Many Cones, Based On True Crime Steve Lustina

 As Many Cones opens, we meet Jim Donas and his wife, Sue.   They're getting ready to go out to dinner when there was a knock at the door.   Jim finds a young man at the door who introduces himself as Richard Sparne.

 Mr. Sparne asks to come in.   Eventually he forces his way in and stabs Jim Donas. This all happens while his wife is getting ready in the bathroom.   Subsequently a group of young men enter after being signaled by Richard Sparne.   They ransack the home and then brutally murder the Donas couple. 

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.

There was a knock at the apartment door. Jim Donas was in the kitchen drying his hands. He had been a whirlwind of activity, dusting and cleaning everything that crossed his path. Busy work always occupied his time when he was waiting for his wife. She was still in the bathtub. It was almost time to yell through the door again. Jim was starting to believe she intentionally dragged her feet when they had somewhere to go. It would be another hour before she was ready. He went to the apartment door and looked through the peephole.  Some kid. 

Jim opened the door. For a fleeting second he thought about the buzzer-intercom system that had never worked. People adapted by leaving the complex door unlocked. He hadn’t heard anyone descending the stairs. Odd. He could usually hear people coming and going. Had even complained about paper thin walls. 

The complex held nine individual apartments. All very upscale. Located in a nice area. No problems, anytime. Except for the periodic drunken argument, usually from one of the other eight complexes. No one thought twice about opening the apartment door for some unknown person. 

Jim said, “Can I help you?” He was looking at a tall, rangy kid. Looked to be late teens, early twenties. Presentable, clean cut kid. Appeared to be a little nervous. 

“Mr. Donas?” the kid asked. Jim said, “Yes, can I help you?” 

The Kid said, “Mr. Donas, my name is Richard Sparne.” He paused, as if expecting a problem. Then went on. “I’m collecting for the local Amateur Athletics Union. Could I please come in and explain our program to you?” 

Jim shook his head no and said, “I’m running out for a dinner engagement, I can’t right now; do you have any literature or anything you can leave?”

The Kid started to walk in, saying, “Yes, I can leave you some pamphlets.” 

Jim, standing in front of the Kid’s passage, said, “Please, just hand them to me; I’m about to leave. I don’t have time for you to come in now.” 

The Kid reached around behind his back and grabbed a nine-inch jagged knife from his belt. In one swift motion he plunged the knife into Jim Donas’ abdomen. Deep.

 In chapter two, we are introduced to the crime scene through the eyes of Lieutenant Ray Grandisha.  The police were called by Jules and Liz Pranet, Sue's brother and sister-in-law, and the couple the Donases we're supposed to have met for dinner that evening.   As Ray Grandisha takes in the crime scene, he runs into John Lupico, the coroner.  It is clear that Ray Grandisha believes that something very unusual and very sinister took place here .

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. 

The apartment resembled an abattoir. Lieutenant Ray Grandisha had to pause as he stood in the midst of the carnage. Twenty-five years of witnessing cruelty never sufficed to prepare him for the bad ones. 




The Sheriff’s department had received a call at 10:57 P.M. A man by the name of Jules Pranet. He and his wife were supposed to meet their brother and sister-in-law for dinner at a popular restaurant on the outskirts of town. They waited for an hour. Jules and his wife, Liz, didn’t start to worry until that hour had expired. 




Sixty minutes. A few drinks. Told the waiter to come back three times. The third delay repaid with a bit of rudeness. During the wait, Jules and Liz engaged in personal conversation for the first twenty five minutes. The next half hour devoted to jokes about Sue always being late; Jim always yelling at her. The last five minutes arguing about calling the Police and hospitals. 




Finally, Jules and Liz left the table. A difficult walk to the foyer. Two forlorn faces in the midst of merriment. Jules concerned that making contact with those who deal in calamity would somehow confirm the worst. Pause by the pay phone. Head pounding. Walk in. Walk in. Please God, walk in. 




Liz sat next to the phone. “Do you need change?” 




Jules, still stalling, “No, I’ll put everything on the card. I can get the operator and have her call Jim’s number; if there’s no answer she can contact the police; I’ll ask her to stay on and call the hospital next.”




Liz, looking up at him; “Okay. Well?” 




Jules jumps, “Alright.  F**k.” 




No answer at Jim’s. No calls, accident reports, or any other type of bad news according to the police. No emergencies or ambulance runs, according to the hospital. 




Jules, feeling a touch relieved, sat next to Liz. “What now?” 




Liz slouched; “Let’s wait.” 




Jim, with the retort, “For what? They’re not coming. It’s almost an hour and a half...” 




The discussion was broken up by the rude waiter. He handed Jules a bill for four drinks; an uncivil smirk on his face. As Jules passed cash to him, he made a point of saying he wanted change. The waiter returned in five minutes; silver and green on a tray. Jules took it all. The waiter remained for ten seconds and then huffed off. 




Jules continued, “We have to go their apartment. We’ll drive the route they would have taken.” 




Liz said, “Okay.” 




The trip took thirty minutes. No accidents, no cars on the shoulder or off the road. No couples walking. Nothing out of place. 

In chapter three, we are introduced to the fine time, a bar frequented by law enforcement lawyers and politicians.  We meet Carole Lombard, Ray Grandisha's girlfriend, as he turns to the comforts of smoke and drink after leaving the crime scene.  Carol is a waitress at the fine time.   At the end of the chapter, Ray Grandisha again reflects on the sense of evil that he felt at the crime scene. 

 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.  

The drive to the “Fine Time” took thirty minutes. The bar was a drinker’s joint. Waitresses and bartenders knew your name, but left you alone to imbibe, if that was your pressing desire. Detectives, lawyers, politicians, and judges populated the place. Professional drinkers. Twenty-seven stools fronting a three-quarter horseshoe bar. Twenty tables providing seating if you weren’t drinking alone. Nice atmosphere. Conducive to curing what ailed you. For a night, anyway.  




Ray Grandisha sat at the bar. It was after midnight and only about thirty patrons remained. Grandisha knew half of them and acknowledgements were exchanged. 




Ramon, the bartender, served Ray his scotch. No words, just facial expressions. Ramon knew when to serve and when to chatter. The look on Ray’s face told him no chatter. Plus, news of the double murder had reached the bar an hour earlier. 




Ray took a sip of his rocks chilled liquid and let it slowly trickle down his throat. Magic elixir. He set his glass down and subconsciously stirred the ice with his finger. Still robotic, he shook a Pall Mall up from the pack and took it with his lips. A battered zippo completed the task. Lungs inflated, Ray Grandisha was ready to re-enter reality. 




Attached to the bar area, but in a separate room, was the dining area. The kitchen closed at 11:30 but some parties remained. To most, after dinner drinks were considered part of the meal. 




Ray’s current girlfriend, Carol Lombard, was a waitress at the “Fine Time” and happened to be serving the diners. They were working on a two-week relationship. He saw her pass by and tried to catch her attention. She joined him at the bar, in the middle of his second scotch. 




“Hi baby,” she said as she sat. 




“Hey, Carol Lombard without the E.” 




Carol took her turn.  “You’re the only person I ever met who uses my full name. Tell me again....” 




Ray played on.  “I can’t believe Carole Lombarde is sitting next to me.” 




“And how come I don’t know who Carole Lombarde is?” 




Ray responded, “Because you’re thirty something.”




Carol accepted his explanation, again, and relaxed in her chair. “I heard about the killings; is that where you were?” 




Ray was finishing his drink. As he was setting the glass on the bar, he said, “Yeah, I was there.” 




Carol turned sideways and stared at him for a few seconds. “What happened?” 




“Two people were butchered. Husband and wife.” 




Carol asked, “Drug deal gone bad?” 

 Chapter four introduces us to Albert Moffit. At first glance, Mr. Moffit is very vanilla. He is nondescript and lives a boring life.  However, we learn that Albert Moffit is delusional and convinced that he has been chosen to become a crime boss.  He crosses paths with Richard Sparne in a chance meeting at the high school.   Albert Moffit convinces the young man of his delusion. Richard Sparne and a group of his friends decide to become the mercenaries of Mr. Moffit. 

 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.  


About a half hour before Jules Pranet was stiffing the rude waiter, Richard Sparne and his friends were leaving Albert Moffit’s home based sales agency. Moffit sold everything from credit card swipe machines to bulk sausage. 




He lived, with his wife, in a quiet residential area on the east side of the city. Two-bedroom, red brick home on the corner of the street. Front door entrance in the center of the house, facing the street. Side walk leading to a porch with four concrete steps. Big oak tree in the center of the lawn and midsized tulips under the picture window. Lilac bushes on the sides of the house and a green hedge-rowed back yard. A side entrance led directly to Albert’s office. 




He and his wife had no children and few friends. The recent influx of youthful visitors should have caused the neighborhood to gossip, but no tongues wagged. 




Albert earned a median income and had his entire adult working life. His wife was never employed and for the last five or six years devoted her entire day and early evening to watching televangelists. She was a sucker for every pitch. Albert had suspended her check writing authority, but she still made telephone pledges. Their thirty-third wedding anniversary passed with neither of them remembering. 




Albert was non-descript. His wife was frumpy. She had once been attractive, but Albert never thought about that anymore. Hadn’t for years. Mrs. Moffit should have noticed the increase in traffic to her husband’s office, and she probably did. Too many years of not caring prohibited her from commenting about all the kids coming to their home. 




No police computers contained Albert Moffit’s name. He had never been in trouble, paid his bills on time, drove his car like an aged rectory housekeeper, and seldom drank more than one or two alcoholic beverages. 




One day, about two months shy of his thirty-third wedding anniversary, God, or someone, or something, contacted Albert and told him he was the heir apparent to all of organized crime’s activities in his geographic locale. No five families, no commission, just him. Albert had always suspected that a traitorous ancestor, somewhere, had removed the vowels from the end of his name and this communiqué sated his suspicions. 




He was primed to assume his rightful position. First, those under him, the people who enjoyed the illegal profits from his protection, had to be taught a lesson. No one was honoring his position. No one was paying tribute to him. That had to change. Once the awesome and vengeful power of his rule was recognized, everyone would cower at the mention of the name, Albert Moffit. 




Richard Sparne and a number of Sparne’s acquaintances became Moffit’s terrible scepter. 

Chapter five begins with the scene of Richard Sparne and his friends returning to the home of Albert Moffett.   After executing the Donases,  we hear Richard Sparne and his friends like Ricardo Morales describe the Donases as a pimp and hooker, and we see how they saw them as part of the problem that Albert Moffitt was trying to get rid of.

 Richard Sparne quits his basketball team and essentially dedicates his life to carrying out the desires of Albert Moffit.  Thanks for listening so far. And I hope you enjoy the rest of many cones. 

 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.   

A desperate clamor against his side entrance door interrupted Albert’s conversion. He returned to the office and admitted the visitors. Sparne and his friends straggled in. 




The Kid had blood all over himself. He had tried to wipe his face on his clothes. The cleansing attempt resulted in what resembled tribal war paint across his face. The other ones had red streaks on various body parts and clothing areas, but nothing close to Richard. Moffit coldly eyed the group. “Don’t sit or touch anything. Where are the knives?” 




Ricardo Morales said, “In the car.” 




“Go get them,” Moffit ordered. 




The well-built boy left and quickly returned with the knives. Moffit took them. “I’m going to clean these in the kitchen. Use my office bathroom and clean yourselves up. Don’t make a mess. Check each other and make sure you’re wiped down. I don’t want blood on anything in here.”




 Albert went into his residence. Since his wife had retired for the night, he didn’t need to worry about hiding things. At the sink he washed the knives by hand, and then put them in the dishwasher. He pressed the necessary buttons to start the cycle. 




When Moffit returned to his office, his group of young men was still in the process of wiping and removing blood. It took an additional ten minutes for each of them to complete the task. Everyone finally sat. The Kid was closest to Moffit’s desk. 




Albert remained quiet. Each of the young men appeared excited, like twelve or thirteen-year-old boys spying on naked breasts for the first time. Richard reached in his pocket, withdrew one hundred seventy-two dollars and laid it on Moffit’s desk. 




Sparne said, “Now the bastards will know things are going to change.” 




“Any problems?” Moffit asked. 




“None. That guy learned his lesson real quick... Guess what? One of his bitches was there. She walked out of the bathroom, naked. Good looking bitch. Nice tits. I’ll bet she made a ton a money for him.” 




“What happened to her?” 




“She strutted out of the bathroom, like a peacock. When she saw us and saw her pimp lying on the floor, she just stood there and stared. Didn’t even try to cover her t**s or anything.” 

In chapter six, Ray Grandisha dissects his approach to the crime scene. Despite the thoroughness of his approach, Grandisha noted that he would likely find nothing unless they caught a break.  His interview with the Pranets, similarly, led nowhere.  


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.  

Lieutenant Grandisha was in charge of the murder investigation. The morning following the grisly discovery, he assembled eight men and two women. They formed the team that would sift through the commonplace bits of life from a violated apartment. Statements would be taken from people who may have seen something or may know something. Sophisticated tests would be run to see if inanimate objects had stories to tell. Freaks on the street would be questioned; the street usually knew when weird things were going down. 




Fingerprints lifted from the complex would be compared to millions of others for matching ridges and swirls. All of the information would be squeezed, sifted, shaken, and inverted; hopefully an answer would pop out. In the end, it was usually a lucky break, somewhere, that would make sense out of everything. 




Ray sent a male/female team back to the apartment complex to follow up with witnesses and statements. Neighbors were questioned the night of the bloodshed, but since no one admitted seeing strangers or known persons, entering or leaving the Donas flat, in-depth interrogation was continued. 




A team was sent back to the apartment to re-sweep the personal belongings. Sometimes answers came from checkbooks, personal phonebooks, diaries, letters, or phone bills. 




Two detectives set about checking the work associates and employment histories of Jim and Sue Donas. Two more were responsible for the financial affairs of the family and all related avenues. 




The remaining staff was office bound. Their charge was to accumulate, correlate, file, run computer printouts, and do whatever else was necessary. 




Ray began his first day of the investigation by interviewing the Pranets and meeting with John Lupico. 




Jules and Liz Pranet, unfortunately, had no information that could justify the massacre. The Donas’ were everyday people. Average amount of vices. They drank, periodically smoked a joint, went to work every day, spent more than they should have, but nothing out of line, liked to have a good time, argued now and then, and loved each other. Lately, Sue had been talking about having children. 




No girlfriends, boyfriends, bent friends, juice loan collectors, pushers, bookies, closet skeletons, extreme political, sexual, religious, or racial affiliations. No stalkers, stalkees, disagreements, bitter neighbors, ex-spouses, or unpaid parking tickets. No reasons for someone to butcher them. 




Their dinner date had been set up three or four days in advance. No special occasion, they often went out together. Sue picked the restaurant. It was her favorite location. 




She was notoriously late; waiting for her, for a half hour or forty-five minutes, was not uncommon. There was a rude waiter that could verify their hour-long stall. Even though the Pranets weren’t suspects, Ray would send someone out to double check.