by Owen Parr
“Did he know the person?”
I shrugged. “I think he was already in the bedroom. Maybe the person was here visiting and waiting for him to take a shower. Or, perhaps they had a key to the unit.”
“This must have happened in the last hour or so, right?" asked Dom
“His body is still warm. So, we know TOD was in the last forty-five minutes,” I said, looking at my watch. So, possibly around seven or a few minutes after. Then, pointing to his belly, I added, “The blood has not coagulated, so, yes, my timing is right. And, I think COD is obvious, two shots to the chest.”
“At close range?”
“From where I stand, I can see stipplings around the two bullets holes on his chest.” Realizing Dom may not know what I was talking about, I added, “Stipplings are patterns of tiny punctuated skin abrasions around the wound.”
“How do they happen?” he asked curiously.
Before answering Dom, I cautiously moved closer to the body and checked his face. So, he did shave. I pointed toward the entry wounds and replied to Dom’s query. “They're caused by particles of unburnt gunpowder striking the skin. And, to answer your question, the shooter was close and personal, no more than two feet from the vic. But we'll know for sure after autopsy.”
“So, you think they knew each other. I mean, to get so close.”
“Maybe." I mulled it over in my head. "If I walk in pointing a gun at you, you’re likely to freeze. I can then continue to walk closer to you. That doesn’t prove they knew each other, though.”
Dom was still standing by the door of the bathroom. I called his attention to the blood spatter void in front of the bed. “You see this void?”
He came closer to see better. “Yes, I see where the void begins in proximity to the bed. The perps body prevented the back spatter."
“Exactly, Dr. Watson.”
“You think the neighbors heard any shots?”
“We’ll see when the police canvass the units.”
I looked around. No signs of a struggle. His gold watch, wallet, and a money clip with a considerable amount of cash were sitting neatly on the top of his dresser, one next to the other. “Not a robbery. Although, I don’t see a cell phone.”
I looked around the room, and his phone wasn't anywhere obvious. Had the attacker taken it, and if so, why? “Dom, check the bathroom again, see if he left the phone there. If not, check drawers, but make sure you don’t open them with your hands. I’ll check the closets again.”
I had opened the closets on my preliminary clearing of the bedroom but hadn't paid any attention to the contents. Dom found nothing in the drawers of the bedroom and told me was going to check the rest of the apartment. I walked into one of the walk-in closets. There were suits, slacks, jackets, and shirts neatly hung on both sides. A rack of dress and casual shoes was at the end of the closet. Using my powers of deduction, I concluded that it was his closet.
Finding nothing in his closet, I proceeded to the second closet, which turned out to be her closet. This baby could be a third bedroom. Purses and shoes, and more purses and shoes. Long dresses, sport dresses, slacks, blouses, and lots more. Drawers with jewelry, and a wall safe. I didn’t think he would have left his phone in here, so I left what looked like a Neiman Marcus ladies department section.
Walking out of the bedroom, I saw Dom checking the kitchen drawers using a potholder. “Hey, Padre, maybe you should carry one of those from now on.”
Dom, not being one for small talk, ignored my comment. “Did you find anything?”
“Nada,” I replied.
“I’m sure this is the senator’s glass. There’s no lipstick on either one,” he said, pointing with the potholder.
“I’m sure you’re right.”
“No phone anywhere. You think the senator killed him?” Dom asked.
“Possibly, but if so, very poorly done on his part.” If he had, why hadn't he just hired someone to do it for him instead of getting his hands dirty? He probably had the money.
“He’s the last one to enter the apartment.”
“The last one we know of," I corrected. "We’ll see whose prints are on the drink glasses. I need to call this in.”
I pulled my phone out and hit my direct number for Captain Johnson. After two rings, he answered. “Hey, Joey, how’s it going?”
Ignoring the greeting, I said, “Captain, Dom and I are at Jan Bobal’s apartment in Midtown. You’ll recall you gave us the green light to investigate.”
“Yes, of course. What’s up?”
“We’re looking at his dead body lying on his bed. Two shots to the chest.”
He paused. “Oh, my God. When did this happen?”
“In the last hour. Who’s on call?”
“Detectives Farnsworth and Charles are up. I know they’re not your first choice.”
I grimaced at their names. These two were not the sharpest knives in the homicide squad. Our relationship had never been good. Whether out of jealously or simply dislike, Bob Farnsworth’s relationship with me soured from the moment we met. George Charles was a good guy who I had worked with, but Farnsworth had poisoned Charles’ professional friendship.
“Joey, are you there?” The captain's voice brought me out of my thoughts.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m here. All right, send them over along with the coroner and CSU. My luck on their rotation. What can I do?”
“You’ve always liked George, and Farnsworth has mellowed with age.”
“George is fine, except he has to ask Farnsworth which side of the toast to butter. Farnsy, well, he and I never liked each other,” I said and sighing, I added, “I’ll be here. I’ll text you the address.”
We heard a loud "Oh, my God" from Johnny on the spot as he showed up in the room. I guess he got anxious waiting by the front door. He was white as snow and about to pass out.
I scowled. “Dom, get him out of here. Make sure he doesn’t touch anything.”
I looked for casings on the floor, but I couldn’t find any. The shooter may have removed them. If so, whoever did it gave it some thought and took the time to collect them. I couldn’t believe the senator would be so stupid as to announce his entrance, shoot Bobal, and then simply leave through the front door. But, then again…
Alone in the bedroom, I decided to take another look around. The blood spatter on the light blue comforter showed a significant void. A rectangular area of about twenty by eighteen inches, I estimated. I immediately looked down at the blood-stained white carpet and spotted what appeared to be a bloody print of the front of a shoe. The left shoe from the looks of it. Yet, there were no other bloody shoe prints in any part of the bedroom, or apartment for that matter. So, the shooter had removed his shoes to avoid blood transfers throughout the unit. Smart. What was removed from the bed that created the void? Had the perp walked in, or had he been allowed in? Friend or stranger?
My lead to the murders of James, Gene, and the attempt on Jack was dead, and the case had just gotten harder to solve. But it looked as if the climb to the top perp just got shorter. Or, maybe harder. I wasn't sure which yet.
23
Joey Mancuso ~
I was anxious to get CSU started on the crime scene, but instead, I got the duo of Cagney and Lacy, as I called them. Two detectives from an old TV show of the same name.
Chubby Detective Farnsworth was leading the way through the hallway, and following in his footsteps was Detective Charles. Farnworth was in his late fifties. His triple chin led the way and he looked as if he were dragging his ass toward us. His thinning black hair was even thinner than the last time I saw him, but still just as greasy. A Brooklyn boy, he was all New York. Accent, demeanor, attitude, and whatever else people associated with New Yorkers.
Charles, well, he wasn’t really a bad guy, but he had been influenced by hanging around Farnsy too long. He was in his early forties, developing a protruding pouch likely from too much fried food. Charles was the beta on the team, while Farnsy was a strong alpha.
>
“Well, well, there’s the golden boy of Midtown South Precinct. You got here fast,” Farnsworth said sarcastically and, avoiding me, went on to shake Dom’s hand.
“Good evening to you, too,” I replied, then I shook hands with Charles, avoiding responding in kind to the asshole.
“What you got here, Mancuso? Why are you here?” Farnsworth asked.
“I’ve been developing a case on our vic for two homicides in Miami and one attempted murder. We were here to question him,” I began.
“And now you have a dead suspect. Good work. I’m going to need you to come into the precinct to fill in the blanks when I start the murder book. Tomorrow morning would be good,” Farns said.
I looked at Charles first, who shrugged. Then, at Dom, who shook his head, as if saying don’t respond. “Sure, we’ll work on the murder book.”
“Did you boys touch anything inside?” Farns asked, still in the entrance to the unit, looking around.
"Mancuso and Father Dom know what they’re doing. I’m sure they didn’t,” Charles replied.
“Yeah. Don’t be so sure. Charles, let’s look inside,” Farns replied, hobbling his way in.
Four uniforms arrived as Dom and I waited by the elevators. Officer Smythe, who I had met in a prior case, spoke first. He was still as skinny as asparagus but carried himself with a certain self-assurance he didn’t have when I met him as a rookie.
“Detective Mancuso, do you remember me?”
“Sure, Smythe, how are you doing?” I asked, smiling and extending my hand.
He beamed. “Doing well, sir. By the way, I followed your advice and have read most of the Sherlock Holmes books.”
“Good. I trust you’ve learned something,” I said.
“Oh, yeah. Quite a bit. They're fascinating.”
“Good, good. Now, I need you and the guys to canvas the units on this floor, one floor up, and one floor down. I wanna know if anyone heard or saw anything in the last two hours. Anything. Especially a gunshot. Understood?”
“Yes, sir,” replied Smythe, glancing at his fellow officers. "We’ll get started immediately.”
With that, the uniforms huddled with Smythe, giving instructions on how to go about it.
“You know this kid,” Dom stated.
“Yeah, nice kid. Remember the murder on Washington Park?” When Dom nodded, I continued. “Well, he was first on the scene and asked me if I had any advice for a rookie.”
Dom snorted. “And you told him to study the Holmes’ style. I got it.”
Smiling, I said, “Exactly, my dear Watson.”
Moments later, the CSU unit arrived, led by Sam Martinez, a New Jerseyan. Sam was a lady of about thirty-four and had a reputation for detail in her work. Her broad smile was always on display, and her blue bright eyes illuminated any room she entered. She was also a very proud member of the LGBT community. She wore a man’s large black submarine watch, one earing in her right ear, and her jet-black hair was short and shaved on the sides.
When she spotted me, she beamed. “Mancuso, that you, man? How the hell are you?”
I found myself smiling at her enthusiasm. “Hey, Sam, long time no see. Doing good?”
“Doing good, baby. I heard you married that hot FBI agent." She playfully nudged me. "Is that right?”
“I did, and we’re pregnant. Happy days are here.”
“Man, that’s great. All the best." With one last smile, she turned serious. "Now, what d'we got here?”
“Male in his forties. Took two to the chest at close range. I want you to confirm the stipplings on the entry wounds. Check the bed’s headboard for the bullets. Also, two things I noticed that I want your opinion on. One, there’s a void in the bedspread, about twenty by eighteen inches. I think I know what it is, but I want to hear from you. And, there’s one bloody shoeprint on the carpet, left foot, right below the bedspread. I think our perp reached to pick up an object on the bed and left the print there.”
“Okay, got it. I’m sure you checked for his pulse when you got here. Was he dead already?” Sam asked.
“Dead, but a little warm still,” I replied, looking at my watch. “So, I estimated TOD about two hours ago.”
“Shit, you almost walked in on the killer,” Sam observed.
“I know.”
“Okay, guys,” Sam said to her team, motioning them forward, “let’s go in there and do our thing.”
“Detectives Farnsworth and Charles are in there, make sure they found the right room,” I added with a chuckle.
“Oh, shit. Aren’t we lucky? Maybe they’re lost in a closet,” Sam said, sprouting laughter from her team.
“We’re going to take off when I get a report from the uniforms canvassing the floors. We’ll talk later, Sam. Good to see you again,” I said.
“Same here, Mancuso,” Sam replied, already on her way into the unit.
Smythe was finished canvassing this floor when the other uniforms joined us.
I looked at all four gathered in front of Dom and me. “What'd you find?” I asked.
Smythe spoke first. “The lady in unit twenty-nine, next door, has an adjoining wall to the bedroom. She heard shots about two hours ago.”
“How many?” Dom asked.
“She said multiple shots,” replied Smythe. “But she also heard loud engines. So, I don’t know.”
I looked at Dom. “From the loud movie that was on. Anyone else get anything?”
The other uniforms shook their heads in unison. “No, sir,” one responded.
“Here’s what I want you to do next. Wait for the CSU crew to give you an idea of the possible firearm used in the murder. Then, scour the neighborhood, maybe a two-block square, and check trash bins or anywhere the killer could have disposed of it. Got that?”
“Yes, sir,” replied Smythe, looking cool and confident in the situation. “We won’t just look, we’ll observe and think outside the box.”
“That’s it. Thank you, guys. Keep reading Holmes,” I said to Smythe, smiling.
Johnny, Dom, and I took the elevator to the lobby. No one said a word, but I could see Johnny was fascinated with all he had seen. I was sure he was full of questions, but he thankfully refrained from asking.
As Dom and I walked toward the entrance, Carol, the lady at the desk, put down the New York Post she was reading and called out. “Mr. Mancuso, I have something for you. I don’t know if it will help.”
Dom and I exchanged glances. Moving closer to the front desk, I glanced at the Post’s page six she had open. “What you got, Carol?” I asked.
“My shift started at four in the afternoon. But I went back in the video to earlier in the day to see who had come in. It may be nothing, but I thought I'd share with you,” she said. “Johnny, stay here because you led a man in through the service entrance.”
“About noon, right?” Johnny asked.
“Yes. Twelve fifteen in the afternoon,” Carol replied.
“Show me,” I said.
Carol pushed the Post aside and turned the monitor so all three of us could see it. Both Dom and I leaned in. Sure enough, a man wearing what appeared to be a gray uniform and a baseball cap came in through the service entrance carrying a large toolbox and some hoses. He spoke to Johnny, who led him in. The only other video was the one showing him taking the elevator. But I could tell this man was being cautious, deliberately keeping his face away from the camera with the brim of his baseball cap down.
This had to be our offender. A professional was my first thought.
Looking at Carol, I said, “How old is the equipment? They have color in cameras these days.”
“Oh, I know,” Carol replied, her cheeks turning pink. “I’ve tried to get them to upgrade. But they don’t want to spend the money.”
I turned to Johnny. “Johnny, what’d you remember about this guy?”
Johnny thought for a few seconds, cupped his mouth and jaw with his right hand, and replied, “He said he had a work order to check the HVAC sy
stem on the roof. So, I let him in, and he went about his work.”
I glanced at Dom. “Did you take him to the roof?”
He dropped his gaze to the floor as if ashamed. “No. He said he knew the way.”
“What did he look like?” I inquired.
“He was wearing a uniform, a baseball cap, and wraparound sunglasses. Not much to see,” Johnny replied, shrugging.
“He’s white from what I can see, but how tall was he? How old, approximate? What kind of shoes was he wearing? Come on, Johnny, think,” I said.
Johnny leaned on the counter, closed his eyes, and began thinking—or so I hoped. Or, was he having an anxiety attack?
He began speaking, still keeping his eyes closed. “He was a little taller than me, and I’m six feet tall. Maybe fifty-ish, had a strong grip.” Shaking his head as if to jiggle a memory or two, he added, “He was wearing boots. Brown boots. The cap was light blue or maybe green.”
“Good, good. How about tattoos, scars, pierced ears? Think hard, man,” I pressed.
He closed his eyes again and thought for a moment. “Nah, no tattoos that I could see, and I didn’t notice any piercings. I mean, this guy looked like a military type.”
Okay, maybe we had something here. “Why do you say that?”
Johnny stood erect, head and shoulders back. “Like this. Man almost stood at attention. He carried himself like he knew what he was doing, direct, and he was very courteous. He said, ‘Sir, I have a work order to look at the HVAC.’ That’s pretty much all I noticed.”
“That’s good, Johnny, that’s good,” I said, patting Johnny on the shoulder.
Dom turned to Carol. “What time did this person leave the building?”
She frowned and glanced at Johnny. “That’s a mystery. I don’t have a recording of that man leaving through the service door.”
Dom cocked his head and turned to me.
I was sure he was thinking what I was thinking. This guy knew exactly what he was doing. He had a plan and carried it out to perfection.