Luca Mystery Series Box Set

by Dan Petrosini

  “Who’d you send?”

  “Donofrio and Messina.”

  Luca nodded. “Both top notch. What’s their gut telling ’em?”

  “Didn’t like this Griswald character.”

  Luca shuffled the files. “Okay, give me Griswald first.” He beckoned with his hand, opened Don Griswald’s file and looked at a mug shot stapled to the left-hand side.

  Gesso settled into a chair. “Big dude, said he put on fifty pounds since his last arrest.”

  “He’d be slower, and Wyatt was an athlete back in the day.”

  “Biker and Skull member. In and out of prison his entire adult life.”

  Luca paged through his rap sheet. “Yeah, a real upstanding citizen.”

  “Donofrio said he was a cagey bastard. Claimed to be in a gin mill. Originally said he couldn’t remember what bar it was. Pressured, he said it was Heels, that titty joint in Keansburg. But they swung by it, and nobody seems to recall seeing him. You ask me, and it’d be pretty hard to miss such a big bag of shit.”

  Luca chuckled. “Where’d they leave it?”

  “Donofrio wanted to lay on Griswald, but I told ’em we gotta run it by you.”

  “Thanks. Leave it with me at this point. What else they got?” He opened the next file. “How about Waters?”

  “Seems this Waters guy knew Wyatt pretty well, but he said he was working at Pacer on the night shift loading trucks, and it checked out.”

  “You sure he was there all night? Couldn’t he have broken away?”

  “It seems that way. They looked at the video feed on the loading dock, and from six to eight he was there.”

  He shuffled the Waters file to the bottom. “Let’s move on to Brown.”

  Gesso stroked his moustache. “Brown claims to have gotten religion. Says he became a devout Muslim in the can. Said he was at a brotherhood meeting. Those bigots backed him up, but you know those bastards; they’d lie to the cops to protect one of their own.”

  “You’re telling me? Have ’em nose around some. Talk to the brothers we have leverage with. See if any cracks appear in his alibi.”

  Luca had a patrol car pay a visit on Griswald to ask him to come in and talk. The threat of arrest for obstruction if he didn’t, worked.

  Luca waited over an hour, letting him stew, before he opened the door. A hulk of a man in a black, sleeveless tee shirt scowled at him. Luca thought he was thirty pounds too heavy to get away with the tough-guy, tee-shirt look and smiled in return. Griswald, who turned away, had a matching set of skull tattoos on either side of his neck and a huge dragon tattoo that snaked its way up one arm and down the other, grabbing Luca’s attention.

  Luca eyed the biker chain that hung on his grungy jeans, wondering how the hell he was allowed to keep it on.

  “I’m Detective Luca.”

  Griswald jumped out of his seat. “What the fuck am I doing’ here?”

  Luca hit a button under the desk. “Easy, big boy, we need to talk. Now sit back down!”

  As the detainee pawed the chair, the door opened, and a uniformed officer poked his head in.

  “Everything okay, Detective?”

  “My friend’s a little upset.” He looked at Griswald and cocked his head toward the two-way mirror. “Why don’t you keep an eye on things in case our friend gets claustrophobic?”

  The officer left the room and Luca began.

  “We asked you to come in for a chat.”

  “Asked me? What bullshit! You threatened to arrest me, man.”

  “You shouldn’t have lied to our guys about your whereabouts.”

  “Look, I donno what you want, but I didn’t do nothing.”

  “Good, then this should be easy. Where were you on the night of May fifteenth?”

  Griswald squirmed in his chair. “May fifteenth?”

  “Yes. Friday, May fifteenth, the day William Wyatt was beaten to death.”

  “Hey, man, I had nothing to do with that. Don’t go trying to pin that shit on me, man.”

  “Well, where were you?”

  “I donno. I think I was out drinking. You know, we roamed to a few places.”

  “You claimed to be at Heels, right?”

  Griswald brightened. “Yeah, yeah, that’s it, I think.”

  Luca shook his head. “Didn’t check out, Donny boy.”

  “Look, man, I swear I didn’t do anything. On my mother’s grave, man.” Griswald put his hand over his heart.

  “That’s means a lot, you swearing and all, Donny. It’s not that I don’t believe you, but you see, here we deal with facts, evidence, things like that.” Luca poked a forefinger across the table. “And the fact is there’s no evidence you were at Heels that night.” Luca leaned in and clasped his hands. “We talked to a couple of your biker pals. Nobody saw you there, or for that matter, anywhere that night. So, where were you?”

  Griswald shrugged.

  “Look, Donny, if you don’t start talking, I’ll lock you up right now.”

  “Hey, wait. You can’t do that for not talking. I got rights, you know.”

  “Sorry, my friend. Remember you lying to us? That’s obstruction, and in a homicide case, it’s serious business, buddy. Judges don’t look too kindly at that.”

  Griswald gnawed on a fingernail.

  “What’s it going be? You gonna tell me, or should I get my officer friend”—he gestured to the window—“to escort you to booking?”

  “You don’t understand, man.” He rapped his knuckles against his temple.

  “Then help me understand.”

  Griswald began cracking his knuckles. Luca looked at his watch and stood up. “We’re about out of time. Start talking, or you’re going to spend some time as a guest of the county.”

  ***

  Luca and Cremora paged through the file on Jimmy Johns, who was seen by the back neighbor the night of the murder.

  “Man, what a mutt. He’s got some history.”

  “Yeah, mostly drugs to go along with five assaults. Another fucking meth head.”

  “The last two assaults were recent, and the prick clubbed his victims.”

  “Yeah, and they ran him in on yet another one: some junkie dealer whose head was bashed in. Said it wasn’t him, and Johns pinned it on another zombie.”

  Luca smiled. “So, a rat to boot.”

  “Last known address is his sister’s basement.”

  “Where does the sister live?”

  “Keyport. The address should be in there.”

  Luca tapped the desk. “That’s only six, seven blocks from Wyatt!”

  “Let’s get him in here.”

  ***

  “Well I’ll be damned,” Cremora said and smacked his thigh.

  Luca had told him that Griswald wasn’t involved in the Wyatt murder. He said Griswald was banging the girlfriend of the biker gang’s leader, a violent guy serving time for a brutal assault, on the night of the murder. Griswald and his secret squeeze were holed up in a hotel just over the Jersey border in Easton. His alibi was confirmed by the hotel’s surveillance cameras and Griswald’s credit card.

  “You know, I’d have almost bet he had something to do it with it.”

  “It was kinda weird, big, tough biker dude, pleading to keep it quiet. I swear, he might’ve cried if I pushed things.”

  Cremora snickered. “Well, that Blemmer is one sick puppy, remember the time he—”

  Gesso barged into the room.

  “Got a couple of things on the Wyatt case. Kennedy checked out Brown—he’s got a lot of contacts in the black community. Said Brown seems to have been at one of those Muslim things the night Wyatt got hit.”

  The detectives looked at each and Luca spoke. “He sure?”

  “Yeah, got it from two sources, and besides, seems the kid’s really been keeping his nose clean.”

  “So that leaves us with the meth head.”

  Gesso put up his palm. “Well, the other thing is, a lead just came in.”

  Chapter 1
5

  Gesso began telling the detectives about the call from Mary Rourke’s mother. He thrust his chin at Luca and said, “She said she didn’t want to talk to the detective who was too rough on her daughter.”

  Luca spoke. “Just trying to poke holes in what was a—”

  Gesso waved him off. “With the pressure I’m getting from Stanley”—Gesso looked around and lowered his voice—“man, what a pompous asshole. Anyway, she said that Mary thought you should check out her ex-boyfriend. Said this guy’s just back from Afghanistan, and the story is complicated, but when isn’t it?”

  “Kid wants to be a detective, Luc,” Cremora said and laughed.

  “Okay, what do you got, Sarge?” Luca asked.

  “Well, Mary was dating this guy, Peter Hill, for a couple of years, but when he went overseas, she started going with Wyatt. She said this guy, Hill, was gone a long time. Served two tours while things got serious with Wyatt. Seems Mary never got around to telling Peter it was over.” Gesso shook his head. “Then the poor kid got injured. Seems it was a real serious head injury, and she didn’t have the heart to tell him.”

  Cremora said, “She wanted to be nice after two-timing the guy?”

  “Sad and all, but that’s it.” Luca threw his hands up.

  “No. Here’s where it gets interesting. Mary said that Hill found out she was two-timing him, as you say, the night Wyatt turned up dead.”

  The detectives shot glances at each other.

  “And Mary said she didn’t know too much, but that there was a little history between them.”

  Luca leaned forward. “Between Hill and Wyatt?”

  “Seems so. She said Wyatt was close friends with Hill’s brother, and when they were kids, there was some friction.”

  “Does Hill have a record or anything?”

  “Nothing came up.” Gesso put his hands on his hips. “Look, nose around, but do me a favor and stay away from the girl unless you really get something. Okay, guys?”

  The detectives nodded, and as Gesso left, Luca swiveled his chair to face Cremora. “I know it’s a long shot, but can you get your guy at DMV to run this Hill guy and see what car he drives?” Luca stood. “I’ll grab us some coffee in the meantime.”

  When Luca came back holding two cups, Cremora told him there was no record of auto ownership for Peter Hill. They ran routine background checks as they drank their java and then headed out to see the new lead.

  As Cremora swung the car into a space across from Peter’s house, Luca said, “You see what I see?”

  “But Santiago said there wasn’t anything on record.”

  They popped out of the car and headed for the driveway where a burgundy Chrysler was parked. They peered inside the car and checked the car’s grill. The detectives nodded at each other and went to the front door.

  Peter was laid out on the couch, glued to some soap opera, and never moved when the bell rang. When the knocking began, Vinny put his coffee mug down and trudged barefoot to the door.

  “You know, Pete, you could get off your ass, man, and help me once in a frigging while. I just got up.”

  “Shush.” Peter inched his head toward the television as Vinny opened the door to two men in suits.

  “Can I help you?” Too old for evangelists, Vinny thought, scanning their faces as the coffee he’d drank began backing up.

  “Peter Hill?” Cremora flashed his ID.

  “No, I’m his brother, Vinny. Vinny Hill.”

  Luca peered over Vinny shoulder. “Is Peter home?”

  “Uh, yeah, but”—Vinny pulled the door and lowered his voice—“he’s not well, you know. He got badly injured in Afghanistan.”

  Cremora nodded. “Yes, we understand, but we have a few questions we’d like to ask, informally, of course.”

  “About what?”

  “The Wyatt murder.”

  Vinny squeezed the edge of the door. “Billy was a good friend of mine, uh, of ours. What do you want to know? I can probably answer for you.”

  “So, you knew William Wyatt well?”

  “Sure. We were buddies, best friends, man, through school and all.” Vinny shook his head. “I just can’t believe what happened. I’m sick to my stomach about it.”

  “Can we speak with both of you?”

  “Ah, well, you see, it’s not a good idea. He’s on a ton of meds and needs a lot of help. I take care of him.”

  “It’ll only be few minutes. I promise.”

  “I—I don’t think I can allow that. I mean, the doctors, you know, like I, we’d like to help the police and all, but his condition . . .”

  Luca said, “Sure, we understand. Say, would you mind answering a few questions, and we’ll see if that clears things up, so we don’t have to bother your brother.”

  “Yeah, sure, sure.” Vinny looked down at his bare feet and smiled. “Just got off the night shift at FedEx. Let me throw some things on, and I’ll meet you out front.”

  Before the cops could respond, the door closed and the lock sounded.

  The garage door rose on a space full of furniture and boxes that Vinny snaked his way through.

  Cremora hiked his thumb at the Chrysler. “Got to say this car reminds me of one my uncle had. Is it yours?”

  “Uh, no. It’s my mom’s. Well, used to be. She passed away about two years ago.”

  “Sorry to hear.”

  “Yeah, frigging sucks.” Vinny frowned. “So, what’s up?”

  “We just have a couple of questions for you about your brother.”

  “Shoot.”

  “So, how’s your brother’s recovery going? Must be tough.”

  “It’s been a nightmare, but he’s come a long way.”

  “Good to hear he’s making progress,” Cremora said.

  Luca hiked a thumb to the car. “He back to driving?”

  “Ah, not really. I mean, sometimes I let him drive with me.”

  “But he’s able to drive.”

  “As I said, a little. What, are you guys from the DMV, or what?”

  “Just routine. Trying to get a sense of his everyday life.”

  A blue sedan pulled up to the curb and Vinny said, “Look guys, I gotta run. That’s Peter’s physical therapist.”

  “We have a few more questions. Say, you work at the FedEx place off Hope Road. Why don’t you swing by on your way in next week? Does Monday work?”

  Spine shivering, Vinny quickly agreed and pulled down the garage door. Spooked as he entered the house, he wondered how they knew where he worked.

  ***

  Franco Greco had graduated from John Jay College with a degree in forensics. The forty-year-old now ran the county’s crime lab and was the closest thing Monmouth County had to a fingerprint specialist. When Luca arrived at the Freehold lab, he found the balding technician hunched over a microscope.

  “Frankomino, you looking at porn again?”

  Startled, Greco picked his head up and reached for his glasses.

  “Hey, what d’ya know. It’s George Clooney himself.”

  Greco started to take off his gloves, but Luca stopped him.

  “I know you’re busy, but did you get a chance to check out what I sent down?”

  “Yeah, in spite of how crazy it’s been, I did.”

  “And, what did you find?”

  “It’d be easier to show you what you got me dealing with.”

  Franco led Luca to a windowless chamber cluttered with laboratory equipment that had a row of monitors along one wall.

  “Yikes, place looks like my high school chem class.”

  “Tell me about it. We’re so stretched for space, I had to put the new digital system in here.”

  Franco took a seat and tapped away at a keyboard, bringing the bank of monitors to life.

  “Here’s what we got off the evidence.”

  Two screens displayed blue colored prints that were partial and smudged.

  “Two? That’s it?”

  “Sorry pal, but even using ninhy
drin, these were the only prints that met the guidelines.”

  “How do they match up with Johns?”

  “Hang on, Luc.”

  Franco posted the prints of Johns’ thumbs, fore, and middle fingers, and Luca stepped closer, looking from image to image, trying to see the similarities.

  “What’s nice about the new system is we can overlay the prints.”

  When the combined images appeared, Luca said, “Wow, it’s like an exact match!”

  Franco shook his head, “Sorry, bro, but not even close.”

  “What?”

  “What we have is inconclusive at best.”

  “Look at this, man. These here line up perfectly.” Luca traced two lines that started on one side of the print and ran out the other side. “And look at these loops here.” The detective pointed to three lines that started at one end of the print and circled back to their starting point before being smudged.

  “Look, there are some ridges and loops that match.” Franco then pointed to the center of the second image where a pair of circular ridges overlaid each other. “There’s even a pretty good match on this whorl.”

  “So, what’s the problem?”

  “For starters, there are about a hundred and fifty ridge characteristics in the average fingerprint.”

  “Ridge?”

  “Points of identity. So, while we have a couple of lines that match, the smaller, more definitive points, which we call minutiae, truly define the individuality or uniqueness of the print, and they’re just not there.”

  “But—”

  “And they’re off, shall we say, poor quality prints, to boot.”

  Luca leaned against the wall and rubbed his chin. “Okay, okay. Hear me out a second. I know we might need more matching, but doesn’t this mean anything? It can’t just be a coincidence.”

  “Luc, I wish I could help you here, but to make any kind of judgment, we need ten or more points of identity to match. Otherwise, it’d get thrown out of court in a heartbeat.”

  Luca shifted his weight. “I see, but in a general sense, in an investigation, not a courtroom, would you say this data, no matter how incomplete, puts the focus on this guy?”

  “I really can’t say, Luc. It’s just not science, man.”

  “Fuck the science. Think like a cop, man.”

  Franco put his palm up. “Look, let’s just say it doesn’t give us enough to say it’s him, but it certainly doesn’t clear this guy, okay?”