The Unsub: Joey Mancuso, Father O'Brian Crime Mysteries Book 7: (Joey Mancuso, Father O'Brian Crime Mystery)

by Owen Parr

  Agnes only smiled, and I went to the pub side to say hello to Riley, our pub manager, and to our afternoon regulars. We always had the same group it seemed. The martini team, I called them. They came in about three in the afternoon, had two martinis, and presumedly went back to work. Some brought a sandwich and sat around the captain’s tables that were set up in the middle of the pub.

  A little after four in the afternoon, with the closing bell ringing at Broad and Wall, our first shifters, as I called them, would begin piling in. This had been a tradition started long before Dom and I took over the pub a couple of years ago. Because of our proximity to Wall Street stock exchanges, the pub attracted these guys and ladies after closing. They enjoyed their premium liquor and cigars. I always noticed a correlation between the volume of stocks traded in a day, and the amount of liquor consumed after.

  As the first shifters began to retreat at around six in the evening, our second shifters descended on the pub. One Police Plaza was less than a mile from our pub, or about a fifteen-minute walk via Gold Street, and Dom’s grandfather, for whom Captain O’Brian’s Irish Pub was named after, had made sure that his place was the place for police and first responders to go after their shift seventy years ago. While not the type to go for premium liquor and cigars, their large group’s daily intake made up for the less than premium prices. Plus, it assured us of a steady and lively crowd.

  ****

  Back at the office side at a little past eight in the evening, I decided to call Carol, the lady at the front desk of Newton’s building. She assured me she would call me the moment Newton showed up, but he hadn't yet. So, I had waited for the call so far, but I was impatient. Then, I remembered a question I had for her.

  “Carol, does Mr. Lance Friedman live in the building?”

  “Mr. Friedman? No, he visits Mr. Newton and Mr. Bobal occasionally.”

  “So, I take it he doesn’t sign in when he walks in?”

  “Not anymore. Usually, the gentlemen call me to let me know Mr. Friedman is visiting ahead of time.”

  So, we had a regular visitor in Friedman. Why would a chief of staff for a senator visit these two guys so often? “I see, so the night Mr. Bobal was shot, did Friedman visit Newton or Bobal?”

  “Mr. Newton alerted me he was coming for a visit. I was curious because right after, Senator Shenbeck visited Mr. Bobal. You know Friedman works for the senator?”

  “Yes, I’m aware of that. Thank you, Carol.”

  At exactly nine, my phone rang. I looked at the ID caller, hoping it was Carol, but it showed Officer Smythe. “Officer Smythe, you found the murder weapon,” I stated as I answered the phone. He and his crew had been scouring the neighborhood around the Avalon Clinton building for the weapon.

  “No, Mr. Mancuso, we have not. However, the news gets worse," Smythe said lowly. "Captain Johnson told me to call you and let you know that we found Mr. Newton’s body in a walkway adjacent to his building. He's dead, sir, two shots to the chest.”

  29

  Joey Mancuso ~

  The body sat against a wall, his head down, legs extended out. Both arms looked like they had been placed in front of his chest, hiding the two entry wounds. Anyone seeing him would think he was drunk or stoned because he was between garbage bags on a tree-lined walkway that connected West 52nd Street and 51st Street. Both ends of the walkway had been cordoned off by Smythe and his crew.

  Office Smythe had taken it upon himself to call Newton’s office and found Newton had left his office at six that evening. So, TOD had been between six thirty and nine pm, when the officers found the body. This was later confirmed by the CSU crew that arrived a little after I did.

  Detectives Farnsworth and Charles had arrived before I did and conducted the initial questioning of Smythe and his fellow officers.

  I nodded to Smythe to join me a moment. “Any witnesses?”

  Smythe shook his head. “We talked to as many people as we could, but no real leads. One lady who was walking into her building said she saw a hooded white male walking near Newton’s building. But that’s all she saw.”

  “Besides white, did she notice any other features like height, build, anything?”

  “No. She had taken off her glasses to open her door. She could only see a white male with a hoody,” Smythe replied.

  “Did anyone hear the shots?” I asked.

  “My guys are canvassing the area, but we have a lot of apartments to cover,” Smythe replied.

  “Any cameras in the area?” I asked, looking up and around. I didn't spot anything immediately, but that didn't mean they weren't there.

  “We’re checking that also,” Smythe replied.

  “COD I’m sure is two to the chest,” I stated.

  “Same as our other vic, Mr. Bobal. I bet it’s the same caliber,” said Smythe, proud of himself.

  “I would agree. I don’t think you’re going to be in uniform too long, Smythe,” I said with a grin.

  He extended his chest out. "I’m hoping that’s the case, sir.”

  “I’ll call the coroner later. Let me know if your officers come up with anything,” I said, patting Smythe on the shoulder.

  “We’ll recanvas the area for the weapon, but I’m sure the perp kept it,” he added.

  “Okay, I’m out of here.”

  As I started to walk away, I heard a distant, “Mancuso, where’re you going?”

  Turning to look, I saw Farnsworth rushing over, as best he could, to talk to me. Careful, Farnsy, don’t hurt your testis. He was making his way back from West 51st Street at the other end of the walkway.

  Out of breath and rearranging his package, he said, “I’m on the right track here. One of these two companies is eliminating their people. I’m going to nail them.”

  I held my laughter. I was having too much fun at his expense. That’ll be your first two solved murders in a year, then. But instead, I went with, “I think you’re the man. I’m rooting for you.”

  “Yeah? You keep following your other suspects, but I know I’ve got you this time,” he said.

  I smiled. “I think you do.”

  I didn’t want to spar with him any longer. It was getting old, and I was tired of the back and forth banter. Maybe he was right, and I was following a bunch of dead-ends. Surely Fönix and Peníze had something to hide, but I was starting to believe these two murders may not be connected to them. At least I hoped so because I didn’t want to lose to Farnsworth.

  Recovering his breath somewhat, Farnsworth asked, “Do you know if our vic has a wife?”

  “Check the murder book. I gave you her name. Sanae Newton. Also goes by her maiden name, Yamamoto Sanae. She lives in Miami Beach.”

  “Right, right," he said, as if he'd known that all along. "I guess I’ll call that Miami Beach detective again to notify her.”

  “I think you should.”

  Taking a car service to Brooklyn Heights, I was anxious to hang with Marcy, have dinner and a little vino, and cuddle up in front of the TV. I made some mental notes as the driver turned unto the Brooklyn bridge. I never liked writing my notes on a pad. I wanted to keep using my gray cells, as Hercule Poirot used to say.

  We kept losing suspects, but each time someone got killed, well, that made us think of new suspects. Marcy had suggested, maybe in jest, when Bobal was killed that the wife did it. Typically, you look at the spouse first. So, did I have to include Newton’s wife as a new suspect? Or, could I eliminate both wives? It was too much of a coincidence not to think these two guys, partners, weren't killed for the same reason and more than likely by the same offender. But what if the wives were in it together? It wouldn't be the first time spouses conspired to kill off their husbands.

  I noticed my driver was wearing earplugs, listening to something or other, so I decided to call Jack Ryder in Miami, whom I hadn't spoken to in a few days. “Hey, brother, how are you doing?”

  “Well, if it isn’t Joey Mancuso. I’m doing well. Thought I'd hear from you sooner,” Jack repli
ed, clearly a little put off that I hadn't followed up on his condition if his hard tone were any indication.

  Truthfully, I should have called sooner, but I'd just been too wrapped up with everything. “Sorry about that, man. I’ve been busy. Did you hear about Jan Bobal’s murder?”

  “I did. Detective Logan called me. He was called by a detective in New York to give her the notification about his death.”

  I looked outside the window. Traffic was backed up. Police cars and an ambulance with lights on were causing a major jam. It looked like an accident on one of the westbound lanes to New York City. Wrecks weren't uncommon here.

  Still glancing at the mess, I replied, “Well, he’s going to have to do another one.”

  “What? Who now?” he practically shouted.

  Wincing, I held the phone from my ear. “Our MIT genius programmer, George Newton.”

  He whistled. “You’re shitting me. How? When?”

  “Same as Bobal, two to the chest. A few hours ago. I just left the scene.”

  “My God. What the hell is going on? Are they cleaning house?”

  That was the question, indeed. “If not, they’re definitely making it look like that. I’m sure the detective here is going to call Logan again to notify Mrs. Newton. You should tag along.”

  He paused. “Why? You think the wife had anything to do with his murder?”

  “Brother, right now I have no idea who’s doing what to whom. All I know is the…” I paused to make sure my driver was still preoccupied with his music or whatever he was listening to. He seemed to be, so I went on. “All I know is victims are piling up, and I’m no closer than before to finding the offender, or offenders.”

  “Shit. At least we know James killed Gene Wells, and the two foreign goons killed James. And the same guys tried to feed me to the alligators.”

  “True, but who ordered the hits? And, how is that related to these two new vics?”

  “The obvious is the owners of Fönix and Peníze Private Equity, the Czech family, right?”

  “That’s what bothers me. It’s too obvious.” And obvious often wasn't obvious. Was someone making it look this obvious? Was our killer that savvy he could mislead us? I had to get a step ahead instead of two behind.

  “And Sherlock Holmes would say what? Look beyond the obvious?”

  “Exactly, Dr. Watson. What looks like the is, is not necessarily what is.”

  “So now what?” Jack asked.

  “I want you and Logan to talk to Sanae Newton. Her maiden name is Yamamoto Sanae. Newton was worth, if I remember correctly from Agnes’ research, about two billion dollars.”

  “Shit, that’s a strong motive. What about Bobal’s wife? You’re not looking into her?”

  “Frankly, I think you and Logan should visit both, and treat them as persons of interest. Maybe if just to eliminate them.” That way, we could move on.

  “We’ll do it. I’ll call Logan now and tell him to expect a call from the New York detective. I’ll also update Sergeant Ed Wells. He called me when he heard about my ride through Alligator Alley.”

  “How’s he doing?” I asked as we were finally getting off the bridge and away from the traffic jam.

  “Still grieving and pissed. It’s got to be tough losing your son like that.”

  “I can’t imagine. Listen, call Logan and we’ll talk later or tomorrow.”

  “You got it, Joey. How’s Marcy?”

  “Doing fine. Thanks for asking. I’ll tell her we spoke.” My driver made a series of turns, approaching my apartment building.

  Finally, home sweet home. I needed a drink, a shower, and some relaxing time with my esposa. My mind was going full speed, trying to put this puzzle together. I could envision Agnes putting another cross on Newton’s picture tomorrow at our office. Our smartboard was getting full of victims and suspects.

  30

  Jack Ryder ~

  I was headed with Logan to the private and gated Star Island Two, home of Mrs. Newton and the deceased Mr. Newton.

  “What does Mancuso think is going on?” Logan asked.

  “He said he wasn’t sure. Suspects are becoming victims. But, the obvious, in my opinion, is a housecleaning of anyone who knows anything about our original case, the stock trading scheme at Fönix Securities.”

  “But Mancuso doesn’t agree with that?” asked Logan, taking Alton Road out of the Miami Beach Marina.

  “He’s anal and very observant. He likes to quote Arthur Conan Doyle, the creator of the Holmes series. Doyle wrote, ‘Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth,’” I replied.

  “So, he wants us to eliminate the wives as suspects, although their involvement looks impossible?”

  “Exactly. One husband killed by a spouse is not impossible. But two husbands by two different spouses? See where he’s going with this?”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “Yeah. I think it all points to these two companies, that’s the obvious.”

  I laughed as Logan made a left at MacArthur Causeway headed west. “Mancuso also has something to say about that. As I said, he’s anal.”

  “Okay, so we eliminate the wives as suspects. Then, let him do his thing.”

  After making a right turn at the entrance of Star Island Two, we stopped at the gatehouse and Logan pulled out his creds to identify himself. He didn’t bother to tell the guard who I was. However, he didn’t disclose our intended target. Simply flashed his creds and drove on to the Newton home.

  Entering a circular driveway, I noticed that Mrs. Sanae Newton was waiting for us under a high ceiling porte cochère that framed the entrance to a mansion on the bay. The guard must have notified her that we were coming, but how did he know? There were several cars parked along the driveway.

  Before I got out of the car, I asked, “How did she know?”

  Logan shrugged, hand resting on the door handle. “The guard was the same from yesterday when I delivered the notification. I’m sure he called ahead.”

  As I got out of the car, Logan said his good morning and introduced me as a consultant with the MBPD. Looking solemn, Mrs. Newton nodded at both Logan’s greeting and my introduction without saying a word. She was wearing a black dress, earrings, and some light jewelry, but no makeup. From the puffiness of her eyes, it was obvious that she had been crying.

  “May we go inside and talk for a few minutes?” Logan asked.

  She glanced back at her front door. “I'd rather speak out here, detective. I have family and friends inside. What is it that you want to know?”

  We were all standing by Logan’s car. Not the best setting for a series of questions about the murder of her husband.

  “Okay,” Logan began, “but it might take us a few minutes.”

  She looked around and I followed her gaze. “Let’s do it there,” she said, pointing to a small gazebo to the left of the home about forty yards from we were standing.

  The gazebo looked mostly decorative with colorful red, yellow, and orange flowers crawling up the sides. Four white wrought iron chairs complemented the gazebo.

  Mrs. Newton sat back. Both Logan and I took our designated seats but remained leaning forward. “Again, Mrs. Newton, I’m sorry for your loss. The NYPD has asked to follow up with some questions if you don’t mind.”

  She looked down at the floor. “Anything I can do to find the killer, I’m happy to do. What is it they want to know?”

  “Thank you. Would you know anyone who would want to,” Logan paused, “harm your husband?”

  She opened her eyes wide. “That’s all I thought about last night. Who? Why? No, I don’t know anyone. He is—” She stopped as tears formed in her eyes. “He was a quiet person, very reserved. Didn’t have many friends. Mostly business acquaintances. It has to be connected to the same person who killed Jan, right?” She dried her eyes with a tissue she had in her hands.

  “Yes, it looks that way,” Logan replied.

  I noticed that Logan was h
aving a problem asking the tough questions, and I understood. So, I decided to be the nasty guy and get into the nitty-gritty. “Mrs. Newton, I’m sorry to ask, but I have some questions that we need to ask. I hope you understand.”

  “Like I said, whatever I can do to help,” she said.

  “Was Mr. Newton faithful?” I asked.

  She crossed her legs, lowering the skirt as she did to cover her knees. “Our marriage was far from perfect. As I said, he was reserved and not one to sit down and have a conversation. But we loved each other and had normal intimacy. Frankly, I can’t imagine George having an outside love interest.” She smiled through her tears. “He used to say that he was lucky I married him. It was hard for him to approach anyone, let alone a woman.”

  I wanted to ask how they met, but it wasn’t particular to the investigation. “Are you the sole beneficiary of his estate?”

  She wrapped the tissue in her right hand. “We have a trust. Each one of us is named as the remainder trustee. But no, the trust has provisions for our families.”

  “Do you have any children?” I asked, noticing Logan taking notes in his small pad.

  “We were not blessed with children. But we have parents and other family,” she replied, sniffling.

  “Is there a partial distribution of the assets if one of the trustees,” I thought for a second, “passes?”

  “The remainder trustee retains all the assets until their passing,” she replied. “Am I a suspect?”

  “We’re simply dotting the Is and crossing the Ts,” Logan told her kindly.

  “Did you and the Bobals socialize?” I asked, getting back to business.

  “Occasionally. Jan was George’s closest friend, if you can call him that. But we had very few things in common with them. Other than the business relationship.”

  I exchanged glances with Logan. “Was there a problem between the two? I mean, Mr. Bobal and your husband?”

  “I don’t know. Their relationship wasn’t what I would expect for two business partners. You’d think they'd be best buddies and share more outside the business. But no, they were kind of formal with each other,” she replied, uncrossing her legs. “How long is this going to take? I need to get back inside.”