Joey Mancuso Mysteries Box Set

by Owen Parr

  “Joey, I didn’t bring my notes, but there was a record of the alarm being turned off at about eight that night, then immediately turned on again, until Mr. Longworth got home at eleven-ten.”

  “Then it’s possible that Mrs. Longworth let someone in at eight, someone she knew.”

  “It’s also possible that Mrs. L, like many people, did turn off and on the alarm, before she went to her bedroom, to make sure it was on. Besides, Mr. L admitted to turning off the alarm when he got home at eleven-ten. So, what happened to that other person you think came in at eight? When did they leave?”

  “Mr. L, like you call him, says he heard someone in the home after he found the body.”

  “That’s what he said, if you believe him. But we found no proof of that.”

  “Humor me for a minute, Angelo. Per favore. The perp heard Longworth come into the home, hid and left the home while the husband was discovering the murder scene. No alarm, no record.”

  “Okay, Sherlock, the stairs only had bloody footprints consistent with Mr. L’s shoes, from when he walked downstairs and took a shot at the living room ceiling, to establish his alibi for the GSR found on his hand and arm. Then, there are minor footprints with blood coming up the stairs again. Consistent with his story and only his shoes. This imaginary perp of yours, how did he leave the home, flying out a window, a la Peter Pan?”

  Putting my coffee down, I opened my hands, and asked, “Did you check for egress from the bedroom windows for that possibility? Not that he flew out, but jumped out?”

  “Joey, you are starting to piss me off, man. The second story windows are about twenty-five feet up from the ground. No windows were opened in the bedroom. Unless your perp closed the window behind him before he jumped, like Spiderman. Come on, man, you’re grasping at straws.”

  I could see Angelo was concerned that I was second guessing his work, and getting a little annoyed. “Listen,” I wanted to diffuse his anger, “I like Peter Pan better. But, really, I’m not here to disprove your case, I’m only here to find a plausible doubt that there could have been another shooter.”

  “Good luck with that. This guy is guilty as hell.”

  “Very possible, yes. I just want to satisfy my client that I asked all the right questions.”

  “Yeah, right. And collect a hefty fee,” Angelo said, a little peeved.

  “There is that,” I said, smiling, and letting him think that was motivation. “Tell me about the bedroom.”

  “Bloody scene, that was. You’ll see when I show the photos. Mrs. L was on the floor, on the right side of the bed, just as you enter the room.”

  “I’m going to visit the crime scene, but walk me through it.”

  “When you go in the room, to your immediate left is the night table with a lamp. Next to that is the king-sized bed. To your right, there is a wall. You follow me so far?”

  I nodded.

  “So, walk in, past the bed, do a one-eighty turn, and look back at the door. Now the bed is on your right. Mrs. L was lying next to the bed on the floor facing up, and at about forty-five degrees to the bed. Got that?”

  “Go on.”

  “She had two shots to the chest. One right below her heart, the other just under that one. There was forward blood spatter, which was projected behind her, from arterial spurting, as the blood exited her body from the two shots. There was blood spatter on the bed above her, the headboard, and to the left on the night table and lamp. So, we know the shooter was standing facing the bedroom door, in front of Mrs. L. Just where you’re imaginarily standing. Her blood pooled on the carpet below, and next to her. Of course, she had blood on the front of her terrycloth bathrobe, but it was smudged.”

  “Do you recall the angle of entry of the rounds?”

  “No, man, I have to think about that. But, I’m sure you can find that in the medical examiner’s report. The law firm should have a copy of that.”

  I made a note to inquire about that. “Per Mr. Longworth, he entered the room and tripped on her body, falling on top of it. This is how he accounts for the blood transfer to his suit.”

  “His suit had her blood smudge, just like her white bathrobe.”

  “The smudge blood transfer is consistent with his falling. Isn’t?”

  “Yeah, but again, it could be a cover up?”

  “This guy is a real estate developer; you think he would know to rub his body against her dead body to create an alibi? That’s not even an alibi. He’s got her blood on him.”

  “Let me go on. There was backward blood spatter coming in the direction of the shooter from the impact. There is a void in the spatter on the carpet, created by the body of the shooter. The spatter is to the right and left of the void, and on the wall of the bedroom. So, we know the shooter was no more than three feet from Mrs. L.”

  “Splendid. So, we have this backward blood spatter being projected back to the shooter, you have the specks of blood on the carpet and wall. Was there any blood on Mr. L’s suit or face consistent with this spatter? There had to be, because his body created the void, right?” I asked, twirling my coffee mug with my fingers.

  Angelo moved uncomfortably in his chair, “No, there wasn’t. But he had blood on his suit and hands. And then, there is the gun residue.”

  “Not so fast, Angelo. I would expect for the shooter to have specks of blood all over his face, hair, and suit. Wouldn’t you?” I asked, touching my face and hair.

  “I suppose I would, yes,” Angelo said, in an apologetic tone, and looking a tad chagrined.

  I didn’t want to pursue this with him and turn him against me, I needed his input. “Never mind that for now, tell me about the bedroom, anything jumps out at you?”

  Angelo closed his eyes, replaying the scene in his mind, “Normal bedroom, large, though. They had a sitting area by a bay window with comfy chairs, no dressers, they were all inside the walk-in closets. A few pictures with frames on the table in the sitting area.”

  “You’re doing good, keep your eyes closed. Anything jumps out?”

  “Roses,” he said, still with his eyes closed.

  “Roses? What color?”

  “Yeah, lots of yellow roses on the table with the pictures.”

  “An arrangement perhaps?”

  He opened his eyes and faced me, “It was an arrangement of some kind and fresh. I remember, because my wife loves yellow roses.”

  “Tell me about the gun.”

  “The gun was found on top the night table. It’s a Smith and Wesson model 642, thirty-eight caliber revolver.”

  “The 642 is aluminum, and has five rounds only, right?

  “That’s right, the barrel is one inch and seven-eighths long.”

  “Was it Longworth’s?”

  “They each had one in their night table. We found his gun, on his side of the bed in the drawer of the night table.”

  “Prints, what about prints?” I asked.

  “His bloody prints, with her blood, were on the revolver. Only other prints on the gun were hers. We assume she had handled the gun at some point. There were other prints in the bedroom. The maid’s and his attorney’s.”

  “Adams’ prints were found in the bedroom?” I asked, moving forward in my chair.

  “Both Mr. L, and Adams, confirmed that they occasionally spoke in the sitting area of the bedroom. So, the prints are consistent with that. We also found partials we cannot account for.”

  “That’s a bit odd, wouldn’t you say? In such a big house, why would you meet with your attorney in your bedroom?”

  “Joey, these guys are friends for like forty years, right? Seems reasonable.”

  “I guess you’re right. Just found it odd, at first. Let me ask you this, where there any type of defensive wounds on Mrs. Longworth?”

  “As if she fought off her murderer?”

  “Yeah, right. It was her gun she was shot with. Possible they struggled for the weapon before she was shot?”

  “No evidence of that. Nothing under her na
ils, no wounds to her arms, or anywhere else for that matter.”

  “Did they do a rape kit?”

  “They did. There was evidence of having had sex, no semen, however. But, no signs of rape, no.”

  “Was any DNA recovered from the bed?”

  “The bed was freshly made, and from what we could see, no one had occupied either side of the bed.”

  “So, no hairs.”

  “Nothing.”

  “Tell me about the bathroom.”

  “Vast. His and hers areas, a large shower that could easily accommodate four people, with spray jets coming from everywhere, and two rain showers. Oh, and the toilet is in a water closet with a door.”

  “Anything else?”

  “A very spacious Jacuzzi, big enough for two or three persons.”

  “How ‘bout the TOD?”

  “The coroner estimated Mrs. Longworth died between ten and midnight, that night.”

  “Did the ME make a note of the angle of entry of the rounds?”

  “You already asked me that. I don’t remember the specific degrees, but yes, I think the upward angle was twenty, or twenty-five degrees.”

  “But you do remember it was an upward angle?

  “I think so. Joey, I’ve got to go. Tell you what, I’ll text message you the photos and video to your cell phone.”

  “Great, Angelo, I was hoping you’d do that. Your redneck bombs are waiting anytime you want to stop by, my man. Thank you so much for your time.”

  “It was good to see you, Joey. I guess we’re even, now right?” Angelo said, smiling and with open hands.

  “I’ll cancel the debt upon receipt of the text message,” I said, smiling and extending a handshake, as I stood.

  8

  There was a saying about The Plaza Hotel, built in the early nineteen hundreds, ‘Nothing unimportant happens at The Plaza,’ and today’s visit by Father Dominic, was certainly in keeping with that to one of the hotel’s guests, Harold Longworth.

  Father Dominic had concluded his church duties at Saint Helen’s in Brooklyn that started early in the morning with six-thirty Mass, followed by a second Mass. He had removed his white collar from his black shirt and put on a gray wool jacket. Entering the elevator in the hotel lobby, he pushed nine. Dom was sure Mr. Longworth was anxiously waiting for him.

  Exiting the elevator, and noticing the directional signs to the various rooms, he turned left and knocked on suite nine-ten.

  “Good morning Father O’Brian, please come in,” said a casually dressed man, whom Dominic assumed to be in his mid-fifties.

  “Thank you, Mr. Longworth, good morning.”

  “Can I get you anything, I have fresh coffee and orange juice, if you would like.”

  “Perhaps coffee later, right now I’m fine, thank you.”

  Longworth walked over to a sitting area in the suite and pointed to a settee and two chairs, with a coffee table in between. Dominic sat in one of the chairs, facing a window overlooking Central Park, with Longworth sitting across from him on the settee.

  Crossing his legs and fixing the crease in his pants, Father Dom asked, “Do you mind if we get down to business, Mr. Longworth?”

  Leaning forward, Longworth replied, “Please call me Harold, and yes, by all means, let’s get started, but I thought your brother, Mr. Mancuso, was also joining us.”

  “Joey got tied up with the Suffolk police this morning, he would appreciate an opportunity to meet with you later today,” Dom replied, not wanting to reveal their methodology of asking questions of individuals involved in a case at separate times, and then comparing notes.

  “That’s quite alright. I’ll be here all day,” he said, moving back on his seat.

  “Can you start at the time you left the office that day? Walk me through it.”

  “It was my typical late evening at work, I don’t work late every day, but I was preparing for a business trip, and I had some last-minute items to attend to that day.” Longworth proceeded to tell Dominic the events of the evening from the moment he turned off the alarm at about eleven-ten that night.

  “Do you have a set schedule of the evenings you work late in the city?”

  “You mean like every Tuesday and Thursday for instance?”

  “Yes.”

  “No, no. It depends on what’s going on. There are even days I work out of the house, and don’t go in the office at all. There’s also the reverse, sometimes I stay in the city, if I have an early meeting the next day.”

  “Do you notify,” Dom paused, “I’m sorry, was it your practice to call home and inform your late wife that you would be delayed at the office?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “So, she would know to turn on the bathroom lights off your bedroom, if she went to sleep before you arrived.”

  “That was our practice. There was no need for her to stay up and wait for me. She usually read a novel before going to sleep, then she would turn off the lights in the bedroom and leave the bathroom light on, with the door semi-shut.”

  “Very well. Let me ask you this; was there anyone that would want to kill your wife?”

  “Oh, my God, none whatsoever, no.”

  “Did your wife work? Did she have a career?”

  “Sheila was very involved in two charities; Angels for Children, and our own Longworth Foundation. She kept very busy with both, strictly volunteer work, not paid jobs.”

  “Did she travel on behalf of these charities?”

  “Some, maybe once a month or two, for functions and fundraising events.”

  Father Dominic had not noticed any facial expressions or body movements that gave any conflicting tells of what Mr. Longworth was relating. On the contrary, his expressions and gestures were genuine. “Let me ask you about your perception that Mrs. Longworth was having an affair.”

  Now, Longworth closed his eyes, and clasped his hands before responding, “Sheila had become aloof when with me, it was like she was there in body, but not there mentally. Our conversations had resorted to only answering each other’s questions. Our intimate life, which had been average at best, in the past, became an issue, almost non-existent. She would never initiate it, I had to, and then it was like, robotic.”

  “And this, you thought, was because she was having an affair?”

  “It was like she was two different persons. When involved in social functions, she was her usual self; bubbly, outgoing personality, an extrovert. Planning her trips, she would be excited. But then with me, she would be the opposite. I could easily tell she was not interested in our marriage anymore.”

  “You refused to divorce her?”

  “Father Dominic, I feel a little strange speaking to a priest about my marriage, nothing personal.”

  “Don’t think of me as a priest, right now, I am an investigator. And by the way, I’ve heard all this stuff before. So, tell me about the divorce.”

  “We never got that far. I didn’t have to be a detective to know she wanted out of our marriage, after she told me she had spoken to an attorney. But, no, I didn’t want a divorce. We have children, and I thought we could resolve our issues.”

  “The prosecution’s case revolves around the divorce, and the potential affair she was having. These two items, they claim, are the reason you did it.”

  “I know, the fact I did not want to divorce my wife is why I killed her?”

  “I think their claim is the affair was the reason you killed her.”

  “But there’s no proof she was having an affair. The detective I hired was just starting the investigation when she was murdered,” he said, lowering his head and closing his eyes.

  “Did you have any idea as to who may have been the person Mrs. Longworth was having an affair with?”

  “I have no clue. Perhaps someone in the charities.”

  “Why them?”

  “Sheila lived in a small sphere of friends, we both did, with close friends.”

  ‘Before I leave, write those names down, and we�
�ll check on that,” said Dom, tearing off a piece of paper from his notebook and handing it over to Longworth.

  “Father, do you think you guys have any chance of proving my innocence?”

  “In all honesty, Harold, we are running out of time. We’re hoping we can find something to create doubt with the jury. I don’t think we can solve the murder in the time that’s left.”

  “I knew we should have gotten you both involved, sooner.”

  “When did you ask for us to get involved?”

  “About three months ago.”

  “Three months ago? And, why didn’t we?”

  “Adams and Pearson didn’t see the need. It was my daughter, Margery, who finally convinced them to do it, recently.”

  “I see. We’ll do everything we can to help you out.”

  “I appreciate that, Father. We’re grateful.”

  Both men got up from their chairs, said their goodbyes, and Father Dom left the hotel room. In the elevator, he got a text from Joey asking his whereabouts. Dom replied that he was leaving the hotel. After which point, Joey texted back to wait for him at the lobby.

  9

  It was my turn to question Harold Longworth. I finally made it to the hotel, and had a few minutes to go over the conversation between Mr. Longworth and Father Dom, in a corner of the lobby. It had started raining outside, and snow was expected for the afternoon and evening. Dom gave me the names of the people in the charities and the small group of friends, and I was to pass them on to Agnes, for research on each. If we found out that Sheila Longworth was, in fact, having an affair, it could solidify the motivation behind the prosecution’s case. Of course, this information would be privileged. We thought the prosecution was already doing the same, then at least, we would be ready.

  Dominic had shared his impression of Mr. Longworth, finding him to be too relaxed about the possible conviction of first-degree murder. However, he had observed and shared with me, that he found our client be honest and truthful with the information he had extracted from him.