Old Wounds, a Gino Cataldi Mystery

by Giacomo Giammatteo

  The door to Coop’s office opened and she stepped into the hall. “About time you got here. Tell Cindy what you want to drink because it’s gonna be a long day.”

  “Tea for me,” Tip said.

  “Coffee for me,” Julie said. “Cream and sugar.”

  Before I could say anything, Cindy said, “I know how you like it, Gino.”

  Chief Renkin was sitting in the chair next to Coop’s desk. The frown on his face looked as if it had been etched in there. He nodded to Tip and me, but then he stood when Julie walked in. Renkin was about a foot taller than Julie, and probably twice her weight. She should have been intimidated just by his size, but she wasn’t; I think Coop scared her more.

  “Good to see you again,” Renkin said, and shook her hand.

  “Thanks, Chief. Good to see you too.”

  Coop sat on the edge of her desk and looked at Julie. “We’re putting you in charge of a research team to finish going through all of the files associated with these cases.”

  Julie raised her brows. “Captain, I—”

  Coop waved her hand, stopping Julie. “We need to make sure nothing is out of place on this. We’ll be under scrutiny from everyone, including the mayor who was a friend of Bob’s.” Coop looked at Renkin and sighed. “Not to mention the president.”

  Julie shrunk back. “Maybe you should give this to someone else?”

  “We’re giving it to you, along with a couple of assistants. Go through all of the records from Camwyck’s files and Ingle’s. Document everything. You’re familiar with our procedures; if anything looks out of place, tell Gino or Tip.”

  Julie had been writing notes. She stopped and looked up at Coop. “Is that all, Captain?”

  “That’s all. Get the files then see Joyce Huang for whatever help you need sorting this out. Time is critical on this, Julie. I’m counting on you.”

  Julie started for the door. “I’ll get on it right away.”

  “You can wait for your coffee or tea,” Renkin said.

  “No thanks. I’m fine.”

  Tip pulled up a chair that had been sitting against the back wall and offered it to Renkin. “Have a seat, John. What’s going on? You here to meddle in my investigation?”

  Renkin leaned forward. “I’m here to stress the importance of how we handle the remainder of this investigation—no matter how little or how much that happens to be.”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Tip said. “Are you questioning what we’ve done?”

  “I’m not questioning anything. I’m stating facts. We’ve got a grisly murder that still isn’t solved, and now the only real suspect is dead. It’s not going to look good.”

  “I think we can make a good case for Ingle being guilty,” I said.

  “And that’s why I want this to be clean—I mean clean. There’s nothing more that Tom Marsen would like than to see our reputation smeared.”

  Coop nodded. “You got that right. It would be just like Tom.”

  “Now tell us about the scene at the house.”

  We filled them in on what we saw, the maid’s account of what happened, and Mrs. Ingle’s account.

  “This is a damn mess,” Renkin said. “How’s Mrs. Ingle?”

  “A little shook up,” I said, “She took a good beating.”

  “What’s your take?” Coop asked Gino.

  “Not sure yet,” Tip said. “We’ll see after we listen to the 9-1-1 call and get the report from Ben.”

  Coop slid off the desk and went to her computer. “The Chief already got us the recording of the call. Listen up and take notes.”

  9-1-1. What is your emergency?

  He’s trying to kill me.

  Stay calm, ma’am. Where are you now?

  I’m in the bedroom, but he’s at the door. Please send someone. Now!

  (Pounding on door heard in background.)

  Who’s trying to kill you?

  My husband. Hurry! Please hurry.

  Where is he now, ma’am?

  I’m calling 9-1-1.

  (More pounding on door.)

  Stay out! I’ve got a gun!

  Ma’am, someone should be there any minute. Stay calm. Can you lock yourself in another room?

  (Sound of door breaking.)

  No!

  (Sound of two shots.)

  Oh my God. My God, I shot him.

  (Line goes dead.)

  Coop looked up at me and Tip. “What do you think?”

  “Play it again,” I said.

  We listened to the recording again, and then a third time.

  I was shaking my head when we finished. “Sounds legit. It’s pretty much what she told us happened.”

  Tip nodded.

  “So things look pretty good?” Renkin asked.

  “Everything except the order of the gunshots,” I said.

  Coop said, “Tell me about the gunshots.”

  “They don’t add up,” Tip said. “Mrs. Ingle’s version and the maid’s contradict each other.”

  “Son of a bitch,” Coop said, and smacked her hand on the desk.

  I stood. “We’ll have to wait until we hear from Ben. His findings might explain a lot more.”

  CHAPTER 56

  AUTOPSY

  We worked at our desks, analyzing notes and, in our spare time, we helped Julie get set up, making sure she had all the files and documents she needed. She seemed nervous.

  “Suppose I mess up?”

  “Don’t worry,” I said. “Just go through everything extra carefully.”

  Tip tapped Julie on the shoulder. “Like Gino said, don’t worry. This is nothing that we don’t do every day. Coop just wants it extra clean.”

  Julie smiled. “Thanks.”

  We stayed where we were, doing paperwork almost all day. Around 3:00, the doctor from Methodist called with the report on Anne. It was pretty much as we expected. Broken nose, left side of face bruised from what appeared to be multiple punches, left arm bruising was from someone squeezing and twisting.

  I filled Tip in on what he said. Tip called Ben. “You got anything for us yet?”

  “Damn you’re impatient,” Ben said. “I’ll call in about half an hour. I’m wrapping a few things up.”

  True to his word, Ben called back, but it was more like an hour later.

  “I’ve got Gino with me. I’m putting it on speaker. What have you got?”

  “Not everything yet, so take it all with that in mind.”

  “Go on,” Tip said.

  “Ingle was like you saw—two shots to the chest at close range. He had gunshot residue on his chest—where he was shot—but also on his hands, which for now, I’m assuming to be the shot fired into the wall and the one in Mr. Grage’s heart.”

  “Does the angle of shots work out? Anything look weird?”

  “Preliminary analysis looks consistent with what we know, but as I said before, we’re not finished.”

  “But if you were going to call it?” Tip asked.

  “If I were asked to make a call now…I’d say the wife shot Ingle, twice with the gun she showed the police, and before that, Ingle shot Grage with the gun he had in his hand. It looks as if there might have been a struggle for Ingle’s gun, and during the struggle one shot went into the wall. The next one hit Grage.”

  “What makes you think the shootings went down that way?” I asked.

  “Both Grage and Ingle have gunshot residue consistent with that theory. And there is a bruise on the left side of Ingle’s face that would appear to be from Mr. Grage’s right fist.”

  “That’s all good, Ben, but that doesn’t fit our theory,” Tip said. “The maid said she heard one shot, then two, then one more. If it went down like you said, she would have heard 2 shots followed by 2 more.”

  A short silence then Ben said, “So now you’re siding with a maid over the medical examiner?”

  “I’ll tell you who I side with later,” Tip said. “Just dig some more and see what you come up with. Something�
��s not right about all this.”

  Tip hung up. He didn’t have to say anything. I knew what was coming—a long night of working this case.

  “What are you cooking?” I asked.

  “Nothing. We’ll pick something up. I’m in the mood for some egg rolls from Jack in the Box. And maybe some stuffed jalapeños.”

  I shook my head. “How is it that your arteries aren’t clogged?”

  Tip grabbed the files and put them in a briefcase. “Let’s go, Gino. I’m hungry already.”

  We went to the lot, and I said, “While you’re driving, think about how a wimp like Ingle wins a struggle with Grage.”

  “I’ll have the answer by the time you get to my house. By the way, what do you want to eat?”

  “Jalapeños is fine by me. Order me two packs.”

  “No egg rolls?” Tip asked.

  “Just the jalapeños,” I said, and headed toward where I’d parked the car. It was one of the few days when Tip and I drove separate cars, and I was relieved we had.

  I started up the freeway thinking about the case, but before I drove five miles I was thinking of Ron, wondering how he was doing. I desperately wanted to call him, but he wasn’t allowed to talk to family yet. Instead, I called Anne, hoping it would take my mind off the worry of drugs.

  “Mrs. Ingle, this is Detective Cataldi.”

  “Hello, Detective. How nice of you to call.”

  “It’s not quite a social call, ma’am. I had a few more questions.”

  “Of course. How silly of me,” she said. I could almost hear her embarrassment. “What can I do for you?”

  “I’d like you to think of how much time passed between when you first heard your husband and Mr. Grage struggling and when the gunshot sounded. Take your time.”

  “I don’t know. Perhaps five or ten seconds.”

  “Five or ten seconds?” I asked.

  “My mind is a little fuzzy, but I think that’s right. I can’t be certain, Detective. I was scared out of my mind. It seemed like an hour, but if you pressured me for specifics, I’d say five or ten seconds.”

  I waited a moment, then asked, “And how much time between the first and second shot?”

  “Like I told Detective Denton this morning—about ten seconds.”

  “You’re sure about that?” I asked. “It couldn’t have been five seconds or fifteen?”

  She didn’t answer right away, then she said, “Definitely not five. And not as long as fifteen. I just timed it myself on the phone, and besides, I do a lot of ab crunches where I hold the position for ten seconds. I’m accustomed to that length of time. I think it was very close to ten seconds, Detective.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Ingle. I’m sorry to have troubled you again.”

  I hung up the phone and her words bounced around in my head. If she was right, Reggie and Ingle fought for about five or ten seconds, and then a shot went off—presumably the one that hit the wall. Then they fought for about ten more seconds before Ingle shot Reggie in the heart.

  Not a snowball’s chance in hell. There’s no way RB Ingle would wrestle a gun away from Reggie the Robot.

  CHAPTER 57

  BROKEN PUZZLES

  Tip was home, sitting on the side porch, when I pulled into the driveway.

  “Damn you’re slow, partner. If you hadn’t gotten here soon I was gonna eat your egg rolls.”

  He tossed me a bag when I reached the porch. “Jalapeños?” I asked.

  “Got you both in case you changed your mind. I simply can’t believe that anyone could not like Jack in the Box egg rolls.”

  I took a seat next to Tip and reached in for an egg roll. “I called Mrs. Ingle on the way up.”

  “And?”

  “And she didn’t change her story—not even a little bit. That bothered me some. But what bothered me more was thinking about the fight between Reggie and Mr. Ingle.”

  Tip downed the last of his egg rolls and gulped the rest of his beer. “No way Ingle should have come out ahead if he fought Reggie, an ex-Ranger and Secret Service agent. I guess it could happen in an alternate universe, and since Ingle had a gun, maybe it did. Still, I’m with you. The scenario bothers me.”

  “I don’t care if Ingle had a howitzer, I don’t believe he’d have gotten the better of Reggie.”

  My phone rang. Caller ID showed it was Coop. “I’m putting you on speaker, Captain. Tip’s here.”

  “I saw the preliminary from Ben,” Coop said. “Can we wrap this case up tomorrow?”

  “We’re close,” I said. “But we’d like to see the final report from Ben, and go over a few more things.”

  “What kind of things?” Coop had her irritated voice going.

  Tip leaned close to the phone. “A few questions we haven’t figured out yet. Shouldn’t be anything to worry about, but like you said, you want all the details accounted for on this one.”

  “Hurry up. I’ve already gotten a call from Rusty. I expect if we don’t deliver a report soon I’ll get a call from Tom, or one of his henchmen in Washington.”

  “Damn Yankees!” Tip said. That made Coop laugh.

  I hung up and set the phone on the porch railing and dug into the cheese jalapeños. “Not much better than this.”

  Tip leaned back in his rocker. “Seems to be a lot of pressure to put this case to bed. You’d think that Ingle’s friends would want us to find out everything. Clear his name and such.”

  “By his friends I assume you mean the mayor and the president?”

  “Of course, if we believe the gossip we’ve been hearing from old George and others, Ingle’s friends have the most to lose.” Tip shifted in the chair and looked over at me.

  “Which makes me wonder again about why Camwyck was killed.”

  I got up and headed for the kitchen. “If we’re doing this, I need more beer.”

  “Get the chips out of the pantry,” Tip said. “We might as well take this inside.”

  He grabbed a sheet of poster board and a marker from the living room, and brought it out to where he kept his charts. Across the top he wrote Camwyck’s name, followed by Ingle’s and the President.

  “Okay, what do we know?”

  “It’s simple,” I said. Camwyck knew Ingle and the President; she had sex with both of them; she blackmailed them; and she aborted a child that belonged to one of them.”

  Tip drew a new chart on the poster board.

  “Tell me again what our theory was for why she waited so long to blackmail Ingle.”

  Camwyck Ingle Pres

  Friends with ✓ ✓

  Had sex with ✓ ✓

  Was blackmailing ✓ ?

  Abortion—whose kid? ? ?

  “I believe we agreed that due to Tom Marsen’s recent election as president, it was a good time for Camwyck to blackmail them. In other words, she had them by the balls.”

  Tip reached for his beer, and took a swig.

  “Even if it was Ingle she was blackmailing, he had to go along or risk embarrassing the President.”

  “If we assume she was after the President, what was she using for blackmail?”

  “Either the abortion or the previous blackmailing she had done with them. Remember what old George told us about that senator.” Tip scribbled another note and looked back at me. “It really doesn’t matter who she was blackmailing and with what.

  “If we’re right—and it’s not about sex—then anything it is about would hurt the president.”

  “And that would set Ingle off,” I said, then, “How about Richards?”

  “Different, but similar,” Tip said, and drew another chart.

  Richards Ingle Pres

  Friends with ? ?

  Had sex with ✓ ✓

  Was blackmailing ✓ ?

  Abortion X X

  I looked at the chart. “Richards was only blackmailing Ingle because Camwyck died. At least it looked that way. And how do we know she didn’t have an abortion? Why’d you write that down?”

  “B
ecause the M.E. would have reported it if she had,” Tip said.

  I looked at Tip, then flipped through the file on Camwyck, which was sitting on the end table next to me. “I don’t remember seeing an abortion listed for Camwyck. How do we know she had one?”

  “George told me. Remember?”

  “We better check on that,” I said. “Gladys wants all details checked.”

  Tip grabbed his phone and punched in a number.

  “Ben, this is Tip.

  “Yeah, I know it’s after hours. Did Camwyck have an abortion?

  “You’re sure? Go check.”

  “Did she?” I asked.

  Tip shrugged, then Ben must have gotten back on the phone.

  “She did? And you’re sure? Okay, thanks,” Tip said. “Looks like George was right. She had an abortion.”

  I went to the bathroom and returned to the chair, trying to pick up where I’d left off. “If this is about an abortion, or even if it’s about blackmail operations they’d run, why didn’t Ingle just pay her the money?”

  Tip munched on a handful of chips. “I have no idea why. A few million bucks is a piss hole in the snow to Ingle. He wouldn’t have missed it.”

  “Maybe he was worried it wouldn’t stop at one payment,” I said. “Or maybe this wasn’t the first time?”

  “Let’s go back to suspects for Camwyck,” Tip said. “No matter how much we want to pin the murder on Ingle, he doesn’t look good for it. We can put him with no alibi in the vicinity of where Richards was killed, but it would be hell to prove he slipped out of Rusty’s fundraiser to kill Camwyck and get back in time for a 12:30 drive home.”

  Sacco, came over and sat next to me. I reached down to pet him. “Remember, Reggie could have done Camwyck. In fact, Reggie could have done Richards, too.”

  “But why would he?” Tip asked.

  “We know he came recommended by Marsen. Maybe the President sent Reggie to take care of business.”

  “Are you listening to yourself?” Tip said.

  “You’re saying the President ordered a hit on these women?”

  I looked at Tip, and then at the chart. Then I shook my head. “I have no fucking idea what I’m saying. All I know is something’s not right, and it hasn’t been right since we got this case.”