Chapter 32: A Convoy

Many Cones, Based On True Crime

Chapter 32 starts with a convoy to Albert Moffit's house.
Many Cones is a podcast novel based on true crime. The murders inspiring this crime fiction took place 30 miles from Chicago in Northwest Indiana, and captivated the area from the initial brutal crime scene all the way through and beyond discovery of a shockingly bizarre motive.
It was almost noon under a pleasant Saturday sun, as the convoy proceeded to Albert Moffit’s house. No sirens or lights for this venture. Grandisha was driving the lead vehicle. Margie was navigating. She also wanted to make sure she had a correct understanding of what really had occurred. “My tailing job, yesterday, when I followed the Sparne Kid to Moffit’s, never occurred, right?”

Ray nodded his head. “That’s correct. Nothing you did yesterday occurred. You were home, recovering.”

“That’s two things I was involved in recently that never occurred.

Grandisha shot a questioning glance at her, then understood. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asked.

Margie shook her head. “No. I thought about it because of Gina Drozler, and what those two fuckers did to her... They basically did the same thing to me. We were both naked in front of you... You saved both of us... You’re a regular knight in shining armor.”

“So how come I can’t maintain a relationship?”

“I can’t help you with that... I just wanted to thank you, again.”

Ray smiled at her and said, “For what?”

Margie laughed. “That’s right. Nothing occurred.” She sat quietly for a few minutes, then continued, “What’s gonna happen here?”

“I don’t know. After you called, during your non-existent tailing job, I ran the computer on this guy. Nothing. No arrests. No problems. Just him and his wife. No kids. He’s some kind of salesman. He’s a non-entity.”

“Do we rush the house, or knock and get invited in.” Margie asked.

“Oh, we’ll go in gangbusters. If that’s a mistake, we can apologize, and they can sue the department. But, I don’t think it’s a mistake. This guy’s connected in a major way to those two. I just don’t know how, or why.”

Margie came to attention and alerted Ray. “There it is. On the corner. That red brick house.”

Grandisha parked in front of the residence. Two vehicles parked behind him, the others on the side street. It was a quiet, older neighborhood. No one was working on lawns. Moffit’s was overgrown, the others had been tended recently.

They gathered at the street corner. Ray explained what he wanted done. Everyone understood. One group approached the front door, and another group the side.

Albert Moffitt hadn’t moved from the divan since hurrying Sparne and Morales out the night before. Modern technology provided him with twenty four hour access to a wide range of gifted bible thumpers. He no longer understood the spoken English drawl that was spewing from the set ninety five percent of the time. But that was okay. That part wasn’t important.

At some point during the night, Albert used the remote to increase the volume. It had remained blaring. Every half hour or so, a few lines of the special language, the tongues, came through clearly. He understood the sing song banter perfectly. It mostly praised him. Even when it didn’t, it still mentioned his name.