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Chapter One
This was the first call I made. Houston Police
Department. Asked them to track down the dispatcher working out of the Thirty-first
Precinct seventeen years ago, third shift, on duty from eleven to seven.
Very efficient force down there, cop called me back
twenty minutes later.
He said, "Now have I got Agent Penelope Rice of the
FBI here?"
He did.
"Count yourself fortunate, ma'am. Officer Melvin
Hightower dispatcher seventeen years ago Thirty-first Precinct is still dispatchin' still
workin' the third shift don't ask me why. He's home asleep till five. Don't need to sleep
far as I can tell. Melvin's famous for the amount of rest he gets on the job."
He gave me Melvin's home phone number. I thanked him.
"Always a pleasure helpin' out the feds,
ma'am."
Yeah, sure.
At five o'clock Officer Hightower answered his phone on
the first ring. He didn't say hello, he said, "FBI?"
So I said, "Officer Hightower?"
Him: "Agent Rice?"
I let it go. "Yes, this is Agent Rice. Sorry to
bother you at home."
"Expect it's urgent."
Very urgent. "Yes, it is. I need you to recall the
work you did the night Melody Scott and James Munter were killed."
"You and everybody else. That little guttersnipe. .
. . Well, her number's just about up, ain't it?"
He wasn't looking for an answer so why bother?
"About to get the big stick. I'll tell ya, it's all
been coming back to me like it happened last night, like I got a picture show in my head.
I'd be more'n happy to share my recollections with you, Agent, but I do find myself
wonderin' what interest the FBI might be havin' at this late date. I mean, when it's too
late to change a thing."
'Let's just call it a spot check, Officer. We were
involved in the case before it went to trial."
"That so? Never heard that. But who am I?
Dispatcher, is all. So here I go: See, that night? I get two calls concern' the crime.
From the same guy. 'Course, he was fool enough to try to deepen his voice second time.
First voice, regular voice, guy tells me two people got beat up, gives me an address, a
motel, and then I get dead air. Couple minutes later he's Mr. Deep Voice and says two
people, armed and dangerous, high on illegal drugs, are causin' a fuss and gives me
another address, a residence, then more dead air.
"I figure it's just some fool with an ax to grind. .
. . Hey, now, I didn't quite mean to say that, did I?"
"I guess you didn't."
"I don't take none of it lightly, Agent."
"I'm sure."
"Where was I? Oh. I send two cars out, two boys in
each, hear from my second car ten minutes later. Officer says, 'Melvin, we got a coupla
naked, stoned kids standin' in a bathtub fulla bloody water.' More blood than water, he
tells me. Says, 'Aint their blood neither. Some, but most of it came off them, not
outa them. And there's a pile a clothes on the bathroom floor saturated with blood.' Says,
'Melvin? A violent crime's been committed real recent, some other location. You keep your
ears peeled, hear?'
'Then as I remember he said he wouln't be gettin' much
outa the two kids till he brings 'em in. Says, 'Make a real big pot a coffee, Melvin,
'cause I can see I'll be needin' six cups myself. Figure these hopheads'll choose my squad
car to puke up all the shit they been takin'.'
"Two kids, Agent, are Rona Leigh Glueck and her
boyfriend, Lloyd whatever-his-name-was. Forget. Officers come in, Rona Leigh wrapped in a
blanket, and she's laughin' and laughin'. First sensible thing we make outa her is, 'I had
me so much fun killin' that bitch I got a pop ever' time the ax chopped her.' Then she
goes totally berserk, like a blind dog in a butcher shop, starts carryin' on, screamin'
and cryin' and laughin' all at once. Pukes right then. Never puked in the squad car, oh,
no, she waits till she gets in fronta my desk. Toss her in the lockup with all the
hookers, and they're like to kick the shit outa her 'cause she's still pukin' her brains
out. But then they recognize her as one a their own and clean her up. The boyfriend, he
never said a damn thing.
"Then the other shoe drops. Two officers I sent to
that motel? Here's their story. They knock on a lotta doors, put up with a lotta grief
from the other guests, who figure they was bein' arrested and don't know what for. Then
they find the right room. The boy's room.
Time to let him come up for air. "James
Munter."
"Yeah, Munter, that was it. His room was unlocked.
Officers open the door, flip on the light, first thing they can make out? The handle a
that ax. Where it wasn't slick with blood said the wood was almost white. The light comin'
through the door behind them had lit it up, is what that poor rookie kept sayin' to anyone
who would listen. Said the ax handle looked like it had a light bulb in it.
"The blade was embedded in the female victims upper
chest. Senior officer says to me, 'You wouldn'ta believed it, Melvin. A drip fell right
down on my shoe like suddenly it's rainin' blood.' Ma'am, our two boys look up at this big
red splash on the ceilin' and then they step back real quick so's they won't get dripped
on further. And then they just go steppin' on back and steppin' on back till they was out
the door again. Rookie told me he just slammed it, liked to make it all go away. Ya with
me, Agent?"
"I am."
"Could understand his feeling. Been there, done
that, which is why I choose to dispatch. Two boys run to the cruiser and call the precinct
for help. Get me. I remember listenin' to both a them talkin' so fast, so crazy, I could
smell sulfur. I said to them, 'You boys best calm yourselves right down 'cause I can't
make out one word y'all're tryin' to say.' So they did, and I know to quick send out
another car, call the man in charge, wake him up, and then, a course, all hell breaks
loose. Real soon, you got your newspaper boys, you got your TV lights, you got your
rubberneckers, ex cetra. With a homicide word flies fast, never mind what happens when you
got a double ax murder, you know what I'm sayin', ma'am?"
"I know." I said to the dispatcher, "Did
the officer who found the bodies get the names of the people staying at the motel?"
"No, ma'am. Let's just say those folks had the
foresight to check out real fast -- long as you call runnin' out the back door checkin'
out."
"What about other people in the neighborhood? Did
any witnesses come forward?"
"Ma'am, that neighborhood is so low-down you don't
want to know who your neighbor might be, never mind listen to what he has to say. Nobody
seen or heard a thing. We figured right away, Forget about witnesses."
"Were you able to trace the calls?"
"What calls?"
"From the puppeteer?"
"What the hell is that, FBI talk? Did you say puppeteer?"
"The man who called you twice. Disguised his
voice."
"Oh, him. Nope. Nobody saw to tracin' that
call."
"I find that impossible to believe."
He chose not to respond.
"Who destroyed your trace?"
"Ma'am, thought you said this was a spot
check?"
"That's right."
"Hey, Agent, you're a pisser, you don't mind my
sayin'. You want to talk to someone else in the department? That'll be fine. But you take
it from this old geezer, who's been around a lot longer than you, it is too late for
stirring up shit. She dies in -- what is it? Couple weeks?"
"Ten days."
"Ten days? You see? There's no point. Now I got to
get movin'. Got plenty to do before I report to work tonight."
Yeah. He had plenty to do. Had to get back on the phone
the minute I hung up and report my call to someone. The bastard.
Excerpted from LOVE HER MADLY © Copyright 2001 by Mary-Ann Tirone. Reprinted with permission from Henry Holt. All rights reserved.
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