After spending most of Saturday with Edna and the rest of it with Restorini, Ben Perinni was convinced that even without the weapon he would have cause to bring Restorini in for further questioning. If they could find the weapon, everything else would fall in place.
He speculated the Italian had the temperament and behavior characteristics to kill. Short fuse, loud mouth, abusive, argumentative, uncouth and disrespectful all in one personality were definitely the makings of a bully, coward and altogether unpleasant sociopath.
Even without a motive and the identity of the killer in question it would be easy to see how the murder could have happened. Recovering the gun that killed the victim would be a big step forward.
Monday morning, Ben called the crew in for their weekly review and to announce the plan going forward on the murder investigation. Chief Sam Fitch stood in the back of the room. He wondered what Ben had found out on Saturday.
Ben gave them a quick update and review of his trip to Wellpinit and the stop at the bar in Clayton. The gist of it was he thought he had found the missing information. He already knew when and where. For Ben finding out about the gun from Edna coupled with Restorini’s lying confirmed his suspicions about who they were looking for. And now he needed to find out where to look for the SR22 that killed O’Brien. Maybe then the why of it all would materialize out of the fog surrounding this case.
“Mullenix, I want you and Fancher to go to Clayton, find out where the Italian lives and bring him in.”
“That’s a big order, Boss. How much time have we got to do all that?”
“What it takes. Get it done.”
The two uniforms left in a hurry. Ben turned to the rest of the room looking for volunteers to do some research on line.
“Next big thing is to check on Restorini’s big lie.”
“He claimed he had traded the pistol off for an AK 47 at an NRA gun show in Sandpoint, Idaho in February. That doesn’t match with the nurse’s story and I’m more inclined to believe her.”
“Somebody needs to look online for the gun show sponsors, get the details on who was in charge. Phone numbers, location and anything else you can find.”
As the meeting unofficially ground to a halt everyone returned to their desks to face the task at hand.
It was 3:00 that afternoon when Mullenix and Fancher got back with Restorini in tow. He was loudly protesting and promising that the wrath of God would ultimately rain down on the whole damn place if he didn’t get to go home soon.
“Calm down, Mr. Restorini. We need to clear up a couple of things about your SR22. You said you traded up to an AK47.”
“Si. So, what.”
“We’d like to see the rifle. Where is it?”
“It’s in the gun rack in the back window of my pickup.”
“We can check on that later. Right now, have you got a bill of sale or transfer of ownership on the pistol?”
“Niente. Nada. Nix. No thing.”
This line of questioning wasn’t going anywhere. Ben decided confrontation might work. It was time to call out Restorini’s lies. Perrini plowed ahead.
“Saturday at Birdy’s Sports Bar in Clayton, you told me you no longer owned an SR22. You said you traded it for an AK47 at an NRA gun Show in Sandpoint, Idaho.”
“What made you think I had a hand gun?”
“We’re investigating a murder. A woman from Wellpinit remembered you buying her a beer at Birdy’s not too long ago. She said you flashed an ankle holster with a pistol. It sounded like you were trying to be macho.”
“I’m a lover by nature. Did she say she had fun?”
“No. She said you were a fanny patter by nature. Try to stay on the subject.”
“Buco di culo, Whatsa matta you?”
“We know an SR22 was used to murder a Native American veteran from Montana and we think you still have the SR22.”
“Cazzate! Stronzo figlio di puttana!”
“That’s enough of your Dago verbal abuse, Restorini. Your tone of voice tells me what you’re saying and all I need to know for now. Just don’t leave town. Somebody get him out of here.”