Majoring in Murder

Chapter 31

My mom left me a frantic voicemail asking where I was and what was keeping me. She had to leave a voicemail because a police officer was interrogating me regarding the so-called home invasion when she called. While the police officer asked me questions, his demeanor indicated he was skeptical, as most cops are when questioning a citizen involved in a potential crime.

I told the officer that my parents were away and I was supposed to meet them, but I had stopped by our house to get some things. While inside, two men broke into the house through the back door. I heard them, got my dad's pistol, and shot them when I saw they were armed. It was a simple cut-and-dry story.

Of course, the cop conducting the interview asked the same questions in various ways to determine if my story would change, but I stuck to the basics and tried not to embellish or add any flourishes. I left out that I saw the first man on the porch and didn't open the door when he knocked. That might seem suspicious. Why would I refuse to open the door if someone knocked? Besides, I couldn't remember if he was holding a pistol when he knocked. It was more believable to tell him the simplified story because there were fewer details to contend with that might trip me up later.

The policeman held up the .45 by the trigger guard with a gloved hand and noticed the missing sight. He looked back at the two bodies. "That was pretty good shooting for not having a front sight," he said.

My face flushed. "My dad's taken me to shoot it before," I said, trying not to grin. Although his compliment was flattering, I had to keep in mind that I was the victim of a home invasion. "I know how to compensate for the missing sight."

As we stood in the living room watching the crime scene technicians taking pictures and collecting evidence, another cop entered through the front door and approached us. He and the officer who was questioning me moved away and conferred in whispers before the cop with the notepad came back to me.

"Are you positive you don't know either of these men?" he asked.

I shook my head. "I've never seen them before."

"We've IDed both men and learned they're..." he cleared his throat, "excuse me, were members of the Mafia. The one with the green tie is Tony Piccolo. The other one there," he said, pointing to the last guy I'd shot in the head, "is Salvatore Brusco. They worked as associates for a mafia syndicate in New Jersey called the Lucchese family."

"New Jersey?" I said. "What are they doing down here?"

The officer shrugged. "We don't know. Probably extending their operations. They've already spread into Tampa and Miami. My guess is they're trying to bridge the gap by setting up shop in Atlanta. The thing is, these guys aren't your run-of-the-mill home invaders. They probably wouldn't break into your house without a reason. Are you sure you've never seen them before?"

I assured him again that I had never seen either man before. Queasiness began to spread its tentacles through my abdomen at the thought of being caught in a lie and I wanted to sit down. In my mind, I crossed my fingers and hoped the cop hadn't yet heard of the deaths of Carlo and Victor in Doraville. If he linked the two shootings, it would only be a matter of time before I was a person of interest in both cases.

I thought of the waitress at Lucky Chen's, how she could probably ID me, and felt worse.

As the policeman concentrated on his notepad and made notes, a contemplative look crept onto his face. Most likely, he was still trying to puzzle out why those men were in my house. "It's possible they were committing a little burglary," he said, but I detected an undertone of doubt. He put pen to paper again and marked something, then said. "You're lucky to be alive after tangling with those guys." He shook his head. "They're really bad guys."