Joey Mancuso Mysteries Box Set

by Owen Parr

  “All the best, Marcelita. Te quiero.” I said as she clicked off.

  18

  Walking back to the conference table, I grabbed another slice of pizza and sat down. I noticed Agnes had printed two enlarged copies of the photos. One with the Arepa and the other with the vic’s breast. She had begun connecting lines on what seemed like a letter imprint on the indentation of the item.

  Agnes smiled, “Look here,” she said, as she slid the photo of the Arepa towards me.

  “You’re good,” I said, taking out the Bluetooth gadget from my pocket. “It’s the Motorola logo, the M.”

  Patrick put down a slice of pizza, swallowed, and said, “So, we have confirmation of what made the indentation. Now, we have to hope we can find it on our perp.”

  I added, “This guy hasn’t made any mistakes. If he kept this gadget, that’s the first mistake he’s made.”

  “The gadget impression on the vic’s breast is so far-fetched that I bet this guy figures his plan is foolproof, even to the most astute detective. So, I bet he cleaned and still has it.

  “I hope you’re right Angela,” I said, then asked her, “by the way, you haven’t been to the precinct, right?”

  “No, no. The Captain told me to stay away. I still need to be undercover, assuming our unsub is working there.”

  “Good!” I was relieved to hear that Angela was staying clear of the precinct. “Ok folks, and thanks to Mr. Pat for cleaning up, now that we’ve filled our bellies, let’s review what we have.”

  As Patrick disposed of the garbage, he said, “If you give me a minute, I’ll make some espressos. Cigar, Joey?”

  “That’d be great. Make it Gurkha Heritage Robusto, Pat.” Pointing to Angela, I asked, “Do you smoke cigars?”

  “Occasionally, but, I’ll pass today. Thanks.”

  “While Patrick works on the espressos, let me ask you,” I began, “you found a place to rent?”

  “It’s a corporate owned apartment. My husband’s company is going to let us use it for a while. This way we can take our time finding out where we want to be.”

  Agnes inquired, “What does your husband do?”

  “Mark is going to be managing the commercial real estate office in New York. He’s with SBRE. They’re a worldwide company involved strictly in commercial real estate.”

  I asked, “He was in Miami with the company?”

  Angela replied, crossing her legs and sitting back, “He was managing the Miami office. New York City, is their biggest office, so, it’s a great opportunity for him, for us, I should say.”

  Agnes turned to her laptop, hearing a ding, and without looking away from it, she asked, “And, are you going to be working in homicide, for Captain Johnson?”

  “I hope so. I’m tired of vice, especially being married now,” Angela replied.

  “We just got an email from Lucy,” Agnes said, as Patrick walked in with four espressos and two cigars.

  “What’s it say?” I asked.

  “Let me open the attachment,” Agnes said, as she made a few clicks on her laptop. “Did you ask her to check on past work locations of people in the precinct?”

  “I did. Just four of them for now.”

  “This email is from her just now. You asked, she says, and she had not done it until now. She apologizes. Okay, so, the two uniforms that keep showing up first at the scenes, Sanchez and Edwards, Edwards has been nowhere near the locations of the other unsolved murders. Edwards is a local guy, from Queens. Sanchez on the other hand was born in Greenville, Illinois, a city of less than seven thousand in population. Joined the local police department there, consisting of thirteen. He trained with the Chicago Police Department. Later, washed out of the FBI Academy training in Quantico. Then, joined the NYPD two years ago.”

  “Does it say why he failed the Bureau’s Academy? I asked.

  Eyes on her monitor, Agnes replied, “No, nothing on that. She does add that the dates coincide with the killings in both Chicago and Quantico.”

  Patrick added, “Wow, that can’t be a coincidence.”

  “What about detectives Farnsworth and Charles?” I asked.

  Agnes replied, “Also, from New York. Detective Farnsworth is from Brooklyn, but we knew that from his accent, right? Detective Charles is from Buffalo. Neither has worked in any of the cities in question.”

  Angela, raising her eyebrows, turned to me. “Joey, you had a feeling about these four. Right?”

  “Edwards looked too young to have been anywhere else, but, the thing is that he and Sanchez kept showing up at the scene of the crimes. There is something about Sanchez that made me think twice. First. I just wanted to make sure. Concerning the detectives, I wanted to confirm we didn’t have a wolf in the hen house. You know what I mean?”

  “What now?” Patrick asked.

  “Now, now we need to keep an eye on Sanchez, 24-7. He may be our man.”

  Patrick had another question. “So, you’re leaning in his direction as our unsub?”

  “I don’t know Mr. Pat. Let’s review what we do know. Agnes, on the whiteboard, please start two columns.”

  Agnes got up, and with an erasable blue maker, drew a line down the middle of the board. “Shoot,” she said.

  “Ok. On the left, label that ‘known facts.’ On the right, label that ‘what we think.’ ”

  Agnes did as I asked and then waited for more instructions.

  I started, “Beginning with the left side, add ‘female victims,’ ‘employed in law enforcement related jobs,’ ‘all brunettes,’ and ‘all late twenties, or, early thirties.’ ” I leaned back, “What else folks? This portion is interactive.” I thought of Marcy again, except this time, I got a bad feeling as her face flashed in my mind.

  Patrick added, “ ‘Same-sex act,’ and ‘extreme.' "

  Angela said, “ ‘All active in social media,’ ” ‘members of the same groups within Facebook,’ and ‘they’re all single.’ ”

  Agnes jumped in, “And ‘permissive,’ based on their postings.”

  I added, “So, that makes ‘em easy targets, or, at least, possible targets.”

  “And, … ” Patrick said, “ ‘all, but one lived alone.’ ”

  I asked, “Anything else on the vic’s?”

  Everyone looked at each other, but there was no response until Angela chimed in.

  “ ‘White.’ ”

  “Okay, I think we pretty much saturated that side. What do we know about our unsub?”

  Angela replied, “According to both profiles we have, your friend, the FBI agent, and the profile Lucy had the FBI office do, our unsub is a narcissist.”

  “We know he’s male, right?” asked Patrick.

  “According to the medical examiner, yes,” I replied.

  Agnes wrote “Bluetooth” on the board. “We now know he has used this gadget, possibly owns one.”

  “Let me ask,” said Agnes, “do we know, or, just think, that our unsub suffers from OCD?”

  I replied, “Based on the profiles, we think, he is obsessive-compulsive. Based on the crime scenes, we also think, he’s the one cleaning up after the crimes. It’s inconceivable that all our vic’s kept their apartments so organized and cleaned.”

  “I’ll put ‘OCD,’ on the right side for now,” Agnes said.

  Angela said, “We should add ‘other unsolved serial killings in the cities Lucy reported.’ ”

  I responded to Angela’s comment. “I have a strong feeling that most of these murders are related. The only issue is that we just don’t know for sure.”

  Agnes said, “I’ll add that we think he’s in law enforcement himself.”

  Patrick looked deep in thought. “I’ve been thinking about the characteristics of the unsub. One of the profiles said that the unsub might think that the type of sex he has with the vics, not the extreme part but the other, as abusive, and wants to inflict anguish.”

  “So, what’s the question?” I asked, intrigued by Mr. Pat’s observation.

>   “The question … ” Patrick replied, pausing slightly for effect, “ … the question is, is it possible our unsub was molested as a child?”

  The team went quiet. Everyone went into deep thought for a minute.

  I stood up, “Patrick, that’s an amazing question. I’m sure our profilers missed that,” I said, walking around our table and taking a hit from my Gurkha. “Agnes, add that to the right side, please.”

  Angela pulled herself close to the table. “That’s a possible scenario, but how does that help us find the unsub?”

  “It all helps, Angela,” I replied, “this is a puzzle, and this is just another piece that could link our unsub to these murders.”

  “I know,” Angela said, “but first, we have to have a suspect, then, we can tie these together. I’m afraid that just thinking, or, even knowing our unsub was sexually abused as a child does not lead us to anyone in particular.”

  “You’re right,” I said, “but again, we’re building our case. The more we know about the killer, the better. As a matter of fact, please add that the killer wears the same cologne to every murder.”

  Patrick asked, “We know that?”

  I replied, “Dr. Frankie confirmed that he detected the same scent of cologne on every vic’s back.”

  Angela asked, “So, he gets close enough to them, like his chest on the vic’s back, and transfers the cologne?”

  “Exactly,” I responded.

  Agnes added, “one more piece of the puzzle, or at least a clue.”

  I looked at my watch. It was eleven in the evening. “Folks, let’s go home and reconvene here tomorrow morning at nine. We’ll pick up where we left off.”

  Agnes asked, “What do you want me to do if I get another hit on Carmela’s Facebook profile?”

  I turned to Agnes, “Call me immediately, no matter what the time. Now, everyone go home but don’t stop thinking. Thank you.”

  19

  I was exhausted from the long day and all the brainstorming. Patrick gave me a ride back to my place, which I appreciated. During the ride, we made small talk and discussed the progress of the cigar club. Patrick was a part-owner now, so, he was very much into that part of our relationship.

  This puzzle was still far from coming together. Maybe, just maybe, we had the corners placed down, but, there were still a lot of pieces laying on the table without a home. My apartment, which Marcy had called; a big locker room with a bath, and a kitchen, looked better after I had put a few things away, now that I had been forced to sleep here every night.

  My mind was racing with all the observations we had made. I had this awful sensation in my stomach again, the icy vacuum, which I couldn’t figure out why I had it. Once in the apartment, I jumped into bed knowing full well I was not going to get much sleep. The blanket felt like a lead blanket, like the ones they put over you for x-rays.

  I heard this twinkle sound next to me. Trying to focus and think, I realized it was my iPhone’s wake-up alarm. My body felt as if I just gone to sleep. I had it set to go off at six in the morning every weekday. I mumbled a few cussed words in Italian, rolled out of bed, and made my way to the bathroom. I was anxious to talk to my brother Father Dom, he’d been away on a retreat, and I had not had a chance to brainstorm with him about the case. I dialed his cell phone. “Brother Dom, how you are doing?”

  “Good morning, Joey. How have you been?”

  “Working hard on this case. I can’t wait to talk to you about it. Getting ready for Mass?”

  “Sounds like you’re a submarine,” Dom said, then added, “indeed, six-thirty, and seven. How’s Marcy?”

  I ignored the statement about the submarine; I was sitting on the toilet in my bathroom. Folks always say; ‘You sound like you’re in a submarine.’ How many people have talked to someone on the phone, who is in a submarine? What does that sound like? I replied to Dom, “I spoke to her yesterday. She was doing the firearm’s test routine for the last time, today. Tomorrow, she’s headed to up-State New York with family for a few days. Listen, can you come over to the office, after Mass?”

  “Yes, I’ll come over. How’s the cigar club coming along?”

  “You’ll love it. We’re almost ready to open. But, I want your brain power in this case. See you about eight?”

  “I’ll be there,” Father Dom said.

  I arrived at the pub a few minutes before eight. I made espresso, and waited for brother Dom, to add the steamed milk for our cortaditos. The temperature outside today was in the mid-thirties with clear blue skies, for a change. I was anxious to share with Dom our findings, and the many thoughts that had kept me up most of last night.

  Sitting on a stool at the bar, I read the New York Post’s front page, as a cold breeze swept the pub. In came Father Dominic with a refreshing smile on his face.

  “How goes it, brother? Va bene?” I asked, turning to face the front door.

  “All good. What’s up with you?”

  “We have a lot to discuss. We’ve missed you. How was the retreat?”

  “I enjoy spending a couple of days with couples. It gives me a chance to connect with reality, and the challenges they face in today’s world.”

  “I’m sure you shared your wisdom, and twenty-first-century approach to the Church.”

  “That I did, but, I learn more from them, I think than they do from me. It’s was very rewarding.”

  “I’m happy for you. Let’s sit at a table, and I’ll bring you up to date on these murders. Ready?”

  “Let’s do it.”

  We sat in the pub area, as we had done many times before. Our pub, which had been in the family for almost sixty years, was a refuge for us during the early morning. The memories surrounding the walls, with celebrities like Truman Capote dating back to Captain O’Brian, Dom’s grandfather, and later his father, were plentiful. Our décor was homey, comfortable, and relaxing. For the next hour, I reviewed the profiles of the unsub, plus the victims, and the clues we had developed. Dom was quiet, absorbing everything I covered, with a variety of facial expressions, as I described the crime scenes.

  “So,” Dom finally said, “you’re looking for a man, who wears a Motorola Bluetooth device. A man, who has narcissistic characteristics, and is more than likely in law enforcement. Plus, you assume he’s a repeat serial killer.”

  “That pretty much sums it up. Out of over eight million people in New York City, that should narrow it down,” I said smiling.

  “None of what you have is going to lead us to a suspect. What you have, is only going to help, after we find a suspect.”

  “I’m afraid you’re right. I feel like a dog at a dog’s convention, sniffing everyone’s ass, to find the one that farted.”

  Dom reacted with a frown, “I get the picture, but, I would have used a different simile. Have the detectives at the precinct come up with anything?”

  “They’re all working hard, looking at the usual suspects. They brought in detectives from the SVD to help out with the case.”

  Dom queried, “SVD?”

  “Sorry bro, the Special Victims Division, they usually deal with sex crimes.”

  He squinted, and asked, “They were not on this from the start?”

  I replied, “No, the powers to be decided to bring in the homicide division first. Remember, they didn’t want the publicity about a serial killer.”

  “Got it.”

  I went on to tell Dom about the night before and the sting we had set up at Ernie’s bar. How everyone was in place and how it all fizzled out until we spotted Officer Sanchez.

  “So, you think he might be your man?”

  “You know what they say about coincidences, right? What are the chances we’re expecting our sting to pull in the unsub, and this guy shows up?

  “The bar is a few blocks from the precinct. Therefore, it is conceivable.

  “We’re going to keep an eye on him. Let’s assume he is not. What are your other thoughts?

  Making a few observations on that, he
said, “I think you were correct in thinking that the killer surveils his victims beforehand. He must have followed Angela to her suite hotel, to check the layout. And, of course, to see if there’re any cameras. So, he’s going to call again, if he was satisfied.”

  “I hope you’re right. Because right now, we have a bunch of ideas and clues, but nothing that leads us to anyone. This guy can continue killing, and unless he makes a mistake, we have nothing that can give us his identity. This is becoming personal Patrick thinks he might be taunting me.”

  “Why you?”

  “I don’t know, but I keep having this icy filling in the pit of my stomach. I can’t explain the reason why.”

  We both went quiet thinking about what I had just said.

  Dom asked, “Getting back to Marcy. You think she’s ready to take the firearms test?”

  “She’s very resolute, and she’s been working hard at it.”

  “What if she doesn’t, Joey? You think she’ll drop back into a depression again?”

  “Man, I don’t even want to think that. I rather think of the other ending. The one in which she passes and goes back to work. And, most importantly, we get back together.”

  I wanted to share that Marcy screamed ‘I love you,’ on the phone the other day. But, she hadn’t. I knew better. And I too had to manage my expectations, or it could be me that went into a depression. I replied, “There was a slight hint that she might be ready, the other day on the phone. So, I’m optimistic about our getting back together.”

  “Alright, she goes back to work, you guys get back together, and all is back to normal. Works for me, Joey.”

  “I tell you what, brother. The second we find our killer, and assuming the positive results with Marcy, I’m not wasting any more time. Get Saint Helen’s ready for a wedding, a big wedding,” I smiled, as I said that. “I can’t imagine being without her. And, every time I think about the future, I see us together, in a loving and gratifying relationship.”

  Dom smiled himself. “God willing, that will be your fate.”

  We sat there for a while without saying anything. I know I’ve said this before, but we both enjoy sitting in the pub early in the morning. There’s such a big contrast to the evenings when the patrons are in full force; the sounds of glasses clinking, the music in the background, the laughter of the patrons, and just the buzz generated by the energy in the room. All that compared to the mornings, in which all we hear is the sound of a drip of water from one faucet behind the bar.