?”

  She lowered her head and stared into her lap. “I was afraid.”

  I didn’t know if she meant afraid of the situation or afraid of being found out by immigration, but that didn’t matter. “We talk later,” I said, then attempted it in Spanish, hoping it was close enough for her to understand. “Hablaremos más tarde.”

  She nodded. “Si, señor.”

  I finished making notes, handed her my card, then Tip and I went back inside.

  Ben Marsh had moved to examining Ingle’s corpse.

  “Are we good to come down the hallway, Ben?” Tip asked.

  “Not yet.”

  “Have you figured this out yet?” I asked Ben.

  He looked up at me. “Ingle was shot twice. The other one once, close range.”

  “And there’s a slug in the wall,” a tech said, and pointed to the wall above where Reggie lay.

  “Looks like a missed shot,” Tip said.

  “I think we need to pay a visit to Mrs. Ingle,” I said. “Coop’s going to want answers.”

  CHAPTER 54

  THE QUESTIONS NEVER STOP

  The ambulance had taken her to Methodist Hospital, the crown jewel of the Texas Medical Center. Traffic had come to a near stop and I could tell Tip was getting impatient—he hated being stuck.

  “I’m parking in the first garage we see,” Tip said. “We can walk the rest of the way.”

  “Might be a long walk,” I said. “This is the largest medical center in the world.”

  “No shit?”

  “It’s true. More than 100,000 people work here.”

  “You’re just full of useless information, aren’t you?”

  “I should have known you’d have no interest,” I said.

  Tip turned into a parking garage and started up the ramp. “If I need heart surgery, I’ll call you for details.”

  We found a parking spot on the sixth level, and we made our way to Methodist. When we entered the lobby, Tip whistled softly.

  “This looks like a damn hotel,” he said.

  “And a five-star hotel at that.”

  After taking a minute or two to look around, we headed up to see Mrs. Ingle. We stopped at the nurses’ station before going in.

  I showed my badge. “We’re here to see Mrs. Ingle.”

  “Room 1248,” she said, and pointed it out for us.

  Mrs. Ingle was sitting up in bed, talking on the phone. Her nose was bandaged and a huge bruise covered the left side of her face. When she turned, I noticed her left wrist and forearm were also badly bruised.

  She looked at us and held up her index finger, indicating she’d only be a moment.

  “Yes, Christopher. Send someone to get him and bring him home now. Make sure to tell him I’m all right. And don’t tell him about Bob. Not yet. All right. Thank you.”

  She set the phone on the nightstand and pressed the button to raise the bed. “I’m trying to get my son home before he hears about this. He’s away at boarding school.” Anne shook her head. “My God, I don’t want him finding out from someone else or reading about it in the news.”

  “That wouldn’t be good,” I said, and then, “How are you feeling?”

  “Better, thank you. But I still can’t believe it happened. It’s just…”

  Tip pulled a chair from the side and took a seat. I got my notebook.

  “If you feel up to it, can you tell us what happened?” Tip said.

  “I don’t feel up to it, but I know it needs to be done.” She reached for a cup of water on the table and took a sip from a long orange straw. She looked over at me. “Not long after you left, Bob came home. I thought it strange that he was coming home at that hour, but as soon as I saw him I knew something was wrong.”

  “Why do you say that?” Tip asked.

  “He slammed the front door, and then he glared at me and yelled very loud. He said, ‘Who the hell did you talk to?’ When I didn’t answer, he shook his fist and said, ‘I asked you a question. Who the fuck did you talk to?’”

  I wrote what she said, and made note that she seemed frightened while repeating the story—she trembled and her voice cracked. I looked over at Tip, but he wasn’t taking notes. He had his understanding look on, and he was focused on her.

  “What happened next?” he asked.

  “I told him I didn’t do anything. Then he grabbed my arm and twisted it. It hurt.” She adjusted the sling the hospital had fitted to her arm, then said, “I tried hitting him but he twisted harder, and then he punched me in the face.”

  She closed her eyes and shook her head, barely moving it. “I tried holding him off, but he was crazy. I’d never seen him like this. I told him if he didn’t stop I’d tell the reporters about him and Tom blackmailing people.” Anne rested her head back against the pillow. “That was a mistake. He got this look on his face, and then he hit me again—real hard.” She reached for her nose, touching lightly. “I almost passed out. I kicked him and tried breaking free—that’s when he punched me and broke my nose.”

  “Who was in the house?” Tip asked.

  “Just me and Manuela, the maid. I remember she was in the study and she ran out when Bob started yelling. She hates yelling.”

  “Where was Reggie?” Tip asked.

  “I guess he was in the car. Bob probably told him to stay there.” Anne looked at Tip.

  For a minute I thought she was going to cry. “Reggie came in after Bob broke my nose. He must have heard me scream.”

  “What happened then?”

  “He yelled at Bob to stop.” Anne lowered her head. “Thank God he did. It’s what allowed me to break free. I ran to the bedroom.”

  Tip just looked at her, waiting.

  “I heard yelling between Bob and Reggie, and what sounded like physical fighting. Then I heard a gunshot. A few seconds later, I heard another one.”

  Tip sat up and leaned forward. “How much time was there between the shots?”

  She took time to think. “I don’t know. Maybe ten seconds? I’m not sure.”

  “Ten seconds? Think about that. Ten seconds is a long time.”

  She took her time, then said, “No, I think it was about ten seconds.”

  “What then?” Tip asked.

  “I went for the phone in the bedroom. I was going to call 9-1-1, but then I heard him at the door trying to get in. I didn’t know what to do. I was scared he was going to kill me, so I got his gun from the nightstand and yelled as loud as I could. ‘I’m calling the police.’”

  A few tears welled in her eyes. “I thought that might stop him but it didn’t. He continued banging the door. It looked as if it was about to break, so I dialed 9-1-1, and told them he was trying to kill me.”

  She shook her head. “He must have heard me, because he pounded harder on the door. I yelled at him and told him I had his gun. The next thing I knew he kicked in the door.” She shivered and more tears fell. “That’s when I shot him. God forgive me, but I had to.”

  “Did he have a gun in his hand at that time?” Tip asked.

  She looked from one of us to the other. “I don’t know. Maybe…but I don’t know.” Anne grabbed a tissue from the table and wiped her eyes. “Right after that, the police arrived. I guess 9-1-1 sent them.”

  “And Reggie?” Tip asked.

  “He was in the hall, lying on the floor. Blood was everywhere. I think I even stepped in it.”

  Tip stood up and moved the chair back where
it was. “Mrs. Ingle, that’s all we’ve got for now, but we might have more questions later. I’m sorry for your loss.”

  She nodded. “I’ll be here tonight,” she said. “After that, I’ll be at the Four Seasons. I’m not staying in that house.”

  “I understand,” I said. “We’ll keep you informed.”

  I waited until we were far enough down the hall so that no one could hear, and then said, “What do you think?”

  “I’m not sure,” Tip said. “But it seems like she’s telling the truth.” Tip turned toward me. “Did you see what that son of a bitch did to her? I can’t stand a man who hits a woman. He’s lucky she did him in.”

  “Which reminds me of the first day we met her,” I said. “I don’t know if you noticed, but she had a couple of bruises on her thighs and one on her back. I wondered back then what they were from.”

  “I remember,” Tip said, “But I was too busy looking at other parts of her body. Now I feel bad about that.”

  “The one thing that puzzles me is the gunshots,” I said. “It doesn’t match what the maid told us.”

  We exited the building and started toward the parking garage. “Let’s wait until we talk to Ben,” Tip said. “We’ll see what he has to say.”

  CHAPTER 55

  GUNSHOTS

  Coop called while we were driving. “See me immediately,” she said. “Don’t even stop for coffee.”

  Julie was ahead of us in the hall, almost racing toward Coop’s office. She only walked fast when she was nervous.

  “What’s up, Jules?” I said.

  She turned to look at us, but didn’t stop. “Captain Cooper wants to see me, and she sounded upset.”

  Tip laughed. “Don’t worry, darlin’. You’ll have us to protect you.”

  She slowed, waiting for us to catch up.

  “You’re going to see her, too?”

  “She might have half the department in her office,” I said. “In case you haven’t heard, Bob Ingle is dead.”

  “That explains why she’s upset,” Julie said. “But why does she want to see me?”

  “We’ll find out soon enough,” Tip said.