The Adventures of Rusty Mulligan — The Unexpected Connection
The terrors of war woke me early as usual at 4 AM on January 22nd, 1946, just another day. So I grabbed my flask of bourbon and took a few sips, warms me up a bit, and helps forget things that happened during the war. I got out of bed and started the routine of washing my face to knock the cobwebs out of my head, shaving, putting on my clothes, a gray suit with a red, blue, and white tie. I had a glass of bourbon after the morning coffee I put in the percolator. Sarah, God love ‘er, has put up with me since we married in 1919 and were courting from 1914. I don’t know why she does put up with me; I’m a heavy drinker, probably a shame to my ancestors I’m sure. I work long hours, I sleep horribly, and I don’t bring a lot of cheer home. But she still mothers our six boys, cooks, cleans, and just being the wonderful wife she is.
I went to shovel snow off our porch and driveway, thankfully our 1938 Hudson Sedan is in our garage, so no need to be brushing it off, it is still quiet on our street at 5:30 when I finished, I took off my coat and cap to clear our driveways and walks, I then put back on my shirt and tie and jacket. Sarah was up and ready by then, we kissed, then had some coffee, and I had a cigarette. By 5:45, Sarah and I woke the boys and hustled them to get dressed for school, seems early to some, but they got a pretty long walk ahead to school. By 6:05 the boys were ready and we said our morning prayers and read some Scripture Ephesians 3:till end. We ate bacon and eggs and hash browns. I filled my hip flask for the day’s work and made sure I had a full pack of cigarettes.
At 6:30 I put on my blue Overcoat and gray Hat, lit up a cigarette and got our car started and got in, and drove off to another day of looking through cadavers and corpses. By 6:50, I was at the station downtown. I went up to the third floor, Homicide. My partner is Jack Marshall, a good tall kid, the problem is that his book smarts make him act a little superior at times, but still he’s a good cop and friend. When you see one gruesome murder or a simple shooting, they’re all just more death, it’s our job, it’s just one more death, the press gets their columns and headlines, the coroner, tech services, the lawyers, the prosecutors, and I collect our paychecks sorting out the mess left behind. The Mob may make the mess as murder’s a science to those guys, but it’s a fallen world and keeping them in check, we try to lock’em up but eh it what it is. Sometimes they are solved and we get a nice column or two, or they go unsolved, the murderer slips through, or the case goes cold. Such is life, someone benefits always from every wrong, every right and someone gets screwed from every wrong, every right.
Sometimes it’s benefits do good for all involved, but someone always gets screwed, sometimes there’s someone to pick up the pieces, or I end up picking them up with the usual fellows, we find out malicious or natural causes, the Prosecutors, the DA, the politicians, they all scream and use the deaths for their gain, rarely do you find one that they don’t. Some bum falls dead from a morphine overdose and suddenly it’s all us white folks’ fault that the guy was a lay-about that screwed over his family and lived like the scum he was. Everyone’s got an ax to grind, a buck to make, a man to screw over, and a vote to get. You see it all on homicide, you don’t know who’s on the take for some gangster or maybe some two bit hood, we don’t have as much of that as you do on Vice, but it still happens once in a while.
Our Skipper Captain Galloway walked in with his usual gruff yet jolly demeanor, to give us our cases,
“Good morning lads, we’ve got more acts of Cane to clean up, a couple of DB calls [Dead Body calls], and a couple of ODs. Mulligan and Marshall, you’ve got a new case, a prominent businessman in Detroit’s Italian sector in West Detroit, was found dead in the snow outside his home in his driveway. Doc Brown states it all bears signs of murder. You then have to go over to another part of West Detroit look over two Negro men seems like an OD you might meet up with the Vice boys. Brown and Piker will meet you at the first address, get going lads. Herbert and Colson, you got a dead Chicano woman at…”
We left the station, and we headed to our car, a 1941 Ford Sedan, it’s been a good car to us, got us through the Zooter riots back in ’43, but the department is speaking of modernization as the war’s comin’ to the end. Wouldn’t mind a new one, but they gotta dump the wooden bumpers before we get a new car, chrome reminds us of the better days before the war. Kid Marshall understands a little better since he got back from combat as a Lieutenant fightin’ the Japs. Why we old timers like myself always have a flask alongside, what the heck are we supposed to do? The only way to deal with bad memories is to forget ’em.
The drive out to the first crime scene was pleasant enough despite the frigid temperature and heavy snow. We chatted about our families and looked forward to a picnic in spring. The heater was working well.
Ricardo Tonelli, a prominent businessman and political figure with some shady dealings was strangled dead outside of his home, his wife was in a hysterical state and their family doctor gave her a sedative, while the family Priest gave her Husband the last Rites, and had been comforting her before the Doctor arrived. Mr. Tonelli had left his home to go to his business this morning, he wasn’t robbed, nothing rifled, just found dead strangled in the snow. We spoke with the ME Doc Brown and Tech Services Frank Piker. They had found two sets of footprints, from all the evidence it looked like someone was hiding in the bushes that surrounded the house in the dark early morning it would be wonderful a hiding place. Someone else probably distracted him, perhaps to feign discussing some business of some sort.
“Doc, Frank, what do you guys think about this?”
The Doc commented,
“From his body’s appearance it happened within the last couple hours, no rigor, even in the cold, no real frostbite. And no real snow covering the victim.”
Frank continued,
“From what I can gather the guy who distracted him had size 9 shoes, average, definitely on the lighter side considering the depths of the prints we found, we’ll let you know what the boys in photog got, and latent prints, I don’t hold out any chance for them, it’s pretty darn cold so the over-under is that they were wearing gloves, but I’ll let you guys know. The other guy was a big fellow, considering the way of murder with likely piano wire and the size 14 shoes, and the depth they made in the snow. There isn’t much more that we can get, the usual things on the body, a pocket cigar case, wallet, lighter, nothing unusual on the Vic, didn’t find anything else outside of his briefcase which had the usual political and business dealings common to the victim.”
I asked,
“Anything else?”
Frank finished,
“No, better talk to the patrol officer that was on the scene first and talk to him. Officer Pete McDonald.”
“Thanks, Frank, Doc, if you have anything more just send word via Communications and we’ll call in or visit you fellows.”
We surveyed the scene. It was an easier sight to take compared to some of the other ones we dealt with. It was a cold, snowy, windy day, we walked over to talk with Officer McDonald, he was an average-sized Irishman with sandy hair. We spoke to him.
“Morning Mac, how did you come to find him?”
I asked.
“I got called over while pounding my beat in the neighborhood by a neighbor.”
“Who found the body?”
“Mario Tonelli, he’s the eldest son, he was coming by to drop off a late Christmas gift for his mother on his way from work, it had been delivered there, he and his wife live around the block.”
“What’d you make of him?”
“Shrewd, cold, well-spoken, businesslike, seems pretty dedicated to his family.”
“I’ve heard rumblings from the Vice boys that he could be mob-connected, but nothing concrete. Thanks, McDonald.”
We oversaw the grounds to see if Tech Services missed anything, doubtful, but they are still human. We found nothing. We then knocked and were let in by Mario Tonelli, an average-sized man, well dressed, polite, quiet, with a weathered face and a few scars, the son of the victim. He led us to the living room, and we sat down to ask him a few questions. Jack started the ball rolling.
“Mr. Tonelli, I’m sorry for your loss, but we need to clear this up, quick!”
“I understand.”
“So you were stopping by, coming back from work? When you found the body?”
“Yeah, that’s right. I was dropping off a present I ordered for my mother, a nice Chinchilla Coat imported specially. It was delayed shipping.”
“Why was it delivered at your work?”
“I run a fur salon, it was and is one of my Dad’s salons, he let me manage it. We had a big restock last night and I was coming home for a little rest and a bite to eat before getting back for the Customers.”
“I see. Where do you think your dad was going? He had many business papers in his briefcase.”
“He was going to have a meeting with all the managers of the Salons in the City, then to have a meet up with some of the local politicians and businessmen, the rest I don’t know.”
“Do you know anyone who might have had a motive to murder your father? An enemy?”
“No. Maybe a business opponent or a political one, I don’t know of anyone that desperate.”
“Who inherits the family estate?”
“I do, while I take care of my Mother and assume the duty of family head.”
I piped up,
“So, you had a good motive to clip him, you’d take over a multi-million dollar fur chain, you’d have millions of assets, and family power… Very sweet for you.”
“Look before you keep making accusations, I’m perfectly well off on my own and had plenty of learning to do from my Dad, in business and life. Killing him wouldn’t benefit me that way.”
“I see, well we’ll see about that, if you don’t mind we’ll question everyone you’ve mentioned including your mother when she’s a little better.”
“Look gentlemen, you do what you have to do, I’m only too happy to cooperate with you in every way. Everyone’s under suspicion, so Godspeed to you both.”
“We’ll keep you up to date, sorry for your loss.” Finished Jack.
We got the addresses of his grown siblings, Tony, Matteo, Maria, and Tina. We got up and as we were leaving and I remembered a question we forgot to ask,
“Sir, there’s one more thing! You didn’t mention anything about your siblings? Would any of them have a motive to clip your Pop? After all, it ain’t as uncommon as some might think. Your family has a lot of money, power, and influence, that can make the best sons and daughters murderers.”
“Not that I know of, Tina did have a boyfriend that my Dad didn’t approve of, neither did me or my brothers for the most part, but to murder for that, cripes!”
“Okay sir, we’ll talk to you and your mother later, good day sir.”
We left the house, tightening scarfs, putting on gloves, we walked toward the car, the air was cold and snowy, a January blizzard blowing, most sane people stay inside, but murderers kill in every weather, so the work continued. We headed to the address the ODs the Skip gave us. It was in the poorer region of the area about a half hour’s drive away.
Roy Stewart and Finn Brown of Vice met us at the scene to fill us. Two dead negroes, definite ODs, tragic waste of life, was a few seconds of pleasure worth it? when booze and smoking aren’t enough, you have a problem, and you sometimes end up with us investigating.
They were Jermaine Jefferson and Tyree Jackson, ages 25 and 24. They ODed on heroin, they were musicians that often played at the Gotham Hotel, a popular mob and negro hang out. Sad waste of life, I worked vice for a bit back in the 30s. It’s never happy finding someone ODed, a baby murdered in some Doctor’s office or back alley, a whorehouse of strumpets, and gigolos who’d sell their humanity at market rates. It’s all so sad, wasting their lives for a bunch of Junk. We spoke with Stewart and Brown,
“What do you guys know about the stiffs?” I asked.
“Two musicians, lots of hop charges, some that stuck, others that didn’t. Real lay-abouts, all they did was play music and do dope. The coroner said definite OD.” Stewart answered.
“They also served in the Army, both had bad records. They also have a few petty thefts, burglaries, they were bad customers.” Brown added.
“Any leads toward their dealers?”
“Nix, we questioned the neighbors, but they weren’t giving much, a lot of rough customers, suspicious types.” Replied Stewart.
Three deaths to solve, one a murder and two ODs, may be connected, maybe not, messes to clean up for all of us. We checked the haunts of the two Musicians, various bars, the Gotham Hotel, and their families. We also checked through the various family members of Rico Tonelli, business associates, and political ties. It all went nowhere. From what we gathered on the musicians, our interrogations confirmed what Stewart and Brown had told us. Rico Tonelli was a beloved figure among those who knew him, and had a lot of respect in the city, with no obvious connection to the two musicians. We had a lot of work ahead, lots of questions to ask, and sore feet ahead, but we do the Lord’s work in catching heathens and seeking to straighten them out of their iniquities, but the legal eagles will handle the prosecution and justice for Mr. Tonelli. The politicians will probably get a few campaign advertisements on the Radio out of these three deaths. Just another day on Homicide.
Please come back next week for the exciting conclusion of “The Unexpected Connection.” Good night and God bless.
