by Owen Parr
Logan looked at me, and I replied, “I have a couple of more questions. Just to follow up on that, why do you think there was a rift, if I can call it that, between the two?”
She leaned forward just a bit, obviously impatient to be finished. “I think Jan resented my husband’s large ownership and the fact that he was the whole company. Jan was just a point person and marketer type. Without George, there would be no company. Yet, Jan acted as the managing partner. I think George was uncomfortable with the whole relationship.”
“Two more questions if you don’t mind. How much did you know about Fönix Securities and what they do?” Logan asked.
“Probably less than I should. George didn’t share much. I do know, however, that George wrote a program with logarithms that projected winners and losers in the stock market. That was his baby, and he was very proud of it,” she replied with a genuine smile.
Now that was very interesting, but it didn’t add to this investigation. However, it sounded like George Newton had a good program going that was hijacked by Bobal and Peníze Private Equity, the Czech family.
“Thank you, Mrs. Newton. Has Mrs. Bobal visited you?”
“No, she’s been in New York for over a week. I haven’t spoken to her either. I left her a message after Jan’s death. But I didn’t get a callback.”
I looked at Logan in surprise as Mrs. Newton stood up and extended her hand to Logan first.
“Please find the killer. The family needs closure,” she said, turning to me and shaking my hand firmly.
We left her home and began our drive back to the marina. Turning to Logan, I said, “Mancuso told me you delivered the notification to Mrs. Bobal.”
“I thought Mancuso knew. Shit, I called the New York detective, Farnsworth, the same day and told him she was in New York. For him to notify her.”
31
Joey Mancuso ~
I was at the office with Agnes and Patrick. Father Dom was at Saint Helen's rehearsing for an upcoming wedding with the bride, groom, and a large entourage of bridesmaid and groomsmen. I was drinking my second cortadito of the morning and ready to light up my morning stogie. I had the recipe down to a science for the cortadito. It was a family recipe passed down from Marcy’s Cuban grandmother, although she used condensed milk for a more solid and sweeter drink. Me? I replaced the condensed milk for regular milk. However, sometimes I used half-and-half. Heated almost to a boil, then equal parts milk and espresso, sugar, and a half pinch of salt to remove the bitterness. Muy rico. I always left a few drops of my concoction to slightly dip my cigar’s tip in a couple of times.
My phone rang. Looking at it, I saw the face of a blonde surfer, bright white teeth with a broad smile, and the ocean in the background. “Jack Ryder, good morning to you, but I thought you would have called last night.”
“Hey, Mancuso, I would have, except we had a tropical storm moving in last evening. After securing the Easy Ryder, I helped other boat owners in the marina.”
“No worries,” I replied, realizing I was beginning to use the same response that seemed to be prevalent with millennials these days. "No worries" for everything, and I didn’t care for that response. What happened to "no problem"? “So, how did it go with Mrs. Newton?”
“Did you know that Mrs. Bobal has been in New York for a week?”
I stayed silent for a couple of seconds as the news registered. “No, I thought Detective Logan delivered the notification to her two nights ago.”
“He tried, but she was in New York. Logan called Farnsworth and told him the same night.”
I pounded the conference tabletop with my open left hand, startling Agnes and Patrick as the empty demitasse cup rose an inch in the air. “Son of a bitch. He never mentioned that yesterday. I’m sure he’s already questioned her.”
“Sounds like you lovers have a communication issue.”
“Yeah. Tell me about Mrs. Sanae Newton,” I said, twirling my chair around to calm down. I was hoping we could eliminate her as a suspect. We already had plenty to deal with.
“Both Logan and I had the same reaction. She seems genuinely grieving. We don’t think she has any involvement in her husband’s death.”
“Really? Money isn't a motive?” Unfortunately, greed brought out the worst in a lot of people, so it wasn't unthinkable for her to have killed her husband.
“It is a lot of money. But no, we would say she’s in the clear. However, she did shed some light on Newton's relationship with Bobal, which I found interesting.”
“Tell me about it,” I said, relighting my Rocky Patel.
Jack went on to relay his conversation with Mrs. Newton for the next few minutes, and I listened intently. Finally, I asked, “So, what is your deduction?”
“Buddy, I think Newton was trapped in that company. Maybe it started out as a real hedge fund type money manager with Newton’s program, but I have a feeling it evolved into more than that.”
“But you don’t know into what?” C'mon, Jack, you’re the expert here. Give me something to work on.”
“TBD, TBD, my friend.”
“What the hell is TBD?” I asked, baffled.
Jack laughed lowly on the other end. “To be determined. Is Marcy’s FBI unit looking into Fönix and Peníze?”
“No. They started, and the State Department stopped them from continuing.”
“Why the hell is the State involved in this?”
“Diplomatic relations with the Czech Republic or some shit like that.”
“Yeah, right. Operative word being shit. You need to dig deeper into that, Mancuso. There’s more there.”
“I’ll talk to Marcy again.” Maybe she could sniff around and find the why. But again, I worried about putting her in the crosshairs of her leadership.
“What about your buddy at the SEC? The retired guy that brought us the case?”
“John Landers,” I said, flicking off my long ashes in my ashtray.
“Yeah, that guy.”
Landers handed us the ball and walked off the field. So much for being involved in helping us. However, he probably heard the walls we were hitting and said fuck it. “I called him before. He went off to some Caribbean island. Saint Lucia, I think. He lost interest in the case and started concentrating on retirement, the islands, cervezas, and señoritas.”
“Can’t say that I blame him. Well, you know as much as I do. Let me know if I can help in any way. My best to Marcy.”
“You still with Odette?”
“I am, yes. I’ll tell her you said hello.”
I smirked. “She’s way passed your rule one, the expiration period for your dates.”
Jack chuckled. “She obliterated my rule one. Good thing, though, she’s great in every way. Plus, I realized I was afraid of a new permanent commitment after getting my ass kicked out by my ex.”
“Sounds like we might be down for a wedding soon,” I replied, smiling.
“Slow down, cowboy. I don’t need to raise my blood pressure. One step at a time.”
“Be good, buddy. I’ll keep you posted,” I said.
“Only if I have to. Only if I must. Ciao, bambino.”
I rolled back my chair, closed my eyes, and as I raised my gaze to the ceiling, I repeated Jack’s words. It evolved into more than that. So, Jack was thinking Newton’s program worked, but the opportunity created, or perhaps the façade, was too good just to work it as designed. Instead, it provided a veneer of legality for the criminal masterminds.
“What was that about?” Patrick’s question brought me back from my thoughts.
“Ryder and Detective Logan feel Mrs. Newton is in the clear,” I replied.
“What about Fönix?” Agnes questioned.
“I think he believes there’s some scam going on that Newton got caught in,” I responded.
“So, we’re back to moving them to the top of the suspect list?” Agnes asked.
“Yes,” I replied. Farnsworth’s lack of cooperation was bothering me. The little bastard ha
dn't informed us about Mrs. Bobal being in New York City. Had she been occupying the apartment when her husband was killed? I had seen her clothes in her walk-in closet. But there was nothing in the bathroom that would signal a female being there. If she wasn’t staying there, then why not?
I looked at the time on my phone and assumed Father Dom was in the middle of the wedding rehearsal. I clicked on my contacts and searched for Detective Charles. I really wanted to give Farnsworth some shit but didn’t feel like wasting my time. Charles answered on the second ring.
I went directly to my questions. “Charles, did you guys talk to Mrs. Bobal?”
Charles didn’t respond for a few seconds. I heard him say away from his phone, “It’s a personal call, I need to take it.” And then he said to me, “Hang on a second, I’m walking away.”
I could hear the ruffling of his phone against his face as he walked away. “Charles, are you walking away from your asshole partner?”
“Yep. Okay, I’m free.”
“So?” I demanded.
“Yes, we did. Your detective friend,” he started.
I stood up and began walking around the office. “Forget about that. Did you guys question her?”
“Yes, we did. She’s staying, or was staying, at the Waldorf.”
I made an about-face and shouted into the phone, “Fuck, man, and you guys didn’t think of sharing that with me?”
“I wanted to, Mancuso. But you know Farnsy. He’s lead in the investigation, and—”
Lead in the investigation my ass. “What did she have to say? Why was she staying at a hotel and not at their apartment?”
“It sounds as if they were getting a divorce, man. She has an alibi for the time her husband was killed.”
That made me pause. That changed things, so maybe she was back on the board. “Yeah? What alibi?”
“She was at Ruth Chris' on West 51st Street.”
I frowned. “Who with, Charles? Did you guys bother to check that?”
“We did. Slow down, man. She was with her father and an attorney, discussing the divorce filings. We checked with the restaurant and the attorney. They both confirmed she was there.”
I didn’t want to take my anger out on Charles. He wasn’t a bad guy. He had just been under the influence of Farnsworth for way too long. “Did you speak to the father, Mr. Drako?” I asked, trying to level my voice.
“He wouldn’t give us the time of day. But we got what we needed.”
Interesting that Drako, the alleged head of one of the Czech crime families, was in New York at the same time all my suspects and connections to these two companies were being murdered.
“Who was the attorney?”
“Some guy by the name of Lance Friedman. Sharp dresser.”
“Friedman,” I said, surprised.
“Why? You know him?” Charles asked.
Another coincidence? This guy was showing up everywhere. Friedman was also the chief of staff for Senator Shenbeck, and visiting with Bobal and Newton. “I’ve heard his name before,” I replied, not wanting to give him any details.
“We’re hitting dead ends with this. Unless you have some other suspects we can follow up with. Farnsy was assured that these companies have nothing to do with these two murders.”
I snorted. “Right. By whom? Friedman?”
“Yes. They’re clean," Charles said firmly. "Friedman said even the FBI and the SEC stopped looking at them. So, we need to meet up and see what else you got.”
I sat down again at the conference table. Both Agnes and Patrick were glued to my end of the conversation. “Of course, you do. Farnsworth will be my first call," I said, with my free middle finger raised, “when we develop any new leads.”
Agnes widened her eyes while Patrick smiled.
“Mingia,” is all I said as I disconnected the call and almost threw my phone against the wall.
Agnes and Patrick looked at each other but refrained from making any comments. They were waiting for the steam to rise above my head. It would probably happen any second now. I didn't usually get upset like this, but it happened on occasion. I had found independence by working without the bureaucracy, and any deviation just frustrated me. You couldn't fly like an eagle if you were hanging with a bunch of turkeys. And Farnsworth was the lead turkey.
A few seconds later, I pointed at Patrick. “Mr. Pat, do you own any expensive suits?”
Patrick Sullivan had the uncanny talent of diffusing arguments. I had seen it when he mediated arguments between patrons, and when Dom and I were going at each other occasionally. Well, maybe more than occasionally.
“Of course, I still have some nice polyester suits from when I returned from Nam in the sixties. I have a plaid and a solid purple,” he said with a straight face.
I glanced at Agnes, who was holding in her laughter, and smiled. “How about platform shoes? You still have those?”
“What is it you want me to do?" Patrick asked.
“I need you to pose as a wealthy investor and walk into Fönix. I want to know who’s running the show and what they offer you. Plus, I want you to tell them you were referred by Jan Bobal.”
“Sounds like he needs a professional hairstylist for his beard and hair. Plus, a manicure,” added Agnes, looking at Patrick’s calloused hands. “Maybe he can rent an outfit, and we can save some money.”
“That’s not a bad idea. But I have one better,” I said. “What’s Professor Persopoulus doing these days?”
Dr. Achilles Persopoulus was a short, fifty something-year-old man who was bald on top and sported a white ponytail. He never wore suits. Instead, he wore colorful Hawaiian shirts with palm trees on a sandy beach background. This guy looked more like a Key West Conch Republic native and less like a Greek archeology professor. As a matter of fact, every time I looked at him, all I could think of was a mini Jimmy Buffet.
We met Professor P., as he liked his students to call him, at the University of Miami in Florida a year or more ago when he helped us crack the case of the antiquity’s collector. During the case, he and Agnes fell madly in love. Today, Professor P. ran the archeology department at Columbia University and is happily married to our Agnes.
Before meeting him, Agnes had been secretly in love with Father Dominic until I had a heart-to-heart with her and made her realize that Father Dom was fully committed to the priesthood and the Catholic Church. When she fell in love with the professor, it solved multiple issues. First, I was happy for her because she needed someone in her life, and second, Father Dom was relieved, and it made our team meetings more relaxed.
Agnes smiled at the mention of her husband. “Working hard and enjoying it. Why? He would love to help again.”
“Wait, wait. What’d you have in mind?” Patrick asked.
Patrick and the professor had become good friends. But their incessant arguments about politics never stopped. Patrick was a member of the conservative party in New York, and the professor was a left-wing progressive member of the democratic party. Their arguments about the merits of the Vietnam War were classic and memorable among our little family.
“I want you and the professor to pose as partners. Very rich guys searching for high returns,” I replied.
“You mean business partners, right?” Patrick asked hesitantly.
I saw an opportunity and jumped at it. “Oh, no. I want you guys to be a couple,” I replied in a serious tone.
There was silence as Patrick stared at me for a few moments. Agnes kept her mouth shut, watching both of us.
Finally, Patrick inquired, “With all due respect, why would we need to be a couple? How about business partners? Actually, why even bring in the professor?” He glanced at Agnes. “Nothing personal, you understand.”
Agnes nodded in affirmation.
“It adds an angle of authenticity to the con," I insisted. "Two guys walking in could work, but they might be suspicious, especially now. But, two guys being a couple? Well, that just adds an extra veneer of undercover spyc
raft.”
“You’re being totally serious?” he asked, resting his arms on the table.
I wasn’t originally, but now I had convinced myself that it would add a certain twist to the rouse.
“Totally serious,” I replied.
Patrick sat back, interlocked his fingers, and placed his hands behind his head. “Okay. I still don’t think is necessary, but you’re the capo.”
Agnes couldn’t help herself. “Should you discuss roles? I mean, who’s who in the relationship?”
Raising his arms straight up, Patrick asked loudly, “What? Are you kidding me?”
With a straight face, but holding my laughter, I said, “No need for that now. Only if we prolong the con. Then, we have to define the roles a little more.”
Patrick threw us both incredulous looks. “Ah, no, thank you. We will not go that far. I think I’m in the middle of a combined Twilight Zone and Seinfeld episode.”
“Anyway, go make arrangements to rent a suit and make an appointment with a stylist. Can the professor meet us here tomorrow morning? I’d like to go over my plan.”
“You betcha. He’ll change whatever plans he has. He loves Patrick as a big brother and working with our team.”
“Great,” Patrick muttered under his breath.
32
Joey Mancuso ~
Patrick left, mumbling something about searching for a rental outfit. Agnes was going to make him an appointment with her hair salon.
“You’re going to let him go through with this?” Agnes asked, watching me.
“Which part? The con? Or, the couple part?”
“The couple part." She smirked. "Achilles is going to die laughing when I tell him.”
I imagined he would. “By the way, I don’t mean any disrespect. But I was trying to get back at him for the polyester pantsuit joke. Then, the idea developed legs of its own.”
“It’s really no big deal. What’s on your mind now?”