Joey Mancuso Mysteries Box Set

by Owen Parr

  Everyone’s eyes lasered in on the clear bag.

  “Alice, you asked us to pull a fork from a kitchen drawer, and I couldn’t help but notice that this fork,” I said, holding up the clear bag, “came from the same set as the ones in your home. Your other two homes have a different set of cutlery.” Carmelite had provided me with this fork from the second home.

  Alice was weeping. She said, “I—”

  Arnold broke in. “There’re no fingerprints on that fork. Anyone could have taken that fork from our drawer. You could have taken it,” he added firmly. He didn’t realize what he had just said about the fingerprints. How would he know there were no fingerprints unless he cleaned them off?

  “Maybe. Except, I was not in your home until after Bernard was killed. But, that was only a clue. We found Bernard’s blood underneath the seat of the golf cart you gave me. Upon further review, the officers realized that the golf cart had been cleaned with Clorox in an attempt to sanitize the cart. However, the blood seeped in when you transferred the body from the murder scene, behind the house, to the beach.”

  “Again, that doesn’t prove we did anything,” Arnold insisted. “And, and, why would we move the body?”

  “Let me get to that in a moment. There’s more. Bernard dropped roofing nails from a pocket when he was struck from behind and fell to the ground. You are working on the roof of the home, that’s why Bobby was buying roofing supplies on the morning of the murder. When you drove the cart carrying his body, the nails punctured the rear tires of the golf cart. That’s how I ended up with two flats on the cart at the beach.”

  Arnold turned to the captain. “Captain, do we have to listen to this crap? What this person has uncovered is all circumstantial evidence. Nothing points to us.”

  “Arnold, sit there. I think there’s more.”

  “Really? Like what?”

  “Arnold, how long have you been married to Alice?”

  “Ah, Alice and I have been married fourteen years.”

  “How do you explain your son Albert, who passed away three years ago when he was twenty-two?”

  “I adopted Albert when I married Alice. I loved him like my son. He had autism.”

  “Yes, that’s correct. Do you know who his father was?”

  “Oh my god!” Alice whispered out.

  “No, I don’t,” replied Arnold, rubbing his nose with his left hand.

  “Did you know he was the son of one of the local Gullah’s?”

  Arnold pressed on Alice’s shoulders. “I don’t care who fathered Albert. He was my son.”

  “I see. Do you know where Albert is buried?”

  “Yes. He's buried here on the island.”

  “In a local Gullah cemetery. Did you know that?”

  “We gave him a proper burial.”

  “But, did you know only Gullah’s are buried in that cemetery?”

  “No. How do you know?”

  “That’s a good question, sir. You see, I visited the cemetery, and I found some exciting things there. For instance, Albert was born in September 1993 and passed away in March 2015. The first victim, Raymond Ellise, died September 2016.”

  “Okay. So, what?”

  I wanted Alice involved in the conversation, even though she seemed very emotional. “How did Albert die, Alice?”

  “Oh my god,” she said between tears. “It was an accident.” She broke into a coughing fit.

  I looked around and saw that the officers were back in the dining area. “Why don’t we take a break for a few minutes.”

  Young Alexander Wetherly asked, “Can I go now?”

  “Don’t leave this house,” Williams replied.

  20

  While Alice, Arnold, and Alexander, visited the restroom, the officers stayed close them. I made it a point to speak with Williams and Marcy for a couple of minutes while I drank some orange soda.

  When everyone gathered back in the living room, with Alice and Albert now sitting on the sofa, I sat down again. “Alice, how exactly did Albert die?”

  Calmly, Alice replied, “He was playing and fell. He hit his head on a bolder. He passed on the spot.”

  “Who was he with, Alice?”

  She hesitated, glancing at Arnold, and continued. “The man you mentioned, Raymond, his biological father, and five other locals.”

  “By locals, you mean Gullah’s?”

  “Yes.”

  I glanced at my notes on Marcy’s iPad. Something was off, but I decided to go with it. “So, he was playing with his paternal father and five others. Weren’t all of the men drunk?”

  “We don’t know that,” Albert replied.

  “Let me see,” I said, swiping the iPad to a page with a document and reading from it. “When the police arrived a few moments after Albert’s fall, they determined that all were drunk. Further,” I said, looking up from the iPad, “witnesses at the scene said that Albert was being made fun off by all, including by Raymond, and that he was pushed. And, the witnesses confirmed all the men had been drinking.”

  “His father was making fun of him, pushed, and killed him,” Arnold replied.

  “But, do you know what’s interesting?” I asked, glancing back down at the iPad again. “The police report from back then has the names of all persons present during the incident. The six locals, one of which was Bernard. Of the six locals who were present, four were murdered, including Raymond, whom you called his paternal father, and now Bernard. The second murdered was Ubuntu and the third, Charles. The other two locals happen to be the two missing persons.”

  “I can explain,” said Alice, her voice quivering.

  “No! We’re done talking. We want a lawyer,” voiced Arnold.

  I glanced at Captain Williams. “Yes, you both need a good lawyer. But, allow me to finish the story. In the last two years, four of these men were murdered, the other two are presumed dead and missing. What sealed the case for me is the dates of each murder and missing person’s report. All occurred six months apart—on the day of Albert’s birthday and the anniversary of his death. All in March and September. It’s March now, and Bernard was the last of the six. This fact shows premeditation.”

  “I want to say something,” Alice blurted out, in a somewhat somber tone.

  Captain Williams said, “I would not Mrs. Bixby. You need representation.”

  Arnold broke in. “Look, my wife suffers from depression and anxiety attacks. She’s on medication. Plus, it’s possible, according to her doctor, that she has dissociative identity disorder. Ever since her son was killed, she’s been a different person. She was dedicated to Albert all his life. The poor boy had autism, and many couldn’t understand his behavior. Thus, they made fun of his condition.”

  “Yes, she may have a legal defense. However, that does not excuse your actions, Arnold, and those of Alexander Wetherly,” I said, glancing to my right at the dining area where Alexander sat.

  “I had nothing to do with these murders,” Alexander shouted.

  “Captain Williams, if you’d be so kind,” I said.

  At which point Williams read Alexander his Miranda rights.

  Continuing, I said, “But you did. Thomas Charles was the third murdered victim. He was reported missing last September. Presumably, you and Mr. Bixby disposed of his body in the marsh off Governors Point. We found your airboat, and we found traces of blood that match your type and that of Thomas Charles. Once DNA testing is completed, I’m sure they’ll match it to you and Charles. We also found Mr. Bixby’s prints on the airboat.”

  “You had no legal right to search the airboat,” Alexander said.

  “We served a warrant on your grandfather, who is the legal owner of the airboat before we searched it,” Williams said.

  “And how did you get my prints?”

  “Your school was kind enough to supply them to the captain from your file.”

  “The son of a bitch blackmailed me into doing it,” Alexander replied. “He told me Charles was dead. But, but, the man
came back to life, and there was a struggle in the boat. That’s when I cut myself. Arnold finished him off with a strike to the head. But, I didn’t kill anyone. He and Alice did.”

  “Why would he blackmail you?” I asked.

  “Because he caught me having sex with one of the girls by the old school house one evening. Consensual sex, by the way. He accused me of rape and said he would tell my grandfather and the authorities unless I helped him.”

  “You have nothing on me except my prints on the airboat,” Arnold said. “That proves nothing.”

  “Ah, Arnold, you underestimate young Wetherly here. Right?” I asked, looking at Alexander.

  Alexander grinned coldly.

  I took one of the apples on the coffee table the Allemandes had left untouched and tossed it to Arnold, who grabbed it with his left hand. “You’re left-handed, correct?”

  “Yeah, so what?”

  “You see, Arnold, it seems Alexander kept the murder weapon used on Charles. And guess what?” I paused. “We found a two-by-four piece of wood in a storage well under the seat of the airboat. It’s been sent for DNA testing also since we found your prints on it, as well as traces of Thomas Charles’s blood. Oh, and the prints on the two-by-four are consistent with a left-handed person swinging it as a club.”

  “My wife had nothing to do with it.”

  “Maybe not. I picked up the clear bag with the fork. Carmelite retrieved this fork from your home this morning. The murder weapon used on Bernard, a fork identical to this, is being analyzed, a partial print matches Mrs. Bixby’s prints. My conclusion is that you hid in the hedges beside the home. As Bernard was about to enter, carrying two cans of paint, you stepped out and swung a pine tree branch at Bernard from behind, striking him on the left side of the head. As he was falling and once down on the ground, Alice, in a moment of rage, stabbed Bernard eleven times as he rolled around, before delivering the fatal stab to his jugular.”

  “Oh my god,” Alice said, looking up at the ceiling.

  “The only thing I don’t understand is why you helped her kill all these people,” I said, eyeing Arnold. “Why not stop her from doing this?”

  “You don’t understand. Every anniversary of Albert’s birth and death, she becomes a different person. She had to avenge her son’s killers. She messed up the first murder, and I finished it for her. Otherwise, she was going to get caught, and I love her too much to lose her like that. From then on…well, what can I say? She said it would end with Bernard.”

  “I loved him. I loved him. But, he should have protected his son,” Alice said, looking straight ahead at no one.

  “What?” Arnold asked. “You told me Raymond Ellis was his father.”

  “She’s right, Arnold. Bernard was the real father of Albert. She left him for last,” I said, glancing at a copy of the birth certificate on Marcy’s iPad.

  “But, when did you meet Bernard?” Arnold asked.

  “Alice has been coming here since she was a young girl. For a time, she lived on the island with her parents.”

  “Is that true, Alice? Is that how you met Bernard?”.

  “Yes,” Alice replied, looking down at the floor.

  “Albert’s father has lived with us all these years?” Arnold asked, dumbfounded.

  “That’s why she never told you the truth. She’s been in love with him all these years. Right, Alice?”

  “I didn’t want to kill him. I loved him. But, he let the others make fun of Albert and stood by doing nothing that day,” Alice said in a somber tone, tears falling.

  21

  The morning came, and I had mixed feelings about this case. Marcy and I were getting ready to fly back to New York. The visit to the rum distillery would have to wait. Neither one of us was in the mood to act like tourist. Captain Williams and the officers returned to Hilton Head with the Allemandes, the Bixbys, and young Alexander Wetherly. All would be charged accordingly, with the Allemandes facing extradition to the UK. Carmelite was devastated with the admissions, and she was facing an uncertain future. Bobby Valentine was also unsure of his future. What would he do? Where would he go? They were but two of the unknowns for him.

  Fully packed and soon on our way to board the boat that would take us back to Hilton Head, , we sat at the kitchen island, drinking coffee Marcy made.

  “How do you feel?” Marcy asked.

  “On the one hand, we solved six murders. Seven, if you count the Allemandes’ alleged murder of a young child. On the other hand, I feel for Alice and her suffering, having lost her son like that. Of course, I'm not excusing what she did. But, even though we solved the case, it wasn’t as fulfilling as others. You know what I mean?”

  “I feel the same way. The silver lining is the Allemande case. If they’re guilty, they need to pay for that. Alice may have a defense, but Arnold is going away for a long time. You were pretty intense in this case, and you did a great job putting all the pieces together so quickly.”

  “Speaking of intense, I need to share a conversation I had with a man in Barcelona.”

  “Who, your driver?”

  “Octavio, yes. But, turns out he was a detective in Barcelona at one time, and he happens to be a very perceptive individual.”

  “Oh? How so?”

  “Our last night when we stopped for a drink and a cigar, he made an observation that I seemed to be very intense in my investigations. He asked about my background, and I shared my past and the reason I was there—to solve my dad’s murder.”

  “What was his observation?”

  “He asked if I was trying to make up for my dad’s misdeeds.”

  “And what did you say?”

  “I don’t think about it, but perhaps in my subconscious, I’m trying to make up for it. Maybe my zeal to solve cases is a result of just that. It was a good question.”

  “It may also be the fact that the case went unsolved.”

  “Huh, good point,” I said, filling up her mug and mine with coffee. “He also asked me another deep question.”

  “This guy sounds like a shrink. What else did he ask?”

  “He asked if I was running from something or toward something.”

  “And your response?”

  “I thought about it during the plane ride here, in between reading the material Agnes sent. My first reaction was that I’ve been running from my father’s past. His chosen lifestyle. And yes, perhaps I’ve been trying to make up for his crimes.”

  “So, in your mind, you think that by solving crimes and homicides, you’re balancing the scales.”

  I grabbed Marcy’s hand and looked into her eyes. “Now that I think about it, yes, but I have to tell you, since the moment I met you and for the last two years we’ve been together, well, I’ve been running toward something.”

  Marcy stood and approached me as I remained seated on the stool. I embraced her. “I’ve been running to you. Albeit imperfect in my approach, all I’ve wanted is to be with you now and forever. I love you.”

  Marcy moved her head back, looked into my eyes, and said, “I love you too, Mancuso,” before our lips met passionately.

  After a quiet moment of warm embrace, I said, “I think Octavio made me look at some demons that have haunted me.”

  “Maybe you should sit with your brother and kick that around. I’m sure he can help you with that.”

  Bobby walked into the house to advise us the boat was on its way. He was driving us to the dock. We made our way to Carmelite’s room and said our goodbyes. We hugged, as both she and Marcy shed some tears.

  Sitting with Bobby in the front seat of the golf cart, I asked, “What are you going to do now?”

  “I’m going to hang around and help run the B&B. Carmelite is also staying. I just hope one or both get acquitted, you know.”

  I turned to face Bobby. “In all honesty, I don’t think there’s much hope for your cousin, Arnold. Perhaps Alice has an insanity defense. That’s her best chance.”

  “We’ll take it a day at a t
ime,” he said. We arrived at the dock just as the boat was docking.

  “Stay out of trouble, Bobby,” was the last thing I said as we boarded our ride to go across Calibogue Sound and dock at Harbor Town in Hilton Head. This chapter was over, and I was anxious to renew the search for the person or persons responsible for my father’s death.

  We boarded our flight on our way back to New York City.

  Not able to upgrade to business class, we did score two seats in a two-seat aisle at one of the emergency exit doors. A little extra space was always welcomed.

  Marcy asked, “You want to take a nap? Or, can I ask about your findings in Barcelona and with Mr. Wetherly?”

  “No, I don’t need a nap, and this is a good time as any to summarize all that stuff before we get back."

  “Tell me about Mr. and Mrs. Stevens.”

  “Richard and Sofia met in a bar at The Plaza Hotel in New York in 1997. Richard was married at the time. In 1998, Richard left his wife and moved to Barcelona with Sofia.”

  “Did he get divorced?”

  “Not until 2008, when his divorce was finalized. Nasty and contested divorce, according to Agnes’s notes.”

  “How old was Sofia when they met?”

  “Let’s see, she’s in her forties now, so take away twenty years, and that would make her twenty-something.”

  “How about Richard Stevens, how old was he?”

  “If I remember correctly, he was born in 1940, so when they met, he was fifty-seven. Which makes him thirty plus years her senior.”

  “Love?” Marcy queried, with eyes wide open.

  “Possibly. But, there’s more. According to Mrs. Stevens, Richard is gay, and from what she said, they both agreed to an open marriage.”

  “Both with men? Or, does she also play for the opposite team?”

  “Her words were: ‘Richard has his boys, and I have my men.’”