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When it came her turn to chime in at the late morning conference Chase rattled off the employment highlights on Owen McCombs. Washington interrupted and gave his interpretation of the man's resume.
"I find his being a former police reporter interesting. Maybe at the Di-Manna crime scene he manipulated our inquiries." Her partner shuffled papers, edgy. His comment bothered her, like a silent reprimand that maybe Owen McCombs had manipulated the police, meaning her. She knew pressure, not part of a retirement scenario, came to rest on her partner's shoulders. The press had Chunky D's name as the trunk guest and were whirling like a drought prairie sage fire. With each question the Mayor's name kept popping up.
Chase went on to say the Codis search revealed McCombs filing a police report on a break-in of his apartment, 221B Baker Avenue, in Biloxi, a couple of days before he left that State. A supplemental filing; the day he left, gunfire reported in the same neighborhood, vagueness to a shooting. Keep after McCombs, stressed Washington. He's mixed up, somehow.
Washington highlighted the autopsy report and the workup on the knife. The bullet of course killed him. Chunky D could have survived the knife wounds, scarred for life, his cut arms useless. Forensics on the Mercedes not yet complete, explained Washington, early assumptions held; the shooting did not take place in the auto. CSI confirmed what Chase uncovered in the El garden and were still at the scene processing.
Detective Fetters, pulling on his nose, arrived late, cursing under his breath "Damn the Mayor. I track down Mrs. DiManna. She was playing slots at the Carnivale Casino."
"Widows in this town have a short mourning period," joked Washington. "She didn't identify the body this morning. It was her son, Pauli. He's the Slot Manager at the Carnivale. Anyway, the Mayor is leaving just as I go in. And, shit, if he hadn't gotten there first, and she says, with Pauli hanging over her, that they're not talking to the police unless their attorney is present. Bet fuckin' Super Bowl tickets that the Mayor whispered some free legal advice. He's stonewalling our investigation already. Hours old and he's playing with us. And by the way, your buddy Byron Kane was escorting the Mayor."
Ray Washington turned and gave Chase the quick scoop about that. "Kane's ex-cop. Department fired him. Too many IAD investigations where he liked to beat the criminals before bringing them in. Then, on a slam-dunk case, paroled career criminal arrested, Kane goes out and finds exonerating evidence. Guy walks. Point of the story: Mayor Goodfella, defense attorney back then, liked that sort of ethics, brought Kane on board as their law firm's investigator."
"A fuckin' traitor," cursed Fetters.
Washington continued. "It was Detective Fetters's first high profile case in homicide. Kane brought the real suspect in, victim's DNA all over him. Of course, the suspect arrived in bad condition, teeth missing and a broken arm. That, and some vindictiveness on some people's part, led to Kane's firing." Ray and Mike exchanged stares.
"I wouldn't put it past our Mob Mayor to have his private dick do the hit. Yeah, that's something we need to look into."
"Mike," said Washington. Chase sensed sudden tension in the air. "The Mayor as suspect is not for you to play cowboy on. The Sheriff is handling this with kid gloves. What with a Mayoral election in a year, along with the Sheriff 's own re-election at stake. It's not our call. Focus on ferreting out evidence. Anything else, Detective Fetters?"
Little Mikey's expression swore without words.
"Well, here's what I've got," said Detective Washington. "I had archives pull up the history of the Wrecking Crew. Made copies you all can read later. I want to divide up names and do background. The dead ones didn't kill Chunky D, but who knows where it leads." Chase sighed in relief that she wasn't going to be given all the library research.
"There were five in the gang. DiManna. Bobby Campi deceased. Had a heart attack. Fetters, Campi is yours. "Then there's Morris Bluestein. He's on his last gasp with emphysema. In a hospice over off St. Rose Parkway. Detective Taggart, all yours. Next, Lorenzo Corallo, he's still alive..." "Larry Corallo." Fetters perked up. "Yeah, his son Angel, Angelo Corallo, owns the strip club Pussy Galore. Larry, the Father's a greeter, got a permanent booth there in their restaurant, Italian steakhouse called Gabriella's after Angel's sister. I used to moonlight there for security when I worked patrol."
Chase shook her head to the well-known axiom: For locals, Vegas is a small town.
"Well, you got some history there," said Washington, "unless you have an inside track, I better handle the Corallos. Add to your list Mario 'The Torch' Scarpetti. I remember him. When he wasn't running with the Wrecking Crew doing jewelry store heists, he had a string of prostitutes and a side job of insurance scams. Buying cheap buildings, heavy insurance, and the mysterious firebug job."
"Where's he now?" asked Fetters.
"Ashes to Ashes."
"Dead?"
"More like toast. He was in Big Max on an aggravated assault conviction when he burned up. Middle of the day. Right in front of guards and prisoners. Caught fire. Became a Crispy Critter."
"When was this?" Chase edged closer, curious.
"Six or seven days ago. It's under an internal investigation probe at the prison."
"Jeez," said Chase and thought aloud for all of them. "We have two of the old-timers, members of the same gang, cashing in their chips less than a week apart, both under violent and mysterious circumstances. What would you call that?"
"Croaking for justice," came Little Mikey's read of the timeline.
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Chapter 19:
Toasting the Dead
Toasting the Dead
When it came her turn to chime in at the late morning conference Chase rattled off the employment highlights on Owen McCombs. Washington interrupted and gave his interpretation of the man's resume.
"I find his being a former police reporter interesting. Maybe at the Di-Manna crime scene he manipulated our inquiries." Her partner shuffled papers, edgy. His comment bothered her, like a silent reprimand that maybe Owen McCombs had manipulated the police, meaning her. She knew pressure, not part of a retirement scenario, came to rest on her partner's shoulders. The press had Chunky D's name as the trunk guest and were whirling like a drought prairie sage fire. With each question the Mayor's name kept popping up.
Chase went on to say the Codis search revealed McCombs filing a police report on a break-in of his apartment, 221B Baker Avenue, in Biloxi, a couple of days before he left that State. A supplemental filing; the day he left, gunfire reported in the same neighborhood, vagueness to a shooting. Keep after McCombs, stressed Washington. He's mixed up, somehow.
Washington highlighted the autopsy report and the workup on the knife. The bullet of course killed him. Chunky D could have survived the knife wounds, scarred for life, his cut arms useless. Forensics on the Mercedes not yet complete, explained Washington, early assumptions held; the shooting did not take place in the auto. CSI confirmed what Chase uncovered in the El garden and were still at the scene processing.
Detective Fetters, pulling on his nose, arrived late, cursing under his breath "Damn the Mayor. I track down Mrs. DiManna. She was playing slots at the Carnivale Casino."
"Widows in this town have a short mourning period," joked Washington. "She didn't identify the body this morning. It was her son, Pauli. He's the Slot Manager at the Carnivale. Anyway, the Mayor is leaving just as I go in. And, shit, if he hadn't gotten there first, and she says, with Pauli hanging over her, that they're not talking to the police unless their attorney is present. Bet fuckin' Super Bowl tickets that the Mayor whispered some free legal advice. He's stonewalling our investigation already. Hours old and he's playing with us. And by the way, your buddy Byron Kane was escorting the Mayor."
Ray Washington turned and gave Chase the quick scoop about that. "Kane's ex-cop. Department fired him. Too many IAD investigations where he liked to beat the criminals before bringing them in. Then, on a slam-dunk case, paroled career criminal arrested, Kane goes out and finds exonerating evidence. Guy walks. Point of the story: Mayor Goodfella, defense attorney back then, liked that sort of ethics, brought Kane on board as their law firm's investigator."
"A fuckin' traitor," cursed Fetters.
Washington continued. "It was Detective Fetters's first high profile case in homicide. Kane brought the real suspect in, victim's DNA all over him. Of course, the suspect arrived in bad condition, teeth missing and a broken arm. That, and some vindictiveness on some people's part, led to Kane's firing." Ray and Mike exchanged stares.
"I wouldn't put it past our Mob Mayor to have his private dick do the hit. Yeah, that's something we need to look into."
"Mike," said Washington. Chase sensed sudden tension in the air. "The Mayor as suspect is not for you to play cowboy on. The Sheriff is handling this with kid gloves. What with a Mayoral election in a year, along with the Sheriff 's own re-election at stake. It's not our call. Focus on ferreting out evidence. Anything else, Detective Fetters?"
Little Mikey's expression swore without words.
"Well, here's what I've got," said Detective Washington. "I had archives pull up the history of the Wrecking Crew. Made copies you all can read later. I want to divide up names and do background. The dead ones didn't kill Chunky D, but who knows where it leads." Chase sighed in relief that she wasn't going to be given all the library research.
"There were five in the gang. DiManna. Bobby Campi deceased. Had a heart attack. Fetters, Campi is yours. "Then there's Morris Bluestein. He's on his last gasp with emphysema. In a hospice over off St. Rose Parkway. Detective Taggart, all yours. Next, Lorenzo Corallo, he's still alive..." "Larry Corallo." Fetters perked up. "Yeah, his son Angel, Angelo Corallo, owns the strip club Pussy Galore. Larry, the Father's a greeter, got a permanent booth there in their restaurant, Italian steakhouse called Gabriella's after Angel's sister. I used to moonlight there for security when I worked patrol."
Chase shook her head to the well-known axiom: For locals, Vegas is a small town.
"Well, you got some history there," said Washington, "unless you have an inside track, I better handle the Corallos. Add to your list Mario 'The Torch' Scarpetti. I remember him. When he wasn't running with the Wrecking Crew doing jewelry store heists, he had a string of prostitutes and a side job of insurance scams. Buying cheap buildings, heavy insurance, and the mysterious firebug job."
"Where's he now?" asked Fetters.
"Ashes to Ashes."
"Dead?"
"More like toast. He was in Big Max on an aggravated assault conviction when he burned up. Middle of the day. Right in front of guards and prisoners. Caught fire. Became a Crispy Critter."
"When was this?" Chase edged closer, curious.
"Six or seven days ago. It's under an internal investigation probe at the prison."
"Jeez," said Chase and thought aloud for all of them. "We have two of the old-timers, members of the same gang, cashing in their chips less than a week apart, both under violent and mysterious circumstances. What would you call that?"
"Croaking for justice," came Little Mikey's read of the timeline.
