The detectives were in the car driving to Marco’s or Richie’s old house. They didn’t know who this turkey was, but they were going to find out. Chanello spoke up, “So how’s your son doing?”
“He’s struggling. After school he just comes home and plays video games. He doesn’t hang out with anyone.”
Chanello looked at her and then back at the road. He felt sorry for her and Wesley. Then he continued, “You know. I wasn’t the most social animal. If it wasn’t for sports, I probably would have just come home and played electronics. Of course, back then they weren’t really as life-like as they are today.”
A short period of silence ensued and then Mangino spoke, “He’s never really wanted to play sports, but I have tried to get him to join a club or play an instrument in the band. He won’t do it.”
“Maybe he needs a pep talk from a man. Sometimes the old man can give the push a young boy needs.”
Mangino swallowed and then spoke, “His father passed away.” They were stopped at a red light and he turned to her with empathetic eyes.
“I remember you said that. I’m sorry. I was talking about me. I could talk to him.”
“It’s alright. He died in a car accident within a few months of our divorce.” She ignored his offer for help.” He’s not my child. His father had him from a previous marriage. But I came into his life when he was young, and we ended up sharing custody after the divorce. Then he passed and I took full custody. I consider him my own.”
“If you ever need a man to talk to him, I’m willing to give it a try. He seemed to have fun when I came over before. Maybe, I could take him to a ballgame or something.”
“Really?” Mangino said, touched by his thoughtfulness. “I’ll talk to him.” She smiled at Chanello, feeling really appreciative of his support.
They turned left onto Linden Drive then right on Powell Street. “There it is,” said Mangino, as they pulled into the driveway.
“Alright. Let’s see if we can figure out who this Marco or Ritchie really is.” As they walked up to the door, they pulled out their badges. Chanello knocked on the door and a man in sweatpants answered.
“Hello,” the man said.
“I’m Detective Chanello, and this is Detective Mangino. We’d like to ask you a few questions.”
“What are you doing here?”
“We’re here informally. This shouldn’t take long.”
“Come on in.” They walked into a stereotypical Southern California beach house. It was small. It looked like the living room was also the man’s office. There was a surfboard on the wall and an acoustic guitar on a stand in the corner. The one bookshelf was covered with books about computer programming. “Have a seat,” the man said to the detectives. He asked, “what’s this about?”
“Do you know a Melanie, sir,” asked Mangino?
“I’ve known a lot of Melanies,” the man boasted.
“Her full name is Melanie Matheson.”
The man shifted nervously in his chair, then arose. As he walked toward the kitchen, the detectives just watched him. The man walked to the fridge and then came back with a bottled water. He didn’t offer the detectives any. “Well, that’s a name I haven’t heard in a long time.”
“So, you do know her,” said Mangino.
“Did know her,” the man said, emphasizing the word “did”. The way he said it, he must have meant more than casually.
“What does that mean,” Chanello asked?
“I knew her for about a semester. She went home for the holidays, I thought everything was fine. But, she never came back. I don’t know what happened. I mean, I knew she had a boyfriend, so I just figured he wanted her to stay. I never saw her again. Why are you asking?”
“We have a murdered Melanie who used to go to school around here, and we have a suspect who identified himself as Marco Hernandez.”
“What,” the man said, shocked. “I’m Marco Hernandez.”
“See, we are confused. He said his name was Marco Hernandez, but his driver’s license said Richie Rashbaum. Now, Melanie had told a friend she had an affair with a guy named Marco.”
“I had an affair with Melanie, and I know Richie, but I didn’t kill her.”
“No. We didn’t think you did,” said Chanello. “Is it possible Richie had an affair with her as well?”
“No way, the guy’s a fruitcake. We lived together for a while.”
“Wait. While you and Melanie were together?”
“Yes.”
“And you’re sure they were never together? We think this Richie guy may have killed her. He had called her number a couple of times and then she died. He must have been thinking about her for awhile, and then followed her to the same apartment complex she lived in.”
“What can you tell us about Richie? You said he was a fruitcake,” added Mangino.
“Yeah. He had no friends. Couldn’t talk to girls."
"And he has, “beady,” eyes. He looks crazy.”
“Yeah. I remember that about him too. Anyway, after he moved in, he changed his hairstyle and clothing to look like me. It was really bizarre.”
“Did he say anything about Melanie? Did he say he liked her?”
“I don’t remember him ever saying anything like that. Like I said, he couldn’t talk to girls, and he probably knew it. He probably knew not to even try.”
“Ok, this is a lot of good information. Can we call you if you have any more questions?”
“Of course.”
“Thank you,” the detectives got up and left.
In the car Chanello spoke, “This cat is even more of a fruitcake then we thought, pretending to be someone else like that.”
“He must have some kind of personality disorder.”
"I guess he developed a crush on Melanie but couldn’t get her as a girlfriend, but this Marco guy could.”
“So, he becomes him. Richie becomes Marco, so he can get the girl Marco got?”
"But he couldn't get her even when he became Marco."
"And she didn't come back to college which infuriated him even more. He started looking for her until he found her.
"When he did find her, she ends up dead."
“Very strange.”
“Very strange indeed. If Donny or Michael Massey isn’t the killer this guy is.”
"I agree."
They drove back to the police department in silence.