Murder My Love (12 page)

“Oh my god, Rita! What are you doing?” she screamed.

“You bitch! You fuckin’ bitch! You’ve ruined my life!”

The young man fell off his chair onto the floor, where he writhed in pain. He tried to get up, to escape the kitchen. He could not at first do it. He summoned all his energy, controlled his fear and crawled toward the kitchen door. Blood was seeping from his thigh saturating his pant leg. He needed to escape the horror enfolding before him. The young man, with his last gasp of energy, managed to stand up, and again tried to flee. Rita saw him approach her and, as he neared the door, she shot him again in the chest, this time at close range. He fell forward and lay motionless propped against the door.

Linda, meanwhile, ran to her telephone and tried to call the police. There was no dial tone. She banged on the receiver. She banged on the buttons of her phone. She hysterically banged on the telephone itself with the receiver. While the young man was crawling toward her lurching toward the door, Rita had reached down and pulled the phone cord from the wall. Linda stared at Rita whose eyes were aflame with hate.

“Why? Why are you doing this?” she screamed.

Rita glared, and with her lip upturned and her eyes narrow, she took dead aim and shot her once in the chest. Linda collapsed to the floor. She writhed in pain holding her right breast. She coughed and blood trickled from her mouth. She began to gasp for air. Her bathrobe fell open leaving her body totally exposed.

“Rita, for God’s sake, don’t do this!” she implored.

Rita walked to the cupboard and opened drawers one at a time until she found what she was looking for. She took out a six-inch carving knife and held it in full view of Linda’s bewildered eyes.

“Oh, God, please don’t do this!”

Rita plunged the knife into Linda’s face. Linda let out a maniacal scream. Rita glowered over her victim, her eyes filled with venom. She plunged the knife again and again into her chest, her stomach and her thighs near to where her ecstasy once resided. Linda screamed in horrific agony. Blood spurt everywhere, on the floor, on the walls, on the counter tops. Linda’s shriekings were blood curdling.

Conrad was bewildered, listening to the carnage from his hideaway. Hearing the gunshots and the screams, he wanted to flee, but he reasoned that if Rita could do this to a former lover what would she do to him? He finally emerged from his fugue state of mind and entered the kitchen. He saw the look in Rita’s eyes and knew enough not to say a word or try to interfere. She had the look of a woman possessed. He saw the male figure, motionless on the floor. A pool of blood encircled his body. He assumed he was dead. Seeing Linda, he looked at Rita and casually asked, “Is she…” Rita shook her head. She never knew how difficult it was to kill someone. She was standing behind Linda searching drawers for another knife. She shot Linda once more. This time she took direct aim and pointed the pistol at her stomach. Linda’s breathing lapsed into a gurgle. The frenzy now began in earnest. Conrad went to the cutlery drawer, took out a carving knife, handed to Rita and said, “Here… just do it.”

She stabbed her victim repeatedly in a frenzy of rage, with hatred and curses spewing from her lips, the pent up resentment of a lifetime of suffering. With each stab she was expiating the abuse she had suffered day after day, the humiliation, the cruelty, the degradation. Her vengeance was not yet completed. She looked at the dead man propped against the swing door. She picked up a brass lamp, calmly approached him and bashed his skull with it. She then stabbed him until the knife became so slippery with blood that it was useless as a weapon. As if to end her catharsis, she picked up a crystal cookie jar and slammed it as hard as she could on Linda’s head.

When she was done, she stood up and looked about the room. She saw nothing. It was as if she were in another place at another time. She dropped the knife to the floor. She took a towel and wiped the blood from her face and arms. She told Conrad to go out to the porch and try not to be seen. She directed him to remove the flowerpot from the railing and to place it on the porch floor out of sight from the street so Sheila wouldn’t not see it, on her return. He obeyed her instantly. He wanted nothing more than to escape the grizzliest scene anyone could imagine. He was shaking with anxiety. His pants were wet with urine. He moved to the porch, his hands trembling with fear. He attempted to take hold of the flowerpot. He held it close to his chest and began to bend down to place it on the porch deck. He was frozen with fear. Rita came out to the porch. The blood she had wiped from her hands seemed to have reappeared. It was her blood. She was unaware that she had unwittingly cut herself. She became enraged again, now at the sight of Conrad fumbling with the flowerpot. She swung her fist at him, causing the pot to come crashing down on the brick walkway shattering to pieces. They were stained with her blood. Sheila drove up and seeing them both on the porch, had no need to beep the horn.

As they walked to the car Rita looked at Conrad and said, “You are one useless piece of shit!”

Part 3

Chapter 13

The two ladies who had a known liaison with Linda Greenwell were summoned to police headquarters for further questioning. On the preceding day the intimidating invitations from Sgt. Skinner left them no option to decline. He did not use the word ‘arrest’ or ‘material witness’, but he made it clear that it was in their best interest to comply. The day began with the arrival of Anita Mazelli. Chief Wilson assigned Sgt. Devlin to question her. The interview was conducted in Devlin’s office as an attempt to put her at ease, rather than in a formal interview room that might have been more intimidating. She was asked if she could remember any more details of her association with Linda Greenwell, other than those she had shared with Officer Huff. Mazelli did not deviate from her original story. She repeated that she had only one encounter with Linda, and that it had occurred one night in Greenwell’s home, when her roommate was away on business. The subject of her former lover or current partner never entered into their conversation. She wailed, “It was a one night stand, for God’s sake! Why are you making a federal case out of it?”

No matter how often the question was rephrased, the answer was always the same. Sgt. Devlin was confident that her story was authentic and that nothing more could be learned from questioning her. She had absolutely no knowledge of Linda’s former lover, nor did she care who it was. Devlin was about to dismiss her when she began to weep in earnest. Mazelli then told him that she was having a difficult time explaining to her fellow workers why the police were bringing her in for questioning. He reassured her. He told her to tell her coworkers that it was simply routine police work. After all, she was a fellow worker in the Nutrition Department and the police were trying to gain insight into Greenwell’s character. He promised to keep secret her personal relationship with the victim. He gave her a yellow pad and pen. He advised her to write down everything she knew about Linda Greenwell, and her association with her. He warned her to leave nothing out. It was a murder investigation and the police needed all the evidence they could gather, should the matter ever came to trial. Mazelli wanted to know if their relationship would ever be made public. Sgt. Devlin said that it was up to the DA, but chances were that she would not be called as a witness and even if she were, there was no reason to delve into their relationship, as it would have little bearing on the case, as it appeared at the moment. It was beyond his authorization to exclude that possibility, but he preferred she leave the stationhouse without worry. Mazelli walked away feeling somewhat relieved.

Alice Chicciarelli arrived several hours later, about the time Mazelli was leaving. The two women had never met before and did not see each other in the police station. Skinner escorted Alice to a formal interview room where she sat on one side of a table and Lt. Stanton sat on the opposite side. The room was windowless and made soundproof with padded walls, in order to gain clarity in case they wanted to audiotape an interview. They chose to forego the process. It was felt that she would be more forthcoming without the presence of recording paraphernalia. The room itself was intimidating enough. Stanton began by asking her if she was able to add more detail to the conversation she had had with the Chief. He specifically wanted to know if she knew the name or whereabouts of Miss Greenwell’s former lover. Alice said that at the onset of their relationship, she and Linda had agreed to consider taboo any conversation about former lovers. They were to be avoided at all costs. While the agreement was made in good faith, it was inevitable that, by living with someone for any length of time, a word or two would drop into the conversation. Stanton asked, “So what did she say that might help us?”

Alice thought for a moment and added that Linda often talked about a gay guy who did everyone’s hair. Linda liked him a lot. She marveled at how good he was at it. She was told that he was a fish out of water in such a remote town.

“Did he have a name?”

“He must have,” she said with a smirk.

“Don’t be a wise ass with me, lady,” Stanton shouted. “Who the fuck you think you’re talking to?”

The interview up to that point had been cordial and non-intimidating, but her sassy remark pissed-off the Lieutenant.

“What’s bugging you?” Alice asked. “I’m not some slut off the street you can push around.”

Stanton’s jaw clenched. His fists were held so tight that he felt his fingernails dig into the palm of his hand. He knew he was losing control.

“What’s his name?” he demanded.

“I don’t know,” she jeered.

“Do you know the name of the town?”

With ice in her voice, she pursed her lips and said, “I haven’t a clue.”

It was a bold-faced lie. She purposely told it. She knew it was vindictive, but she was more interested in asserting her power than helping the police solve the murder. It was her only way to retaliate for Stanton’s gruff behavior. Clearly, she knew the name of the town, as she had sent Linda a letter outlining the financial adjustment in response to her automobile accident claim. She turned her face away from Stanton’s glare and stared at the padded wall. When she began to tap her index finger against the table, Stanton realized that his behavior had cast a pall on the interview. At that juncture rapport was irretrievable.

“You don’t like me, do you?” Alice asked.

“Look, Miss, I don’t have any interest in liking you or disliking you.”

“Is it because of what I am?”

He didn’t answer. In fact, he remained stoically silent.

As she locked her gaze on his eyes she said, “Well, I guess I have my answer.”

He elected to terminate the interview but before he did Chicciarelli asked, “When can I get back into my house?”

He furrowed his brow for a moment and said, “I don’t know. Ask the Chief.”

He ordered her to remain seated and left the room. He walked upstairs to get a cup of coffee. He didn’t need one. What he wanted to do was calm down. He knew his behavior was unprofessional and it could cost the department valuable time and effort, but he didn’t know how to rectify the impasse he created. He tried to answer for himself whether he had been hostile because she was dismissive, or because she was a lesbian. He asked himself if he could be attracted to her were she not gay. Could he imagine making love to her? For a fleeting moment he saw her naked in his bed. He willed to dismiss the thoughts from his mind. He knew he could not honestly answer these questions even in the privacy of his mind.

He returned to the interview room and gave Chicciarelli a notepad and pen and asked her to write a very thorough statement with as many details as possible. He told her that she should carefully read it over and sign it.

“Do you want a cup of coffee?” he asked as politely as he could muster.

“No!”

“We brew the good stuff,” he added.

Linda picked up the yellow pad. “Why do I have to do this?” she asked.

“Because if this case ever goes to trial we want your testimony to be consistent. So don’t make anything up and don’t leave anything out.”

It took the better part of an hour for her to complete the task.

Later that morning both officers together entered the Chief’s office to brief her.

“So you’re telling me we learned nothing new or important,” she lamented.

Stanton responded, “Except now we know that Linda Greenwell had a gay male friend.”

Chief Wilson glared at him. “Yep! Now there’s the clue that’ll solve this case. We’ll ask the State of Vermont to put out an APB for a gay hairdresser.”

Stanton’s face flushed, his head drooped. He looked chagrined. He said he had pushed Alice to the brink but she offered nothing more. He then said, ”By the way chief, the chick wants to get back into her house.”

“The chick?”

“Yeah, you know, as in Chick-a-relli.”

“Don’t bullshit me, Jeff. I’m not the new kid on the block.”

“Sorry, Chief. The lady.”

“Has the house been cleared?”

“I’ll check.”

Wilson interrupted him. “That reminds me. Kruger never mentioned the flowerpot in his presentation. I wonder why,” she said.

Both officers looked at each other. Neither said a word.

“Where’s the flower pot?” she asked.

Devlin answered, “I guess it’s with all the evidence.”

The Chief picked up the phone and called Kruger. He picked up on the second ring. “What can I do for you, Chief?”

“Why didn’t you discuss the flowerpot during your presentation?”

His reply stunned Abby. “What flowerpot?”

Didn’t CSI bag it?

“I wouldn’t know. My focus was on the bodies.

She slowly placed the phone back on its cradle. She stared at it in silence for what seemed like an eternity, then she turned to the police officers. Her steely gaze riveted the two men standing in front of her, as she slowly screamed, “Get me that fucking flowerpot, and get it to me now!”

Stanton left her office and fumed. He knew he had screwed up the Chicciarelli interview and compounded it by not sharing that information with the Chief. He had established bad rapport with both women. He resented being treated like an errand boy. He had no problem answering to a woman boss, but he preferred that the Chief had asked him to assign someone lesser in rank to perform a menial task, such as being a go-fer for a broken flowerpot. Stanton called Huff and ordered him to retrieve it. He warned him that the Chief was on the warpath. He commanded him to carefully picture it, collect it, tag it, place it in an evidence bag and log it in. “Every piece of it, Huff. Every last god damn shard!” He walked upstairs to the locker room, closed the door behind him and sat in front of his locker. After a moment of reflection, he punched the metal door.

Devlin had remained in Wilson’s office. He said nothing until he was confident that she had calmed down.

“I have some more information for you, Chief,” he said almost apologetically.

“Make it good, Devlin. So far, today has been a bust.”

He told Abby that he had not forgotten to ask the landlord about the dog panel, but was unable to reach him, until recently. Apparently, he had been on a business trip and no one knew his whereabouts. When he was able to eventually contact him, Mr. Barollo said that more than ten years ago, when he had lived in the house, he’d owned a dog. When he began to rent the house, however, he stipulated as a condition of the lease that no dogs were allowed. His pet was well trained, but in deference to his neighbors he couldn’t be sure of a tenant’s commitment to properly controlling a dog. Abby asked Devlin, “Why didn’t he seal the flap?”

“He said it was so small that he didn’t think it was necessary.”

Abby was looking out her window while paying strict attention to Devlin’ report. At its conclusion she said, “So someone could easily have crawled through the dog flap and unlocked the door from the inside.”

“That’s possible, Chief,” Devlin agreed, “but that person would have to be really agile to do it.”

Abby continued to stare out the window, remaining silent, which was Devlin’s cue to leave her office.

Within an hour Huff returned to police headquarters and walked straight to the chief’s office. He held a small cardboard box sealed with yellow ‘Evidence’ tape. From the corner of her eye, Abby eyed him waddling in. He looked like a cat that came home with a mouse. She almost congratulated him as she would her son who had won a trophy in sports, but thought better of it. After all, he was simply performing basic police work.

Abby gave the sealed box a perfunctory glance. She had no idea what she would be looking for and decided not to open it. Nor did she want to break the chain of evidence. She hoped that Kruger or the CSI would find something to move the investigation forward.

“Good work Huff,” she said. “I’m trusting you to personally deliver this to Hartford. You are to give it to no one except Dr. Kruger. No one else! Do you understand?”

“Yes sir!” he shouted. “I mean ma’am.” He did an about face and lumbered out of the office, the package held tightly with both hands against his belly.

It was noon. The press conference was scheduled for 4 P.M. There was time for lunch. Abby had no idea how long the conference would last or when she would be able to have time for dinner. She ordered in and called Sam. She asked him to take the kids out for dinner and told him not to expect her home until late evening. By the time the food arrived and she had finished eating, it was close to 2 P.M. Her phone rang. She picked up the receiver and held it to her ear. It was Kruger.

“Thank you for my present,” he said with a note of excitement.

“We aim to please,” she replied.

“You will be pleased,” he said. There was a long pause.

“Well?”

“We found blood!” After a longer pause he added, “It’s not from the victims.”

Several microphones were placed in front of a podium on the stage of City Hall’s auditorium. Speakers were situated on both sides of the podium. Standing behind it were Mayor Galllarino, Police Chief Abigail Wilson and District Attorney Greg Rocklein. Several police officers stood shoulder-to-shoulder behind the trio forming a backdrop for the photographers. The media was well represented with reporters from the Hartford and New Haven newspapers, as well as from several surrounding small towns. Susan Angel of the West Warwick Gazette sat in the first row. Two television stations had set up their cameras and lights. At least one hundred concerned citizens were in attendance.

The Mayor stepped to the podium. The din of conversation slowly diminished in the auditorium. When he had gained the audience’s full attention he began to speak.. “I want to confirm that a homicide was committed in West Warwick last Sunday morning. To be accurate, it was a double homicide, perpetrated in the home of one of our citizens. One victim, Ms. Linda Greenwell, was a loyal and respected employee of Community Hospital. The male victim was her nephew, Stanley Klopowitz. We are unsure as to why he was in Miss Greenwell’s home. I want to assure everyone that we are pursuing the killer or killers and we will bring them to justice. I especially want to emphasize that this crime does not reflect on the good people in our community. Now I will turn the microphone over to Chief Wilson to bring you up to date on the investigation.