by Owen Parr
“Are you and Evans involved as portfolio managers?” “Very much so, yes.”
“Where do the ideas for buys and sells come from?”
Albert smiled. “We have a network of CEOs that feed us insider information.”
Marcy raised her head from her note taking and peeked at Albert. “Hilariously funny, Mr. Albert.” “We’re no different than any other firm. We do our research. Our analysts analyze. We meet, discuss, and then make decisions on buys and sells.”
“From my own research, I hear you’ve been averaging twelve percent returns for the last seven years, and now you’ve dropped that return to four percent. Is that correct?”
“You did your research. Actually, we’ve been returning north of ten percent for quite a few years. Last year wasn’t a good year, and we’ve had to drop our return.”
“How do you average more than ten percent per year for years? The indices certainly haven’t averaged that in recent years.”
“Now you’re asking about our special sauce. I’m afraid that’s not for public consumption.” “Naturally. Let me ask you this: in the last few days, your firm had two employees involved in accidents. Any thoughts on that?”
Marcy saw to her right that Evans had begun walking into the conference room, but Albert turned towards him and shook his head no.
“Hi, I’m afraid I’m still tied up,” Evans said, stopping at the door. “I’ll be in as soon as I can.” “Where were we?” Albert asked.
“One employee dead, the other in critical condition, both in the last few days.”
“We’re devastated about that. It’s been a hard week for everyone here. But why bring that up?” “Like you said, it’s not every day that a company has two employees involved in death, or near death in one week, right?”
“Both unfortunate incidents. Parker was an extremely valued associate. He was about to make partner.” Marcy was jotting down notes, “What about his assistant?”
“Kathy, what a terrible accident, poor thing,” he said, lowering his bald head and eyeing the floor. “What kind of car do you own?”
“Are you investigating the accident or a complaint about our company?” “Kathy’s accident, as you call it, was a hit-and-run. From witnesses’ testimonies, it seems it wasn’t an accident.”
“Are you saying she was purposely run over?” “Too soon to tell, but again, you mind telling me what kind of car you own?”
“I leased a Bentley. However, my lease was up last week, and I turned the car in.” Marcy ignored the lie. As she already knew, the Bentley was repossessed. “Was Mr. Parker involved in the actual management of the assets?” Marcy asked.
“Mr. Parker’s role was mostly asset gathering, meeting with regular and new prospective clients. His role in the actual management was minimal, if at all.”
“Is it possible that he knew something he shouldn’t have known and paid the price?”
“You mean he was murdered? You have an imaginative mind, don’t you?”
“Is it possible?”
“It’s also possible Parker was involved in something illegal himself and decided to take his life out of guilt.” “How could he be involved in something illegal? Do you have any ideas?” “You’re the special agent. I have no idea.” “I see. May I look at his office?”
“Follow me.”
With that, Marcy walked behind Albert and entered Parker’s office. “Has anything been removed from here?” “I don’t know. Mrs. Parker was here yesterday and may have taken some personal items.”
“His family photos are still here,” Marcy said, looking around.
“Like I said, I don’t know what she removed.” A tall, hefty man wearing an expensive navy blue suit entered Parker’s office. Walking right up to Marcy, he said, “My name is Stevan Kapzoff. I’m the attorney representing Mr. Albert and Mr. Evans. Ms. Martinez, is that correct?”
“Special Agent Martinez with the FBI, yes,” Marcy replied. “Yes, well, Ms. Martinez, this questioning is over. If you have any further questions, here’s my card. You can call me for an appointment,” said Kapzoff, as Marcy took his card.
“Fine, thank you for your time,” Marcy said, walking out of the office. “I’ll see myself out, and I’ll be back.” CHAPTER THIRTEEN Father O’Brian arrived at the North Bergen, New Jersey, home of Mr. and Mrs. Parker. Family and friends were gathered at the home; services had been conducted earlier in the morning for the late Mr. Parker. Before he entered, he surveyed the grounds and the cars parked in the driveway and noticed a black Escalade SUV. Walking towards the cars and around the Escalade, he noticed the car didn’t seem damaged.
“I’m here to see Mrs. Parker,” Dominic said when someone opened the front door.
“Please come in. I’ll get Mrs. Parker,” the person said. Father Dom stood in the foyer as Mrs. Parker arrived. “Mrs. Parker, sorry to trouble you at a time like this.”
“Not a problem,” she said. “You must be Joey Mancuso’s brother.”
“I am,” he hesitated. “Dominic O’Brian, a pleasure to meet you.”
“Have a seat,” she said, as they walked into the opulently decorated office off the foyer. A tall bookcase lined one of the walls; a plush area rug with vibrant colors adorned the dark wood flooring that seemed consistent throughout the home. A unique chandelier hung from the center of the room; all in all, the office had a warm feeling to it.
“O’Brian, you said. Half-brother of Mancuso, I presume.”
“Indeed. Same mother, different father.” “One Irish and one Italian. You guys don’t look anything alike, I must say. Both your fathers had the stronger genes,” she said, smiling.
“I don’t want to take a lot of your time, just want to go over a couple of things with you.” “Go right ahead. What’s on your mind?” “Is your father back from his trip?”
“We expect him back today sometime.”
“Was he able to resolve the issues with the Caribbean bank?” “I haven’t spoken to Dad, so I couldn’t tell you if he had.” Dom looked around the small office. “Beautiful golf bag. Do you play golf, Mrs. Parker?”
“Oh, that thing,” she said, pointing at the red golf bag. “No, that’s my husband’s.”
“Does he have more than one red golf bag?” “No, just the one,” she said, glancing away from the bag. “Did you pick it up from his office?” “No, the office sent it here.”
“Did they send all his personal items?”
“No, just the golf bag, a golf trophy,” she said pointing to it, “and this ashtray.”
“Why only those three items?”
“I have no idea. Now I have two of the same Waterford ashtrays.” “They are quite unique with all the cut glass edges.” “Yes, they are.”
“I understand that both you and your father visited your husband at his office the day,” he paused, “of the unfortunate event.”
She thought for a moment. “Yes, we were there,” she replied, lowering her gaze to the floor.
“There was an argument between your father and Mr. Parker, I heard.” “My father was outraged at what happened to the investment returns for all of us. I wouldn’t call it an argument, more like a discussion.”
“But it was a loud discussion.” “My father has a temper, and when Jonathan told him the investments weren’t liquid and couldn’t be liquidated easily, my father got a bit brash.”
“Did they fight?”
“You mean physically?” she asked. Father Dom nodded. “Oh, no. Jonathan told him he’d do whatever he could to make sure the return on the investments would increase to the higher levels, and that he would see about liquidating some of the assets without losing money.”
“And your father calmed down?” “There was nothing we could do. We had no recourse and could not liquidate, so we’re stuck. My father understood.”
“Yet he went to the Caribbean bank to see if he could get that money back?”
“After Jonathan took his life, he decided to try that avenu
e, yes.”
“But he left the same day.” “It was a spur-of-the-moment decision. He was anxious about the funds overseas,” she said, lighting a cigarette. “Care for one?”
“Thank you, I don’t smoke.”
“Who are you guys representing?”
“We usually don’t reveal who our clients are. You understand?”
“Your brother did say that.”
“Do you have any ideas, and I’m sorry to ask this, but why would your husband take his own life?” “I’ve thought about it. It had to be something related to his work. Although he was about to make partner because of his new two-hundred-million-dollar client, he was under a lot of pressure, both to bring in new assets to the firm and due to the recent cut in returns. I mean, he was getting calls from clients on his cell, here at home and in his office all day long. He was a wreck, couldn’t sleep. He was even avoiding the country club to keep from seeing clients there.”
“How about you guys personally? Happy?” “All marriages have difficult times, right?” “I suppose so.”
“We had our fights, but nothing out of the ordinary.”
“Again, sorry to ask, but was he faithful?” “Are you asking if he had a mistress?” She put her cigarette out and lit another, her hands trembling a bit. “I’m sorry to ask, but yes.” “He had no time for that. Between work, trips, his golf, and his racquetball games with the partners, we barely had times to ourselves. So, no.”
“Mrs. Parker, I don’t want to take any more of your time,” Father Dom said, getting up from his chair. “I am truly sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you,” Mrs. Parker said, walking into the foyer. “One last question,” said Dominic, as Mrs. Parker opened the front door. “Did you and your father leave Mr. Parker’s office together?”
She thought for a few seconds, taking a drag from her cigarette. “Yes, we did. We took the elevator together.” “And you left Mr. Parker in his office alone?” “We did, yes.”
“Thank you again,” Father Dom said, as he walked over to a car waiting for him.
“We’re headed to the Riverside Apartment complex on the Upper West Side of Manhattan, correct?” asked the Uber driver.
“Yes, thank you.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN You could hear a tiny drip of water coming from the faucet behind the bar. I enjoyed being in the pub in the mornings. I could see the traffic outside, but it was quiet inside when the place was empty. At certain times during the year, the sun peeked through the stained-glass windows at the entrance to the pub, and it illuminated the glass wall behind the bar, blasting sunrays throughout the pub. Manhattan is a concrete jungle, and seeing the sunshine into the bar was nice.
I’d received Marcy’s text telling me not to bother going over to Evans and Albert, and I was anxious to find out why. I wanted to confront Evans and Albert.
The near silence was broken with the sound of a car horn, as Marcy walked in the bar.
“Why did you tell me not to go?” I questioned, as she walked in. “It would’ve been a waste of time. They called over their attorney while I was there and pretty much booted me out.”
“I still want to talk to them about the old case, the one about the homeless person who was murdered.” “Joey, you can’t work that old case. We have other issues to resolve. Besides, remember, they’re holding your file on that closed, unless you make an issue of it.”
“What the hell are they going to do? Kick me off the force again?”
“They can cook something up. Who knows, bring charges against you.
“For what? Trying to solve an old murder investigation?”
“You can lose your disability pay.”
“What do I care? Someone killed an innocent man, and they’re covering something up.”
“All in due course. Let’s concentrate on one thing at a time, please. Is Mr. Pat here?” “Not yet, why?”
“Can I make myself a latte?”
“Be my guest. So, what did you learn from those assholes?”
“You want to tell me how you really feel about them?” “Seriously.” Shit, I was upset. I wanted to face Evans, and I’d planned a series of questions for him. But Marcy was right. One case at a time. “Did you learn anything new?”
“I only met with Albert.”
“How come?”
“Evans was coming into the conference room, but I noticed Albert motioned for him to stay out. They’re hiding something, I’m sure.”
“About Parker?”
“That and about their business. His body language was all wrong.”
“So, you and brother Dom are experts at body language?”
“I am FBI, you know, and we do learn about these things in the course of training.”
“That’s why you’re a special agent.”
“Hey, Mancuso, don’t be pissed at me. We’re on the same team here, you know?” She was right. I was pissed and had no reason to take it out on her. “Sorry, Marcelita, mi amiga. I’m just frustrated. We have no body to exhume and examine the wound, assuming we find the murder weapon. We have way too many suspects, all with possible motives, and we’re conducting an off-the-book investigation with limited resources. Otherwise, everything is peachy.”
“I wouldn’t say ‘limited resources.’ I do have an investigation on the way on the partners.”
“And you can parlay that into the suicide case?” “I have my ways. That’s why I’m a special agent,” she said, smiling at me as she licked the foam of the latte from her upper lip. “Have you heard from Father Dom?”
“No, he was headed first to Mrs. Parker, then to Melody’s apartment on the Upper West Side.” Marcy’s cell phone rang, and she picked up. I went around the bar and made myself an espresso as she took notes from her conversation.
As she disconnected her phone, she began, “The U.S. Securities and Exchange Commission has received complaints about the partners also. They’re trying to move in on our case, from what I just heard.”
“There’s a pissing contest between the two agencies?” “Typical stuff, everyone wants to score points.” “What type of complaints?”
“By the partners reducing the returns on the investments, they’ve opened a Pandora’s box. It seems many investors are demanding their invested funds back, to no avail.”
“That was quite a dramatic change, from twelve percent to four.” “It seems the Securities and Exchange Commission has investigated the partners before and found nothing to go on. Now, they’re afraid of being called fools.”
“I told you, these guys are big political donors. They probably bought their way out of the fire before.” “Yes, but they never put out the fire. Evidently, the smoldering embers remained, and the fire reignited.” “You’d think they’d have a warning bell go off and learn something from it.” “When you have a Ponzi scheme going on, it just grows and grows. You can’t end it. If you do, the whole thing comes crashing down.”
I said, “How can the people that do that live with themselves? They know it can’t last forever, right?” Marcy replied, “It’s like any other crime, you think you can get away with it.” “But like you said before, these schemes just take a life of their own, and there’s no ending to it. I couldn’t live with that, knowing that at some point it may crash in and bury me.”
“That’s why it’s a house of cards.” “Seems to be what’s happening now, except we have one person dead, and another critical in its wake.” I said, as I drank my espresso and lit a cigar.
Marcy took in the bar. “I love the ambiance of this place when there’s no one here. It’s a cozy place to hang out.”
“The cozy feeling, I think, is due to the décor. Here you have your typical Irish pub, nicely worn and comfortable green leather captain’s chairs around the wood tables in the middle of the dark wood plank floors, and the private booths along the left side with the photos,” I said, pointing around.
Marcy added, “One of my favorites is the one of Dom’s dad with George Carlin. I
loved Carlin.” I added, “That picture of Carlin and Dom’s dad was in 1975, the day after Carlin hosted the first-ever Saturday Night Live show. Supposedly, Carlin used to hang out here when he was in New York to get away from the crowds. He loved the fact everyone respected his privacy.”
“Great memories, for sure.”
I asked, getting back to the case, “What now?”
“We’re getting warrants to pull all the financials on the firm and the partners, plus all stock records, buys and sells, customers’ statements, et cetera. This time, they’re getting a full colonoscopy.”
“You think these guys are going to hang around?” “Why, you think they’ll skip town?”
“Shit, I would. I’d just pack it in and fly out of here.” “Where to?”
“I’d go to the coast of Montenegro and chill. No extradition treaty.”
“Would you take me with you?”
“I’d take you to the end of the world. But, you’d have to give up your shield. Would you do that for me?” “What, and not be a special agent anymore?” “You’d be my special angel.” I knew I was scoring points here.
She didn’t respond. “How soon before Mr. Pat comes in?”
I glanced at my watch. “A couple hours.”
Marcy
came around the bar and put her arms around my waist. “Kiss me, you wop.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“I shouldn’t be long. Wait for me here,” said Father Dom to his Uber driver. “Sir, we don’t get paid for waiting like a cab. Please call up another car when you’re ready. They’ll have one here in minutes.”
Dom replied, “I understand.” Dom took the elevator to Melody Wright’s apartment on the fourteenth floor and knocked on her door.
“Father, please come in,” she said, holding a thick blue towel wrapped around her otherwise naked body. “Perhaps I can wait outside,” Dom said, rotating his head everywhere around the apartment avoiding her. “Don’t be silly. Sit here on the sofa. I’ll be but a minute. Can I get you anything?”