by Owen Parr
“So, he must have left through the front door, right?” I asked.
Carol turned to the monitor as if looking for the answer to appear. “Well. I can’t see that either. No one in uniform left through the front door. Many walked in and out during the last few hours. But no uniformed worker.”
“Do people sign out when they leave after a visit?” I asked curiously. Wouldn’t be a good idea to have a record of who came in and when they left? It seemed half-ass to just log the incoming guests. I could see it in a doctor’s office, right? But at building trying to keep a record of strangers walking in?
“No. No one signs out. Only when they arrive do they sign in,” she replied.
“So, is the fellow still working on the roof, or any other part of the building?” Dom asked as we all turned to Johnny.
Johnny hesitated. “I—I don’t know. I haven’t seen him again.”
Just as he said that, Smythe and the other three uniforms walked out of the elevator, heading toward us and the front door.
“Good timing, Smythe. Listen up. I want to start on the roof and work your way down the building. We’re looking for a man dressed in a gray uniform, wearing a baseball cap. Supposedly, he’s working on the air conditioning system. We think he might still be in the building,” I said.
“Come around and see what he looks like,” Carol said, punching a few keys on her monitor.
The four uniforms walked behind Carol to view the monitor displaying the video of the man and Johnny when he arrived.
“Do we need to check every unit inside?” Smythe asked without taking his eyes from the monitor.
I pointed at Johnny, looking for an answer.
“No, no," Johnny replied. "The chillers for the AC are on the roof. There’re units on each floor, next to a storage closet. The apartments only have air handlers. No need to go inside them.”
“Okay, guys,” I began. “Two of you check the roof. The others begin checking each floor. One of you per floor, so you can work faster. Understand this man is not a suspect currently. We just want to know if he’s still in the building.”
And if he was still in this building, we'd find him.
24
Joey Mancuso ~
Dom and I stayed behind. I had Carol rewind the video all the way back to twelve fifteen when the mysterious man came in. We stood behind her, eyeing her monitor. I wanted to see who came in and went out the front entrance. The camera was behind Carol’s desk, close to the ceiling and slightly pointed toward the front. So, the only good view was of people entering the building. All we could see when anyone left was their backs.
At one thirty in the video clock, Detective Farnsworth, Detective Charles, and Sam’s CSU crew came down carrying their toolboxes. I asked Carol to pause it.
“Why are you still here, Mancuso?” Farns asked in a rough voice.
I sighed. There had been an incident in a past case where a suspect removed a firearm from his pocket, raised it, and pointed it at me. Farnsworth had leaped from his sitting position and tackled the individual, possibly saving me from being shot or, worse yet, getting killed. So, deep down, he wasn’t the tough and rough guy he pretended to be. But his act was getting old.
Ignoring his attitude, I simply replied, “We’re looking at video to see who came in and out of the building. If we see something interesting, I’ll let you know.” Looking at Sam, I asked, “So, what you find?”
Sam glanced at Carol and back at me. I realized she was silently saying not in front of her.
“I’ll walk out with you,” I said.
When we reached the outside, we stood by the sidewalk on West 52nd Street. Sam addressed Farns and Charles. “Detectives, I’ll have our finding to you first thing in the morning.”
“Thank you,” Charles replied.
“Mancuso, remember, I need to start the murder book. See you in the morning,” Farns said.
I nodded and handed Charles the name of Bobal’s wife in Miami for notification. Then I fist bumped Charles as they walked away to their vehicle, which was parked on the street.
“So?” I asked, turning back to Sam.
“Everything you pointed out is correct. Shot at close range. Your estimated TOD was right on, about forty-five to sixty minutes before you entered the unit. COD two shots to the chest. I did pull two .380 calibers bullets out of the headboard. They went right through the vic. We picked up prints on the wine glasses. One is the vic's. The other we’ll examine for a match later. We have other prints, but we think they’re old, but we’ll see.”
I suspected I was right about my initial findings. “What about the footprint?”
“It's only half of the front. From the dimensions, we estimate it’s a man’s, maybe with a shoe size of eleven.”
“Could it from a boot, a work boot?” I inquired.
“The sole has a weird pattern to it. We have to think harder on that, but yes,” Sam replied.
“What about the void on the bedspread next to the body?”
“Yeah, about that. What’d you think it was?” Sam asked, smiling as if testing me.
“I’m thinking it’s a laptop of some kind. Yes?” I asked.
Sam glanced at her crew. “We agree. It’s about seventeen by twelve inches. I mean, it could be a book, magazine, or something else. But we found an Apple charger and no laptop. So, we’re assuming it’s for that.”
“Okay, that makes sense,” I added.
She nodded and wiped her face with wet towel. “We’ll know more after the autopsy. The body is being wheeled out the back service door as we speak. Did anyone find the gun?”
I sighed. “No, the uniforms are going to canvas the area’s trash cans, etcetera. But you know how that is. I don’t expect much from that.”
“Okay, Mancuso, call me if you need an update. How far along is your wife?”
“We’re expecting a little Mancuso in four months, give or take a week,” I replied.
“Boy or girl?” Sam asked as one of her crew members came to retrieve the two heavy boxes of tools she was holding on each hand.
“We don’t want to know at this point." I paused and then corrected, "Make that, Marcy doesn’t want to know. So, we’ll wait.”
“All my best,” Sam said as she headed for her van.
“By the way, Sam, did you find a cell phone?” I asked.
She paused in getting into her van. "No, no phone. You think the perp took it?”
“If they took his laptop, they probably took his phone for whatever information was there,” I replied. That was what I would do, anyway.
“Does he have a car?” Sam asked.
“Don’t know that, but he took a car service here. Thanks, Sam.”
Dom and I walked back inside, and I asked Carol if Mr. Bobal owned a car. Her reply was no. So, the phone and the laptop were both gone. We picked up the video where Carol had paused it, but there was nothing much to see.
At about two forty-five in the afternoon on the video clock, Smythe and the guys reappeared in the lobby. “Carol, pause the video please.” Looking up at the officers, I asked, “Anything?”
“Nothing. That man is not here,” Smythe replied.
I hadn't expected him to be honestly, but it was good to know for certain. “Was there any sign that someone worked on the roof’s chillers?” I asked.
“No evidence, sir. It all looked cleaned and undisturbed,” Smythe said almost apologetically. “We’ll do a preliminary canvas of the neighborhood, but we’ll be back in the morning to do a thorough search.”
“Fine, guys. Thank you,” I said.
Smythe handed me a piece of paper. “Mr. Mancuso, this is my personal cell number. Please call me if I can help in any way.”
I smiled. “Thank you, Smythe. I’ll add it to my contacts.”
“What d'you think?” Dom asked as both Carol and I both looked at him.
“Well, he didn’t disappear. He left at some point, we just haven’t found him in the video. Let’s run
through the balance of the video and we’ll get out of here.” I was tired and knew Dom had to go. But we had to find this ghost. Otherwise, he might have still been in the building and we weren't going to be able to search all the apartments, not without proof positive he was our man.
With that, Carol hit the play button and we continued to watch. At six in the evening, a man I had seen before entered the lobby. “Carol, stop the tape. Rewind about thirty seconds.”
She did as I asked. Dr. George Newton appeared on the screen. Genius programmer, part-owner of Fönix Securities, and partners with Jan Bobal.
I glanced at Dom, and pointing at the screen, I asked Carol, “Why doesn’t that individual sign in at your desk?”
“Oh, that’s Dr. Newton. Residents don’t sign in, only guests. Didn’t I mention that before?”
She had, and I ignored her question. “What unit is he in?”
“He’s four floors up from Mr. Bobal’s, unit 2420, on the east end.”
“Carol, pause the tape there and we’ll pick it later. We’re going up,” I said, patting Dom on the shoulder. Dom glanced at his watch after I said that. “If you gotta go, I can do this alone.”
“No, no. Just curious. It’s going to be a long day for me,” Dom replied as we entered the elevators.
“You’re right. I forgot you get up at five thirty in the morning for your first Mass at six thirty. So, you go to sleep what, after Wheel of Fortune at seven?”
Dom shook his head but smiled. “No, at eight after Jeopardy, smartass.” Then he went on. “What a coincidence that Newton lives here.”
I leaned against the elevator wall. “Yes and no. Kinda makes sense for Bobal to find a place where his partner lives. He didn’t have to run around town looking for a place when he decided to rent in New York.”
Dom stuffed his hands in his pockets. “So, you think this guy could have done it?”
“We’ll know more after we question him. But he had the opportunity, possibly the means, and as far as motive, there’s a few of those.”
We reached the twenty-fourth floor and headed toward the east end of the hallway. The corner unit 2420 was the last door before a hallway door that led to the emergency exit stairs. I looked at my watch. It was nine at night. I knocked on the door and waited for a response. After a few seconds, I knocked again.
Moments later, a voice from inside said, “Give me a second, please.”
After a minute or so, George Newton opened the door wide. He looked surprised to see us and pushed the door forward just a bit. “Who are you?” he asked suspiciously.
I smiled, trying to put him at ease. “Mr. Newton, my name is Joey Mancuso, and this is Dominic O’Brian. We’re consultants with the NYPD and we need to ask you a few questions. May we come in?”
Dr. Newton hesitated. “May I see some identification, please? Normally, I get a call from the desk.”
“Yes, of course,” I said.
Both Dom and I took out our creds. Newton extended his head out and examined them closely without allowing us in, still keeping one foot behind the door as a doorstop.
Looking up at me, he asked, “What is this about?”
“May we come in?”
Without replying, he took two steps back and open the door fully. “Please come in. You’ll have to excuse my appearance, I just stepped out of the shower,” he said, patting his dark blue robe.
George Newton, I knew from Agnes’ research, was in his early forties, but he looked worn and older. Skinny but not frail, big shoulders, and his arms filled the robe’s upper sleeve tightly. So, he must work out. Thinning, still-wet blonde hair and big ears. Freckles on his face and a gap between his large front teeth. A clone for Alfred E. Neuman from Mad Magazine.
“Have a seat,” he said, pointing to a large blue sofa facing floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the East River.
I could see the city lights of the Bronx, Queens, and Brooklyn from here. If I looked south enough, I could even see my apartment at Brooklyn Heights. The apartment was beautifully decorated, and his wife’s incredible nature photographs were prominently displayed on the walls.
“These are incredible pictures, I assume they’re your wife’s?” I asked.
She was able to capture magical scenes in nature, such a field of flowers, while at the same time including some interesting aspects in the foreground. All her photos were not only interesting, but they were pleasing to the eye. No wonder they were popular. Who wouldn’t want to have an incredible soothing nature scene to lower your blood pressure?
“Yes, they are. You know about her work?” Newton asked as he sat in front of us in a leather chair.
“Yes, sir, just a little bit,” I replied. "It so happens my wife has one of your wife’s picture books at home."
“Oh, that’s wonderful. Maybe next time she’s here she can dedicate the book for your wife.”
“That would be great. Thank you.”
“So, what can I do for you?” Newton asked, making eye contact with both Dom and me.
“What time did you come in today?” Dom asked.
Newton frowned. “I came from work about six in the evening. But what is this about?”
“If you don’t mind, sir, we need to ask you a few things first, then we can explain,” Dom replied.
Newton looked at me, his features tight. “Am I some kind of suspect?”
“Why would you say that?” I asked back.
“Well, you’re establishing my whereabouts, so something happened that I need to alibi for. Just a guess,” he said.
Ignoring his question, I asked, “So, what did you do after you got home?”
“Same as usual. I changed and worked out.”
“Downstairs at the gym?” Dom asked.
“No. Right here. I have a third bedroom equipped as a gym. Happy to show you,” Newton replied, gesturing over his shoulder.
“How long did you do that for?” I asked.
“Let’s see, I warm up on the Peloton for twenty minutes. Then, I do weights for about forty-five minutes, after which I go back on the Peloton for another thirty minutes. So, that’s almost two hours. Now, can you tell me what’s going on?” Impatience bled into his tone.
“So, you finished about eight thirty?” I asked.
Newton frowned and I could tell he was getting annoyed. “Mancuso, you must have majored in math. I’m done answering questions, fellas.”
I inclined my head. “Fair enough, sir. I just have one more and we’ll be happy to tell you what’s going on.”
Newton sighed, sat back, crossed his legs, and unintentionally, I hoped, exposed his privates. Catching our eyes, he asked, “What? You’ve never seen men’s balls at a gym?”
Ignoring his question, I asked, “Have you spoken to Mr. Bobal this evening?”
“No, he left the office after I did. But I have no reason to speak to him after hours. I’ll see him tomorrow,” he replied.
“Mr. Newton, I’m afraid Mr. Bobal was killed in his apartment this evening around seven thirty or so,” I said, watching for a reaction.
25
Joey Mancuso ~
Newton closed his eyes, slid back in his chair, and covered his face with both hands. “How was he killed?” he asked, his voice muffled.
I couldn’t tell much from his reaction, other than he looked genuinely surprised. But then again, a cold killer could easily fake his reaction. “Two shots to the chest at close range.”
“When did this happen?” Newton asked, opening his eyes and dropping his hands to the arm’s rest.
I had a question in mind, but before I could ask it, Dom asked, “Do you own a firearm, Mr. Newton?”
He raised his face to look at Dom. “What?”
He was either distracted, or he was buying time before responding. Dom repeated his question.
“Yes, yes. I own a gun.”
I exchanged glances with Dom. “Do you have it here?”
His eyebrow met in a frown. “Yes, I do,
but why? You think I did it?”
“Right now, sir, it’s all about preliminary questioning and removing suspects from the list,” I replied.
His tone sharpened. “So, I’m a suspect?”
To me, everyone was a suspect until they weren't. At least those with motive, opportunity, and the means. And this guy had all three now.
I didn't blink. “Like I said, it’s a question of eliminating individuals from a possible list of suspects.”
“I suppose you want to see the gun. I’ll get it for you,” Newton said.
I could see Dom shaking his head, so I quickly changed tactics. “How about you tell me where it is, and I’ll get it,” I suggested. His immediate reaction showed on his face, a look of disdain. Before he said anything, I added, “It's just protocol, sir.”
Newton stood. “I understand. Follow me. It’s in a gun case in my closet. I’ll show you.”
Dom and I both stood, and Dom asked, “May I look around, Mr. Newton?”
He looked at Dom as if he were from outer space, looked at me, sighed, and motioned. “Help yourself. There’re are two bedrooms on that side.”
I followed Newton to his bedroom, and as we entered, he pointed to the walk-in closet. “Top shelf on your left.”
I noticed all his suits, jackets, slacks, and shirts were aligned by shades of color. All the blacks, blues, browns in order. Same with the slacks, shirts, and shoes. This guy was a logical thinker, left-brained. Which was fitting for the computer whiz he was supposed to be. I pulled down the gun case and noticed it was fingerprint activated.
“Let’s go back to the living room and you can activate the lock, if you don’t mind,” I said.
Dom was still in one of the bedrooms when we sat down again in the living room. I laid the gun case on the coffee table opposite Newton. “Go ahead and open the case, please.”
He did as I asked using his index finger and sat back. I opened the case, and without touching anything, I examined the pistol. “This is a Ruger. You added the finger grip extension?”
“Yes, I did. The grip is short for a man’s hand,” he replied.