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

by Owen Parr

  “Please do and stay vigilant,” I said and disconnected.

  Should I question Friedman again? Or, let this trap work itself out? I was tired of getting the runaround, and Friedman was never going to admit to anything, anyway. So, I decided to let things work out, and I was hopeful that whoever was behind the deaths of Bobal and Newton would buy our story. I was putting Patrick in harm's way, and that had me concerned. But at this point, it seemed like our only hope to grab the killer and find out his motive.

  After a nice hot shower and a wonderful meal Marcy whipped up, Jack’s text finally came in. I read it out loud for Marcy to hear.

  Two of three owners found dead. Fönix Securities with offices in New York City and Miami Beach, Florida is closing shop after two of the partners were murdered in a mysterious series of events. Majority owner George Newton was the latest casualty two days ago in New York City, as he approached his apartment building after a day at the office. Newton and his wife are residents of Miami Beach and also rent an apartment in New York City. In a similar fashion, with two shots to the chest, co-owner Jan Bobal was gunned down in his New York apartment the day before. Bobal owned a home in Bay Harbour, Florida, a suburb of the city of Miami.

  NYPD detectives are baffled by these two murders. One source within the NYPD said, ‘We have no suspects at this point. But we believe the same gunman killed both individuals.’

  Patrick Sullivan, the last remaining owner of the firm, is said to have closed the office in Miami Beach and is now in the process of liquidating the firm and closing the New York office.

  When asked to comment on his partners' murders, Sullivan said, ‘I have no reason to believe these murders were related to our company. We are a very successful wealth manager with an impeccable record of making money for our clients.’ Fönix Securities is partially owned by Peníze Private Equity, LLC with offices in New York. Allegedly, Peníze is partially owned by a Czech organized crime family, although a source said that Peníze had been liquidating their interest in Fönix Securities.’”

  I texted Jack back. Excellent Jack. Forward to Logan.

  Immediately, he responded with a thumbs-up emoji.

  “I think it sounds perfect,” Marcy commented.

  “I agree. If our unsub reads it, this should draw him out.”

  “When will it run?”

  “Hopefully, both Captain Johnson and Detective Logan in Miami can get it released tonight for tomorrow’s news edition. We’ll have to set up our trap immediately.”

  “Aren’t you worried about Patrick?”

  I was worried about Patrick, especially after the scary moments with Jack. But we had to go through with it. “Of course. He’ll be wearing a vest under his shirt and we’ll be right there,” I replied, still trying to convince myself that it would be okay.

  I forwarded the release to Johnson so he could get it out.

  Within minutes, Johnson called. “We’re good to go, Joey. It will run in the Post and the Times. Plus, I also have it running in some small community newspapers, and best of all in the news tonight.”

  “Perfect, captain. Detective Logan is doing the same in Miami. The Herald, community papers, and local news at eleven. Are we all set?”

  “Yes, but instead of being in the same office, I’ve arranged for our team to be in the next-door office. We don’t want the gunman realizing there’s other people in there.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t like that. Our reaction time is not the same if we have to walk out of one and into the other. Too risky.”

  “We’ll have eyes on Patrick via cameras we’ve installed. He’ll be wired up with two-way coms. And, I’ll have a sniper in the next building with a clear view of Patrick.”

  “That I like. Hopefully, we can apprehend and not kill this guy. We need to find out why he’s doing this.”

  “Agreed, but Patrick’s life is paramount.”

  “No argument there. I’ll be there in the morning with Patrick.”

  Having a sniper the next building over made me feel a lot better. Someone would have eyes on Patrick and the suspect, ready to react to any threat. I just hoped that whoever was doing this read the papers and watched the news.

  Marcy had been on the phone at the same time I was talking to the captain. She waited for me to conclude my conversation with him.

  “Joey, I had given Victoria a heads-up on your investigation. Although we’re not officially on the case of Fönix and Peníze, she’s kept tabs on the Drakos, who are here in the city,” Marcy said with a slight frown.

  “Yeah. And?”

  “The Drakos are leaving for the Czech Republic tomorrow morning. Including Valeria Drakos, or Mrs. Bobal.”

  “I bet they’re ceasing all operations in the States until the shit clears. And, getting out of the US just to be safe. Follows the pattern I expected. Especially since their attempts to steal the safe from the Newtons' home failed and they expect incriminating documents to be stored there.”

  “If they were involved in something, we’ll never get them," Marcy added, putting her hands on her hips.

  “They’re opening the safe tomorrow, Jack mentioned. We’ll see what shakes up. Maybe we’ll have some others you can go after them.”

  We had done all we could do. It was now a cat and mouse game, and we had to be the cat.

  37

  Joey Mancuso ~

  We were set up on the third floor at 70 Nassau Street. The offices next to the Fönix suite were empty, and the captain had assembled a small army to react to our suspect. A disguised SWAT team with a dedicated sniper was across the street. Detectives Farnsworth and Charles, plus another young fellow on the monitors, were eyeing the view from the cameras that had been set up. Also, cameras and officers in civvies were at the entrance of the building, the stairs, the back entrance, lobby, and service elevators. More cameras watched each floor, covering the hallways and within the Fönix suite, where Patrick would pretend to be filling up boxes with files. The office with furniture was at this point not occupied. Whatever paperwork and computers that had been here were gone.

  Father Dom and I sat together with this crew, waiting. Undercover personnel was stationed at the entrances and sidewalk on Nassau Street.

  We had plenty of coffee and donuts for the morning wait. And, I had noticed an abundance of Indian and Thai restaurants on Nassau and Maiden, but I was looking forward to Sushi & Co. for lunch, a block away on Maiden Lane. Depending on how long our sting would last, we would probably sample many of those other places.

  Captain Johnson had assigned two females and a male undercover officer as a detail for Patrick. Anytime he wasn't in the office, these three would accompany him, pretending to be family visiting and staying with him. However, the budget was tight, and he had warned me that two days, three tops, would be the max he could keep this up.

  If I were the gunman, I would surveil Patrick for at least a day. Follow his movement form his apartment in New Jersey to here and back. But the press release had said "the third owner was closing the office," so if our guy was going to act, I didn’t expect him to wait too long.

  There had been people entering and leaving the building, but no one matched the description of a tall white man with broad shoulders. However, at ten thirty in the morning, the coms crackled.

  “I have a man fitting the description of our suspect entering the building on Nassau,” said the voice of one of our lookouts.

  “I’m in the lobby, I see him,” said another voice. “Blue baseball cap, jeans, and a windbreaker.”

  Immediately, we all rushed to the monitors. A man was entering the elevators. My pulse sped up and my mouth dried as I focused on the man walking in.

  “We see him. Hold your places,” the captain said gruffly.

  “Mr. Pat, are you listening?”

  “Copy that,” was Patrick’s reply.

  We waited with anticipation to see the man exit the elevator. He did on the third floor, our floor. I was like a lion eyeing his
prey, waiting for the exact moment to pounce on the unsuspecting target.

  “Get ready,” said the captain. "He’s on three.”

  The man stepped out, took a piece of paper from his windbreaker pocket, and made a turn opposite of our location. Our view was the length of the hallway, and I saw as he walked past an older janitor also wearing a baseball cap and brown overalls, who was vacuuming the hallway as our target entered an office on the far end. I held my breath, trying to slow down my pulse. I was full of anticipation.

  “Doesn’t look like our man,” the captain said into the coms. “Stay vigilant, everyone.”

  Shit! I walked away from the monitor and began pacing the small space in our makeshift control center. I should have known it wasn't going to be this easy. I needed to calm down and manage my expectations.

  Another two hours and no one suspicious entered the building from the front or the back.

  “My concern is that we were on alert for a tall white male with broad shoulders, but what if a different hitman got this contract?” the captain asked.

  Walking over to the captain, who was still glued to the monitors, I said, “We’re paying attention to everyone, so we’re good. I still think these last two murders aren't part of a cleaning effort by anyone at the company. I believe these to be personal.”

  “So, you’re thinking the same person will be back?" asked the captain.

  “I do, yes,” I replied.

  “How long are we going to keep Patrick in the office?” Detective Farnsworth asked.

  Which really meant: How long do I have to sit my ass in here?

  The captain turned to me. “What’d you think, Joey, four pm?”

  “I think that’s fine. What happens then?” I said.

  “His friendly visitors will pick him up. Walk up and escort him back to his apartment where they’re all staying. We have cars tracking anyone following him,” replied Johnson.

  At three in the afternoon, after our sushi, which detective Charles had made a run for, a voice came over the coms. “We have a possible. Black hair, white male, wide-rim glasses, dark suit, tall, and a strong square jaw, on his way to elevators.

  “Is this it?” asked Farnsworth.

  Here we go again. I was ready this time to take it slow. I got up to look at the monitors. It didn’t sound like our man. Younger, not hiding his face. “I think that’s Clark Kent,” I joked.

  Our SWAT team thought that was funny, but no one else appreciated my humor. The man exited our floor and headed straight to the end of our hallway, where both offices were located.

  “Mr. Pat, be ready. He’s at your door,” I said quickly, wishing I hadn’t made a joke.

  The man stood there for a few seconds, looked at both Fönix’s door and ours, and then pulled his jacket back as if to reach for a firearm. I froze. The SWAT team was ready to rush for the door. It took forever for the man to make his next move. Clark Kent pulled out a phone from the inside coat pocket, dialed, and spoke to someone, then made an about-face, took the elevator down to the lobby, and exited the building.

  Maybe the next one. Or, did our target even read or hear the fake story we planted? Was I going to sit here and just wait?

  “Someone pick him up and follow. See where he goes,” ordered the captain.

  “This is Jackson. I’m on it,” came a quick reply.

  “Shit, that was close,” I said as Father Dom approached and told me he was going back to Saint Helen's.

  “Padre, you don’t have to be here tomorrow. We’ll all be here,” I said.

  “As long as Patrick is there, I’ll be here,” Dom replied firmly, his voice brooking no arguments.

  I nodded at him and winked. “Call you later.”

  “What are you going to do?” Dom asked.

  “I’ll be with the captain until we tuck Patrick in for the night. Then, I’ll go home.” I wasn't going to let Mr. Pat stay here without me, especially since I was responsible for him being here.

  Ten minutes later, Jackson spoke over the coms. “Our Clark Kent lookalike went into the building next door. Up to the third floor and entered an office.” I guess the nickname stuck with the gang of over-watchers.

  “Copy that, Jackson,” the captain said, turning to me, smiling and shaking his head. “We’re going to call it a wrap for the day. Detail team, you can pick up your package.”

  The SWAT team began to put away their long guns in duffle bags. They would wait a half hour for us to leave, then exit the building themselves. We knew our man could still be surveilling anything going on in the building.

  The captain followed Patrick and his detail team. We heard reports from others that no tail had been picked up. We arrived at Patrick’s old apartment building from which he had not moved out yet.

  “What’d you think, Joey? Are we wasting our time and resources?” Johnson asked me.

  “I don’t think so. But I must admit it’s a long shot. We have no way of knowing if he took the bait.” Even though it was a long shot, I felt the offender was reading or listening to the news to follow up on the case. Unless of course, it was a hired gun, and then he would be off to his next assignment.

  “Let’s give a day or two more, but we can’t afford to go beyond that.”

  “Understood,” I replied as Patrick and company walked into his unit.

  “All clear,” said a voice from Patrick’s detail.

  “Okay, team. We’re done for the night. Start at ten am tomorrow,” said the captain.

  We were done for the day. Stakeouts are boring and seemed to never end. Occasionally, you got lucky and soon forgot the pain. I was hoping that would be the case for us. My other hope was that our gunman wouldn’t try anything tonight. But then again, Patrick had three trained officers in his apartment, so I felt somewhat relieved, but not entirely convinced. I was anxious, and I knew I wasn’t going to get much sleep tonight. This guy was good. What if he altered his MO about the close and personal? What if he decided to shoot Patrick from a distance, as Agnes had warned?

  38

  Joey Mancuso ~

  The SWAT team arrived early in the morning, only two members at a time so as not to call attention. Captain Johnson, Detective Farnsworth, and Detective Charles strolled in about nine fifteen, carting faked files. Father Dom and I had made an appearance a few minutes before the captain and the detectives.

  Patrick and his detail arrived just before ten, pretending to discuss where they might go out to eat tonight, and that they were on their way to tour the World Trade Center today.

  With the sniper in place, we were all gathered in the empty office with a bunch of chairs, a couple of garbage cans, and our young guy sitting at a bank of monitors.

  “Joey,” the captain announced, “today is the last day of this stakeout. The chief won’t approve any more funds for this.”

  I opened my arms to plead for a continuation. “We have to give this a little more time. Two days is not enough. This guy could be surveilling Patrick a day or two before he acts. He’s a pro.”

  Johnson gave me a look. “I know. But we have a SWAT team out and sitting on their asses. Twenty other officers on overtime in stakeouts. And simply a hope and a prayer that our unsub read or heard the news. We just don’t have enough cause to continue. Not my call, Mancuso.”

  I looked straight into the captain’s eyes. “You realize that we’ve made Patrick a target, and without police protection, he’s a sitting duck, right? This guy can wait a week or more and kill Patrick at his convenience.”

  “I understand and I feel terrible. Maybe we should have thought about that before we made him a target,” he replied, avoiding eye contact.

  I wanted to say a couple of expletives, but I respected the captain too much, and I knew it wasn't his fault. It was my own doing and I hated myself for putting Patrick in harm’s way.

  I knew we wouldn’t be able to continue our stakeout for more than three days, but now it would end just two days into it. My team was too small to
do this on our own. With Patrick posing as the target, all I had was Dom and my two other detectives, who didn't have carry permits. I didn’t want Agnes involved in any of this. So, it was just three of us able to carry firearms—Dom, Patrick, and me. I couldn’t take that chance. Today was our only chance to pinch our unsub in the act.

  My phone vibrated and the ID caller displayed the smiling face of Jack Ryder. “What’s up, Jack?”

  “You still on stakeout?”

  “Yeah, but it ends today. Some bullshit about budgetary constraints,” I said out loud for everyone to hear. “What about the safe?”

  “That’s why I called. We had the warrant approved. Mrs. Newton and her attorney were present to open the safe—”

  I interrupted him. “Why do I feel there’s a but coming?”

  “Exactly," he said grimly. "Feds showed up just before and kicked all MBPD out of the room. They seized all documents and gave Mrs. Newton all the personal stuff. Jewelry, some cash, and a trust document of which they made a copy. We have no freaking clue what they took. But there were papers and a diary-type book. So, who knows what’s in there?”

  “Does Mrs. Newton know anything about those papers or diary?” I asked, scratching my head. Did she add her name to the target list? What happened now?

  “She has no clue. We got nothing, man.”

  “Well, if the FBI has the docs, maybe Marcy can find out more.” But that was a big maybe.

  “Joey, these guys were not FBI, they were Feds. As in DOJ, or maybe even State.”

  “Figures. State stopped the FBI before, some crap about diplomacy and the Czech Republic,” I said, dropping my head and shaking it in frustration. “Shit, man, I can’t believe this case may go unsolved.”

  I said that, but I wasn't going to let that happen. As long as I had suspects, I was going to be on them like a remora on a shark.

  “By the way, they closed the case on Gene Wells’ murder, claiming vehicular homicide and putting it on James. And, the James’ murder plus the attempted murder on me on the two foreign goons. They don’t want to leave those cases open.”