The Innocents by Nathan Senthil (autobiographies to read .TXT) 📕

“What?!” Joshua barked. “Did you get everything I’ve just said?”

“Y-yes sir,” he said, his hands slipped as he fumbled to holster the gun.

“Goddamn it, Ivansky. Don’t shoot yourself in the dick.”

Ivansky nodded, his blubbery jowls vibrated as he did, and piled into his cruiser. Notwithstanding the flash of guilt for browbeating the young cop, Joshua’s plastered mind warned him that it was futile. Lolly was an animal, but a really paranoid and farsighted one. He had backups for backups that were Plan Bs.

Enervated, Joshua faced the truth squarely: he had missed his chance. And the three masked demons had retreated to whichever hellhole they’d crawled out of.

Chapter 18

June 10, 2001. 02:12. P.M.

Although Joshua had sworn to abstinence six years ago, to care for Gabe as a single parent and help with his speech impediment, he missed alcohol every day. Sleep had become his coping mechanism against the nibbling desire.

And now Joshua was irritable because he had been woken up from his nap by his newbie partner.

“I’m one hundred percent sure…” Peter placed his palms on Joshua’s desk and leaned forward, his tie askew and hair ruffled.

Peter Lamb had been working in Gang Unit before their new captain had tagged him with Bernadette, a veteran in the homicide squad. The duo’s first case was a bank robbery committed in Staten Island on April 30th of that year. The perpetrator murdered one person and robbed $98,000; coincidentally the same amount Lolly had robbed from a different bank in the same neighborhood in 1993. The FBI screamed Lolly, the media screamed Lolly, and even the cops did, like Bernadette and Peter. Though Joshua knew better, the investigating team considered his input trifling, so he shrugged and watched them chase their own tails.

Bernadette availed maternity leave the previous month, and the captain had partnered the tyro with Joshua.

“It is Lolly,” Peter implored.

“No, it’s not.” Joshua stretched his arms over his head and groaned.

“There are too many similarities between them. Can’t you see it, Chase?”

“That’s the thing, rookie, I can’t see any pattern. I don’t suffer from pareidolia.”

“It’s the same technique, for fuck’s sake,” Peter said.

“What same technique?”

Peter eyed Joshua with abhorrence.

“Robbers generally don’t think about shooting people, at least not before making a demand. But Lolly always kills someone as soon as his gang enters the bank, to exert dominance and gain absolute control. Only then does he rob the money. This modus operandi is similar to what I have now.”

“Could be a copycat or a really twisted fan. You know these infamous criminal types have a weird following, confused wannabes attracted by their tinsel world. John Dillinger, Bonnie and Clyde, Jesse James…” Joshua stifled a yawn. “You get the idea. What you have, it isn’t Lolly.”

“What makes you so sure?” Peter asked, irritation creeping into his voice.

“The perp in your case is a loner. And Lolly hunts in a pack.”

“But I read your reports. You mentioned that Lolly’s gang committed at least three robberies from 1985 till mid-1987 without Lolly himself. So they don’t shy away from breaking the pattern.”

“In your case, the witnesses say the perp was lanky and highly-strung, both of which Lolly isn’t. Sounds more like a teenager than a man. Not to mention that your robber used a totally different type of mask and gun.”

“No. My robber also used a .44 round,” Peter nettled, unwilling to let go. “Just like Lolly does.”

“Sit.” Joshua sighed and motioned Peter to a seat opposite. “It’ll take a while but I’m gonna share with you certain info that most people don’t know about the Lolly investigation. It’s only because you are as restless as a fucking half-puppy that got its first boner.”

Peter sat, a smile twitching at the corner of his lips. “Okay. I’m all ears.”

“You know what rifling is?” Joshua inserted his hand into his pocket and pulled the Skoal tin out. He didn’t need much energy to explain something he knew inside out; one pouch would do.

“Rifling?”

Joshua said, “Yes. It’s a spiral groove, like candy cane, carved inside the gun’s barrel. It helps the bullets spin as they’re ejected from the chamber and stabilizes their flight path. Like how a moving top or a bike doesn’t fall while the stationary ones do. Angular momentum. Same principle here. The spin increases the bullet’s accuracy.”

“I flunked in physics.” Peter gave an apologetic smile.

“That’s not very important.” Joshua shrugged. “What is though, is the factor that determines the spin of bullets: the barrel’s twist rate.”

“What’s that?”

“Simply put, it’s the number of inches a bullet travels to complete one rotation after it leaves the muzzle.” Joshua paused, giving his rapt partner’s brain a moment to catch up. “For example, a barrel with a 1:10” twist rate spins the bullet in such a way that it rotates once for every ten inches it travels.”

Peter pinched the bridge of his nose. “The lower the inch count, the higher the spin?”

Joshua clapped and pointed a finger at Peter. “You’re smart. Barrels with lower twist rates spit more accurate bullets. You know what striations are?”

“Um… the markings left on the cartridges where the firearms marred them?”

“Exactly. For our case, we will just need to talk about striations made by the grooves in the barrel. This marking on the bullet is actually a mirror image of the rifling. A reverse blueprint, if you will. By examining the bullet, you can conclude the twist rate of the barrel. Combine that with the type of bullet and its grain, you can find what gun was used.”

“I think I get it.”

“Here is where the problem lies. We shot every pistol that uses .44 into the water tank but no recovered slug has the same striations as the ones from Lolly’s gun.”

“Have you checked them all?”

“I have.