It Needed Doin' - John Corso

"Damar, there's a bad one coming in. You drew it," said the sergeant as he looked down at me. I was sitting at my desk, trying to type up my notes and thoughts on the interview I'd finished an hour ago.

"Oh?" I wittily asked.

"Yeah," the sergeant replied, just as wittily. "You ain't heard the chatter?"

"Not yet. 'Sup?"

"Domestic gone bad. Real bad. They're bringing in the shooter. You get to talk to him."

"Fan-fucking-tastic,..." I muttered, turning back to my screen and trying to finish my notes quick. "How long?"

"You got around two hours?" the sergeant said. "The shooter's at the hospital. Shocky."

I just put on a pained look. "Just make certain I get the prelims, first. I don't like doing this blind. That shit last year was bullshit."

"I hear ya," he said. "They're still getting it together. This one's bad."

++++++

I scanned the topsheet as I pulled on my suit jacket and made certain my police ID was hanging in plain sight.

Then I scanned it a bit more.

______

Breaking and entering. Brandishing. Assault with a firearm. Assault with a taser. Menacing underage children. He'd killed the husband of the owner of the home. A long list of other potential charges.

Yeah, I could see why the sergeant said this was bad.

I thumbed over, and got to the light particulars.

Units arrived after alarms went off. On-site officers entered, found the suspect in a bedroom, holding a naked girl on a bed. Unconscious adolescent male (17) in the bedroom. Corpse in the bedroom, dead from presumably the 1911 on the floor. 7 rounds in corpse. Adolescent male found in a locked closet, handcuffed and duct tape over the mouth.

______

Holy shit.

No, I needed more. What the Hell...?

______

Police respond to an alarm for a residential home. Adequate response time. Upon arriving, they see a bay window has been smashed in, house lights are flashing. They enter, weapons drawn, announcing their presence (bodycam footage available). No verbal response.

Police officers follow thumping sounds to a room, and discover a young male adolescent, Shawn Corso (10) in handcuffs, with duct tape around his head and mouth, kicking from the inside of a locked closet. Shawn is emotionally unstable, shows injuries, and escorted off premises to a parked unit outside (bodycam footage available).

Backup arrives, two units.

Officers find suspect in room down the hall from where Shawn Corso was found.

Suspect is adult white male, late 30's, later identified as John Corso (multiple ID in on-person wallet) (37).

Suspect is found holding adolescent white female, Jean (Jeanie) Corso (14). Jean Corso is naked, and appears to have been prior restrained to bedposts, on the bed Joh Corso is found sitting on. Unresponsive to stimuli. Taken to hospital for workup and monitoring.

Corpse found in bedroom is identified as Mark Mattolo (37), house occupant.

Unconscious adolescent male found in the bedroom identified as Mark Mattolo (Junior)(17). Mark Mattolo Jr. is injured, and taken to hospital.

John Corso is taken into custody, unresponsive to officers, but not resisting. Uninjured. Taken to hospital for workup.

Gun recovered in scene is Colt M1911, single-action, recoil-operated, semi-automatic pistol chambered for the.45 ACP cartridge (unmodified). Registered to John Corso (suspect).

Taser recovered on site is model Taser 7 CQ. Discharged. (John Corso).

Also found on site, in vehicle, is home owner Jean Mattolo (36). She is discovered in her car, parked in the driveway, distraught. Declined medical aid. Showing signs of shock. Taken to hospital for workup.

Jean Mattolo is ex-wife of John Corso (three years). With her in the vehicle is her son, Hunter Mattolo (3).

______

Okay, this screamed 'crime of passion.'

It looked like the ex-husband went bonkers, went to the ex-wifes house, and went ripsaw on the ex-wifes new husband.

My job now, was to get what information I could out of John Corso, who was in Interview Room #3.

I got to work pulling up backgrounds and history.

++++++

I looked at the screen showing what the camera in #3 could see. John Corso was there, sitting beside the small table, a hospital blanket around his shoulders and a cup of Palumbo's coffee beside him, untouched. He was in there with Palumbo, who was pretty good at getting things out of woman, but men, not so much. Palumbo was doing the initial, I would be the main.

I watched for a minute, the sergeant beside me, and we could see that Corso, still holding the blanket around him, was unresponsive... but his eyes were moving, and his breathing changed a couple of times, when Palumbo asked him questions. Corso was in there, and the hospital had released him to the police, no damage found, just under severe emotional strain.

I hoped Palumbo would remember to get that blanket away from Corso, I had a suspect throw one at me last year, and attack me while I was tied up with it. I didn't want a repeat.

"Has he said anything?" I asked the sergeant. We both watched the screen.

"Not that I've seen," he said. "I ain't been watching it all though. Palumbo will know."

I hoped Palumbo had gotten something.

"Don't forget to box your shit before you go in there," the sergeant reminded me. We weren't supposed to take weapons, cuffs, OC spray, and other such things into Interviews. Safety precaution. Not for the interviewer, but for everyone else, in case some suspect pulled a rip and dropped the interviewer, then went on an escape-attempt. It had happened.

++++++

"Mr. Corso, I'm Detective Damar Freeman." I said, after a brief talk with Palumbo in the hallway, as I entered Interview Room #3. Palumbo had said Corso was starting to respond, but wasn't up to speed yet. "No relation."

My attempt at humor failed. Corso looked at me, but didn't give me any sign of a laugh or a grimace. Just a nod, letting me know he knew I was there. Palumbo entered behind me.

"Can I get you anything?" I asked Corso, as I put down my cup of lukewarm bean-juice, an attempt to show him I was drinking what he did. "Food, maybe?"

Corso just shook his head slowly, indicating he wasn't interested. But it did let me know he was 'in there' and responsive. Two responses in a row.

"Mr. Corso, do you think we can have a conversation?" I asked him, putting my hand on the back of the chair. I wouldn't sit down, until he gave me a positive sign of engaging with me. Doing that made people feel like they had a little more control, sometimes. People in control were more relaxed, and prone to talk more. "If now isn't good, we can talk later."

"No, it's okay," Corso said, his volume low, his speech slower than the local normal, but his eyes did look at my face. He was starting to engage, after some emotional trauma and 'checking out.' "We can talk. I don't remember a lot though."

"What can you tell me?" I asked, pulling out the only other chair in the room, and it was still warm from Palumbo sitting in it. Palumbo took position next to the closed door, and stuck his hands in his pockets, which was a sign of passivity. Another calming tactic.

Corso's eyes started shifting back and forth, generally looking down. He was searching his memories, and trying to put words to things. You give people time when they're like this.

"Is Jeanie okay?" Corso asked me. He sounded and looked a bit desperate.

"Jeanie?" I asked. I knew who he meant, but I needed his cognitive functions to engage. Ask him counter-questions of an easy nature, he might get where I needed him quicker.

"My daughter." Corso responded. "Is she okay? She wouldn't wake up. I think she was drugged. Is she okay?"

"She's in the hospital right now." I told him, a reassuring tone in my voice, along with a small smile. "We're having toxicology, and a rape kit done on her."

"Oh God, tell me she wasn't raped?" Corso's tone was almost pleading. He had a nervous action with his right hand, which I assumed was his dominant hand. "She wasn't raped, was she?!"

"We'll know more later." I said, not knowing the answer. "We need to let the doctors do their jobs first."

"Where's Shawn?"

"Your son was found in another room. He'd been restrained, and was in a closet." I told him. "You didn't know?"

"He's okay?" Corso said, meeting my eyes.

"He's shook up from what I understand, but he's okay." I said. This looked like genuine concern so far. The nervous action in Corso's fingers was still happening.

"Oh thank God."

"You didn't know he was in there?" I asked again.

"No. I didn't have time to look... after those kids ran past me, I just went to the bedroom." Corso said. I made a note of that.

"My kids are okay?" Corso asked me again.

"Mr. Corso, can I call you John?" I believed in asking permission before using their first name. Control measures, reassurance. Also, polite.

Corso just nodded, his eyes on the floor now.

"John, we just have to wait to find out about your daughter." I reaffirmed, leaning toward him a little, projecting friendliness. "Your son seems okay."

"Oh God... Jeanie... she's so little..." Corso started to tear up.

I nudged Corso's coffee a little closer to him, and put a travel pack of tissues on the table between us, making certain he'd have to reach toward me to get them. Symbology.

Corso looked at me, a hint of thankfulness in his features, and reached for the tissues. He pulled them closer, left them on the table, and then picked up his coffee. Hopefully he'd make a face if he drank some. Palumbo had put a shot of Fred's Hot Sauce in it. That would be another sign he was 'coming back.'

"Can I see them?" Corso asked.

"Not right now." I told him. "Right now, you are under arrest, and we have some steps to take before anything can happen." I factually told him. "Do you remember being read your Miranda rights?"

Corso just shook his head. He looked back at me, worry on his face.

"We'll do that again, okay?" I asked. Getting his permission again. Palumbo was already digging his card out of his pocket.

Palumbo stepped forward a little, and in a clear voice, informed John Corso of his rights.

"Do you understand these rights as I've informed you?" Palumbo ended with, his tone even.

Corso nodded his head.

"I need you to answer with words, Mr. Corso." Palumbo gently prompted.

"Yeah, I understand."

Palumbo gave me a nod, and then faded back into the background.

"Do you have any questions?" I asked Corso, making certain he saw I was interested in his answer.

"I'm under arrest." Caruso said, more of a confirmation than a question.

I kept my silence, but still looked interested.

"Wow," Caruso muttered, and picked up his coffee. Not blindly, he looked and guided his hand there.

He took a sip, just the surface of the coffee. Then he took a good mouthful.

A look of surprise came over his face, then disbelief, and he spit the coffee back into the Styrofoam cup, looking like he was apologizing. "Sorry."

"That's okay," I assured him, having got the response I wanted. His brain would engage now, having had a nasty taste. Fred's in your coffee was dog-butt awful. "That pot always makes foul crap. Here..."

I pushed my cup over to him. I hadn't played with it.

Corso grabbed it, and took a tentative swig. That was followed by a couple more swallows.

Now I knew he wasn't racist, having taken a black man's drink, and he needed to get that lingering nasty taste out of his mouth. He was showing some trust in me now. I may have enough to start with.

I gave him a little time while I shuffled papers uselessly. He put the cup down, and I took that as a signal to start.

"What can you tell us, John?" I asked, modulating my voice.

Corso's eyes started moving again, accessing his memory, but it wasn't as frantic now. He looked up at me, then at Palumbo, seemed to come to a decision, and I could see him starting to figure out what to say.

"...this may be long," was how he chose to open.

"That's okay." I said, giving him the small assuring smile and affirming nod, while looking like I wasn't concerned. "Tell us what you need to."

"That was my old house."

"We know." I said, sounding sympathetic. "Your wife got it in the divorce."

"Yeah..." Corso looked unhappy again.

"Wait... where's Jean? My ex?" Corso suddenly asked.

"I don't know exactly," I responded. "Last I knew, she was giving a statement."

"Statement?" Corso leaned forward. "She was there?!"

"She was outside, in their car, in the driveway." I told him.

"That bitch was there?! She knew what was happening?!" Corso came out of his seat, but didn't advance. He was still one-hand holding the blanket around his shoulders. His right hand was palm up, like he was asking a question.

"I don't know about that," I answered, my speech slower, my tone even, trying to assure him. "We're still investigating."

"Shit, if she was there... oh god, if she knew..." Corso sat down, let go of the blanket, and put his elbows on his knees while he held his head. "Was she..."

I let Corso go on. He was working through something. I looked back at Palumbo, and he gave me a minor shrug, indicating he didn't know.

Finally, after a minute or so, Corso sat up, breathing deeper than before, and looked at the ceiling, composing himself. Good. Increased oxygen, re-establishing his sense of self-control. We were getting closer.

With a final heave of breath, Corso focused on me.

"You okay?" I asked, again asking his permission, and showing concern.

"Yeah. I guess."

"John," I started, trying to move a bit more into the drivers seat. "What was going on?"

Corso rolled his head, showing frustration, and anger. Now we were getting to it.

"Okay, uhm..." Corso was actually trying to calm himself down. Whatever he was going to tell us was loaded with emotion. The fact he was doing so showed he was trying to avoid rambling. He spent a few seconds composing himself, and I could see him considering what he wanted to say.

"Okay, this is long. Uhm... Okay." Corso heaved another breath. "I guess it started in High School."

I made a display of writing things down, showing him what he said was important. It wasn't needed, the mics in the room were excellent, and could pick up someone digesting their lunch burrito. It was important to show the suspect that we valued what they said, if they'd given certain indications. I'd seen those signs. Corso wanted to talk, and he wanted someone to listen.

"Mark Mattolo was my High School bully," was Corso's opening statement.

I was a little surprised at that. Corso was 37. This was ancient history. Mark Mattolo was also the same of the man he'd presumably shot, and the husband of Corso's ex-wife.

"I got on his bad side really early. First year of school. I guess when he'd been in middle school, he was the biggest asshole he could be, and he intended to carry that on in High School. He's big, he's strong, and he played football. I was average, and in a strange place. We ran into each other for the first time in the cafeteria. He wasn't on the team then. But he acted like it." Corso recounted.

"He cut the line in the cafeteria, and while doing it he bounced a guys head off the glass. I found out later he knew the kid from middle school, so he knew he could get away with it. It was a public display, I think he was establishing himself."

"I was a couple back, and I went to help the kid. Mattolo told me to leave him alone. I didn't. Mattolo then kicked my feet out from under me. Then the kitchen worker started yelling, Mattolo blew him off, and it escalated into more yelling, while Mattolo acted like nothing was bothering him. He got suspended though. Just a day. But I'd made his list."

"If he hadn't made the football team, as a First Year, he wouldn't have gotten away with what he did. The football and basketball players were immune to trouble. As long as they didn't rape a teacher, their coaches got them out of everything, and made certain they got good grades. It was an open secret. As long as the teams won, they were untouchable."

"Not all the guys were bad." Corso went on. "Most of them were okay, a couple were cool. But there weren't any there who would get in the way of the bad ones. There were only a couple bad ones, and Mattolo was right there."

"The only time Mattolo got in trouble, in regards to his abusing me, was when he broke my arm." Corso held up his left arm, emphasizing his forearm. "He caught me coming off the bus, pushed me back on, and when I grabbed the doorframe to keep from falling backward, he yanked and bent it wrong on the door. He got in trouble because the bus drivers wouldn't let him on the busses anymore, but by then he was driving, so it was nothing."

"He had 'plausible excuses,' no suspension, it was game season, and he was a linebacker." Corso looked angry at the memory. "42 witnesses, three who spoke up and gave statements, and nothing. My Dad even threatened to sue the school, but it was settled with Mattolo 'apologizing' and the school paid the medical bills."

"That guy fucked with me every chance he could." Corso lamented. "I wasn't the only one. He could get girls, but only once or twice. He had a reputation for being really rough. There was a rumor of him raping a woman during his senior year. Nobody knew if it was true."

"He got away with everything." Corso spat. "He was mean on the field, he delivered, and he was protected by the athletics department. I swear, it was like a bad High-School bully movie."

"I dealt with it as best I could. I did pretty well in school, and I knew I had a future at my family's business. I wanted to get into a good college, come home, and start my life. I avoided Mattolo and his buddies as best I was able, I had what fun I could, and I got out."

"Mattolo got a scholarship." Corso said angrily.

"So, he went his way, I went mine, and I did okay in school."

Corso stopped, and took a drink of the coffee, giving a look of distaste as his eyes noticed the hot sauce'd brew.

"I guess this is where it gets boring." Corso started again. "I met Jean during school, she was an education major. I was engineering and business. We hit it off. Broke up once, got back together, and married once we graduated."

"We moved back here, to my hometown." Corso was talking smoothly, no hitches. This was easy history. "We set up our lives, she got a job teaching middle school. I went to work for Dad, and got to learning what I really needed to know for the job. Dad was making good money, but he insisted I get no special favors from him, so I made what everyone else was making, at their level, in his heating/cooling business."

"A few years later, our daughter Jeanie pops out, and she was... do you have kids?"

"I do." I said. "A son. He's eleven."

"Good." Corso said. "I thought you may be a Dad." He took another sip of coffee.

"Well, not as much as I like." I admitted. "He's with his mom. I'm divorced."

Corso looked at me, and I saw sympathy in his eyes. "That's rough. I'm sorry."

"It is what it is." I told him gently, not wanting to get sidetracked. On the plus side, he was empathizing with me. A good step.

"Yeah. Well," Corso put down his coffee. "Jeanie appeared, and I loved her like I never knew I could love something. Four years later, Shawn showed up, and I got that feeling again. I love my kids."

"Yeah, I hear ya." I said, and I did indeed know.

"During all that, I moved up in my Dad's company, and was doing a lot of the day-to-day planning and operation. Jean moved to teaching High School, after getting some qualifications, and things looked good. I bought that house during a distress sale, and in what little free time I had, I got to work improving it."

"Things started going bad when I went to a big school mixer with Jean. Students and teachers. One of the community reach things."