MASS MURDER (28 page)

He sighed and rubbed his eye sockets before starting the car.

“God is in the details,” he said under his breath, patting Grosvner on the head.
“And you’re a good dog.”

Grosvner merely wagged his tail and licked his hand.

Chapter Nineteen

The next morning, Giorgio rolled over and winced at the sharp pain in his head.
A cursory examination told him he’d grown a lump the size of a golf ball overnight.
When he threw an arm out to his wife, he found only a rumpled pile of cold sheets beside him.
Raised voices downstairs reminded him it was Monday and that Angie would be getting the kids ready for school.
Groaning, he hauled himself out of bed and staggered to the shower.

By the time
he entered the kitchen
he was
thinking that God had a way of healing bad situations.
His harrowing experience the night before was sure to evaporate Angie’s foul mood
. A
nd the physical evidence, namely the lump on his head, would bring out her natural instinct to nurse him back to health.
He could almost feel her fingers gently probing his scalp, waking up other parts of his body.
He slumped in the kitchen doorway just waiting for the right moment to tell his story.

The kitchen was alive with activity.
Grosvner sat behind Angie as she busied herself at the counter making lunches.
Both children sat at the table having cereal and arguing over which one would sleep with the dog that night.
Angie turned from the counter to give Tony his lunch just as Grosvner decided to snatch a discarded Cheerio from the floor.
Her foot caught under his belly throwing her forward and catapulting the lunchbox out of her hand.
Grosvner tracked its path as it opened mid-flight, throwing the sandwich and bag of chips against the wall next to Giorgio
,
and
dropping
the apple squarely into
his
mouth as if it were a well-rehearsed trick.
The dog accepted his good luck with grace and removed himself to a corner to enjoy the unexpected snack
. T
he children just sat with their mouths open.

“Oh, that animal!” Angie fumed, steadying herself with a hand on the back of a chair.

Tony looked down with a smile.
“Hey, thanks Grosvner.
Now I don’t have to eat it!”

Angie crossed around the table to pick up the sandwich and chips and return them to the lunch box.
Then she shoved it across the table with a look at her son
even
a moron could have interpreted.
Tony decided to act.

“I have to get my books, Mom.”
With a flurry of motion, he was out the door.

“Me, too.”
Marie disappeared after her brother.

Giorgio and Angie exchanged looks
. B
ut as he started to speak
,
she abruptly turned her ba
ck and returned to the counter.

“What do you want for breakfast?” she said ove
r her shoulder.

And a cold shoulder it was.
He paused, feeling he’d just dropped a line on center stage.

“Just toast and coffee.
You okay?”

“I’m fine,” she replied flatly.

She opened the bread bag and slipped a piece of wheat bread into the toaster.
He went to pour his own coffee, watching her from the corner of his eye.

“Angie,” he started, “what’s the matter?
I mean
…
really the matter?”
When she didn’t answer, he continued.
“I guess it’s the dog, isn’t it?
Yo
u said you’d like another one.”

She slammed a cupboard door, making him reach for the sore spot on his head
in a weird act of self-defense.

“I never said I wanted another dog!
YOU wanted another dog.”

He felt warmth rise to his cheeks and that certain part of his body went right back to sleep.
There would be no sweet reconciliation this morning.

“You said you missed Butch.”

She turned on him, her normally soft brown eyes ablaze.
“
I said I missed him, like I might miss an itch I couldn’t scratch.
That doesn’t mean I wanted another dog.
This is just another juvenile attempt by you to divert attention from the real issue.”

“What do you mean?
I got the damn dog for you!”

“Well, then, take it back!
I don’t want the smelly thing.”

The toast popped up
,
and she turned and caught it as deftly as if it was merely another well-rehearsed trick in her side show.
With a swift movement, she smeared butter across it and threw it onto a small plate, dumping the whole thing unceremoniously onto the table in front of him.
He realized he was walking on thin ice and decided to tone it down.

“Angie,” he pleaded, “I can’t take him back.
The kids love him.”

She tossed the butter knife into the sink and wiped her hands on a towel.
“You knew what their reaction would be, but if you think that dog
makes up for the fact you don’t want this baby
, you’re more juvenile than I thought.”
With that, she stormed from the kitchen.

Grosvner watched her depart, drool spilling over his lower lip
.
H
e lumbered over to where Giorgio slumped against the counter and dropped his head back to look up at his new owner.
Giorgio stared back knowing he couldn’t return Grosvner to the pound.
His whole demeanor had changed overnight.
He fit the family like a glove.
Now, if Giorgio could only make Angie see that.
For the umpteenth-millionth time, he’d blown it
,
and didn’t know why.

Rolling thunder alerted him the kids were coming back downstairs
,
so he grabbed the toast and coffee and went into the entryway.
Angie was putting on her coat as the kids
donned theirs.

“Aren’t they going to take the bus?”

“It’s supposed to rain again.”

She opened the door to a gray sky
,
and the kids tumbled outside, backpacks in hand.
Angie grabbed her purse from a small table and started after them.

“Angie,” he stopped her, “what about Grosvner?”

She turned and gave him a cold stare.
“Take him with you.”

“I have to work.”

“They have police dogs in the department, don’t they?
I won’t have him in the house while we’re gone.
I have no idea if he’s trained to do anything but catch fruit.
”

She turned and went down the steps, leaving Giorgio and the dog staring after her like two little children left behind at the bus stop.

“Oh, brother,” Giorgio said with a sigh.
“I’m really in trouble this time.”

He looked down at Grosvner who stood with his front feet splayed in a clown stance, his long snout turned in Giorgio’s direction clearly confused by everyone’s departure.

“Sorry, old boy, I’m afraid you’re stuck with me today.”

Giorgio returned to the kitchen to dispense with his meager breakfast
and read
the morning paper.
The murder had happened too late Saturday night for the Sunday addition, but today
the story of
Olson’s murder was front page news.
While the report was sketchy, there was enough information to paint a grim picture of a young woman strangled a
t the monastery during a
writer
s
’
conference.

He finished his toast and went to turn on the television.
One
of the cable stations had just begun their report on the grisly murder of a young woman at a Catholic monastery in a small town in California.
The reporter went on to speculate as to whether this was the case of a random killing by a deranged individual or something much closer to home.
After all, the newsman said with a raised eyebrow, why would the killer take the victim’s little finger?

Giorgio hated reporters.
When he’d been shot in New York, the media had distorted the entire situation making it sound as if he’d stumbled onto Anthony Cordova’s hiding place by mistake and taken a round to the chest as a result of his own carelessness.
In fact, he and his partner, Ben Attner, had gone to the warehouse on a tip with backup on the way
. But they’d arrived
only
moments after the weapons buy had taken place
and
Cordova and two of his henchmen were just coming out of the building
. B
ullets started flying, pinning Giorgio and Ben down on either side of their car.
The bullet that hit Giorgio entered the left side of his chest, crushing a rib and puncturing his lung.
Ben wasn’t so lucky.
While no one had ever accused Giorgio of getting his partner killed, the implication was present in the eyes of every reporter that covered the story.

Now this idiot of a reporter had found out about Olson’s severed finger.
Giorgio had been hoping they could keep that little bit of information from the media a while longer.
He looked down at the newspaper in his hands.
A small picture of Olson accompanied the short article.
There was no mention of a missing finger or Giorgio as the lead investigator.
Giorgio decided that Max Dougherty, the department’s
public affairs officer
, had done a credible job.
Now he had to go do his.

It was eight o’clock when they arrived at the police station.
Stares and chuckles followed them down the wide hallway that led to the office he shared with Swan.
Swan took one look at the dog following close on Giorgio’s heels and pushed his chair back to slap his leg.
Grosvner lumbered over, lowering his head subm
issively.

“Great dog, Joe.
Where’d you get him?”

“Humane Society.
I thought it would be a nice surprise for Angie.”
All the confidence he’d showed Rocky
earlier
about buying the dog had disappeared.

Swan looked over at his troubled friend.
“I take it the dog
wasn’t such a
nice surprise.”

“That’s an understatement.
I think the only thing she hates right now more than that dog is me.”
He pulled his face into a wry grin and sat down at his desk.