Corrupt Control

By John M. Garzone

Mike and Myra receive a worrisome letter from an old friend, suggesting he may be depressed and considering suicidebut not at home. He plans to go back to the Berkshires, where he had nostalgic memories of happy days with the love of his life.

The duo make the now familiar trip west on the Mass Pike and connect again with the Pittsfield police detectives who have, over the years, become allies and good friends.

Unaware that the plot instigating a rash of similar suicides has roots in Mikes past history in Pittsfield, he finds himself more deeply involved and endangered than his planned intervention might warrant.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Nov 11, 2015
• ISBN: 9781514424018

John M. Garzone

John M. Garzone, a native of Pittsfield, Massachusetts, has been a lifelong avid fan of the detective, mystery, suspense, and horror genres. Prior to Corrupt Control, he has published four detective-suspense novels set primarily in the Berkshires: Crowd Control, Covert Control, Crazed Control, and Cryptic Control. After relocating to Florida more than a dozen years ago, he has been an active member and serves as moderator of the writers’ workshop affiliate of REAP (Retired Educators and Professionals) that meets weekly at the State College of Florida in Bradenton.

Book preview

Copyright © 2015 by John Garzone.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 11/10/2015

Xlibris

1-888-795-4274

www.Xlibris.com

728574

CONTENTS

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Epilogue

DEDICATION

To my loving wife, without whose patient proof reading this book wouldn’t have been finished, and to the members of my writers’ group, who have provided me with weekly support and encouragement.

CHAPTER 1

The road leading down to the Onota Lake pier had become slick from the overnight rain.

Slow down, Tony! We’re going to end up in the drink.

Not a problem, Harry. I’ve been driving this road since I got my license, and before that, Detective Tony Grasso bantered to his partner.

Yeah, but the road wasn’t always slippery.

Don’t sweat it. This is the beginning of July. If we went in, the water wouldn’t be that cold.

Very funny, ha, ha, Harry feigned a laugh.

The car reached the bottom of the turn and Grasso slid the Ford between a patrol car with its flashing lights on and the ME’s vehicle.

They got out of their car and approached two uniforms. "Where is it? Grasso asked.

The shorter cop pointed to their left. About forty yards in, follow the rough trail. The ME and Officer Hickey are at the scene.

The detectives acknowledged him and proceeded to the path.

It took them less than ten minutes to arrive at a clearing, dealing with flying bugs and humidity that hung over them like a damp towel. We have to tread easy here, Harry. He was one of ours.

I didn’t know him, Tony. Did you?

I wasn’t close with him, but yeah, he was an acquaintance. He’d been on the force when I first started.

Officer Hickey’s hand instinctively went to his holster as he turned toward the approaching twosome.

Grasso held out his shield, Detectives Grasso and Carson.

Hickey relaxed and motioned them over. Sorry, I’m on edge. His face hardened. Bill and I were friends. When I transferred here five years ago, he was very helpful. He was going to retire in a couple of months. And now this. He pointed to the body lying in a clump of shrubbery.

The detectives approached the corpse. Sergeant Bill Fane, a heavy-set man in his fifties with sparse white hair, an open mouth and half his head blown away dead-eyed back at them. Blood, bone and brain had splattered the surrounding ground cover. A large caliber gun nestled in his right hand.

Ah, Detectives Grasso and Carson. It’s a surprise that I arrived before the two of you, said Dr. Herman Wake, ME of Pittsfield.

We just got the case. What have you found? Grasso asked.

The diminutive coroner adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses. It looks like a self inflicted gun-shot through his mouth.

Crap, said Harry, shaking his head, Why’d he want to do that?

Good question, Detective. I can’t give you the answer. That would be your department, Wake said.

How about the time of death? Grasso asked.

An educated guess, between eight and ten hours ago. Rigor is present. I’ll confirm it when I complete my exam at the morgue.

Late last night or early AM, Harry said.

Herman Wake stood. Very good, Detective Carson. And, we have this. He carefully handed a plastic bag with a piece of paper inside to Grasso. I retrieved this from under a small rock next to him. I wouldn’t have touched it, but I feared it being lost. He arched his thick eyebrows. Of course I used protection, it’s a suicide note.

Grasso put on his latex gloves. His brow furrowed after opening and reading the contents. He shook his head and returned the letter to the bag. Did you know him? He’d been on the job over twenty years.

All the time I’ve been with the city, hard not to, Detective. I knew Sergeant Fane, a good cop.

Can you imagine him doing this?

You know as well as I do, Detective Grasso, anything is possible, especially in our line of work. But, what I knew of the man, it seemed highly unlikely. I recall his quiet and confident persona.

Harry kicked at a twig. Maybe the pressure of the job or something in his personal life got to be too much.

Could be, the coroner voiced. I’m sure you two are capable of finding out.

Grasso looked around and muttered, The crime scene won’t reveal much. Wet vegetation, numerous indistinguishable footprints, trampled bushes. What went through here, a parade?

Underage drinkers, kids, lovers, you name it. According to Officer Hickey, although somewhat secluded, it’s a popular meeting spot, the ME answered.

Grasso pushed back a wisp of hair from his forehead. Okay, Doc. CSI should be here soon, but I don’t think they’ll get much. He gave him back the bag with the letter. Give this to the crime boys. We’re going to talk with Officer Hickey. We’ll be in touch.

You know where to find me.

Grasso and Harry walked over to Hickey.

The tall cop raised his head to them. It’s an awful thing. I can’t believe this has happened.

Grasso put his hand on Hickey’s shoulder. We’re coming into the case late. Do you know how the body was discovered?

I was told an anonymous call. I’d been near the scene and at the end of my shift when dispatch called and sent me to investigate.

So, you were first on the scene.

His face grew beet red. Yeah, I was the lucky one to discover my good friend with half his damn head blown off.

We’re sorry for your loss.

Not as sorry as the people who did this will be after I find them.

What do you mean? Grasso asked.

The husky cop got close to Grasso. Someone did this to him!

The lead detective gave the cop a little space. We know you’re distraught over Sergeant Fane’s death, as we are. But he’s lying back there alone with what looks like a police issue thirty-eight in his hand. And I’m fairly sure it’ll have GSR trace.

Hickey’s lips tightened as he spoke, Maybe, but I doubt it was of his own accord. He was forced or somehow manipulated. He enjoyed life too much to go out this way. And he wouldn’t do that to his wife, Rita. He loved her too much. You do suicide and no pension, which he was going to start collecting in a couple of months. He wouldn’t leave her in a situation like that.

Grasso squeezed his shoulder. Let us do our job. We’ll be sure to get this right. You have our promise.

Harry echoed his partner’s vow and they walked back to their car.

Man, he’s upset, Tony.

He’s got reason to be.

The blue wall is thick Harry said.

That too, but this isn’t a normal suicide.

I got bad vibes too, Tony, especially about the location.

Yeah, how’d he get here? His car isn’t in the lot. It’s not a favorable walking distance from anywhere.

Harry looked over to Grasso. He could have taken a cab.

Doubtful, but easy to check. Grasso swatted away a gnat. One other thing, the suicide note mentioned nothing about his wife. Officer Hickey said he was crazy in love with her. And at the bottom of the note, ‘SHAME’ was written out in capitals. What do you suppose that meant? And his clothes, especially the dress pants and polished shoes. Why would he wear stuff like that to tramp through the woods? Grasso’s face tightened. This just doesn’t seem right."

They reached their car just as the CSI team arrived, unaware of the dark clothed man with binoculars and a large dog observing them from a well-hidden location.

CHAPTER 2

As Grasso and Harry entered the detectives’ room at the station, Captain Thomas Cahill motioned them to his office. What have you got? he asked.

Grasso looked into the somber face of his immediate superior. Not much, it’s meant to look like suicide.

Cahill sighed and ran his finger through his thinning hair. I hear question in you’re voice, Tony.

The lead detective plopped his six-foot two sturdy frame into a hard chair and Harry did the same. Some things don’t add up, Cap.

Like what? Cahill paused, But be careful, he was one of our own with an impeccable record.

Grasso jutted his jaw out, For starters, location, transportation and mind-set. He went on to tell of the inconsistencies that he and Harry had come up with.

The captain rolled his eyes. Great! Suicide wasn’t bad enough. Now you’re saying it could be homicide.

It’s possible. We just don’t like the discrepancies.

Cahill eased his stocky bulk into the worn chair behind his desk, Well if not one or the other, what else?

We don’t think Sergeant Fane was alone at the time of his death.

Cahill looked to Harry, What do you think, Detective Carson? You haven’t said a word yet.

Harry glanced at Grasso. I usually let Tony do the talking, but I have a theory. What if it was a suicide, but not conventional. The junior detective took a deep breath, Maybe he asked someone to be with him, not wanting to be alone at the time of his death.

The heavy air in the compact room deepened as the captain’s voice rose, Do you mean a form of assisted death, while eating your weapon?

Harry swallowed hard as Grasso and Cahill stared at him. It’s only a theory, he answered.

Captain Cahill’s blue eyes locked onto Harry, As of now, Detective Carson, keep that thought inside this room.

Yes sir, Harry mumbled.

Grasso quickly rose from the chair. We’re going to track his movements from last night. Should we notify the wife and go from there? I hate bringing this news to anyone. But she’d most likely be at the start of our investigation.

Yeah, good idea, Tony. I’ll make sure you’re the first to speak with her. His voice lowered, Go easy.

The shrill whistle of the white teakettle at the far end of the room pierced the air. Cahill silently walked over to it and filled a chipped cup with boiling water, waving the detectives away.

They left the office, not looking forward to this part of the job.

I hope she hasn’t heard the news already, Harry said.

You heard the Cap. Grasso frowned and deep creases lined his forehead over his almost joined dark eyebrows, We’re going to have that displeasure.

Yeah, it’s an awful situation. Bad enough he’s dead, but to have to tell her how he died. I’ll let you handle that.

Thanks, Harry, or should I call you Doctor Jack?

Who?

The infamous Doctor Kevorkian that assisted on so many suicides and ended up serving time as an accomplice.

Harry rubbed his chin, I vaguely remember his name, but I was only a boy at the time.

How old are you, Harry? Are you thirty yet?

Thirty three, I look younger because I shave so close and stay fit.

No modesty clinging to you, partner.

Harry smiled. I’m going to take that as a compliment, Tony.

As you wish, but getting back to Kevorkian, he fits in line with your theory of how Fane died.

Okay then, I knew I was on the right track. But it didn’t impress Captain Cahill.

Me either.

Grasso parked the Ford in the driveway of the small green ranch on Highland Avenue, a blue-collar neighborhood between the two city lakes. They got out and rang the doorbell.

A small woman with snow-white hair opened the door. Yes, can I help you?

Are you Mrs. Fane? Grasso asked, displaying his shield.

She stared at the detectives as fear crept across her inquiring eyes, Is it Bill? Did something happen to him?

No one answered immediately and she wailed, No…!

Grasso lowered his voice, We’re very sorry, Mrs. Fane. May we come in?

Ye-yes, she stuttered between sobs, What happened? Is he…?

Grasso nodded his head and took her arm. Yes, he’s gone.

The slight woman collapsed into Grasso’s arms. He led her to a brown couch and they sat together as Harry closed the door and followed.

After a short respite Grasso said, I know it’s a terrible time but we have to ask some questions, it might help us help find out why this happened. Do you think you’re up for it?

Mrs. Fane used a balled up wad of Kleenex to brush aside runaway tears from her face. I can do it. But first tell me how it happened.

The lead detective hesitated and took a deep breath, Suicide with his police weapon.

I knew it! She banged her closed fists against her knees.

Grasso covered her hands with his own, trying to calm her. What do you mean? You suspected something like this.

Yes. His despondency, the late night calls and this. She moved quickly across the room to a small desk. Her hands rifled through the drawer and grasped an envelope. She opened it and thrust it toward Grasso. See for yourself, Detective.

Grasso opened it and read the letter. ‘You’ve carried the guilt for many years. Your time is near. Soon the world will know. You and the others will face retribution. SHAME.’

Grasso showed the letter to Harry. When did this arrive? he asked.

As you can see from the envelope it has no postage. We discovered it in our mailbox last week with our regular mail.

Is that when the calls started?

Yes, shortly after. They came mostly late at night. Bill seemed to know who it was and instructed me not to answer. He was always home to take them. When I asked about the letter and the calls, he said it was something he had to work out. But he didn’t, his whole life was crumbling. It seemed he’d accepted the inevitable.

Do you mind if I take a look around outside, Mrs. Fane? Harry asked.

Her drawn face reddened. No, but why? Do you think I’m in danger?

No, ma’am, just want to check it out. He left through the front door.

Grasso posed some more questions about her husband’s despondency and whether she had any idea about the bizarre letter.

She couldn’t come up with anything.

Harry returned shortly and asked Mrs. Fane for a glass of water.

When she left the room, Grasso asked, What’s up, Harry?

While you were talking with her, I noticed the overflow in the cat’s dish. To most people that’s not a big deal, but I had a feeling, a bad one.

Yeah, so?

Don’t let her go behind the garage, there’s a dead calico cat hanging from a secluded tree limb. And below it a piece of cardboard with ‘YOU’RE NEXT’ written on it.

CHAPTER 3

Mrs. Fane accompanied the detectives to the morgue at BMC to view her husband’s body. At the same time a team of investigators removed the dead cat and threatening sign from her property. They’d inspect the pasteboard for prints or other evidence but weren’t optimistic. A patrol car would make periodic checks on Mrs. Fane and her house, but probability indicated the cryptic message wasn’t for her.

That was tough, Harry said. They’d escorted Mrs. Fane to a patrolman who would bring her back to her home.

It never gets easy.

What about the cat, Tony?

What do you mean?

Harry kicked at an imaginary object. I know it’ll be gone by the time she gets back, and most likely the team. But how does she find out?

It’s our case and call. You said it was secluded.

That’s what I said.

Well hopefully no one saw it. We’ll tell her when it’s absolutely necessary. She’s going through enough anguish now.

Maybe we shouldn’t tell her anything. Might be better if she thinks it just ran off.

That’s a good thought, Harry.

Dr. Herman Wake approached them. I’m glad I caught you before I started my complete exam.

Something to share with us or you just glad to see our smiling faces?

Ah, Detective Grasso, always a ray of sunshine, which is welcome in my gloomy home away from home. But yes, I do have something for you. He took his glasses off and wiped them with a tissue. When I started to remove Sergeant Fane’s clothes for a cursory look before his wife arrived, I discovered the small toe on his left foot had been amputated.

So, that’s not a big deal. People lose toes and fingers all the time, Grasso said.

The ME put his spectacles back on his worn face. Yes, but not soon after death.

That’s weird. Harry rubbed his chin, But how do you know it happened after he died? You said you’d just begun to undress him.

Wake smiled tolerantly at Harry, Detective Carson, do you know how long I’ve been a medical examiner?

The junior detective’s face reddened, Sorry, Doc, I’m sure it’s been a long time. Harry quickly caught himself, I don’t mean you’re ancient or anything.

Don’t say any more, Harry, his partner said, You’re just going into deeper water.

Not to worry, detective, I’ll explain. When I removed his shoe I saw some red on his sock. Upon detaching the stocking, it was quite obvious he was missing his small toe. And to quell any further doubt, only a small amount of blood was present. Blood doesn’t run freely after death, ergo…

We’d never question your findings, Doc. Harry was just trying to gather knowledge on the process. Isn’t that right, Harry?

For sure! Always seeking further education.

Grasso glanced at his partner, Don’t push it. He addressed the ME. You have any idea what was used to remove it?

There wasn’t a lot of skill involved. My best guess at this time would be a set of ordinary metal snips. Of course I’ll know more upon a complete exam.

Will you call us when you have more?

Well, Detective Grasso, although there seem to be questions surrounding Sergeant Fane, the cause of death is clear.

Harry spoke up, The cause may be apparent. But the reason seems to be very much in doubt.

That’s where you gentlemen earn your money. While the missing toe in itself indicates foul play, there is little more I can tell you. Now, if you’ll excuse me. Sergeant Fane is waiting for me.

We’ll talk again, Grasso said as the small man walked away.

You know where to find me, Wake replied over his shoulder, as he hustled down the hall.

Let’s go, Harry, I’m not crazy about this section of BMC.

I’m with you. I never liked hospitals. But, at least when you’re checked in upstairs you have a chance of healing. Down here, your fate is sealed, and not for the good.

Grasso sighed, You can be quite profound, Harry.

Yeah, at times my inner self delves into great depths.

Grasso stared at his partner, Really?

That’s what my Yoga instructor said.

The lead detective shook his head and walked to the stairs.

In contrast to the dreary basement of BMC, outside the sun’s rays shone bright on this warm summer day.

This is more like it, Grasso said as they neared the Ford.

Where we going, Tony?

Back to the lake. He revved up the car. Maybe we’ll get lucky and talk to someone who saw something.

Maybe an owl. According to Doctor Wake, Fane died in the dark.

Very funny. Did your Yoga instructor say you were a comedian too?

No. But I can tell jokes. Wanna hear my newest?

Spare me.

Come on, Tony, it’s more of a riddle.

We have our own puzzle with this case.

After coming from the morgue, we need a laugh.

It is a depressing place, Grasso agreed.

Okay then, try to figure this out. What do they put on a robot’s tombstone?

Are you serious?

Yes, give me an answer.

I don’t believe I agreed to this.

You give up?

Yes, I don’t know. What do they put on a robot’s tombstone? Tell me quick. The suspense is killing me.

Harry stifled a laugh and said loudly, Rust in peace.

Grasso groaned. Do you have any more like that?

The junior detective beamed, Yeah I got a bunch.

Keep them to yourself.

Harry fell silent.

There were a fair number of vehicles in the parking lot when they arrived at the lake. We’ll split up and meet back here in an hour. Let’s see if we can come up with anything, Grasso said, as he parked next to an older gray pickup. And stop moping, you can work on your comic routine later.

Harry perked up. Okay, Tony. I can do better.

They set off in different directions.

An hour later Grasso wiped his sweaty brow, You get anything?

Nothing but bug bites, Harry said slapping at his exposed neck. We should use repellent. I smelled it on Officer Hickey at the crime scene. The bugs weren’t bothering him.

I think I have some in the car. Let’s use it before we go back to the crime scene. You know we’ll need it walking through the woods.

As they were about to enter the car, a tall middle-aged man with a large German shepherd approached them. Are you detectives?

Grasso gave him the once-over. Yes, is there a reason why you asked?

Might be. My name is Lane Green. This is my dog, Rebel.

Harry started to pet the shepherd but bared teeth and a guttural growl stopped him, Not very friendly, Harry said.

The