Question of Vendetta

By K. A. Williams

College students Morgan and his girlfriend Emma plan to make love in her SUV. They're parked behind the bookstore when men in ski masks interrupt them. They drag Morgan out of the vehicle and beat him, showing no signs of stopping until Frankie drives up. The men leave quickly in the SUV taking Emma away from Morgan.

 

Frankie, who used to be a paramedic, takes the injured boyfriend home with him, because Morgan recognized the tattoo on a man's wrist and knows that man is a cop. 

 

Morgan now understands that Emma's father, who's rich and powerful, had him beaten up by crooked cops. Afraid that Emma's father wants him dead, he assumes another name. "Marty" works (and lives) at Frankie's Pizzeria with Frankie, his wife, Angela, and their daughter until tragedy strikes five years later.

 

Did the family's enemies from Italy seek revenge in the name of vendetta or was someone else behind the crimes committed? Will Morgan, aka Marty, come face to face with Emma or her father again and what will be the outcome of such a meeting?

 

Read the 36,000 word mystery/crime novella and find out.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: K. A. Williams
• Release date: Aug 6, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201061760

K. A. Williams

North Carolinian K. A. Williams has had over 300 stories and poems published in many different magazines including SavagePlanets, The Creativity Webzine, Yellow Mama, The Blotter, Corner Bar, 5-7-5 Haiku Journal, View From Atlantis, The Sirens Call, Tigershark, and The Yard: Crime Blog. ​​ Apart from writing, K. A. enjoys music (especially classic rock), CYOA, and science fiction movies. 

Book preview

Chapter One

I found Bell's blue Honda in the long paved driveway of a two-story brick house with a 'For Sale By Owner' sign posted in the carefully landscaped front yard. She wasn't in her car, so I parked behind the Honda and got out.

The narrow stone sidewalk led up several stone steps to the red front door which was open. I went inside. Bell! I shouted. She didn't answer. I kept calling her name as I quickly searched through all the rooms, but there was no sign of her at all on this floor. The vacant house was eerily silent.

My heart was pounding in fear by the time I went upstairs. I found her in a bedroom on a carpeted floor, completely wrapped up in what seemed to be a flag, with only her head and bare feet visible.

Her eyes were closed and I felt cold and dizzy, but when I touched her face it was warm. Bell! Wake up! She only fluttered her eyelids in response. I was starting to panic, but I took a deep breath and tried to calm down.

Where was her purse? I found it under a pile of clothes and became angry. I dumped it on the floor. Out fell a hairbrush, makeup, perfume, keys, cell phone, and other things.

My hands shook and when I grabbed the phone, I dropped it. I picked it back up and called 911. I asked for paramedics and gave the operator directions to this house. She asked a few questions, then said that help was on the way.

After that I called Frankie's Homestyle Pizzeria. I wasn't quite sure what to tell them, but I wanted to tell them something. I called several times and kept getting a busy signal. Long order or phone trouble?

The fire truck arrived first, a police car seconds later, and shortly after that came the ambulance. Soon the upstairs was full of people, and I went downstairs to get out of the way.

One of the two uniformed police officers that had arrived came back downstairs when I did. What is your name, sir? he asked.

Martin Porter, I said

Did you do that to her, Mr. Porter? he asked.

No, of course I didn't. She was like that when I found her.

When was that, Mr. Porter?

I checked my watch. About twenty minutes ago.

Do you know her, sir?

Yes. Her name is Isabella Garibaldi. She is the daughter of my boss, Francesco Garibaldi. He owns Frankie's Homestyle Pizzeria. Bell didn't come back after doing deliveries, and when Frankie called her on the cell phone, she didn't answer. He got worried and sent me to look for her. She was doing deliveries in this area, and I've been hunting her since 1 pm. I found her just like that and called 911.

Does she have any enemies that you know of?

No, I said.

The paramedics brought her down on the stretcher. She was wrapped in a blanket, her eyes still closed. The other cop had the green, white, and red flag in one plastic evidence bag and her clothes, phone, purse and contents in another.

Will she be all right? I asked a paramedic as they wheeled her out to the waiting ambulance. He didn't answer me.

The uniformed cops kept me there until a detective arrived. He asked the same questions, plus a few more, then told me to come down to the police station later.

When I left I drove over the speed limit, because I wanted to tell Bell's parents what happened to her before the police did. A 'Closed' sign hung on the outer door. What was going on? Frankie wouldn't close in the middle of the day. Had the cops been here already? I knocked but no one came to the door, so I opened it.

Immediately I saw the reason for the busy signal. The black phone on the counter was off the hook. Pizza toppings littered the floor in the kitchen. I stepped over green and red peppers, onions, pepperoni, and cheese. A pool of red caught my eyes. I stooped down, stuck my fingers in it and smelled. Tomato sauce. The sauce mixed with flour on the floor, and a trail of red and white led to the walk-in freezer.

I didn't want to open that freezer, but I grabbed the handle and pulled. Frankie hung by tied wrists to a metal ceiling hook. His clothes, face, and hair were streaked with sauce and flour. His eyes were closed and he looked asleep, but he must have been locked in that freezer for a long time. I held my breath as I checked his pulse. There wasn't one. Tears welled up in my eyes and spilled down my face as I left the freezer.

After I replaced the phone receiver back on its hook, I took a few deep breaths before I dialed 911. When I got the operator, I stuttered, T-There's been a m-murder, and I told her the address.

It wasn't until I hung up the phone that I thought about Frankie's wife, Angela. Where had she been when Frankie was being assaulted and murdered? Had she been murdered too?

I hurried through the open door beside the bathroom and up the wooden stairs that led to the living quarters, trying not to think about what I might find. Their bedroom door was open. I went in.

Angela lay naked on the bed, each wrist and ankle tied to a separate bedpost. Her clothes were on the floor. One white handkerchief blindfolded her, and another gagged her mouth.

She looked pale but I knew she was alive and conscious, because she jerked when I gasped. Don't be afraid, Angela. It's me, Marty. I'm going to call 911, then get a blanket to cover you. I'll be right back.

The operator said police and a medic were already dispatched to this address. I told her there was another victim - female, middle-aged, tied, blindfolded, gagged and maybe raped, I didn't know. She tried to ask me more questions but I hung up.

I found a blanket, covered Angela, then removed the blindfold and gag. Over the stream of what was probably Italian profanity, I could hear approaching sirens. You'll be all right. They'll be here soon. I should go downstairs.

Please don't leave me, Marty, she begged, so I didn't.

Many heavy footsteps sounded downstairs, then came up. Firemen, policemen and paramedics crowded into the bedroom. One young overzealous cop grabbed my arm, tugged me from the room out into the hall, and whipped out his handcuffs.

My ears began to ring. I'm the one who called, I protested.

That doesn't mean you didn't tie her up and kill -

No, I didn't, I interrupted. Then I said quietly, Unless whoever did this to her told her, she doesn't know Frankie is dead. Please have some sympathy. Don't you know what just happened to her daughter?

The cop didn't look sympathetic, but he let go of my arm.

I pushed my way back into the bedroom where the paramedics were in the process of examining her. Were you raped? one asked.

Yes, she said, tears rolling down her face. She had been freed from her bonds and sat up slowly, the blanket clutched to her chest. But not by Marty. He would never do such a horrible thing. Marty smells of tomatoes and spices like my Frankie. The two men who raped me smelled of beer and cigarettes.

The paramedics took her away. I hoped she wouldn't see what had happened to her husband on the way out. The older cop pointed a finger at the younger cop who went downstairs, while he stayed with me and asked questions. Then he told me to come downstairs and wait for the homicide detective that would be here soon.

I went downstairs with the cop who then joined his partner. As I walked by the freezer, I looked in the door. No paramedics were there which didn't surprise me. I'd known he was dead. Police photographers were now taking pictures of Frankie and the scene of his murder. Sudden tears welled up in my eyes and I wanted somewhere private to cry. I locked myself in the bathroom and wept.

I wasn't sure how much time had passed when I heard voices.

I told him not to leave, that a homicide detective would want to question him. I didn't regard him as a suspect at the time. Do you want me to put out an APB on him?

Someone tried the bathroom door. I don't think that will be necessary, Officer Randall. I'll take it from here.

When I heard a knock on the door I opened it. A dark-haired man stood there. His green eyes seemed gentle, but I didn't like or trust any police officer. I doubted he would be an exception.

Martin Porter? he asked. Even his voice was gentle.

Yes.

I'm a homicide detective, and I'd like to ask you some questions.

All right. I stepped out of the bathroom.

The questions he asked were almost identical to the ones I'd already been asked by the uniformed officers. Were they trying to trip me up or something?

Am I suspect? I asked.

Should you be?

No. I spent an hour answering police questions about Bell, before that I was hunting her, before that Frankie was alive. Angela told the officer that she knew I didn't rape her. Why would you suspect me of killing Frankie?

Because the person who killed Frankie doesn't have to be the same person who raped Angela.

Persons, I corrected him. Angela told the officer that two men raped her and that I was neither of them. So you're saying there could have been three men involved?

We don't have any answers. Only questions. Maybe Isabella Garibaldi will give us some answers when she is able to talk.

Is she going to be all right? I asked. How could someone do something like that to her? She's one of the sweetest people I know, she doesn't have any enemies. Who would do that to her?

That's what we're going to find out, Mr. Porter.

Are we done? I asked. I'd really like to get out of here, please. I'd also like to go see Bell. Is she allowed visitors, do you know?

What's your relationship with Miss Garibaldi, Mr. Porter?

His eyes were penetrating now, less gentle, more inquisitive. Like a cop.

My relationship? What does that mean? I asked.

Do you live here with the family? Are you a relative?

No, I just work for them.

I guess that did sound strange. An employee that lived with his employers. I didn't want to explain anything