Misty River (eBook)

CHAPTER 2

A Suspicious Death

March 2, 1985, Saturday morning

At 7:35 a.m., when Robby Benton stopped by the bakery, he was surprised the glass door displayed the “Closed” sign. Frank always opened it at seven, so when Robby tried the handle, he was surprised the door wasn’t locked. Frank never left the door unlocked when the bakery was closed. Robby curiously peered through the glass window, but there was no sign of Frank. So, Robby entered the store, calling Frank’s name. No one responded. He searched for Frank and saw a trail of bloody bootprints leading from the front door to the restroom.

Blood was oozing beneath the closed restroom door. Panicked, he called “Frank? Frank!” His brain couldn’t keep up with what his eyes were seeing. His hands trembled, and his knees buckled. He decided to call the sheriff.

At 7:45 a.m., Officer Harvey Gates, a seven-year Leigh County Sheriff’s Office veteran, was driving Lansing Street on routine patrol. He planned to stop and grab a coffee and, hopefully, a free Italian pastry at Amoia’s Bakery when his radio phone lit up.

Gates routinely stopped at the bakery under the pretense of checking on Mr. Amoia. He was a sucker for the homemade cannoli, and Amoia never charged him for it, throwing in a complimentary cup of coffee. Half-heartedly, he refused, but Amoia always insisted.

Now Gates flicked on his blue lights and siren, turned around, and sped towards the bakery.

Robby was standing outside, visibly shaken.

“Sir, take a deep breath and tell me what happened.”

“I stopped by for my usual coffee and a pastry. Mr. Amoia always displayed the “Open” sign when he unlocked the door. But the “Closed” sign was displayed this morning, and the door unlocked.

“I went inside, but no one was in sight, so I called Frank’s name. He didn’t answer and I couldn’t see him anywhere, so I started to look for him. That’s when I noticed a trail of blood leading to the restroom. The restroom door was closed, and blood was seeping out. I panicked because I thought Mr. Amoia might be in there, so I used the bakery phone to call you guys.”

Gates’s educated guess was that Amoia was in the restroom. “Would you mind waiting in my cruiser and writing everything you just told me? I’m gonna take a look around. I’ll have another officer follow up with you.”

Gates got on the radio. Deputies and rescue units were at the scene in minutes.

At 7:48 a.m., homicide Detective Bob Massey of the Leigh County Sheriff’s Office shoveled four teaspoons of sugar into his black coffee.

Two hundred and fifty thousand people live in Leigh County. Massey joked he would never be out of a job in law enforcement. Without skipping a beat, his number was called.

Sergeant Cain interrupted his first sip. “I just got a call about a “suspicious death” at Amoia’s bakery. I’m assigning you the investigation, and I need you out there now.”

“Any details?”

“A customer saw blood on the floor, but no one was around.”

“It never fails. The first call always comes before I’ve had my coffee.”

“Take your coffee with you and bring the new camcorder. The sheriff insists we use it. He doesn’t want any flak from the city council for spending all that money on the damn thing.”

Massey had been investigating homicide scenes for two decades, but no matter how hard-boiled an investigator got, there was always one murder scene that would be too brutal to forget. It is common for homicide investigators to try and convince themselves that the next crime scene couldn’t be worse than the one they’re working on. But that is nothing more than wishful thinking. Inevitably, it gets worse. That day had arrived for Massey.

With his coffee in one hand and the camcorder in the other, he headed to the crime scene that would haunt him for years to come.

A short time later, Massey met Gates at the closed restroom door.

“So, whatcha got?”

“The witness is a frequent bakery customer,” he said, reporting Robby’s statement.

“Did he say if he noticed anyone else in or around the store?”

“Not really, but after he called the sheriff’s office, he saw a homeless-looking guy sitting on the bench across the street. He told the deputies the guy walked off towards the alley.”

“So, we’re disqualifying the guy as a potential witness because he looks like he’s homeless? Where’s the guy now?”

“He’s gone.”

Massey shook his head. As usual, half the sheriff’s department had arrived at the crime scene, but no one thought it was necessary to interview a guy who could have been the perpetrator or, at the very least, an eyewitness.

Outside the bakery, a bunch of recent Sheriff Academy graduates were socializing. “Nice day for a murder,” Massey said.

“Gosh, Detective, do you think that’s what happened?”

“I wouldn’t know, since none of you jokers bothered to open the restroom door.”

“We tried, sir,” an eager young recruit said, “but something is blocking it. We didn’t want to mess up the crime scene. So, we’re awaiting instructions on how to proceed.”

“And you never thought of getting your toolbox and removing the door and frame?”

“Sir, that’s a great idea.”

Massey turned to Gates, who had come up behind him. “The department paid a fortune for this new video camcorder. Does anybody know how to work it? I want the crime scene investigation recorded.”

One of the young deputies grabbed the camcorder and started filming the technicians removing the door. He pointed the recorder into the restroom when the door was removed. Disturbed at what he saw, he almost dropped the camera. He had never seen anything so ghastly. A lifeless body was covered in blood on the floor, lying in a grotesque pose reminiscent of a slasher movie. It sent shivers down his spine.

Massey began to inspect the room. It was so small you couldn’t swing a cat in it, with just enough room for a toilet, sink, paper dispenser, metal trash basket, and one dead man. Massey, a seasoned homicide detective who thought he’d seen everything, was rattled. The man’s throat had been slit from ear to ear. His nearly severed head, body, and clothing were all soaked in blood. Massey turned away in disgust.

As Detective Massey surveyed the room, an unsettling feeling washed over him. The Detective meticulously observed every minute detail of the crime scene. It became evident that this was no ordinary murder, but rather a malevolent act driven by an evil, twisted mind. The room itself seemed to mirror the chaos of the crime.

The man’s head was closest to the door, and his feet rested on the opened toilet. He wore a beige shirt, blue Levi pants, a brown belt, white socks, and brown lace-up shoes. Massey guessed the victim was about six feet five inches tall, an older, wiry-framed man, his graying hair stained blood red. His face was painted in blood, making it difficult to discern his features. But when he bent down to make a closer inspection, Massey recognized Frank Amoia’s dark eyes, long nose, razor-sharp cheekbones, and jutting chin. The body was still flaccid and warm to the touch. Mr. Amoia hadn’t been dead for long.

Massey straightened up and ran a chubby hand over his nearly bald head. “I swear, as God is my witness, I’ll catch the bastard who did this.”

He zeroed in on Frank’s pants pocket. “Are you seeing what I’m seeing?”

His sergeant replied, “I’m looking at it now.”

“His front pants pocket is inside out,” said Massey.

“Well, if nothing else, we have a motive: greed,” replied the
Sergeant.

Massey’s eyes were drawn to a dime floating in the blood. He sarcastically commented, “I guess money bags didn’t need it. Call the medical examiner’s office. That’s a wrap on the suspicious death call. We now have a verified murder, the likes of which I have never witnessed before.”

The Leigh County Medical Examiner, Dr. Daniel Smith, arrived at thirty minutes past eight with his investigators. The doctor’s external examination of the victim’s body revealed that Amoia had been repeatedly stabbed in the torso, in addition to the sharp-force trauma to the throat. The cause of death, pending a complete autopsy, appeared to have been the severing of the carotid arteries.

“Here’s something you might find interesting,” the doctor pointed out. “It appears the victim was still alive when the assailant stabbed him in his stomach and chest. The angles of the stab wounds suggest they were inflicted after the victim’s throat was cut as he lay dying on the floor. I suspect the killer wanted to be sure the victim was dead before he left.”

Massey quipped, “There’s nothing like a goal-oriented killer on the loose. Can you estimate the time of death?”

“Yes. But I need time to take the victim’s body temperature.”

Doctor Smith made a small incision in the upper right abdomen and passed the thermometer into Amoia’s liver tissue. Forensic doctors use the standard cooling curve: hours since...