Prey to the Lord: A Detective John Bello Novel

By Frank Catanzano

The honorable organization Empowering Children is committed to mentoring kids from broken homes. At least, thats ostensibly their pupose. In reality, EC is a clandestine organization comprised of men who trade child pornography and molest children. Now, theyre being hunted by a religious fanatic who is murdering them one by one in increasingly violent ways.

Detective John Bello and his partner, Barry Schmidt, lead a skilled team in charge of identifying and stopping this zealous serial killer, despite their moral qualms over protecting the monsters of the ECwhose membes include priests, judges, and powerful businessmen. The killer has somehow obtained the secret EC membership list and uses it to his advantage.

The murderer is a master of disguise who believes he has been ordered by God to remove these perverts from society. Cunning and ruthless, he eliminates the organizations members while harboring a dark secret that drives his actions, in the name of the Lord. Due to a head wound sustained in Vietnam, Bello developed a special ability that enables him to see events from a different point of view. It is this skill that will lead him to his killer, but can he do so before the dangerous psychopath achieves his apparently divine goal?

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Jan 19, 2018
• ISBN: 9781532035821

Frank Catanzano

Frank Catanzano is a journalist and musician. He and his band, The Express, play clubs and casinos in the Pittsburgh area. A former public relations director for the Pittsburgh Symphony, he has worked for entertainers such as Marvin Hamlisch and Jerry Lewis. Prey to the Lord is his fourth novel.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

Vietnam

1974

HE WAS SO CLOSE TO the VC he could smell rice and bean sprouts on his breath. His face painted green, Lieutenant John Bello crouched in heavy jungle undergrowth watching the soldier and his platoon slowly hack their way through the jungle over growth. Bello was on his last tour of duty in Nam as a member of a Special Operations Task Force and commander of a SEAL team. His unit had been serving as consultants to the South Vietnamese, but its new assignment was to break the Viet Cong’s National Front for the Liberation of South Vietnam’s grip on the Cambodian eastern border.

Cambodia’s weak military effort to keep the VC out of the region was futile, and more than 40,000 enemy troops were using it as a key base of operations. Four U.S. Navy SEAL teams were supporting Cambodia’s military operations to shore up the South Vietnamese government’s security by eliminating the cross-border threat.

It was the tropical monsoon season, and the high temperatures and heavy precipitation made movement through the dense jungle difficult and slow. Every creature that could bite or sting surrounded the soldiers, making life in Vietnam’s jungle a demoralizing proposition at best.

Bello kept his breathing shallow and didn’t move a muscle as he cradled his M76 submachine gun and waited with his team of forty SEALS, who were hidden in dense jungle foliage. A VC line of nearly one hundred soldiers was silently moving through the bush less than a few yards from the Americans. Suddenly, the line was ordered to stop and spread out. As they did, one of the VC spotted a SEAL and all hell broke loose. The jungle lit up like a July 4th celebration with bright, deadly red streaks of automatic weapons, mortars and machineguns illuminating the previously quiet bush.

Bello’s team began to take on heavy fire. The Cong outnumbered the Americans, who valiantly attempted to hold ground. He yelled to the radio operator to call for helicopters to lay down air support cover fire. Within minutes, two gunships heavily armed with M60 machineguns, multi-barreled 7.62 mm Gatling guns and rocket launchers came in low and fast at the coordinates provided and began spraying the VC with heavy fire.

The VC held their ground, using AK-47 and other Chinese and Soviet-provided assault weapons, effectively pinning down Bello and his men. His unit was taking on heavy casualties, and Bello ordered an evacuation ship to land in a nearby clearing. The SEALS carried their fallen comrades to the helicopter as the VC moved closer. Bello and his men returned fire as the chopper’s door gunners sprayed the area, providing cover for his men as they climbed safely aboard the evacuation copter.

Bello went back for a missing soldier. He reached the critically wounded soldier and began dragging him toward the aircraft. Then an explosion and searing pain and everything went dark.

40722.png

John Bello woke up in the 12th evacuation unit, his head heavily bandaged. A nurse approached his bed.

Whe…am I? What happe…ned? Bello asked the nurse, the searing pain in his head making it difficult to speak.

You’re in the evacuation hospital in Cu Chi. You and the wounded men in your unit were transferred here yesterday.

How ma..ny? Bello asked.

Fourteen men, Lieutenant Bello. You were hit by shrapnel trying to get one of them to the evacuation aircraft, but you’re safe now. You sustained a serious wound to your forehead, but it’s not life threatening. With a little rest and healing, you’ll be back charming the ladies in no time, she said smiling.

As she left the room, Bello thought fourteen men out of forty under my command? My God…my God! How could I have let that happen?

40644.png

Bello’s recuperation and attendant physical therapy was an arduous process, made more difficult with the searing headaches that came and went. He was transferred to the Naval Medical Hospital Center in San Diego, where he began to display odd behavior. To pass the time, he would decipher puzzles, increasingly complex cryptograms, math problems, code words and anagrams in astonishingly fast times. Bello was at a loss to explain his sudden prowess.

During one interview with a staff psychologist, Bello solved the newly created Rubik’s Cube, in eighteen seconds, which had never been done. The doctor was astonished at the seemingly impossible time to crack the cube and decided to put Bello through a series of tests to determine how he could perform such feats.

Bello also began experiencing the ability to sense or to ‘see’ an event after it happened. One afternoon he casually picked up a magazine that had been the property of a patient who recently died. He experienced an involuntary shock, like a small amount of electricity passing through his body. Then he saw the deceased man, surrounded by family, some of them crying. He could only make out the faces of the mourners for a few moments, and then they disappeared. Bello was, at first, alarmed at this unusual ability, but after a time he grew to understand that he had developed what was referred to as a sixth sense, the ability to see and hear things that cannot be seen or heard by ordinary individuals. He slowly learned to control it.

Dr. Jules Metanberg, the well-known director of the hospital’s psychiatric unit, tested Bello during his recuperation by giving him articles of clothing and jewelry that belonged to his own friends and family. Simply by holding them for a few moments, Bello could accurately describe what some of them were doing, as well as what they looked like. In his report, he wrote:

Patient John Bello is exhibiting signs of a rare condition called ‘Acquired Savant Syndrome,’ likely caused by the head trauma he experienced during combat in Vietnam He can not only solve arduous brainteasers and puzzles surprisingly fast, Lt. Bello has reported that he can sometimes visualize events or fragments of an event that has already taken place– conversations, smells and glimpses of people – simply by holding an object that was part of the event itself, such as a piece of clothing or jewelry. This is called retro-cognition or post-cognition and was first identified in 1843 by Frederick Meyers, a psychic researcher, who was an early proponent of the sudden display of a patient’s paranormal brain function, because of an injury to the right temporal lobe, which patient Bello experienced from his head wound. It is my hypotheses that Lt. Bello has Acquired Savant Syndrome, which will not hinder his recuperation process and may even serve him well in future endeavors if he can learn to control it.

When Bello was released from the naval hospital he returned to his hometown of Pittsburgh, where he completed his degree program in business administration at the University of Pittsburgh. He then enrolled in the Pittsburgh Police Academy, much to the chagrin of his father, Joe. Joe Bello couldn’t reconcile his son’s efforts to forge a career in law enforcement, with his own underworld activities that broke or skirted the law on nearly a daily basis. He told his wife, Marjorie, that John’s decision to become a cop could undermine his efforts to get lucrative construction contracts from the top corporations in Pittsburgh. Many of those contracts were attained by arm-twisting and threats of leg breaking.

Why in heaven’s name would any organization care if your son was a policeman?

Joe Bello could only think of how he was going to explain that to the capos who spearheaded organized crime in the city and who were Bello’s largest benefactors—in return for very large kickbacks.

CHAPTER 1

Pittsburgh

1999

BOYS AND GIRLS, REMEMBER TO be kind to each other, play nicely and mind your mommies and daddies, recited Ted Monroe, as he gazed into the camera with his most sincere expression. And please remember what your Uncle Teddy always says.

The camera pulled back and cut to the group of children gathered on the set of Monroe’s Uncle Teddy’s Neighborhood. They chanted in unison, And most of all, be kind to yourself.

As the music came up and the credits scrolled, Ted Monroe hugged some of the little girls, rubbing their backs with his hands, which wandered lower as he smiled and asked how they are doing in school. The young girls were so excited to be the subject of Uncle Teddy’s attention they didn’t even notice as his hands slip down to their buttocks. He loved having the little girls sit on his lap, so he could feel his erection sliding between their tiny butt cheeks.

As the children’s parents filtered onto the sound stage to retrieve their kids, Uncle Teddy released the girls and mingled with the parents, posing for photos as the station’s photographer snapped candid shots to commemorate the occasion for them.

Ted Monroe eventually broke free and made his way to the station’s dressing rooms in the rear of the stage. He paused a moment to read a bulletin posted from the SAG-AFTRA union about legislation affecting digital theft and royalties due artists who give public performances. As he scanned the notice, one of the segment producers quietly slid beside him.

Uncle Teddy, surely an artist of your stature need not be concerned with such mundane issues as residuals and theft of service, said John Aiken, a long-time producer of WONE broadcasting’s award-winning shows.

Monroe glanced at Aiken. Go fuck yourself, Aiken, he said with a fake smile. You, of little talent, who organizes and arranges but doesn’t do. These mundane issues will never apply to you. So be gone, back to your scenery, cameras and scripts, and leave the entertainment to the artists.

Such as yourself? Aiken interrupted.

Particularly to one such as myself. This station wouldn’t be even relevant if it weren’t for my show.

Uncle Teddy, Aiken, also smiling, said slowly, One of these days someone’s going to wipe that shit-eating smirk off your face. And I hope I’m there to see it. Feeling comfortable as having the last word, Aiken whirled and walked away. But Monroe wasn’t quite finished.

John, those who lack talent expect things to happen automatically. It’s a damn good thing you have people like me around to make things happen, he said to Aiken’s back. The retreating producer never responded or looked back. He just flipped him the bird.

That’s a well-considered response, thought Monroe, smiling, as he continued to his dressing room. As was his habit, he headed straight for the full-length mirror to check himself out. His dyed blond hair was still perfectly coiffed, hanging below his ears and culminating in bangs across the breadth of his forehead, giving him the look of a medieval court jester. The kids loved him, and with his fun-loving, happy Uncle Teddy persona, tall and thin, he was immediately recognizable no matter where he went in public. Ted Monroe, who always had an expensive Cuban cigar jammed between his teeth, had grown to be an icon in Pittsburgh. He was constantly in the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette’s Seen column raising money for an institution or lending his star power to a local hospital’s community outreach program.

Ted Monroe was loved and cherished by not only parents, whose children grew up with Uncle Teddy, but also with the city’s movers and shakers who knew they could tap into his electric current when they really needed a promotional power charge.

As Monroe sorted through his fan mail, his cell played his show’s theme song, Be Kind, be Good, and be a Friend. Never married, rumors that he was gay persisted but never proven. He pressed the green button, recognizing the phone number of the incoming call.

What do you want now? he snapped into the phone. He listened intently. No, I can’t meet you right now. I must attend one of those fucking boring staff meetings here at the station. It’s mandatory that I be there. After a moment, he relented. Alright, I can get free about 7 p.m. and I’ll meet you at the church, okay and then we’ll go from there. See you later."

Monroe usually liked to make confession before they went to his house, which was a bogus attempt at being perceived as a conscientious Catholic. He never mentioned the many children he molested to a priest.

Hell, their totals probably would trump mine, he thought wryly.

His thoughts returned to the phone call and his lover on the other end of the line. The sex with him may be good, but what a pain in the ass he was, he said aloud after he hung up and was putting on a fresh white shirt. He stopped and regarded himself in the mirror. You dog. You still have it, he said, a smirk spreading across his face.

As predicted, the WONE staff meeting produced a high level of ennui among the station’s management and talent, who continually yawned and shifted positions in their seats. This evening’s topic, prepared by the station’s EVP, the smarmy and obese Wilford Rowland, addressed ratings.

Our ratings are slipping precipitously into the shitter. What do we do collectively and individually about it? he asked the group. WONE, promoted as The One to Watch, was the Pittsburgh affiliate of a major network that had been ranked number one by Neilson among the coveted 18 to 49-year-old demographics but had fallen to number three ranking. Rowland outlined a series of belt-tightening measures that the station execs dreamt up and were preparing to institute. Monroe was pleased that his show was always rated at the top or near the top of the station’s entertainment offerings. He was ‘golden’ at WONE and in his mind, given the public good he was responsible for, he was an entertainment god.

During the meeting, Rowland hurled innuendos about certain staff members showing up late and not doing quality work as befitting a broadcasting juggernaut such as WONE. He threatened that there would eventually have to be staff reductions if the numbers didn’t improve. The meeting concluded with an extended Q&A session, much to the chagrin of many who just wanted to get the hell out of there. After the grumbling group dispersed, Monroe walked out into the crowded parking lot toward his S-Class Mercedes, which took up two spaces because Monroe didn’t want another vehicle anywhere near his.

It was winter in Pittsburgh, with a temperature of 35 degrees and was already dark at 5 p.m. He stood and looked at the modern concrete edifice that served as WONE’s headquarters and had to admit to himself that for many reasons he loved the sight of the architecturally surreal building. This would turn out to be the last time Ted Monroe, aka Uncle Teddy, would ever see it.

CHAPTER 2

HE KNEW TED MONROE’S ROUTINE of making confession before they met. He also knew it was a bullshit ploy to allow parishioners to see him making a pious effort at getting absolution for his sins, which in their minds surely couldn’t have been serious. Uncle Teddy was as pristine as the driven snow, which thank God, was not currently slamming the Pittsburgh area. The Lord had given him an assignment, and in His power over nature, ensured him that the weather would be conducive for the task at hand.

He waited, hidden, in the shadows of the choir loft for the last penitents to leave the confessional and pull up his or her scarf to venture out into the darkening skies and dropping temperatures. He had selected the New Year’s holiday when parishioners would be on vacation or at parties to lessen his chances of being seen. But the disguise he was wearing was chosen carefully. A blond wig, dark foundation makeup and sunglasses. No one would recognize him, and if there were a description given to the police of someone acting suspicious, they would be looking for a person who didn’t exist.

He stood waiting patiently for the last few penitents to leave the church. His hand lightly caressed the ice pick taped to his forearm, virtually undetectable from prying eyes. He carefully felt its sharpened point. There, there my sweet instrument of death, he thought, it won’t be long until you have your just rite of blood. You shall visit God’s vengeance down upon the head of this sinner who has forsaken all that is good in the Catholic Church. He’s a pervert who has embarked upon a journey that will end in the desecration of his position as one of Your appointed shepherds of this parish’s flock and unknowing members of the community itself. He is a Judas and they deserve better.

A blast of frigid air sliced briefly through the nave as the final penitent slowly closed the door in the narthex leading to the street. The church was empty and silent. He crept slowly toward the confessional, lingering in the shadows of the darkening nave. Vigil candles flickered across the faces of the statues of the saints, giving the illusion of movement. He felt that they were watching him, condoning the act he was about to commit in the name of the church and as commanded by God Himself. It had to be done.

He was waiting in the confessional as Monroe entered his side, making just enough noise to let the priest know he had another penitent. But this ‘penitent’ was about to suffer God’s judgment for the many sins he had committed.

Disguising his voice with a raspy low whisper, he began with the obligatory What is it you have to tell me, my son.

Bless me father, for I have sinned, Monroe began. I have taken His name in vain in stressful situations, and the other day I swore at a co-worker, belittling his value to the station.

The faux priest began to question him as to the perceived gravity of his sins, the hypocrite. How dare he only confess to these benign acts. I am the one who has been staunch in his love of the Catholic Church and all that it stands for. What right does this perverted entertainer have to be forgiven for the commandments he has broken? He lowered the volume of his voice even more so that the Monroe had to lean close to the mesh to hear him.

My son, your penance today is to say three Hail Mary’s and two Acts of Contrition.

Okay, father, Monroe replied, as he thought about the bullshit that priests made you go through to absolve yourself of sin. And they’re the ones molesting the kids. He could appreciate that.

You must confess to the horrible transgressions you have made! The Lord is watching you and the abominations you have committed! He began to elevate his voice as anger overtook him. He suddenly and violently thrust the ice pick through the mesh, directly into Monroe’s eye socket. He emitted a low grunt as he fell to the floor, his brain functions ceasing within a fraction of a second.

He paused as the stillness of the dead TV star was confirmed. That is when he said in his own voice, Farewell forever transgressor of all that is holy. May you already be facing God’s wrath. Alleluia! He quietly opened the door to the confessional, and seeing not a soul in sight, quickly made his way back through the shadows and out into the snowy streets.

CHAPTER 3

JOHN BELLO AND HIS STRIKING blonde companion for the night, ripped at each other’s clothing as they rode the elevator to his apartment. Bello was relieved that it was only 6 p.m. and most of the tenants were at work, with the exception of Mrs. Stanowitz, the old bat who was always spying on her neighbors, seemingly fascinated by their mundane comings and goings. She hated Bello with a passion, because of what she termed his loose morals and addiction to sex. She told anyone who would listen that Bello had a different bed companion every night. That was only partly true.

Bello, as a detective in the Pittsburgh Homicide Bureau, was obligated to live within