A MURDER ON WALL STREET_A Joey Mancuso, Father O'Brian Crime Mystery

by Owen Parr

  “Where are we having lunch?” Marcy asked. “The Roberts have asked us to join them for Harry’s world- famous short ribs, and Lucy is making your recipes of Moros,” I answered.

  “What do we bring?”

  “The Cuban bread and a flan. Harry’s favorite dessert.” “Father, do you want to join us?” Marcy dutifully asked.

  “My dear, Sunday is a busy day at the church. Love to join you, but no can do,” Dom replied.

  I added, “Plus, Agnes would be devastated if she didn’t see Father Dom tomorrow.”

  “Father, you should take her out to lunch,” Marcy added, smiling.

  “Oh, she’ll stay for our potluck luncheon tomorrow after the last Mass, trust me,” el padre said, not excitedly. “How will you get everyone to attend on Monday?” Marcy asked. “They will. We’re going to make some persuasive calls to them between now and then. Trust me, they’ll be here,” I replied, smiling and taking a long drag on my cigar.

  Marcy raised her Zacapa, Dom his Coke, and I my MacAllan. “To the reveal,” I said.

  Marcy and Dom in unison said, “To the reveal,” as we all touched glasses and drank. My cell phone vibrated on the table. The caller ID read, “Roberts.” Picking up the phone, I answered, “Lucy, we’ll be there tomorrow.”

  “Joey, it’s Harry,” he said hurriedly.

  “Hey, big guy, we’re—” I started to say, but he interrupted. “Joey, Lucy has been in a car accident,” Harry said. “Is she, all right?”

  “I don’t know. I’m on my way there now. Are you at the pub?”

  "Yes."

  “Then you’re only a few minutes from her. I’m further away.”

  “Where is she?”

  “She’s on FDR Drive, just before the Williamsburg Bridge entrance.”

  “I’m on my way. You spoke to her?” “She won’t let the paramedics take her to the hospital until you get there. Something about securing the evidence, she said.”

  I started to get up from the table, but my thoughts immediately went to a planned hit, to remove the evidence we’d gathered. “Did she tell you what happened?”

  “A black SUV hit her from the side. Her car is inoperable, but she won’t leave the scene until you get there, man. They wouldn’t let her speak much more.”

  “Harry, I’m on my way. I should be there in a few minutes,” I replied, trying to think how best to get there and secure the evidence.

  I needed to get to her, but her concern was understandable. If someone hit her to abscond with the evidence we retrieved from Edmonton, they’d be waiting for the ambulance to drive away. At the same time, if I secured the item, the chain of official custody would be broken, which would make it inadmissible.

  Shit, I thought. Then it hit me. I walked outside and located Farnsworth and Charles, still sitting in their car. Waving to them to come over was fruitless. They ignored me, thinking I was making fun of them.

  I ran to their car, opened the back door, and said, “Detective Lucy Roberts has been in an accident a few blocks from here. Get on FDR, hit the lights and siren, and let’s go to her.”

  At first, they didn’t react. Farnsworth was trying to figure out what I just said as he sat there behind the wheel. Detective Charles shouted, “Farns, let’s go, man. Get on FDR.”

  We headed to FDR Drive. With sirens blaring, we cleared out the cars in front of us.

  “What’s going on, Joey?” Charles asked me. “Listen to me. Lucy and I retrieved a piece of evidence earlier today. She was going to take it to the evidence locker. It’s sitting in the trunk of her car. When we get there, we need to follow procedure and make sure we don’t screw this up. I need that evidence.”

  Farnsworth asked, “What is this about?” “It’s about a case we worked on together that went unsolved. She got a tip yesterday about a possible witness,” I replied, not wanting to be too specific.

  “Is that where you guys were headed this morning?” “Exactly.” At that moment, I realized that if this was an intentional hit on Lucy to remove the evidence, our witness Edmonton was in danger. Someone knew where we’d been and surely must know about our witness. “Give me the radio,” I said

  Charles glanced back at me. “The radio? What do you want with that?”

  “Just give it to me, please.”

  Farnsworth nodded towards the radio, motioning for Charles to go ahead.

  I clicked the radio and said, “This is Detective Charles.” Immediately, Charles turned and began to grab the cord, trying to pull the radio back. “Joey, what the fuck, man?”

  “Relax a second,” I said. Pushing down on the talk button again, I said, “Contact the New Jersey police. Have them send a squad car to Downing Homeless Shelter on Claremont Avenue, just west of Cavern Point Drive. You got that?”

  The dispatcher on the other end replied, “Got it. Then what, detective?” “Have them ask for the director of the shelter. His name is Jimmy; I don’t have a last name. Have Jimmy take the officers to where Edmonton Daniels is. Mr. Daniels is a key witness in an investigation. He’s friendly. Take him into protective custody, because his life may be in danger. Got it?”

  “Got it, detective. Making the call now,” the voice came back I handed the radio back to Charles. “Thank you, guys, we’re getting close. Lucy should be right—” I saw the lights of the ambulance and police car “—there.”

  Arriving at the scene, both detectives Farnsworth and Charles identified themselves. Lucy’s car was pretty banged up. She’d been hit on the left front side, and the front fender had caved in over her left tire.

  I hurried to the back of the ambulance. “Is she, all right?” I asked one of the paramedics. “She lost consciousness a couple times, but she wouldn’t budge until you got here, assuming you’re Mancuso,” the fellow responded.

  “I’m Mancuso. Let me talk to her.” They opened the door; Lucy was lying on a gurney. Her head was covered with a bandage, with blood by her ears. “Lucy, I’m here. We’ll take care of everything, but you need to go now to the hospital.”

  She grabbed my hand and squeezed it, then nodded in approval without saying a word. Just then, Harry arrived. “This is her husband, Mr. Roberts,” I said.

  “Jump in, sir. We’ll be leaving now,” said one of the paramedics. I gave Harry a hug, and they took off. Farnsworth and Charles were waiting for me by Lucy’s car, holding off the tow truck attendant who was in a hurry to tow the car away. I reached in the car and removed the key to open the trunk, all the time hoping that our evidence hadn’t been removed.

  I asked the tow truck driver, “Where’s the other car?” He looked at me a bit confused. “What other car?”

  “The car that caused the accident, a black SUV,” I answered. One of the policemen on the scene replied for him. “It was a hit-and-run, Detective,” he replied, thinking I was with the NYPD.

  “Did anybody see what kind of SUV it was?” I asked him.

  “All I heard was that it was an SUV and black, no make or model,” he replied. My thought was that it might’ve been the same black Cadillac Escalade that ran Kathy down. “Let’s open the trunk, Charles,” I said, giving him the key. I wanted an NYPD detective to take custody of our item.

  Charles walked to the back of Lucy’s car and popped the trunk open. We all looked at each other. “Is that it?” Charles said, pointing to the evidence.

  I let out a big sigh of relief. “That’s it.”

  Wearing latex gloves, both Charles and Farnsworth removed the evidence and placed it in the trunk of their car. We got back in the car. “Can I go with you guys and see that this is logged properly?”

  “Joey, you’ve got to tell us what the hell is going on here,” Charles said.

  Farnsworth chimed in. “Does this have anything to do with the homeless guy that was killed last year?” I was in a quandary; someone knew what was going on. These guys had been tagging me for a few days, but the question was, why? “Let me ask you guys something,” I said. “Why have you been on my as
s for the last few days?”

  They both eyed each other. Finally, Charles answered, “Joey, no matter what you think of us, the captain likes you and knows you have a nose for solving cases. The moment he got a call from the commissioner, he knew something was up. The fact is, we’ve been tagging you ‘cause the captain felt you were onto something and he wanted us to help you when and if it became necessary.”

  Farnsworth added, “And here we are, making sure the chain of custody isn’t broken with your evidence.” I didn’t know if this was bullshit or if these guys were being honest with me. But I was stuck with them. I gazed out the window as Farnsworth drove to the precinct, not really focusing on anything I was seeing.

  My cell phone vibrated; it was Marcy. “How’s Lucy?”

  “She’s banged up, probably a concussion, but I think she’ll be fine.” “What about the item?” she asked.

  “Under police protection. Are you still at the pub?”

  “Father Dom and I are making calls like you asked. So far, everyone has reluctantly agreed to come.” “Great. I’ll be back after we lock this up at the precinct,” I said, and then I remembered Mr. Edmonton. “Do me a favor, Lucy. Call the director, Jimmy, at Downing Homeless Shelter in Jersey, and inquire about Mr. Daniels. Call me back after you speak to him. Thanks.”

  “What about Edmonton?” “I had Jersey police detach a squad car to pick him up. I was concerned about his safety. If this hit-and-run was on purpose, then someone knows what we have, and his life could be in danger.”

  “Really, you think that?”

  “I don’t know. I just don’t know.”

  “I’ll find out his whereabouts,” Marcy said, as I disconnected my phone.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX The scent of the detective squad hadn’t changed; it was like I was home again. You could smell the food that lingered around various desks, from morning coffee to stale bagels and doughnuts. I hung around the precinct while Farnsworth and Charles logged the evidence, greeting other detectives and friends that were in this morning. Everyone moved around doing their duties in the coordinated chaos that always existed in the room.

  As Farnsworth and Charles walked out of the evidence room, my cell phone vibrated again. I was hoping it was news about Edmonton, but the caller ID read “Roberts.”

  “This is Mancuso,” I answered.

  “Joey, Harry here. Can you come over to New York Presbyterian?”

  “Of course, Harry, what’s up? How’s Lucy?” “She’s gone into a coma, but before she did, she kept saying your name.”

  “I’ll be right over, Harry. Hang in there; she’s going to be all right,” I said, not really knowing if she would be. I turned to the guys and asked, “Can you drop me off at New York Presbyterian?”

  Charles replied, “Of course, man, why?” “Lucy is in a coma. Her husband would like me to be there.”

  “Let’s go,” Charles said. “Did you say hello to the captain?”

  “Never got around to it, maybe after. I appreciate this,” I replied. We took off in their car, lights and sirens blaring again. Once there, I rushed to the emergency room as Farnsworth and Charles wished the best for Lucy.

  I could see the long faces of Harry and his sons, Dean and Sammy, as I approached them in the waiting room. We hugged, and few words were exchanged.

  I sat next to Harry. “How is she doing?”

  “They found a brain aneurysm, but they’re treating it. She’s still in a coma.” “Anything else?”

  “Just the concussion, nothing else, no.”

  “I know it’s hard, but both of those are treatable. Where’s Frank, your oldest son?”

  “He’s driving from White Plains. He should be here soon.”

  I wanted to make small talk, but found it tough. “What’s he doing in White Plains?”

  “He’s with IBM now. Great opportunity for him, and he’s not that far from us.” “He’s a bright boy. He’ll go far in whatever he does,” I said, not knowing what else to add. I patted his right knee as he sat back, and we both closed our eyes. People were moving around through the wide hallways with white-tiled floors. Patients were being scooted in gurneys every which way, and the all-too-familiar loudspeakers kept asking doctors to report somewhere. Hospitals had a rhythm and sound of their own. I hated that.

  As I sat back, I went into a semi-conscious sleep that took me back to when the roles had been reversed. Two took me back to when the roles had been reversed. Two 32,” a person with a gun call, in upper Manhattan. We were first on the scene, and an incident commander hadn’t been established yet. One of the various 911calls said one shooter shot people on the tenth floor of the building. The dispatcher informed us that the space was leased to a small company that was an online marketer of various electronic products. It was called OnlineSales, and the shooter hadn’t been identified.

  Not waiting for backups, Lucy and I decided to enter the building and took the elevator to the ninth floor. Our plan was to cautiously walk up the stairs to the location of the 10-32.

  We carefully entered the floor with me leading the effort and Lucy behind and covering me. Moans and screams could be heard from various offices. As we attempted to enter some offices, we found doors locked— certainly a response to the first of three protocol rules that many office building and companies began to adopt for occupants and employees after the incidence of these type of crimes increased.

  Had the shooter been there already, and people hurt? Or was the shooter still in one of these offices? We had no way of knowing the location of the shooter, unless he fired again. Something we were hoping would not occur. After what seemed like an eternity but was only a few minutes, we heard a man screaming in one of the offices. We both approached carefully and quietly.

  As I put my ear to the door, I could clearly make out the voice of a man, with a certain Asian accent, demanding to know where the owner of the company was hiding. From what I could hear, his demeanor was rapidly becoming agitated as he got louder and louder in his demand.

  “I kill her if you don’t tell,” I heard him say. Based on that, I assumed that there must be two people in that office besides the shooter. He was talking to one and threatening the second. Or, while others could be in the room, the “I kill her” could mean he was pointing his gun at a specific person, ignoring however many others could be present.

  Not knowing how many victims were in a room and, more importantly, the location of the shooter was not an ideal situation for bursting into a room with guns ablaze. Calling to him could exacerbate the situation. From training, we know that, in these events, the shooter has an acute awareness that he or she is not going to survive. They know that there are three choices, two of which lead to their likely death: being shot at the scene and committing suicide are the most common, with being arrested a third but improbable result. Knowing that, the shooter is likely to attempt to cause the most damage as his or her imminent end nears.

  The next thing we heard after his last loud demand was a shot and a scream. In a matter of seconds, I told Lucy I was going in and heard her say my name. I slammed into the door, with my upper body and left shoulder leading the way. It all turned into a slow-motion movie, although things were happening at incredible speed. In movies, the hero breaks down the door, locates the perpetrator, and shoots them on the spot, saving the day.

  But I wasn’t in a movie. I broke open the door but fell on top of it as my body kept going from the energy I had generated. Unlike a Hollywood scene, I saw the Asian man holding one pistol in each hand as I rolled on the floor. I remember his eyes opening wide with surprise. Before I had a chance to recover from my embarrassing entrance, I saw him lower the gun in his left hand, again in slow motion. I think I even saw the round as it left the barrel of his gun and traveled directly to my left hip. The pain that overtook me left me frozen on the floor.

  In my peripheral vision, I saw a shadow over me and heard three rounds fire in rapid succession. My first thought was that the shooter was fi
nishing me off, but I felt no more pain. The shadow had been my partner, Lucy, as she entered the room and killed the perp on the spot with two shots to the head and one to the chest. He died before he even touched the ground.

  The last thing I remember was the word “ass.” Later, Lucy told me she leaned down and said to me, “Wait ‘til I tell the story of your entrance and falling on your ass, cowboy.” We found out subsequently that the Asian man had been an employee who was fired a week before.

  My eyes opened, and I realized I’d fallen asleep on the chair. As I focused, I could see Frank, Harry’s oldest son, embracing his dad and two other brothers.

  “I’m sorry, guys. I fell asleep.”

  “Nothing to worry about,” said Frank, embracing me as I got up, with a little smile.

  I asked, “Good news?”

  Harry turned to me and replied, “Nothing official yet, but one of the nurses inside Lucy’s room gave us the thumbs up through the window. We’re hopeful.” CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Lucy was going to be all right. The meds to combat the aneurysm were working, and she’d awakened from the coma. Only Harry could walk in her room and be with her for a few minutes. Her only response had been to smile at Harry, but that itself was a good sign.

  Marcy arrived at the waiting room and embraced Harry's boys. Nodding for me to remove myself from the group, she said, “Edmonton is fine. Jimmy, the director of the shelter, had him taken to another shelter in Newark, and an officer stayed behind.”

  I was relieved. “That’s good news. We don’t need anyone else hurt because of this.” “I can’t help but remember the last time I was here,” Marcy began. “It was you then. I thought you were—” she paused.

  “I know. I just had a flashback to that event, a few moments ago.”

  “You lost so much blood; we were all concerned.” We were standing a few feet away from the waiting room. Looking at her face, I grabbed both her hands and asked, “Was that the moment you decided you needed more time to think about us?”