by Owen Parr
“Is that what she said?” I asked, turning back and realizing he was two steps behind me. I could now see he was wearing a wireless earbud in his left ear. Maybe waiting for a call from Scotty on the Enterprise.
“She said you were good friends, have been for a couple of years.”
“We are excellent friends that sleep together, and have discussed marriage,” I said sternly, sounding like a high-school kid protecting his first girlfriend.
“I had no idea.”
“Why don’t you have a seat?”
Ignoring me, GQ Tony said, “Joey, you mind if I look around at the black and white photos? I should bring you a picture of President Obama and me, to hang on your wall.”
I ignored that. “Knock yourself out, sport.” Marcy better get here quick, or we might have a homicide right here in the pub, I thought.
The front door swung open, and in walked Marcy. She looked perky today, sporting a new hairdo, not her usual ponytail with her long thick amber hair. No, today’s hairstyle was a beauty parlor production. It was styled and looked great. But why now? I thought. Plus, no pants, and blazer. No, Special Agent Martinez was wearing a dress and a matching top that hid the Glock on her waist. If I didn’t know better, these two appeared to be Special Agents Barbie and Ken.
“Looking good, Marcy, what’s up, lover?” I asked, letting out a big puff of cigar smoke.
“Hi, Joey, I see you met Special Agent Belford,” she replied, walking by me, on her way to the asshole who was at the back of the pub looking at the photos on the walls.
I turned around as she walked back, admiring her incredible figure. “What, no kiss?” I asked, raising both my arms.
She ignored me, as she spoke to Tony. They laughed together for a minute and walked back towards me.
“We have to go,” she said, and smiling at Tony, she added, “we have a new case, and I need to bring Tony up to speed on our way there.”
“Can I see you later? I’m done by eight tonight. Maybe dinner?”
“I’ll have to call you and let you know. I’m sorry I was late, I had wanted to introduce you to my new partner.”
“My fault Marcela, I was early. Joey and I have already made our acquaintance.” GQ Tony said.
“Yes, we did, I know everything about Special Agent Belford,” I added.
“In that case, I’ll call you later, Joey.” Marcy said, as she came close to me and whispered, “Isn’t he great?”
I almost swallowed my cigar. “Oh yeah, just great.” I said, rolling my eyes.
She smiled, kissed me on the cheek. Turned around and walked out of the pub, not saying another word.
“Man-cue-so,” GQ Tony shouted back, “it’s two in the afternoon, get those cold beers ready,” he said, laughing and walking out behind Marcela.
Who was this effin guy? How obnoxious is too much? Marcy was in for a surprise. So much for the morning. Now, I had to get started on the Longworth case. My first stop was going to be the offices of Attorney Adams, to review the files they had on the case. Next, I wanted to sit with Mr. Longworth himself, who, while out on bond, was wearing an ankle bracelet, and living at The Plaza Hotel, on Fifth and Central Park South, while the trial was going on.
5
The case files were well organized and laid out for me in a small conference room at attorneys Adams and Pearson’s office, which coincidentally, or, by design, are in the same building as Mr. Longworth’s office. A beautiful bookcase adorned the length of a wall, filled with law books, I guess. I’ve always wondered if they’ve read all these books. After about an hour of perusing the files, I concluded that a whole year of investigation led to nothing other than bullshit. Either Longworth was guilty as hell, or someone had failed to do their homework properly.
Billy ‘Crunchy’ Williams, the investigator hired by Adams, was late in joining me. It didn’t take long to find out why this short, hefty fellow with bad hair and a cheap suit was nicknamed Crunchy. He was incessantly crunching ice he carried in one of the containers that keep things cold or hot for what, thirty-days? I could see this guy was going to be an annoyance.
“The Joey Mancuso, what a pleasure to meet you,” Crunchy said, in a frail voice, extending his thick, tiny right hand. “I was looking forward to meeting you.”
“Billy, don’t believe everything you read, a pleasure to meet you, too,” I said, lying through my teeth.
In between biting down on ice, he said, “Please call me Crunchy, everybody does.”
“Very well, I’ll do that. Have a seat; I want to go over these files with you.”
Undoing the button on his jacket, he sat down and with his tiny hands pulled himself closer to the table. I don’t think his feet reached the floor.
“When did you get involved in the case?”
“The day after the murder. Mr. Adams hired me.”
I was having problems hearing him, with the wispy voice and freaking ice in his mouth. “You said you were hired one day after the murder?”
“Yes,” he said, nodding.
“You don’t work for Adams exclusively?”
“Only on occasion. I have other clients,” he said, wiping his wet lower lip.
“I see. Tell me what you think?”
He snorted something incomprehensible, which I ignored, then said, “I think he did it. I think he’s guilty.”
“In all this time, you’ve found no other persons with motives or opportunities?” I said, looking up from the files.
“Some with motives, maybe. Everyone has enemies, right?” he said with a laugh, opening up his arms. “But no one we could connect to the murder, no.”
“Did you interview Mr. Longworth?”
“Yes, of course. He maintains his innocence, but there’s just too much evidence against him. You know what I mean?”
“Nothing in these files exonerates him, no. As a matter of fact, everything here points to him being culpable.” I said, pushing the data away from me on the table.
He clasped his hands, “That’s what I mean, Joey. His wife’s blood on his clothes, his fingerprints with her blood on the murder weapon. The time it took him to call nine-one-one —,”
I interrupted, “How long did it take him to call nine-one-one?”
“We know from the alarm system, that he turned off the alarm at eleven-ten that night. We know that’s the time he got home, because he admitted to that. It wasn’t until eleven-thirty-five that he made the call to nine-one-one.”
“That’s a twenty-minute gap between entering the home and calling for help. Doesn’t seem unreasonable. He comes in, walks upstairs, finds the body, then secures the home, as he said, and then makes the call,” I summarized.
“The prosecution presented it differently. They claim he came into the home with a plan, a premeditated plan. He shot his wife, then realizing he had blood all over him, went downstairs, shot into the ceiling for an alibi, then called nine-eleven.”
“Was there anything missing from the home?”
“You mean, was this a robbery gone wrong?” Asked Crunchy, in between crunches of ice.
“Exactly.”
“Nothing was missing, no,” he said, as he sneezed into the right sleeve of his cheap jacket, and then wiped it off with his left hand.
Why don’t men carry a handkerchief anymore? I thought to myself. “Did you investigate to see if there had been robberies in the area, which could tie this to a possible break-in and create doubt for the jury?”
“Adams and Pearson have not explored that angle, no.”
“But did you, Crunchy, consider that?”
Apologetically, and a bit quizzical, he replied, “No, I did not. Should I do that now?”
“I’ll take care of that,” I replied, writing down some notes.
Attorney Pearson walked into the conference room, his comb-over hairdo looked like he had over done it with hair spray. I guessed he checked for wind speed before leaving his home this morning. “How’s it going, fellows?”
Crunchy loo
ked at me, and I, at Pearson, “Not very well. Have a seat, I would like to ask you some questions,” I said, pointing to a chair across the table from me.
“What’s on your mind?” Pearson asked, with a look of consternation.
I sat back in my chair, “You said before, that the prosecution is going to use as a motive, the fact that Mr. Longworth thought his wife was having an affair?
“That’s correct, that’s correct. Crunchy was the investigator hired by our client, and will testify to that effect.” Pearson replied.
I looked at Crunchy, “You investigated the affair?”
Crunchy looked at me, but did not respond.
Before Crunchy answered, Pearson said, “Yes, he did. But he never proved anything, because Mrs. Longworth was killed just when he started the investigation.”
“Correct,” said Crunchy, biting into his ice.
Ignoring Crunchy, I asked Pearson, “Did you guys pursue that investigation on your own? Because if you prove Mrs. Longworth was not having an affair, that could blow up the motivation angle being used by the prosecution, right?”
Pearson swiveled uncomfortably in his chair, “No we did not, Joey. We didn’t want to open a possible Pandora’s box. But even if she was not having an affair, and Mr. Longworth thought she was, they are going to use that against him.”
I was having a problem with this. “Let me ask you something Mr. Pearson, even if you proved that she was having an affair, it’s privileged information. But at least you guys would know. And if she wasn’t, then you have an argument to offset theirs.”
Pearson glanced at Crunchy and replied, “Even if Sheila was not having an affair, they have so much against Mr. Longworth, that we felt unless we find the real killer, there’s not much we can do.”
Shit, even a public defender with little experience could do better than these guys, I thought. “I see, so you wait until the last two minutes of the game to call me in, and expect I’m going to throw a Hail Mary pass and win the game?” I asked, a little perturbed. “Let me correct that, you weren’t going to call me in at all, it was the daughter of Mr. Longworth, Margery, I think you said her name is, who is the one that insisted on us getting involved, right?”
Pearson turned to Crunchy, and said, “Crunchy, may I speak to Joey alone?”
Crunchy pushed back from the table, gathered his container with the ice and replied, “Of course, Mr. Pearson; I’ll be outside if you need me.”
Pearson waited for Crunchy to vacate the room and said, “Look, Joey, I’m sorry you’re upset, and I understand. The fact is, Marshall, my partner, is very close to the Longworths, and he did not want to expose any scandals about affairs, if there was one. As much as both of us, that being Marshall and me, want to believe Harry’s innocence, we think he did it.”
I looked into his eyes and said, “Forgive me for saying this, but it seems you are just going through the motions of defense, without any conviction that he is innocent. I don’t know, the word languid, comes to mind.”
“We are doing the best we can against the prosecution’s case,” he replied, sternly.
Bullshit, I said to myself. “Very well. I need to meet with Mr. Longworth; please arrange that. Then, I’m going to meet with the detectives that investigated the case. Let me just add, I, unlike you guys, am not going to go through the motions. For the next few days, I’m going to work my ass off to get to the bottom of this, at least until I run out of time and the whistle blows.”
Pearson got up, “We don’t expect anything less from you. I don’t believe that the detectives that worked the case will talk to you at this stage, the prosecution won’t let you. Do you want Crunchy helping you in any way?”
I got up from my chair, extended a handshake across the table to Pearson and replied, “No, Crunchy is off the case. Arrange for me to meet Mr. Longworth, first thing tomorrow morning, please. And, don’t worry about the detectives, I have my ways.”
Pearson repeated, “You have your ways, you have your ways.”
6
On my way back to the pub, my thoughts were that these guys might be looking for a reason to appeal this case, based on a lousy defense on their part. I didn’t see any effort from them to exonerate their client. If he was guilty, fine, however, if not, someone was going to get away with murder. Not with me on the case, I was going to find the murderer, even if it was Mr. Longworth himself.
I called Father Dom on my cell, “Bro, where are you?”
“Hey, Joey, I’m at the pub helping Mr. Patrick. It’s busy here. How about you?”
“On my way back. How long are you going to be there?”
“I can stay another hour before I go back to Saint Helen’s. Why?”
Saint Helen’s Catholic Church, in Brooklyn, is the parish where my brother, Father Dominic O’Brian, tends to his flock in his pragmatic twenty-first century way.
“I want to brainstorm about our new case. See you there.” Clicking off Dom, I dialed Agnes Smith. Agnes is our computer nerd extraordinaire. She works during regular hours for an insurance company, and has access to more information than she is willing to admit. Plus, when necessary, Agnes knows her way into the internet’s backdoors and such. To make things even more interesting, Agnes is, has been, hot for brother Dom, so much so, that she attends his Mass daily at six-thirty in the mornings and on weekends.
I dialed Agnes’s cell phone, “This is your secret lover, can I see you tonight, darling?”
“Joey, how are you? I have your picture in my contacts, so you can’t fool me. What’s up?”
“Are you free for about an hour? I have a new case I need your help on.”
“Where do you want to meet? At the pub?”
“I’m on my way there now. You have time?”
“Is your brother there?”
“He is, yes,” I replied, smiling.
“I’m on my way,” she replied.
I was getting the crew together for our first session of brainstorming. I called Marcy’s cell.
“Hi, Joey, what are you up to?” she answered.
“Hey, Marcy, how was your day with your new partner?” I asked, not wanting to know.
“We’re still here at the office. Would you like to join us for dinner?”
“You are having dinner with this guy?”
“I’m still bringing him up to speed on a case we’re on, and we thought of continuing over dinner.”
I was silent for a few seconds.
“Joey? Are you still there?” Marcy asked.
“I thought we were having dinner, and then headed to your place? But, I guess bringing Tony up to speed, changed all that.”
“If you can’t join us for dinner, you can still come over to my place later.”
“Is Tony going to join us there?”
“Oh, I see what the issue is. No Joey, he is not,” she whispered into the phone.
“Tell you what, I’ve got a new case we’re working. I’ll just get something to eat. We can meet up tomorrow,” I replied.
“Joey, tomorrow we fly to Washington for meetings, I’ll be back in two days. Come over tonight.”
My ride arrived at the front of the pub. “Marcy, I’m just back to the pub. I’ll call you later and let you know.”
“I want to see you tonight. Call me,” Marcy said, with a sexual undertone she knows drives me crazy.
“I will,” I replied, softly. Perhaps I was making this guy Tony into something he was not. I mean, he is an asshole, but maybe that’s all he is.
Agnes was already at the pub, enjoying Father Dom’s company. She had corralled him in the Johnny Carson booth, and I could tell Dom was a little uncomfortable. His face lit up when he saw me, it was like reinforcements were coming and he could retreat into the background.
“Can I join you guys, or am I interrupting something?” I asked, smiling at Dom.
Dom frowned and replied, “Have a seat, I need to get back to help Mr. Patrick.”
“Not so fast Padre, I ne
ed you here to brainstorm a few things on the new case we signed onto.” I said, taking a seat in the booth, next to Agnes. I bumped my elbow with hers. “You’re looking good, bella cara.”
Agnes blushed, opened a notebook, knowing she would be taking notes for research purposes. “What case are you guys working on?” she asked.
I replied, “The Longworth murder case.”
“The real estate developer who killed his wife?” She asked, with a little surprise in her voice.
I turned to face Agnes, “Allegedly killed his wife; he hasn’t been found guilty yet.”
Agnes added, “But the case has only a few days left. I’ve been following it on the news. The prosecution is about to rest.”
“It seems Mr. Longworth’s daughter wanted us involved in the case, and we were just hired by Adams and Pearson, the attorneys, to give it a once over as they prepare their defense,” I replied.
Dom queried, “I wonder when his daughter asked us to get involved. It seems we're a bit late to this party.”
Agnes took the cap off her pen and asked somewhat dumbfounded, “What is it they want you guys to do?”
Dom responded, “Oh, just find the murderer.”
Agnes was speechless as she opened her mouth wide, “That’s all?”
“We have nine days left before the defense rests. So, let’s get busy,” I said.
Agnes asked, “Where do you want me to start?”
“I want a background check on the attorneys, Marshall Adams and Chuck Pearson, probably Charles, right?”
Dom sat back and asked, “You want to start with the lawyers? Why?”
Paraphrasing Captain Kirk of the Enterprise, I replied, “Let’s go where no one has gone before. Make a note, Agnes, Adams and Longworth are personal friends. They’ve known each other since school, and they socialize, or socialized, with their spouses. I don’t know much about Pearson, his partner.”
Agnes was taking notes, and asked without raising her head, “Where do they live?”
“I don’t know that. Longworth’s home, the location of the murder is in Sagaponack, Long Island. I suspect Adams lives there, also. He mentioned their kids went to the same schools. No clue on Pearson.”