Mini Cones:  Ramesh Recaps Chapters 31-34Great friend of the podcast, Ramesh Unni, records his final recap of Many Cones.  Chapters 31-34 are summarized, then Ramesh concludes with some wonderful words about his brother, family, and all our lives together.

 Chapter 34 summarizes the future and past for significant characters in Many ConesMany 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 were eight other teens arrested. Four of them were not part of the murders. They flipped like golden brown pancakes. The other four also turned state’s witnesses, but were looking at substantial jail time. All of the high schoolers told the same story. Albert Moffit was the head of a criminal organization with far reaching tentacles. The victims picked were criminals double crossing a bigger, more powerful criminal. The aunt and uncle Ricardo Morales complained about, gave up their immediate dream of moving from the cul-de-sac to a safer place to raise children. Instead, they hired a top-notch criminal attorney to defend their nephew. Ricardo thought they were stupid for spending the money. He expected Mr. Moffit to fix everything, after the furor passed. The block parties continued. Ricardo became a legend at the gatherings. As a result of his status, his family was spared from the growing violence that prompted weekly police raids. Ricardo’s mother, debilitated by his arrest and prosecution, quickly returned to her previous occupation. Two months after his conviction, she was found dead in a dark alley. Her neck was broken, and dried semen spotted her chin and lips. Joe Crownder, drunk one night, was involved in a fender bender with some black teenagers. He pulled a missing, Police issue revolver, and shot two of them. Luckily they lived. He disappeared, and was rumored to be living somewhere in Montana. A 24x20 framed photograph of him was hung behind the bar in the “Rebel Yell.” He was toasted nightly. Margie Grenk was promoted to Lieutenant. Multiple men and women within the detective bureau had threatened to quit unless she was elevated in rank. Delores and Richard Sparne sold their house and cashed in their life savings to hire the best criminal lawyer in the state. Richard, the Kid, treated his lawyer with disdain, upset that his mouthpiece didn’t understand the power exercised by highly organized criminal enterprises. The Kid and Ricardo remained close, and defended each other during continuous jailhouse attacks. Mr. and Mrs. Sparne leased an apartment in Ray Grandisha’s building. They became friends. Ray considered them some of the finest people he had ever met. Albert Moffit was appointed the most experienced public defender in the area. Since the state was paying for everything, his attorney was able to hire expensive consultants and psychiatrists. It didn’t help. No one was able to communicate with Albert or decipher the odd language he spoke.Finally, an egghead psychiatrist with a double doctorate in Archaeology and Historical Linguistics, determined he was speaking an obscure form of Druidish Gaelic, used primarily during the ritual of human sacrifice. No one could be found to translate. 

 Chapter 33 starts Ray and Margie arriving at the Fine Time with a hero's welcome.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 “Fine Time” was relatively uncrowded for a Saturday night. Word of the late morning and afternoon arrests had spread. As Ray and Margie entered the establishment, all discussion ceased. Half the patrons nodded or waved. Then everyone went back to their own problems and celebrations. Ramon raised his cocktail glass in salute as Ray passed, heading for a back table. By the time he sat, a waitress was serving his scotch. Margie was asked her preference. She requested a vodka, rocks. They settled comfortably into their chairs. Margie was served. They toasted each other, touched glasses, and took a long sip. Ray set his glass on his white napkin, and lit a Pall Mall. Margie pulled a  cigarette from her pack, which Ray also lit. He pocketed his old zippo and stared warmly at his companion. She took a deep hit, and asked, “So where’s the girl without the E?”  Ray thought for a second, realized what she was talking about, and said, “Carol Lombard!” Margie smiled at Ray’s discomfort. “Yeah. Carol Lombard. Is she working tonight?” Ray’s discomfort slowly disappeared. “No. We were together last night. I told her I would probably be busy all night. I didn’t know how lucky we were going to get or how long everything would take.” Ray was leery of sending the wrong message. He decided he was being juvenile and finished his thought. “She took the day off, and her and her mother and daughter went out of town to visit relatives.” Margie noticed the contradiction. Ray staring at her with big moony eyes, and yet telling her he was with his girlfriend last night. He was a piece of work. No wonder his relationships didn’t last long. She continued the flirtation. “Do you and her have a serious thing going?” “Yes we do. As serious as I am capable of. I seem to surround myself with experienced, understanding women. Like Carol. And like you.” Before Margie had a chance to respond, Regis Cahan walked in. Ramon pointed to Ray’s table and Regis approached the two. Ray introduced Regis to Margie, and he joined them. As he sat, the waitress served his Black Jack. Cahan held his glass high. “You guys saved her life. I can’t thank you enough. She means more to me than any person I have ever met.” He took a sip. Ray said, “We got lucky. Actually, she saved herself. How is she doing?” “She took sixteen stitches in her breast. Everything else was bumps and bruises. Nothing broken. She wanted to go home after they cleaned her up, but they’re making her spend the night. To be on the safe side.” Grandisha continued, “How’s her family handling it?” “They’re petrified. Worse off than she is. But that’s to be expected. They’re all very close. Very loving...” Regis paused, smiled, and asked, “Did she really elbow the guy?”

 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. 

Chapter 31 starts with Ray and Margie in pursuit of Richard Sparne and Ricardo Morales.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. Grandisha was nearing Gina’s neighborhood. As they sped through the city, neither he nor Margie spoke. The siren and lights caused traffic to part, allowing them to proceed unimpeded. The pressure of the hunt was spooking Margie. She finally had to say something. “If he didn’t take the card with the address, why do you think he’s going to her house?” “He didn’t ‘not’ take the card. His mother took it out of his pocket without his knowledge. When he left, he thought he had it. She’s his important thing to do this morning.” “Even so, there’s no way he’d remember the address.” Ray paused, then completed the equation. “I think he’s been there. He wrote the address down as a backup.” Margie considered the answer. Decided Grandisha was correct. Asked a new question. “How did you make the connection between ‘Lawyer’s bitch’ and the attorney you called?” “The background we got this morning on Morales. His paternity case. Regis Cahan was listed as his attorney. No other legal types mentioned for Sparne or Morales. It had to be him.” A surprised look crossed Margie’s face. Her eyes opened wide. “Your mind works like a fucking computer.” “I hope I’m wrong, but I don’t think so.” Ray began circling attractive residential streets. The siren and lights were still blazing. People working in yards stopped what they were doing and gaped at the clamoring car. Grandisha and Margie both strained their eyes reading addresses. They finally found the correct street name and were nearing the right set of numbers. Margie pointed through the windshield, excitement shading her voice, “There it is.” A quaint two story house with an attached garage loomed in their vision, like a gothic castle. Ray jerked his vehicle onto the driveway and skidded to a stop. He and Margie jumped out of the car and sprinted to the front door, amid lawn mowers competing with the squelching siren for Saturday morning dominance. The residence was too quiet. Something bad was happening. Ray didn’t waste time trying the door or knocking. He drew his gun and shot the lock. He slammed his shoulder into the hardwood, snapping the inside chains previously hooked to protect the residents. They rushed in, paused at a battered bathroom door, then ran to the source of screams and curses. 

 Mini Cones:  Ramesh Recaps Chapters 27-30Great friend of the podcast, Ramesh Unni, recaps chapters 27-30 ahead of the release of the LAST 4 chapters.  Ramesh starts with some wonderful words about the author's sister and brother-in-law.

Chapter 30 begins with Delores Sparne tiptoeing through her son's room.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 cul-de-sac bore witness to a party gone bad. Broken bottles and empty, crushed cans littered the pavement. Richard avoided the clutter and pulled into the driveway. He sat for ten minutes before Ricardo came out. The Kid exercised self control to keep from laying on the horn. Teenagers did that sort of thing, not made men. However, punctuality would be discussed. Ricardo entered the vehicle in a mean rush. The car door was slammed shut. Sparne backed out to the roadway and glared at his companion. “What’s the problem? I told you to be ready.”As they drove off Ricardo answered, “My uncle. He picked this morning to play daddy. Wanted to know where I go at night and what I’m doing. . Told him me and my mother would be gone from his stupid house tomorrow. I may kick his ass when we leave. Teach him some respect.” “It must be something that’s going around. My parents had a bunch of questions for me, too. I finally had to tell them to leave me the fuck alone. I may not even tell them where I’m moving to. 

Chapter 29 begins with Delores Sparne tiptoeing through her son's room.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. At the crack of dawn, Delores Sparne was tiptoeing around her son’s room. The elation she felt, caused by the end of the phase he was going through, stoked deep maternal instincts. Yesterday’s phone call made the sadness worthwhile. A simple “How are you doin, Mom?” and he was her baby again. She had wanted to sit by his bedside and gently stroke his brow, just as she had when he was a little boy recovering from illness. That couldn’t happen now. She convinced herself that picking up and straightening his strewn clothes was enough. As long as she was tiptoe quiet, and didn’t touch him. The room was a mess. Jeans, shirts, and socks scattered in small piles, like oversized ant hills on the sidewalk. Dog-eared school books lay stacked on his battered dresser. Crumpled papers and even a dirty dish or two that she had somehow missed. The only thing orderly in the room was the row of trophies guarding the wall abutting the bed. Best this, best that, most valuable player, time and time again. Delores smiled as she counted the individual awards. Her husband had added the ledge to the wall when they ran out of surface space. The long wooden rack was quickly filled. Echoes of his boasts saddened her a bit. “I’m gonna be a star,” she heard from deep in her heart. Now, he said it didn’t matter. Her hand was resting on his covered foot. She didn’t recall extending it. Delores indulged herself for a few more seconds and then began harvesting clothes. The crumpled, dirty togs were piled near the door. The outfit, worn yesterday by Richard, had a few more days left. Delores lifted the jeans from the floor and tried to add crease, before draping them over a chair. She felt something in the back pocket and deftly removed it. Another three by five index card. Delores squinted to read the inscription, straining the meager light from the still dim, venetian blinded bedroom. “Lawyer’s bitch,” and an address, whispered from her mouth. I have no idea in the world, what that means, she thought. The other side of the card said something about one man speaking for another. She shook her head. Kids always have their own brand of talk. I’m sure it’s important to Richard. The jeans were still folded over her arm, and as she started to replace the card, Richard turned over. His stirrings commanded her attention. Her shoulders sunk in, her chin lowered, and she bent slightly, as if becoming smaller would erase her presence. It worked. Her baby continued on in slumberland. She subconsciously deposited the card in the front pocket of her brightly flowered apron, then folded the pants over the chair. The shirt was hung across the seatback, left to unwrinkle itself. She softly tread across the room, retrieved the bundle near the door, and quietly exited. Delores was too happy to start the laundry. She opened the basement door and flung the clothes down the steps, as much of a fling as an older, somewhat frail woman was able to perform. Some pieces littered the stairs. She would get them later. 

Chapter 28 begins with Ray and team feeling pumped.  They are confident the big break is about to happen.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. By 8:00 A.M., the Detective Bureau was a hive of activity. The entire special team had arrived, all with the same idea. Each tiny desk was littered with white styrofoam cups, brimming with steaming black liquids and multicolored rectangular boxes of donuts. The men and women were pumped. Ray’s belief that a break would come from the publicity was infectious. He purposely allowed them to mingle, without purpose, until the meeting. They were hyping each other. No matter what happened, today would be a good work day. Grandisha remained seated in his office. He didn’t mix. The dark wooden desk was piled with information from the two massacres. His balding head barely hovered over the stacks. The stoop didn’t help. He looked busy, but was doing nothing. Waiting for time to pass until the meeting started. The plan had been reviewed in his mind, over and over again. They would start from the beginning. Go over every printed word a fifth or sixth time with an eye toward young men and teens, and brace themselves for the break. The break had to come. At approximately 8:30, Ray sauntered into the bureau, centered himself amongst Long Johns, Danishes, and Bismarks. The meeting was easy. Everyone wanted to listen, wanted to work. The constantly ringing phones didn’t disrupt. Calls were answered without an interruption of attention. Two of the men transferred the files from Ray’s desk to Ray’s side. He passed them out to the group with specific instructions. Each team had a separate road to travel, but all roads would meet at the same place. Not a lot of questions were asked. Every person was required to man the phones, in addition to everything else. The phones had been ringing since 7:30. Kooks, revenge seekers, little old ladies with too much time on their hands, and do gooders trying to help. Some with the right mix of suspects, setting, and description. Each member of the team was experienced enough to separate the wheat from the chaff. Grandisha wanted the wheat brought to him immediately. Even if it was the end of the day. The meeting lasted a half hour. The call came at 9:15. A female detective sitting one desk over from Margie was the lucky one. The caller was a person with a Spanish accent. Male. Wouldn’t leave a name. Claimed to be a student at the high school. Could have been. Sounded young. But could have been older too. Knew a student by the name of Ricardo Morales. Had heard him say “Maricon” during the last couple of years, always said it in an angry way. His best friend was Richard Sparne. A white kid. They did everything together. The last couple of months they had been acting like Al Capone and John Gotti. End of conversation. Call traced to a public pay phone. The female detective hung up the phone, stood and yelled, “I got one,” like a greedy stockbroker. She had been writing on a notepad during the conversation and waved the paper sheet in the air. The bureau quieted and watched her triumphant march to Grandisha’s office. 

 Chapter 27 begins with Gina Drozler preparing for a nice relaxing Saturday morning.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. Gina had promised herself a sleepy Saturday morning, but old habits prevailed. The persistent dawn shone through the bedroom’s sheer curtained windows, then raced its way to fill the dark corners. She felt the insignificant warmth of the rays somewhere deep in her comatose center, like a rosebud, poised to flower. Then the brightness drummed its presence through her fluttering, closed eyes. She stirred quietly, careful not to disturb her husband. Once fully alert, Gina listened intently for the sounds of children roaming. Satisfied all were still tightly tucked in, she soundlessly peeled back the soft sheet and wooly blanket that had held her through the night. She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, stood, and stretched. She was clad in a striped white pajama top. Nothing below. Her husband wore the counterpart. They had shared nightclothes since returning from their honeymoon. The arrangement assured neither went to sleep mad or hurt. You couldn’t carry a grudge, if you had to assign bottoms and tops before retiring. It was fun, too. A fluffy, pink robe was folded over a bureau chair, two giant steps from Gina’s side of the bed. She finished shaking the sleep from her bones, and reached between the mattress and spring. She grabbed her panties and slipped them on. The hiding place became necessary when the children were old enough to burst into the room, unannounced, and wise enough to ask about underpants on the floor. Two long strides to a nearby robe, and she was sufficiently dressed to retrieve the morning papers from the cold concrete porch. The aroma of coffee filled the downstairs. Gina sat at the rustic kitchen table and read through the news, intentionally avoiding reports of “Maricon” madness. After downing four cups of black stimuli and beating a semi-tough, patternless crossword puzzle, she heard her husband stumble around, upstairs. He was a horrid morning person. His bones and muscles refused to function until properly coaxed. A hot shower usually helped. Gina removed bacon and eggs from the refrigerator, sausage links from the freezer, and pancake mix from the pantry. Within a half hour, breakfast smells chased the sweet coffee presence. When the thumping sounds of the children announced their morning excitement, she began sizzling the bacon strips. The table was set with trays of steaming food and warm plates, as the balance of the family came down the stairs. They devoured the calorie laden repast. Gina’s husband, the slow starter, was finally able to converse. “I thought you were going to lay in bed all morning? Rest your weary bones.” “I was going to, but my mind wouldn’t cooperate. When you’re wide awake, you have to get up.” George flashed a contented smile and said, “Why don’t you come with us? You’re up. No reason to stay home.” “I haven’t made myself pretty yet. You know how long that takes.” “We’ll wait. It’s Saturday. No rush. And you don’t need to make yourself pretty. You always look beautiful. Right kids?”