Cryptic Control: A Mike and Myra Novel

By John M. Garzone

In Cryptic Control, the fourth of their sagas, Mike and Myra head back to familiar Pittsfield, Massachusetts locales to solve a murder that hits close to home. As in the past, they team up with Detective Grasso to follow multiple trails of evidence that are more enigmatic than ever.
For those accustomed to the action, perilous plot twists, hostile adversaries, tender moments and collegial solidarity that our protagonists encounter as they work their cases, there will be no disappointment. If youre new to Mike and Myras exploits, hold on tight--its an exciting ride!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Feb 13, 2014
• ISBN: 9781493170531

John M. Garzone

John M. Garzone lives most of the year in southwest Florida but maintains deep roots and family connections with western Massachusetts. He enjoys spending time with other writers who share their current projects at weekly meetings on the Bradenton campus of the State College of Florida. He is fan of the detective genre in print, on television and in film. He has fun crafting plots and characters for his short stories as well as the Mike and Myra series, including the previously published Crowd Control and Covert Control. All three volumes reflect Mr. Garzone’s deep roots in the Berkshires.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Detective Tony Grasso lifted the collar of his fall weight jacket. It was early October but already the weather had turned raw and cold. He stared down at the woman. The similarities to the previous victim were obvious. The dead eyes glazed with horror, crude whip like streaks lined her face. Her open mouth framed a silent scream; clothes flayed and tattered, hung from her mangled body. She looked to be in her early twenties, with fair complexion. Specks of brown dotted her long blonde hair. He bent closer to the corpse. The fingernails of her right hand were ragged and chipped. The once smooth neck bruised and ripped open. Small bits of dirt and sticks clung to the gouges.

Tony! We have a problem. His new partner, junior detective Harry Carson walked quickly to him.

Yeah, what is it? Besides the dead body we have here?

That pain in the ass reporter Nancy Jones is here with her camera crew demanding to talk to whoever is in charge. And I know that’s not me.

Grasso slowly rose. How the hell did she get here so quick? Even before the M.E.!

I guess they monitor the radio calls.

Yeah, right. Tell her we can’t comment until we have more info or don’t tell her anything. Just keep her away. I’m not in the mood for press right now.

She’s awful persistent, Tony.

Grasso got close to his rookie partner. He could smell his Old Spice after-shave. How tall are you, Harry?

Five foot ten.

And maybe you weigh 190 lbs?

One eighty.

Then, go handle that skinny reporter and keep her away from the crime scene. You can do that, can’t you?

In the cool morning air the junior detective’s face reddened. Sure thing, Tony, I got it.

Grasso shook his head, but hesitated and recalled when he first became a detective. He’d struggled and almost quit because of his hard ass senior partner who jumped on his every indecision. He made a mental note to go easy on Harry.

Grasso had the patrolmen seal off the immediate area and soon the M.E. arrived. Grasso carefully checked out the surrounding area. The body lay off the side of the path that led to Deming Park. The small bespectacled M.E. called to Grasso.

From the temperature I say she’d been dead for about eight hours. Cause of death is questionable. I’m leaning to strangulation. I’ll know more when I get her on the table. Do you want to be there when I do the autopsy? It’ll be some time tomorrow.

"I’ll call you before then, doc.

Grasso walked further along the path. There had to be hundreds of footprints along the busy trail, but he looked for heavy fresh indentions and or changes in the landscape. He came up empty. It all looked the same. Suddenly he stopped. The wind picked up. He felt a chill run down his back. But it wasn’t from the cold. He unbuttoned his jacket and rested his hand on his shoulder holster. He felt eyes on him. Grasso didn’t see or hear anything, but he knew. He moved slowly, taking small steps, lifting his feet high off the terrain. The sensation heightened as he went to his right. He wouldn’t remove his gun for fear of meeting up with a civilian. There were houses on the other side of the wooded pathway.

Grasso spoke loudly. Is anyone there? A small rustle sent his eyes darting to the ground as a small brown squirrel scurried through the underbrush. He momentarily stopped, but his senses were still on alert. His large hands pushed away a good-sized shrub and he reeled back sharply. A dark figure loomed boldly ten yards in front of him. He yanked out his weapon and pointed at the stationary outline.

What the hell? He said aloud, releasing a pent up breath. A tall scraggly scarecrow dressed in old cut up clothes, sticks and grass protruding from empty eye sockets, stared straight at him. Grasso felt a sudden rush of heat spread across his stubbled face. His dark eyes flashed to either side and he hastily put away his thirty-eight.

Hey, Tony, where are you? his partner’s voice sang out.

In here.

Harry came trampling through the foliage. So much for caution, thought Grasso. His partner jumped back as he caught sight of the imposing stick man. Holy shit! That’s scary!

Grasso nodded. What’s your hurry?

Captain wants us back at the station.

Grasso sighed. Already? Crap, we’ve only been here an hour. Okay, let’s go. I can imagine we’re in for a pep talk.

I’m with you, Tony. He glanced over to the scarecrow. I never liked those things as a kid and I still don’t.

You better get used to them. They’re all over the city. You know the contest the Berkshire Eagle is sponsoring for the scariest scarecrow for Halloween.

A look of distaste spread across Harry’s fresh face. Some contest, Tony.

They headed back to the car, leaving the crime scene to the CSI team. A strident yell stopped them in their tracks.

Detective Grasso, can you give me a minute? Nancy Jones and her cameraman intercepted their withdrawal. She was a slender attractive woman in her mid twenties with a lot of energy and ambition. Grasso had crossed paths with her before. At times it wasn’t cordial.

Miss Jones, as my partner already told you, we have nothing. It is just the beginning of our investigation.

I just have a few simple questions, detective. She motioned for her cameraman. Manny get me in the light as close to the detective as you can.

Grasso waved Manny off. No questions, no camera. Let us work the case. Give us a break. I’ll talk to you when I have something to say. Grasso and Harry hurriedly walked to their car as she protested to no avail.

I liked the way you handled that, Tony, Harry said.

Sometimes you need the media and you give them something. Right now we don’t. And we have nothing to give.

Grasso started the Ford and stomped the gas pedal. He turned onto Elm Street and headed to the station. He didn’t have a good feeling for why the captain would call them off the new crime scene.

Did the cap say why he wanted us back to the station? I mean we weren’t there that long.

I don’t know, Tony. But he did sound upset.

Grasso scratched a dark eyebrow. Is the pressure on this fast? I guess we’ll find out soon enough.

Chapter 2

Grasso knocked on the office door.

Come in, a gruff voice responded.

Grasso and Harry entered just as Captain Thomas Cahill hung up his phone. That was the chief wanting to know if you guys had returned.

What the hell, Cap? I drive a Ford, not the batmobile, Grasso said.

I know, Tony, Cahill said holding his burly hands outward palms up in a gesture of futility. His tired eyes showed a touch of exasperation. But you know the chief.

Grasso thought, Don’t I ever!

And he’s pissed because we’re not making progress on the first murdered girl.

Grasso’s gut tightened. It’s only been three days.

I understand, but now the pressure is on. Cahill took a breath. You got called back because of a press conference to be held shortly. Grasso watched as the bulky balding captain rose from his desk.

That wacko, William Minsky will be speaking on doom, gloom, politics and who knows what else.

Aren’t they all the same? Harry piped in, immediately sorry as Grasso’s elbow jolted his ribs.

Harry felt a slow burn spread across his boyish face as the captain’s eyes bored into him.

Grasso spoke quickly. Do you think he knows about the victim at Deming Park?

I’m betting he does. And so does the chief. That’s why Minsky called for a conference on the quick.

A shrill whistle penetrated their ears. The captain scurried to a small table and unplugged the steaming white kettle. He dropped a small porous bag into a large mug and poured from the spout. The strong smell of apple cinnamon herbal tea wafted through their nostrils.

Grasso could never grasp how a hard-boiled burly Irish-man turned out to be a devoted tea-totaler.

Cahill’s face seemed to soften as his heavy lips made contact with the hot liquid.

We want you two to be at that press conference.

Harry looked at Grasso. A quizzical frown broke across his face.

Grasso leaned his face forward, Why us?

Two reasons, Tony, you’re working the case. And the chief wants you there.

What are we expected to do?

Crowd control and whatever else.

Grasso’s face hardened. Crowd control? We’re detectives! Any patrolman can handle that. Come on, cap.

I don’t like it any more than you. I expressed my feelings to the chief and got nowhere. He said you guys are more prepared to handle the whatever else."

And what might that be? Harry asked.

A slurp preceded Cahill’s response. Minsky perceives himself to be a historian. And I’m sure you’ve heard his bullshit about a hundred-year curse re-manifesting on the Berkshires.

We have, said Grasso.

Harry cast a sideways glance at his partner.

Since the first murder, his rhetoric has been ratcheting up fear among the public. And he’s attracted a large following. And now with the second victim, whom I assume has similarities, he has more ammo.

They’re both dead, Grasso said.

Cahill sent a stern look to his lead detective. Just be there. Try to reassure the people.

We can’t give them anything we don’t have. I already went through that with Nancy Jones. And knowing her, I’m sure she’ll be there.

Take care of business, Tony. I’ll talk to you later. He turned his back and went for a refill.

Grasso and Harry walked across the hall to the spacious detectives’ room. They nodded to a couple of guys and moved into their cubicle.

Grasso opened the murder book with the info on the other victim. We have about forty-five minutes, Harry. Let’s try to have some answers if we’re pushed.

They rifled through their sparse information.

Not much here, Tony. Patricia Smally, twenty years old, single, from a typical family with mother and father and no siblings. Lived in Great Barrington, attended Berkshire Community College. Friends say she was studious, quiet, wasn’t in a relationship with anyone and didn’t date much. On the day prior to her to being found, she’d gotten a ride downtown with friends who dropped her off at the bus stop to catch a ride back to Great Barrington. She never made it home. Her parents reported her missing that night. The great Barrington police notified us next day. School kids cutting across backyards on their way home discovered her that morning. Her body was almost entirely covered by leaves.

Grasso looked at his Timex. Another ten minutes and they’d have to leave. He sighed and picked up the M.E.’s report.

‘Death occurred from strangulation and a crushed trachea. Excessive cuts and scratches pre-mortem, many containing foreign substances. Dirt and particles from splintered twigs under her fingernails.’

Harry, how old you figure our second victim is?

I’d say about twenty one.

Yeah, that’s what I thought.

Harry looked out the window. The wind had picked up and refuse danced with the gust. Hey, Tony.

What?

A crowd is starting to form on the steps across the street in front of City Hall.

Grasso rose and joined Harry at the window. He looked out at the old renovated building. The Mayor, tax collector and many other officials called this place home.

Do you think the Mayor will be at the conference, Tony?

Shit, no. He’s probably hiding under his desk with the blinds closed. He wants no part of this fiasco.

I’ll bet the chief is keeping surveillance somewhere.

Most likely, waiting to chew our asses no matter what.

Tony, what’s this stuff about a curse?

Grasso sighed. Supposedly Minsky came up with some old records and an ancient diary dating two hundred years ago. He found references to a so called legend stating that every hundred years a violent fore-ordained event would take place.

Harry’s face lit as he looked at Grasso. What was supposed to happen?

Five fertile young women would be brutally killed in the month of October. It would be a sacrifice to the land to compensate for those who have needlessly ravaged it.

Wow! That is some story. But who would believe it?

Harry, you know that crazy cults, sects and individual psychotics have been documented over the years. And Minsky is just the type to dig up some claptrap like that to get people agitated. I’ll bet you a six-pack he’ll blame the demons, fanatic cult followers, Pittsfield Police Department and probably G.E. for the murders of the two women."

Why us and the G.E.?

Because we haven’t apprehended anyone yet, and the G.E. polluted the land.

How would he even know of a connection between the two murders?

He’ll assume it and he may not be wrong.

An apprehensive shadow crossed his face as he recalled the similarities, two young women, possibly both in college. Dirt and twigs embedded in their bodies and under their fingernails. A small shiver crawled around the back of his neck.

Chapter 3

Grasso and Harry stood to one side of the growing crowd. Tiny flecks of wet snow dampened their uncovered heads and skin. Many of the faces were familiar. The two detectives had lived in Pittsfield most of their lives.

Hey, Tony, how do you like it? The first snow of the season and we’re out in it.

Grasso looked at his partner. Big deal. You call these little flakes snow? Shall I call for the plows?

Unfazed, Harry held out a bare hand and caught one as it dissipated on contact. I like the snow, Tony.

Forget it. There’s Minsky.

A low murmur vibrated from the throng of people as William Minsky’s long arm extended a demonstrative greeting. A smile graced his clean-shaven pockmarked face. He held up his hands as the snowy droplets disappeared into his crop of white hair.

Good citizens of Pittsfield, thank you for attending this impromptu, but important meeting. He folded his hands and looked downward. He remained still for a short time and slowly looked out to the crowd. I know some of you have heard, but for the ones who haven’t, he paused for affect. Another young woman has been murdered.

A buzz rambled through the assembled mass.

Yes, yes, I understand your emotions. But what of the family of this woman, and, his clenched fist shot upward, the other victim who died in the same horrible way, her loved ones? They seek justice. A few affirmative responses emitted from the crowd.

Minsky’s voice grew loud. His tall frame seemed larger on the steps of the building. What is being done? Where are the police?

Here we go, Grasso said as he rocked back on his heels.

A louder reaction arose from the same general area as before. They’re most likely Minsky’s plants to incite the people, Grasso said to his partner.

It seems to be working. They’re getting worked up, Harry replied, looking over the crowd.

And let me tell you more good people. Many of you know my background in travel and history, the places and mysteries I’ve opened to the public. He clasped his hands and thrust them forward. I hesitate to speak of this but circumstances command that I do.

The sea of inquisitive faces attentively stared at him.

The imposing figure split his hands. I’ve learned of a hideous curse called down upon our own Berkshires. His audience became eerily quiet.

His voice boomed. A prophecy that is coming true! Murderous acts bearing fruit before our very eyes.

What is this curse? A bellowing voice shouted out from the crowd.

The people remained silent anticipating his reply.

He lifted his face accepting the cool precipitation pattering down. His voice shouted, An oath of death! Gasps and sighs escaped from the masses.

Minsky ranted on. Every hundred years during the month of October, five young women will die. A sacrifice to the land, to compensate for those who have needlessly savaged it. The attention of the crowd remained focused on him. And who may that be? For one, the retreating G.E. conglomerate. They’ve polluted our beautiful land and waters with PCB’s. The poison festering under the grounds of schools our children attend. He hesitated. Could demons be responsible? It’s a legitimate question, my friends. There are many unexplained events in this mysterious world of ours. Minsky’s voice rose again. Right here in our great city we have witches. Yes, you heard me correctly, I said witches. Or as they call themselves, the Wicca, a supposed religious group. They believe the land and water are supreme, that the moon controls our destiny. They could be behind these murders. Who are they trying to fool? They’re an evil people hiding behind pagan beliefs. He thrust both arms upward and roared. Down with Wicca! Destroy them and the G.E. and the curse may be lifted. The police are doing nothing. We must help ourselves!

Grasso became aware that Minsky had heightened their anxiety to the brink of hysteria. He turned to Harry, That’s it, let’s go.

They rushed to the steps and stood in front of Minsky. This assembly is over. And if I hear or see any violent movement, you will be arrested. He gestured across the street. You know where the station is.

Everyone leave! Let’s not turn this into something no one wants, Harry bellowed to the crowd.

Minsky tried to protest.

Grasso got face to face with the speaker. Say one more word and I’ll arrest you for inciting a riot.

A condescending smile spread across his face. But detective—

Shut up and don’t move!

Wouldn’t think of it, officer.

Grasso’s hard eyes silenced him.

A few of Minsky’s supporters voiced their protests, but along with the mumbling crowd, left without a disturbance. The detectives had managed to defuse a potential problem peacefully.

Grasso turned to the smirking Minsky. On second thought you’re under arrest. Put your hands behind your back Grasso proceeded to cuff him.

The self-appointed historian began a vociferous protest, but was silenced by the tightening of the metal bracelets

Read him his rights, Harry.

Chapter 4

Grasso’s insides steamed as he listened to Minsky and his high priced attorney having an animated conversation with Nancy Jones at the station.

The would-be historian held out his arms showing his reddened wrists to the ambitious reporter and thrust his clenched fist at Grasso. He’s the one, an overzealous cop abusing his authority.

The Berkshire Eagle reporter’s eager eyes swung from Minsky’s pockmarked face to his fervent gesture, then locked onto Grasso and hurriedly scribbled onto her note pad.

The zealot continued speaking to Jones. You were there! I was conducting a legal conference when he and his fellow Gestapo officer burst into the meeting. They intimidated the assembly with arrest threats. He ran his fingers through his thick white shock of hair and feigned the indignation of the innocent falsely accused. A long sigh accompanied his protest. And then for no reason, he shackled me with unnecessary force and publicly humiliated me. Minsky grasped the shoulder of his attorney. As you can see, in a very short time, Mr. Wiggins had me released and the unwarranted frivolous charges dismissed.

My client has endured an uncalled for and distressing situation. In contrast to Minsky, Walter Wiggins’ bald head threw off a halogen glare and as he spoke small rivulets of saliva shone on his thick lips. He wrapped a ham-like arm around Minsky’s shoulder, Mr. Minsky will have a further statement to issue in due time. For now he needs rest to recuperate from this harrowing ordeal.

They walked with conviction past Grasso, challenging eyes glaring at the detective.

Grasso returned the stare; a small sardonic smile creased his rugged face. He hastily turned and quick-stepped to his office before the scurrying Nancy Jones could catch up to him.

Hey, Tony, that mouth-piece Wiggins sure has a nice car, Harry said, standing at the window, looking down through the snow flakes as Minsky and his lawyer got into a brand new Lincoln.

Well maybe you should have been an attorney, Harry.

Naw, I never liked Lincolns, too big.

Grasso looked at his partner and shook his head. Anything new on the second victim?

As you know, no identification was found on her, same as the first, waiting on the prints. And we were called away. It’s only been a few hours.

Yeah, I know. Let’s go back to the scene. We can canvas the neighborhood. Maybe someone saw something.

Their unmarked car made its way to Ontario Street and parked just before the entrance to the park. Light snow and darkened leaves fluttered in the wind. Soon twilight would be upon them. The two detectives walked the crime scene again. Nothing out of the ordinary, no excessive blood stains where the body was found. And the blowing gusts hindered their search, not much of anything.

Grasso swore and spit away a leaf particle that had blown into his mouth. Let’s question some people. We’re getting nowhere here.

Okay, Tony, Harry said, stuffing his uncovered hands into his coat pockets.

They went up and down Ontario Street interviewing the residents. All they got were negative responses and fearful questions. They ended up on the receiving end of the questions regarding the safety of the neighborhood.

Well, that went well, deadpanned Harry as they walked back to the crime scene.

Maybe we’ll get lucky at this last house. It’s the area I was at this morning when you came to inform me about the captain wanting us to return immediately. It’s separated and partially hidden from the pathway to the park by dense bushes and small trees.

Yeah and you know what else.

What?

That freaking scarecrow.

Come on, Harry. Be real.

I don’t like them.

They rang the bell to the green cape. An older man with thinning gray hair wearing a red flannel shirt and brown corduroys answered.

Good evening, sir. I’m Detective Grasso and this is my partner Detective Carson.

They held out their badges. May we come in and ask you a few questions?

You can, he said as he led them to a small living room, But I’m afraid I won’t be much help to you.

He motioned for them to sit on a worn couch. They chose to stand.

You never know, sir, most people think that, but sometimes the smallest thing can be of assistance in an investigation, Grasso said.

Harry flipped out a small bound notebook.

Okay, fire away, the senior said as he eased into a soft chair and smiled wanly, have to rest my aching bones.

By all means, sir, many a day I feel the same way. Grasso paused for a second. Were you at home last night and this morning, Mr.—I’m sorry I didn’t get your name.

He sat up a little straighter. It’s Wright, Harold Wright. And yes I was, with my wife Emma. She’s at Bingo right now. He shook his head slowly, "can’t stand that game, I don’t know why she goes, it’s so