JUSTIFIED: A Detective Vic Gonnella Thriller

Table of Contents

CHAPTER 1 3

Chapter 2 7

Chapter 3 9

CHAPTER 4 13

CHAPTER 5 15

Chapter 6 17

CHAPTER 7 21

CHAPTER 8 23

CHAPTER 9 25

CHAPTER 10 29

CHAPTER 11 33

CHAPTER 12 37

CHAPTER 13 41

CHAPTER 14 45

CHAPTER 15 49

CHAPTER 16 51

CHAPTER 17 53

CHAPTER 18 57

CHAPTER 19 59

CHAPTER 20 63

CHAPTER 21 65

CHAPTER 22 69

CHAPTER 23 73

CHAPTER 24 81

CHAPTER 25 85

CHAPTER 26 87

CHAPTER 27 89

CHAPTER 28 91

CHAPTER 29 97

CHAPTER 30 101

CHAPTER 31 103

CHAPTER 32 107

CHAPTER 33 109

CHAPTER 34 113

CHAPTER 35 119

CHAPTER 36 123

CHAPTER 37 127

Chapter 38 131

CHAPTER 39 133

CHAPTER 40 137

CHAPTER 41 139

CHAPTER 42 143

CHAPTER 43 147

CHAPTER 44 151

CHAPTER 45 157

CHAPTER 46 159

CHAPTER 47 163

CHAPTER 48 167

CHAPTER 49 171

CHAPTER 50 177

CHAPTER 51 181

CHAPTER 52 185

CHAPTER 53 187

CHAPTER 54 189

CHAPTER 55 191

CHAPTER 56 195

CHAPTER 57 199

CHAPTER 58 205

CHAPTER 59 207

CHAPTER 60 211

CHAPTER 61 215

CHAPTER 1

It had been a short five years since John Deegan had been the most hunted man on the planet.

John and his wife Gjuliana have enjoyed their time and anonymity at their expansive Villa on Lake Lugano in the Ticino region of Switzerland. The Deegans named their home Villa Cielo because to them it was truly heavenly. John wanted a classic, Italian home while Gjuliana favored more of a modern look and feel. They both got what they wanted in Villa Cielo. Three stories high with a red-slated roof and a pastel pink and tan exterior, Gjuliana often wondered why they were living in a home with six bedrooms and six baths. The gardens were lavish with sub-tropical exotic plants, purple rocket, lavender Angelina, and sensational Rose Salvia plants were complimented by yellow and white elephant ears and fragrant, honeysuckle bushes. Two splendid fountains, one in the front of the villa and one in the rear were illuminated in the evenings. The property was dotted with dwarfed palm trees so as not to detract from the breathtaking view of the deep blue-green Lake Lugano and surrounding mountains. A speedboat stood at the ready on a small dock adjacent to a lakefront beach.

The interior of Villa Cielo was totally renovated with the latest in Italian designed furniture. A large sectional sofa in the living room and black leather and chrome chairs and sofa in the den led to a dramatic ceiling to floor window with a magnificent view of the lake. Glass and marble tables, with white and black marble accenting the earth tones of the brown, beige and pink walls, flowed from room to room on the first floor. Jackson Pollack, Pablo Picasso, Willem de Koonig, and Mark Rothko original paintings were strategically placed and illuminated to add dramatic effect. An enormous, ultra-modern kitchen with the very latest appliances was orphaned by Gjuliana’s lack of cooking skills.

An elevator rose to each floor from the first floor to a tower that John used as his study, complete with sophisticated telescopes to expand John’s knowledge and imagination of the universe.

Gjuliana had an extensive library with direct access to the master suite on the second floor. The Deegan’s sleeping quarters, with brown and white bedding and draperies were finished with teakwood and inlaid marble walls. The room was complete with his and her gold appointed bathrooms, a sauna, a king and a half-sized custom bed, and a sound system which could be heard anywhere in the Villa.

All this and more for two people who, other than a full time staff, would likely never have a visitor.

Because of his past, John had a new identity. John, now Giovanni De Luca, and his vast wealth allowed John and Gjuliana to live out the rest of their lives together in total opulence and peace.

It wasn’t that long ago John broke his exile and traveled back to the United States to assist the very man who had hunted him down after his own murderous spree, to help solve a many years old case of a little boy trafficked for sex, murdered, and basically forgotten by the inept Philadelphia Police Department, the infamous boy-in-the-box case.

Gjuliana had also returned once to New York for a few days to attend the funeral of her father, an Albanian Muslim refugee who raised his family in the old tradition, fashioned after the Kanun of Lekë Dukagjini. Gjuliana had not seen her family since fleeing to Switzerland and marrying Deegan, the love of her life. The loving couple was now in their mid-sixties.

Both John and Gjuliana vowed never to leave each other or Lugano again after they returned from the states. They worked side-by-side in the gardens surrounding Villa Cielo and perfecting the Lombardese Italian dialect of Lugano.

Little did John know he would again have to break his promise to Gjuliana. He had once before abandoned his solemn first vows as a novice of the Roman Catholic Church.

This particular morning Gjuliana rested her head on John’s chest and said, Honey, I am so glad everything is behind us now.

John nodded his head pulled the sheets back and excused himself to the den to go listen to American music from the 1960s. Deegan needed to strengthen himself with a shot of homemade grappa before approaching his wife.

He poked his head back into the bedroom and said, My love, I have something to tell you that is not so pleasant. Please join me on the veranda so we may share the lake together.

Deegan opened the double wooden doors to the veranda; the white sheer draperies billowed from the breeze. Lago Lugano is one of the most spectacular places on earth. Deegan stood for a moment waiting for Gjuliana to join him. He took a deep breath of air from the magnificent glacial lake that is surrounded by the Lugano Prealps Mountains. Lugano frames a picture of beauty and tranquility that can soothe even the most tortured soul. The Monte Carlo of Switzerland is Lugano’s well-deserved nickname.

John had already buzzed his houseman to serve coffee and biscotti and requested he then leave he and Gjuliana alone.

John held Gjuliana’s soft hands in his, gazing into her large, brown eyes.

My love. My love. Fate has once again played its tricks on us. I often think of how you had waited for me to come back to you after so many years when we were younger, long past your child bearing years. That is my biggest disappointment for you. For us, John said somberly.

Tell me what you need to say, John. I know the news is not good. I am not without eyes and ears.

The doctors have confirmed I have a fatal disease. I do not have much time. Perhaps a year at best. Likely a lot less. Only God knows when he will call me for judgment.

Your pancreas? Gjuliana’s words trembled from her lips.

Yes. They tell me there are some new treatments, but I will need to go to Zürich if I choose to go that route.

Well, do I get a say in that matter? Gjuliana asked. She was bravely fighting back tears.

How selfish of me. Of course, my love.

Honey, don’t worry. We will face this demon together, and I will be with you every step of the way. You are my husband and every moment together is precious. We will fight for every day you have.

I’m told the treatments are no picnic. They will not be able to tell me the magnitude of the cancer I have until more tests and surgery are completed. Part of me wants to just let go and be done with it.

Gjuliana gasped. You will not rob me of one day, John. Not one hour. Gjuliana’s throat tightened at the thought of her life without her one and only, true love.

John laughed. I will do whatever you want. After all, I was the one who left you when we were young to pursue that rotten, failed priesthood calling and the rest of my inglorious life.

Call Zürich today and set the appointment at the hospital. We will take a residence there for the time you need. I will attend to details.

I will do as you say, my love. Deegan said.

I insist.

After I call the doctors, I need to go into town to pick up some medicines. I also have some business to attend to. Tonight we will have dinner right here and enjoy one another. I now realize how every moment is precious, John said.

We always knew that. And we have lived the past few years to the fullest. I have no regrets, nor should you. I will pray for the miracle that you deserve. And so should you.

Pray? Me? After what I did in my life? I’m positive God would laugh his ass off. John laughed at that imagery. Gjuliana pursed her full lips to prevent a laugh so as not to be sacrilegious.

The business that Deegan mentioned to his wife was unknown even to him. A week before, he had received an encrypted message coded in the way Deegan had used when he was a government or Army military assassin in Nicaragua. The urgent message came from a shrouded, third party, communicated through Deegan’s private banker in Zürich.

MUST MEET WITH YOU URGENTLY… IN LUGANO ON 22. NO DANGER TO YOU. 3 P.M. BLUE UMBRELLA PARCO CIVICO, ON LAKE. CONFIRM VIA THIS CHANNEL.

Deegan was curious yet naturally suspicious, but his one word answer was relayed immediately.

YES.



Across the pond as they say, in the great city of New York, the handsome and former New York City police Detective Vic Gonnella was preparing to leave his office for the day. Vic couldn’t wait to get back to his apartment to spend time with his business partner Raquel Ruiz, also a former member of the NYPD, and their baby daughter.

Vic and Raquel’s company had now become an international investigative agency for high-end clients. Centurion Associates LLC with Global Headquarters at 56th Street and Park Avenue was arguably the largest and most effective criminal investigative operation in the United States and Europe.

Every single day of his life Vic thought about the John Deegan case and how it catapulted him into worldwide fame. The fortune followed.

And every single day of his life Vic was also haunted about how the case of the international serial killer, John Deegan had ended. He often dreamt of being back in the detective squad in the 41st Precinct in the South Bronx, the body of Father Edward O’Gorman, emasculated in the confessional at St. Martin of Tours church, and the other victims who were murdered by a pointed, wooden crucifix.

On Gonnella’s office wall, along with mementos of his NYPD days and a myriad of photographs with powerful notables of himself and Raquel, hung a framed poster of the Giuseppe Verdi Opera, La Forza del Destino, the power of destiny.

After a brief encounter three years ago with the genius murderer in Philadelphia, Vic never imagined that Deegan and he would cross paths again.

Although at times Vic was tempted to discover if Deegan was still alive, he preferred to let dead dogs lay.

Chapter 2

It isn’t often that a bishop is forced to resign his post from the Catholic Church, but canon law stipulates, should a bishop who has become less able to fulfill his office because of ill health or some other grave cause is earnestly requested to present his resignation from office.

High on the Vatican totem pole was Bishop Franco Di Siena of the Pontifical University of the Holy Cross, overseen by The Prelature of the Holy Cross and Opus Dei, was forced to resign due to illness two years ago.

Truth be told, Bishop Di Siena, a short man who wore clear- rimmed eyeglasses, and longish gray hair was in perfect health.

The real cause of his resignation was that the Most Reverend Di Siena had a penchant for young boys. A pedophile since his days as a seminarian, the bishop escaped the eyes of church officials as none of his victims came forward. Ultimately three grown men, in their mid-thirties filed complaints with the Vatican.

The victim’s claims were deemed credible and the church settled the matter quietly with a sum of money and promises of psychological assistance. The victims took the money thinking they would feel a sense of justice. The money would run out quickly, but the emotional scars of being raped as a child would raise its ugly head with a vengeance.

Rather than deal with an additional sexual abuse scandal, Di Siena was not defrocked and allowed to remain in Rome at a private residence in the Piazza Navona.

The piazza is a lively and eclectic place with mimes, artists, street hawkers and a mass of tourists.

Di Siena lived in baroque palazzo in a scarcely furnished second floor one-bedroom apartment, across from the Bernini fountain of Neptune.

One pleasant evening after a double scoop of chocolate ice cream from the famed Tre Scalini Gelateria, a pair of men followed the bishop to his flat. One of the men was tall and wore a suit, a fedora hat, and large sunglasses. The other, short and stocky, dressed in jeans and a tank top shirt with a Sicilian sailors cap.

The bishop, unaware and feeling safe and protected the church’s best attorneys, used his key to open the front door of the palazzo, when the shorter of the two men grabbed him with a vice grip on the back of his neck, pushing him further into the building, causing him to almost stumble and fall. The taller man draped a wet towel over Di Siena’s mouth and nose rendering him unconscious. Chloroform did its job.

The two men carried the bishop to his apartment door using his key to enter. Once inside the men sat the insentient bishop in his chair, using duct tape to secure his arms and legs and gag him. The shorter man left immediately, but not before he spit upon the bishop calling him a "cacasodo."

Wake up, Your Excellency. It’s time we met, the tall man said. A few well-placed smacks to the bishop’s face made him aware of his condition. His eyes bulging with fear, Di Siena grunted an inaudible response.

So all those years, how many little boys do you think you raped? Dozens? Hundreds? Did you keep track of your handiwork?

Di Siena attempted to wiggle free from his bondage.

No matter, Excellency. In my book one is too many. So now it is time that you are brought to justice. The Lord knows that Holy Mother Church is more worried about reputation than righteousness. This is why I am sent as a messenger of Jesus Christ Himself.

Bishop Di Siena could taste the chocolate ice cream mixed with bile coming up from his stomach.

I will be fair to you although you don’t deserve any kindness. I will allow you to say a good act of contrition. I suspect that you believe in that, Bishop Di Siena, yes?

The tied bishop’s eyes squeezed tightly, tears running down his cheeks, his heart pounding near its maximum, a vein in his forehead seeming as if it would burst, the prelate knew he was about to meet his doom. The last fucking thing on the bishop’s mind was prayer.

After a minute, the tall man exposed his weapon for his prisoner to see. Di Siena gasped air through his nose while the smell of adrenaline and intestinal gas filled the room.

That aroma is very nasty, Excellency. No matter if you soil yourself, the undertaker has seen that before. I suggest you let loose.

The killer raised his weapon over his head and plunged it deep into the bishop’s throat. As it penetrated, the bishop and the justifier both let out a scream, drowning out each other’s anguish. The blood from the wound, first pumping black before it turned to a crimson red, shot almost to the ceiling. In less than thirty seconds Bishop Franco Di Siena was dead.

The next evening, when the bishop was found, bound and gagged in his chair, the blood soaked body, walls, and carpet were not nearly as shocking as what was protruding from his neck.

One of the carabinieri, a veteran captain who was among the first to arrive on the crime scene called his commander from his cell phone.

"Sir, the murder in the Piazza Navona is not an ordinary killing. It is the work of the monster John Deegan."

A shaved to a point wooden crucifix was the tall man’s weapon of choice.

Chapter 3

At La Farmacia San Salvatore e Attiva a Lugano-Paradiso at 2 Via Geretta, a small store, crowded with aisles of cold remedies and vitamins, an eighty something year-old farmer, dressed in gabardine work pants, a faded blue, checkered, button down shirt, and a sweat stained black cap, approached the pharmacist’s counter

Can I be of assistance, sir? the pharmacist asked.

The old man looking confused and intimidated, his hands trembling, handed the pharmacist a crumpled piece of paper. The man’s hands were rough and dirty from the soil of his farm.

I need this, please, the farmer said in a barely audible voice.

The pharmacist quickly scanned the script.

Can you wait a few minutes? I must make this compound.

Certainly. I need to return to my stand. My daughter is there alone, and today is a busy day for us, the farmer said. The old man’s eyes scanned the store as if it were the first time he was in a pharmacy.

The pharmacist smiled broadly. Ah, yes. Wednesday in Lugano! Every Wednesday in Lugano center, there is a festival of open farmer’s markets, live music, street food vendors, mimes, jugglers, and artists. What do you sell, my friend?

Some fruits, kiwi, peaches. Some vegetables, escarole, string beans a little asparagus. Some beans and few mushrooms.

This will make a delicious meal I think.

The farmer put his hands together in true Italian fashion for emphasis. True, if prepared correctly.

I will rush. Just a moment please. Have a seat or walk around the store if you wish.

Not long after the farmer took in the shelves of the store the pharmacist handed the bottle of blue liquid to the farmer. Here you go, Mr. De Luca, good health to you.

John Deegan now had his oral steroids quickly paid for with Swiss Francs and stashed the bottle into his front pants pocket. He mumbled to himself about what a pain in the ass cancer was and wondered how he would adhere to his macrobiotic diet which was supposed to help keep him wanting to eat and keep his strength up, but he promised Gjuliana he would abide by his lead physician, Dr. Jon Baumer’s instructions who was a world renowned oncologist. With a nod and a smile to the pharmacist, he straightened his cap and exited the store.



A master of disguise, Deegan had chosen his farmer wardrobe to meet with his mystery suitor.

Now the farmer was on his way to his second stop. A fifteen-minute walk to the Parco Civico. The old man walked along the Piazza della Riforma passing the old vibrant pastel colored two and three story buildings. The Neoclassical piazza is as serene as it is stunning. For a moment the elderly contadino thought of paying a visit, perhaps lighting a candle at the Cattedriale di San Lorenzo but thought better. He wanted to make sure he made his appointment on time.

The old man passed the three-story, light pink, town hall adorned with a green, copper dome with a dagger-like spike on its top which was directly across from the Swiss Bank buildings. The farmer thought for a second about which took more advantage of the people. The church or perhaps the bank? He put the thought out of his head, focusing on his meeting.

Walking slowly into the grand park, along the Piazza Indipendenza the farmer headed toward the shore of Lago Lugano. A slightly hunched back and a noticeable limp betrayed a man who had long labored at his duty.

A handsome man, obviously a German tourist was sitting under a blue umbrella at the lake’s shore. He wore sunglasses, a floppy brown hat, a thick belt that held up a pair of khaki shorts past his knees, black sandals with black socks that went above his ankles and a t-shirt that advertised Heineken beer. A Canon camera hung around his neck. The man was perusing a tourist’s map of the area.

The old farmer passed the table where the tourist was sitting a few times. The man noticed that the farmer’s limp had changed. The limp at first favored the old man’s right leg. On the third pass, the limp was now on his left leg.

The tourist knew his appointment had arrived. It was now exactly three o’clock.

Would you like to rest yourself, my friend? Please join me, the tourist offered.

Why, thank you. My leg is hurting as you can see, the farmer said.

Which one bothers you more?

Deegan knew only a practiced eye would notice this detail. He sat across from the tourist, his back to the lake.

How did you find me? Deegan asked.

I have a long reach into things here in Switzerland. My occupation allows me to open many doors.

The man removed his sunglasses. Deegan recognized him immediately and was taken aback by the presence of this man although he showed no sign of surprise.

Are you here to arrest me, Colonel? Deegan asked.

The one and only commander of the Pontifical Swiss Guard of the Holy See, supreme protector of the pope, Colonel Adrien Zellweger, persuasively had Deegan, the notorious priest killer, within his grasp.

On the contrary, Mr. Deegan. I am here only for a chat.

John Deegan recalled Zellweger’s face from newspaper and magazine articles when Pope Francis appointed the colonel in 2014. Zellweger’s predecessor was removed because the Holy Father thought him to be too Teutonic. Simply too strict with the rank and file among the Swiss Guard. Francis was pushing his Franciscan man-of-the people image. There was no better place to start than in his house.

A simple chat? You could have easily called me on the telephone, Colonel, Deegan countered.

What I have to say to you is private. Simply between two men who may have a common goal, Colonel Zellweger said.

My goal at the moment is to stay alive and to spend my last days with my wife, Deegan said.

I’m also aware of your illness, Mr. Deegan or should I say, Mr. De Luca. As I said, I have a long reach.

Clearly you do, Colonel. I feel as if you know my fate as well.

That, sir, is in the hands of the Lord, our God. I am hoping you live a long life, as I am hoping you will help me with my plan, Colonel Zellweger said. The Colonel studied Deegan’s face for any tell that he would show a true intent. There was none.

A plan? May I be so bold as to ask about the plan and why you have selected me?

Zellweger’s eyes grew wide as he leaned forward in his chair placing his forearms on the table, hands into fists to make his point without shouting. He enunciated clearly and spoke slowly in just above a whisper. What you did to awaken the world during your murderous spree only worked for a short time. Zellweger sat back in his chair calming down realizing he might otherwise be giving up their incognito appearance. He continued, I’m afraid that since Francis has taken the seat, the church has not gotten better; on the contrary, things have gotten far worse.

A blind man can see that, Colonel, Deegan replied. His manner was aloof and matter-of-fact.

"His Holiness is doing nothing to remove the cardinals, bishops, and priests who have turned the church into a veritable, pedophile’s playground. What is worse is how the Catholic