Joey Mancuso Mysteries Box Set

by Owen Parr

  Tony, followed by Mr. and Mrs. Rodriguez walked out of the room, and closed the door.

  “So, how’s your physical therapy coming along?” I asked, trying to make small talk.

  Marcy ignored the question. “Listen, I want to discuss something. And it’s serious,” she said, bringing the back of the bed up to an almost sitting position.

  I sat on the side of the bed. “Sure, what’s up?”

  “I’ve had a lot of time to think, and I’ll just come out and say it, okay?

  “Say what?” I asked, apprehensively.

  “Joey, I want to take a break from each other.”

  “What a day, two days, a week?” I asked, smiling.

  “I said it was a serious conversation.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “My life is a mess right now. They want me to take a leave. Until I feel better…” her voice trailed off.

  Trying to insert a little humor, I said, “They want you to take an ALEVE, that’s only good for four hours, then what?”

  “I’m serious, a leave of absence. Then, I have to be retested, to see if I can physically handle firearms again, both handguns, and long arms. I don’t know…” her voice trailed off again.

  “Marcy, after you recover, and continue to do your therapy, you’ll be as good as new. You’ll pass that test without any problems, and I’ll work on the firearms test with you.”

  “Recover, sure, that’s what everyone but the doctors, tells me. I’m not going to fool myself.”

  “It’s not a question of fooling yourself, you’re resolute, feisty, and you’ll get it done. I’m sure.”

  “Yeah, we’ll see. But, we are off subject.”

  “That being; taking a break from each other?”

  “You have a lot of things going your way, all positive things. Your new connection with that law firm, for investigative work. Your old boss wants you to consult for the NYPD and all. I’ve made my decision.”

  “So, my new-found opportunities are causing this breakup? Tell me to give it all up, and I will, in a New York minute. You are the most important thing in my life, and none of this stuff is going to break up our relationship,” I said, as she let go of my hands.

  “I’m not going to tell you to give anything up. You need to move on, and I need to think about my future, or, lack of,” she said, closing her eyes.

  “Marcy, I’m not moving on anywhere, without you. We’re a team, meant to be together, have a bunch of kids, retire in a little town, with a dog or two, and grandkids running around the house.”

  “See, Joey, that’s your dream. I don’t even know if I have a career tomorrow. I need to, to…” her mouth trembled, as tears began flowing.

  I broke in, “You need to take it a day at a time. And, I want to be there with you all the way.”

  “Please don’t make this more difficult than what it is,” she said, as her parents entered the room. “I’m still talking to Joey,” she said, loudly, “please wait outside.”

  I turned to face her parents, widened my eyes, and apologized with an expression, saying nothing. Turning back to her, I said, “Marcy, I love you.”

  She remained silent, wiping off her tears with a tissue.

  “Did you hear me?” I asked, softly.

  Crying she replied, “—heard you, and I love you too. That’s what makes it hard.”

  “That’s what allows us to work this out. Two people in love should be together, not apart.”

  She gathered herself, “What’s the saying Joey? If you love someone, let them go, if they love you, they’ll come back.”

  “Whatever, except we know we love each other. Why let anyone go? We’re beyond that test.”

  “Well, if you love me, then allow me to go through with my decision. Who knows, down the road, I may want to be part of your dream. Right now, I need to do this.”

  “So, what are you saying? Don’t visit you, don’t call you. For what, a month?”

  “I don’t know. I’ll call you.”

  31

  Thursday, January 6th

  Closing Arguments

  Judge Wesley entered the courtroom and sat. Everyone else followed suit. “Is counsel ready for the closing arguments?”

  Both Morris and Goldstein responded in the affirmative.

  “Very well. Mr. Morris, proceed,” Wesley stated.

  “Thank you, Your Honor. May I approach the jury?”

  “You may.”

  Brian Morris, the prosecutor, walked towards the jury box, making eye contact, from left to right, with all the jurors, as he did. “Ladies and gentlemen, I want to thank you for your attention during this trial. I believe the evidence presented, speaks for itself. This is not a murder mystery of who done it. The defense has tried to obfuscate, to confuse you, in reaching the only verdict that that fits in this trial, based on the evidence, and only the evidence,” Morris paused for effect. Making eye contact with each one, he went on. “And that is, ladies and gentlemen, a verdict of guilty as charged. A verdict of first-degree, felony murder.” He let that sink in, as he took a few steps away from the jurors. “Let’s review the facts if I may. Mr. Longworth, the defendant, had the opportunity, and a motive to kill his wife, and I will elaborate on that in a minute. Mr. Longworth had his wife’s blood all over him. His prints were on the revolver that was used to kill his wife. Gunshot residue, referred to as GSR, was found on his right hand. Those are all facts, which were testified to during the trial by the patrolmen that first arrived on the scene, the two homicide detectives, and the crime scene investigators,” he stated, walking closer to the jurors. “As to opportunity, we know that the alarm was set at eight in the evening. Between eight and eleven-ten that night, no one entered or left the home. At eleven-ten, Mr. Longworth entered the house and conveniently did not turn the alarm back on. The TOD, or time of death, was determined to be between ten and midnight that evening, according to the medical examiner’s testimony. So, if the only two persons in the home were Mrs. Longworth and the defendant, during the time she was killed, there is no doubt as to who killed Mrs. Longworth.” Again, Mr. Morris paused for effect, and moved around. “So, the next question is motive. Why? Why, did the defendant kill his wife? What are the facts? We know Mr. Longworth was considering a divorce, something the defendant was opposed to. We also know, that he, Mr. Longworth, was suspicious that his wife was having an affair, and we also know that, in fact, she was,” he stated, as he walked back to the lectern, and deposited his notes. “We also know this, Mr. Longworth’s assets are in excess of seventy million dollars, and Mr. Longworth’s business was half owned by his deceased wife. Quite a nasty settlement he was headed to, if she divorced him.” Turning back to the jurors, and remaining quiet for a few seconds, he concluded, “Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Longworth not only killed his wife, but he planned the murder with anticipation and deliberation. Based on the facts, and only the facts, the only verdict that is fitting, for such a brutal murder, is guilty of first-degree felony murder.” Pausing, he added, “thank you.”

  Brian Morris walked back to the lectern, gathered his files, and sat back at the prosecutor’s table.

  Harold Longworth sat between Mrs. Goldstein and Mrs. Hartman, expressionless. At one point in the prosecution’s summation, he had made a comment to Mrs. Goldstein, and she had only responded with a nod. Some jurors had glanced at him, when the word kill was uttered by the prosecutor, perhaps expecting a reaction. But, he had volunteered none.

  Judge Wesley said, “Mrs. Goldstein.”

  “Thank you, Your Honor. May I approach the jury?”

  “You may,” the judge replied, motioning with his hand.

  Ruth Goldstein smiled as she approached the jurors, holding a yellow legal pad in one hand. “Thank you all for serving,” she said, making eye contact from right to left. “I’ve learned never to ask a question, especially in a trial, unless I already know the answer. But, I’m going to take a chance today to prove a point,” she paused, “without
screwing up, I hope,” she added, with a smile. Most jurors smiled back. “Of those of you that own a car, I would venture to say, that only one or two of you, and you don’t have to reply, but think about it, could tell me the exact number of miles that your car odometer reads. Right?” About three-quarters of the jurors smiled, with some nodding, as Ruth quickly took inventory of their reactions, and processed it. “So, what does that prove?” she asked, pausing. “And, by the way, I have no clue about my own car’s mileage. I turn on the ignition, and immediately the mileage flashes on the dashboard, I look at it, but I don’t see it. So, you’re saying to yourselves, how does that relate to our trial? The visible sometimes keeps us from actually seeing the entire picture. We look at the odometer, but we don’t see the mileage. These facts presented by the prosecution are obvious, yet we heard from the detective, Mr. Levy, that although there was sound heard downstairs, no one bothered to look for fingerprints. He also acknowledged that the entry wound proved that the rounds were fired from an angle not likely to be shot by a person who is six feet, four inches tall. Further, they ignored the fact about not finding blood spatter on Mr. Longworth’s face, and hairs. But why did they ignore these things? Again, all they saw was the obvious. They didn’t pay attention to the odometer reading. They looked, but didn’t see. In a hurry to wrap this case, they were careless, and they were not thorough.” She paused, glancing at her notes. Looking up at the jurors, she added, “The only way you can convict Mr. Longworth, is, if you are completely, completely convinced, without a doubt, that he pulled the trigger in a deliberate manner. And here is the problem with that,” pausing again, “we introduced four witnesses that had the opportunity. They had no alibis as to their whereabouts the night in question. Any one of them could have entered the home at eight in the evening with Mrs. Longworth, and left, after Mr. Longworth entered the home at eleven-ten,” Ruth said, as she flipped the page on her yellow pad.

  Mr. Longworth kept eye contact with the jury now. Some would occasionally glance at him, and he would make sure to look into their eyes, as instructed by Ruth, and Inez.

  Ruth continued, “One witness not only admitted to having been in a relationship with Mrs. Longworth years ago, but, admitted on the stand, that he was still in love with her. Mr. Adams, whose photo from a high-school yearbook, showed him and Sheila Longworth, captioned, ‘love forever,’ admitted that his love for her remained until this day. He testified that they still met for dinners alone. Did this ‘love forever’ drive him to a point where he could no longer see Sheila with another man?”

  Ruth paused, and flipped to another page, as she looked at two jurors, whom she noticed had nodded in the affirmative to her statement.

  She continued, “Let’s look at Jessica Adams, the wife of Mr. Adams. Again, no alibi for the time the murder was committed. Did Mrs. Adams find out about her husband’s private dinners with Mrs. Longworth? We saw her temper on the stand, could she have killed Mrs. Longworth out of jealousy?” Ruth waited, and asked, “Possible?” Here is a woman, who may have had a love relationship with Mrs. Longworth, and could have learned of her husband’s infidelity with her, also.”

  Harold Longworth, sitting next to Inez Hartman, was visibly upset at the character assassination of his departed wife, but tried to remain stoic, given these revelations. Turning to Inez, he whispered, “My God, is this necessary?”

  Inez grabbed his right hand with her left hand and squeezed it gently. “Harold, we’re trying to save your life, it'll be all right,” she said in a hushed voice.

  Ruth Goldstein continued her summation. “Now, let’s talk about our last two witnesses. First, Mr. Charles Pearson, the attorney for Mrs. Longworth’s Foundation. It is possible that the IRS audit, coupled with the FBI’s probe into the Foundation, could reveal some major impropriety that Mrs. Longworth confronted Mr. Pearson with. If so, these revelations could be devastating to him. Again, we find a potential suspect with no real alibi, so, he had the opportunity,” Ruth said, again concentrating her eye contact on the two jurors, who seemed sympathetic to her summation. “Was Mr. Pearson afraid that Mrs. Longworth would share her concern with the Federal authorities? Was this his motive to kill her?’ she paused briefly. “Finally, we get to the last witness,” she stated, flipping the page on her notes, and raising her glance to the jury box. “Ms. Geraldine Francis. Ms. Francis admitted to you that she was having a love affair with Mrs. Longworth. For years in college, and then, for the last two years, they have been romantically involved, she testified. She also had no real alibi, so, we know she had the opportunity. Then, the question is, what could be her motive, to savagely kill Mrs. Longworth? Jealousy for one, right? But, there’s also the issue of possible improprieties with the handling of the Foundation. She didn’t know, and didn’t do her due diligence properly in finding out that, at least two of her newly found donors were under FBI investigation for potential tax fraud. Was Ms. Francis a party to these felonies? And, was she concerned that Mrs. Longworth would tell the authorities of her concerns?”

  Ruth walked to the lectern, letting that sink in. She had waited a few seconds before she walked back to face the jurors. Standing in front of the jury box, she clasped her hands in front of her, slowly making eye contact with all jurors.

  Ruth continued, “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, in a few minutes, Judge Wesley will give you instruction for your deliberations. One of those instructions, as you will hear, is that if you are to find Mr. Longworth guilty of murder, it must be without any reasonable doubt. Therefore, if you have any doubts, any doubts,” she repeated, with emphasis, “that Mr. Longworth is guilty, you must find him innocent of the charge.”

  Goldstein walked to the lectern, retrieved her papers, and before sitting down glanced at the jury, and said, “Thank you.” Then, she sat next to Mr. Harold Longworth.

  Judge Wesley proceeded to give the jurors instructions as to the rules governing deliberations. Once completed, he said, “Court is adjourned until the jury comes back with a verdict.” The gavel came down once.

  32

  I sat there during both summations, and although one seat removed from Mr. L, I could feel his anxiety. The man had listened, first to the depiction of how he planned, and killed his wife, in cold blood. Then, through the awful description of his wife’s infidelities, and how, one of the other four suspects could have gunned her down, in his own bedroom. I felt awful for him. But, at the same time, I felt that enough reasonable doubt was planted by both Ruth, and Inez, to give the jury qualms about convicting him, and that gave me hope. Nonetheless, because of my sixteen years as a homicide detective with the NYPD, I knew that this was not a sure thing.

  Two outcomes were the only possible conclusion to this. A mistrial, which could be a third, I did not think, was in the cards. That only left us with guilty, or not guilty.

  If not guilty; I had the leisure of time to prove who I knew was the ‘unsub,’ or, the unknown subject, to the authorities. My number one rule as a murder investigator, has always been to bring to justice the killer, or killers, of an innocent person. I considered myself the last advocate for the murdered victim. Either I proved who the real killer was, or this could quickly become an unsolved cold-case. Why? Because the police and the prosecution had made their case on the wrong suspect; they had planted their flag, if you will. And now, every clue they had uncovered was proven wrong, every arrow they had flung had hit the wrong target. It was starting from scratch for them. If guilty; my final investigation in proving who the real killer was would have to be swift, and foolproof.

  Inez Hartman’s cold shoulder, for the last two days, had not gone unnoticed by me. My rejection of her aggressive advances a couple of nights ago had a chilling effect, on what I had hoped, would be a good, professional relationship. Especially if Dom and I decided to work with this law firm.

  We were all standing behind the defense table, and Mr. Longworth had been speaking to both Ruth and Inez, with his two children waiting in the gallery. As he bid
his goodbyes to all three of us, I decided to make amends. Not that I felt guilty about anything, but for the benefit of the relationship.

  I approached both ladies. “You guys did great. Can I buy you a drink?”

  Inez ignored me. Ruth turned to me and said, “We couldn’t have done it without your investigation, and observations. Plus, your FBI contact was very helpful. I could use a drink,” she said. Glancing at Inez, she asked, “Inez, can you join us?”

  “No, you guys go ahead. I have another matter to attend to,” Inez replied, stuffing her files in her brown leather case.

  “Joey, where do you want to go?” Ruth asked.

  “I know a place a couple of blocks from here that’s quaint,” I replied, watching for any signs from Inez, who smiled, but remained quiet. “However, we should go back to my pub, drinks are free, plus Father Dominic is going to be there. We can share a car to Manhattan.”

  “That’s perfect. Inez, you should join us, and meet Father Dominic, Joey’s brother,” said Ruth.

  “I’m sure I’ll get to meet Father Dominic another time. I really can’t, but thanks anyway,” replied Inez, slinging her briefcase over her shoulder, and starting to walk out. “You guys enjoy.”

  I had a feeling about the deliberations, but I wanted to get a feel for how Ruth Goldstein felt about it. Walking out with her, I asked, “How long do you think it’s going to take for the jury to render their verdict?”

  “I’m hoping it’s not today. The quicker it is, the chances for an acquittal go down. I have a feeling it will be tomorrow, Friday. They probably want to wrap this up before the weekend. Don’t you agree?”

  “I do. I just hope the two or three, jurors you concentrated on, are dominant enough. They seemed to nod in agreement with you, sometimes.”