A Murder on Long Island: A Joey Mancuso Father O'Brian Crime Mystery (A Joey Mancuso, Father O'Brian Crime Mystery Book 2)

by Owen Parr

  Attorney Adams had texted me about five in the morning, and after one sentence asking about Marcy, he wanted an update on any findings we had. Adams and Pearson were on their second day of presenting the defense’s case, which I knew was not much of a defense. I replied that we were working on it, and that I needed to meet him and Pearson individually, after their day in court. But, that we would have to play it by ear, with respect to when. He texted me back a ‘thumbs up.’

  Marcy was moved to her room, and while groggy, she was alert and smiling. She had little to say, falling asleep on and off. She did apologize about spoiling our New Year’s Eve party at the pub, which I had completely forgotten about.

  Father Dom arrived a little after eight in the morning, and visited with Rosa, Alberto, Marcy and me in the room for a few minutes, before going down to the chapel to pray with Marcy’s parents. I told him privately, to meet me in the cafeteria after he was done with prayers.

  He said, “No, Joey, you’re joining us in the chapel for a few minutes. Then we can go to the cafeteria.”

  I made a face, but acquiesced to his request by nodding my head.

  After a few minutes in the chapel, Rosa and Alberto left to visit with Marcy in her room, and brother and I went to the cafeteria.

  A few white-coats sat around the sterile looking cafeteria. Grabbing a tray, I collected a banana, a chocolate muffin, and poured myself a cup of java.

  Walking towards a table, I said, “Dom, I’m sorry I didn’t do my homework. I just couldn’t concentrate.”

  “That’s understandable Joey, I read it and I’ll be happy to go over it with you,” he said.

  We sat there with our little breakfast, as Dom pulled out his iPad and turned it on. “Geraldine Francis, fifty-two years old.”

  Before he got any further, I asked, “Do you have a picture so I can visualize who we’re speaking about?”

  With his index and middle fingers, he pushed up on the screen revealing a photo for Geraldine. “Okay,” I said, looking at Geraldine. “No make-up, no earrings, short cropped hair. A suit and a tie? Are you sure this is Geraldine, or her brother Geraldo?”

  “You’re not being very kind.”

  “Bro, I call ‘em as I see ‘em. Geraldine is definitely in the other camp. Not that there’s anything wrong with it, right? Tell me more.”

  He turned the iPad back towards him, “Ms. Francis, unmarried at this time, attended Columbia University, and graduated with a degree in finance. She worked for various banks and trust companies, until she was hired by the Longworth Foundation to be the executive director.”

  “Columbia, isn’t that where Mrs. Longworth graduated from?”

  “It is, and Agnes went back to a yearbook, and included some photos of young Geraldine and Sheila together. Look,” he said, rapidly moving the screen with two fingers.

  I looked at the photos, but there wasn’t anything obvious about a possible personal relationship, other than friendship. “Shit, too bad Facebook was not around then. Otherwise, we may have more conclusive evidence of a possible romance between these two.”

  “Keep that thought in mind,” he said, as he pulled the iPad back, “Agnes included a report from an independent company, called Charity Analyzer, and they have a very negative report about the Longworth Foundation. It seems only five cents of every dollar gets to the intended charities.”

  “What the hell happens to the other ninety-five cents?”

  “Ms. Francis has a salary of five-hundred thousand, which accounted for about five percent of the Foundation’s income from donations in prior years. The balance is spread out in other expenses associated with the charity: parties, other salaries, operating expenses, et cetera. Total donation for two-thousand-fifteen, the last year they showed records for, was a hundred million dollars, total. This dwarfed prior years, in which the maximum donated had been two-million dollars.”

  “It seems Geraldine’s sphere of influence has brought in fresh cash to the Foundation. Do you have a list of donors?”

  “From what I can see, one of the biggest donors had been the Longworths, themselves. About five million dollars in twenty-fifteen. All tax deductible, of course. Others included Mr. and Mrs. Adams, his partner, and several other people who are not identified, some big donations, though.” Dom replied.

  “We need to add Geraldine to the list of persons we want to talk to,” I said, taking a bite of the muffin.

  “Agnes has information on Miriam Kolozoff, the director of the Angels for Children charity. Should we review her?”

  “Agnes did say the Kolozoffs were away on vacation when Mrs. Longworth was killed, right?”

  “Yes, she mentions that here. But what if there is some involvement?”

  “Brother, this was a crime of passion, or at least a spur of the moment reaction. Whoever killed Sheila Longworth was there with her. More than likely they were sexually intimate, and then something happened. For either of the Kolozoffs to be involved, it would have been a paid hit of some kind, very unlikely. Let’s limit the suspects to what seems plausible.”

  “Agreed. Let’s review then. You still think the attorneys are viable suspects, and I agree. Then we have Jessica Jones, or Mrs. Adams, because of her potential bisexual relationship with Sheila. I personally think that’s a stretch, but okay. And now we added Geraldine Francis. Anyone else?” Dom asked, looking up from the iPad.

  “If my theory is correct, that is, that Sheila was intimate with someone before being shot, unless we’re way off in our research, I think that’s it.”

  “What about Mrs. Pearson, Judith Lee Parker? Suppose Mr. Pearson was the one involved with Sheila, and Judith Lee found out. Could she have pulled the trigger after Mr. Pearson left?”

  “Think back to the alarm records. We know the alarm went off and on at eight that evening. Then it wasn’t until eleven-ten that night, that Mr. Longworth turned it off again. No records of the alarm being turned off before Mr. L came in that night.”

  “You don’t think Mrs. Pearson could have been the one that came in at eight?”

  “And waited three hours to shoot Sheila? No, I don't believe. If it was her, she would have come in, shot Sheila, and left immediately.”

  Dominic sat back and pushed his coffee mug away from him, “That coffee is bitter. Okay, then let’s stick with the plan. You talk to the attorneys today after court, and I’ll question Mrs. Adams. How do we handle Geraldine?”

  “I can’t talk to the attorneys until later today. I’m going to hang here with Marcy for a while, so, I’ll call Geraldine and go meet with her during the day.”

  “Are we going to reverse the questioning like we usually do? If so, then I’ll have to speak to three people, and I may not have that much time before the end of the week.”

  “I always like to do that; it seems we get conflicting information when we do that from our suspects. Let’s play it by ear,” I said, grasping his left ear.

  Dom jerked his head back, “Why do you that? You know I hate it when you grab my ear.”

  I smiled, “That’s why, Padre. Let’s go see Marcy.”

  “Let me call Mrs. Jessica Jones Adams, and make an appointment to see her,” Dom said, getting up from the table.

  We walked towards the elevators, “You know, Dom, I would love to find a suspect and have the attorneys put them on the stand.”

  “But, what if one of the attorneys is the suspect? How do you do that, then?”

  “I’ll have to think about that one.”

  “Can a defense attorney, acting as an advocate for his client, testify as a witness?” Dom asked, as we rode the elevator up.

  I thought about that for a second, “In my sixteen years with the NYPD, I have seen that done, if the attorney’s testimony does not contradict that of his client.”

  “Then, that should be the case here. Longworth maintains his innocence. The attorneys are not going to contradict that.”

  “Yes, but, how do I get Adams to question Pearson, and the
n Pearson to ask Adams, asking the right questions to possibly implicate one of them?”

  “All we want is to plant doubt in the jury’s minds, don’t we?”

  “That works only if the right questions are asked, and I doubt either one of them is willing to point the finger at each other. Plus, if one of them is the shooter, I doubt they would be willing to take the stand.”

  “That, in itself would be a clue as to their possible guilt.”

  “Splendid, Doctor Watson, excellent observation. You know what? I’ll probe that when I meet with them, and see their reaction.”

  “Joey, the attorneys that came in Monday morning when I left, —”

  I interrupted Dom, “We’ll talk about that at another time.” I did not want to go there now.

  “Hang on a second, are they criminal attorneys?”

  “One of the best in town, Bevans and Associates. Why?”

  “If you think one of these two lawyers is, in fact, a real suspect, why not have Mister Longworth ask for new counsel?”

  “Hah,” I said, walking out of the elevator, heading to Marcy’s room. “That’s a bit irregular, the judge would have to approve it. But, if he does, we might even get a continuance in the case.” I smiled, as my mind went to work. “You are genius, brother, did you think about that on your own, or did you get a message from above?”

  “He is always talking to you from above, but, you have to be willing to listen, little brother,” el Padre, said, smiling.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  I hung around Marcy’s room for a while. Her boss, Victoria Stewart, stopped by for a few minutes. Detective Lucy Roberts also visited with Rosa, Alberto and me for a while. The mood, while not festive, was cheerful, but guarded. If you are in the hospital hooked up to a bunch of monitors, you’re not out of the woods.

  Moving closer to Marcy’s bed, I grabbed her hand, in doing so she opened her eyes and smiled. She said something in a low, weak voice that I could not make out. I glanced around the room, no one was paying attention. “Say it again lover, I couldn’t hear you,” I said.

  She moistened her lips and said, “You remember that evening when we went to the Top of Sixes?”

  “Of course, I do, on Fifth Avenue, I remember it was about one year ago.”

  “Can I get some water?” she asked. There was a cup of ice by her bed, and I gave her a couple of pieces. Moistening her lips once again, she asked, “Do you recall what I said when we stepped out on Fifth Avenue?”

  I smiled, as my mind flashbacked to that cold evening, “All of New York heard you loud and clear.”

  “What did I say?” she asked, smiling as best she could.

  “You screamed, ‘I love Joey Mancuso’,” I replied, squeezing her hand.

  “I do, and I will,” she said, clearing her throat.

  “Do you mean what I think you are saying?”

  “Kiss me fool, and yes, I’m saying what you think I mean,” she replied, using her left hand to push her hair back from her face.

  I bent over and kissed her on the forehead.

  She smiled, closed her eyes, and fell asleep again.

  I looked around, wanting witnesses to what Marcy had just said, but again, no one had paid attention. Would she remember that she just agreed to marry me? Or, was she still under the influence of the anesthetic?

  My appointment with Geraldine Francis was set for ten-thirty in the morning. I had taken a cab to Newark airport and commandeered Marcy’s car that she had left there the day of the incident. Desperately needing a shower, shave and change of clothes, I headed to my place, and then to midtown Manhattan, to meet Geraldine. The Foundation’s offices were in the same building as the offices for Longworth and Associates Real Estate Developers.

  I arrived with four minutes to spare, signed in at the reception desk on the first floor, and took the elevator to the eighth floor.

  Diminutive Geraldine Francis was waiting for me by the elevator doors. All, at most, of one hundred pounds of her, was smiling when I stepped out of the elevator.

  “Mr. Mancuso, welcome to our offices. Sorry we’re meeting under these circumstances. Follow me, please.”

  “I agree. Thank you for your time,” I replied, double-stepping behind her to stay close to her, as she sped down the hallway. She kind of matched the office décor, which was boring. She was wearing what appeared to be a man’s gray suit, and a shirt, no tie.

  “Can I get you anything?” She asked, politely.

  I declined. I wasn’t sure how long her politeness was going to last, considering the questions I had for her.

  “How can I be of help; the trial is almost over, isn’t it?” She asked, as we sat in a couple of chairs across from her desk.

  “It is. All I’m trying to do is dot the i’s and crossed all the t’s. I have a series of questions just to clean things up a bit.”

  “Please, go ahead,” she said, sitting back and crossing her arms.

  “Where you questioned at all, by anyone, with respect to the case?”

  “No, no one. But, I don’t see the reason to question me, so I was not surprised.”

  “I see. I’m asking everyone the same questions, so don’t take them personally.”

  “I guess it depends what they are, go ahead,” she said, not smiling anymore, and tightening her crossed arms.

  I just went for it, “Where were you the night Mrs. Longworth was killed?”

  “So much for foreplay, Mr. Mancuso, right?”

  “Please call me Joey,” I replied, realizing her response was a chance to stall and think.

  “Excellent, Joey. I live alone, but I was here that night.”

  “Here in the office? How can you remember?”

  “I remember getting a call the next morning at home, before I went back the office.”

  “How long have you been the Executive Director of the Foundation?”

  “I was hired through a head-hunter three years ago.”

  “What were you doing at the time?” I asked, knowing the answer before I asked.

  “I was the manager of the trust department for a regional bank, here in New York.”

  “Records show that your salary is half-a-million dollars per year. Is that a standard salary in the industry for what you do?”

  “I don’t know if there is a standard. Foundations and charities vary considerably. That salary you quoted was for two-thousand-fifteen. I didn’t make that when I started.”

  “Is your salary in any way tied-in to the donations you bring in?”

  “That’s how Sheila, Mrs. Longworth, wanted to set it up. It incentivizes me to bring in donations. The more money in, the more we can help others.”

  “Why would you think that Charity Analyzer rates the Foundation with one star out of five?”

  “They’ve never visited us. They just look at the IRS documents filed. Frankly, they don’t understand our mission.”

  “But, are they wrong in saying only five cents of every dollar goes to the actual charities?”

  “Again, you have to understand our mission. While we might spend on a gala and accept contributions for a charity that evening, to offset the cost of the fundraiser, the donors themselves are meeting the principals of the individual charities. We don’t get credited with the donations that are made, once that happens, directly to the charities.”

  “I see how that plays in. So, some of your donors may be making donations directly, and naturally, the Foundation gets no credit for that.”

  “Exactly. We make the introduction, and the donors may choose to donate directly.”

  I’ve learned to be erratic in my questioning, this way the person being questioned cannot anticipate my next question, and prepare for it. I asked, “You knew Mrs. Longworth at Columbia, didn’t you?”

  This surprised her a bit. She uncrossed her arms and moved forward on her chair. “Yes, I knew Mrs. Longworth at Columbia.”

  “And you were good friends?”

  She moved uncomfortab
ly, “Yes, we were friends. How is that relevant?”

  “Did you both stay in touch after college?”

  Thinking before answering, she replied, “Yes we did.”

  “Was there even a need to secure the services of a head-hunter to hire you?”

  “The Foundation Board set the protocol to find a new executive director, Sheila, I mean Mrs. Longworth, as president, followed it. But, before you ask, yes, she included my name in the search, and I went through all the interviews with the hiring committee.”

  “Did you guys socialize before and after you became the director?”

  “Socialize?” she asked, tilting her head. “Is that what you are asking?” She knew exactly what I meant.

  “No. Was there any kind of relationship between the two of you?”

  “I’ll answer this way. We shared an apartment her last two years at Columbia. Is that what you wanted to know?”

  I had to ask. All of a sudden, there was an elephant in the room. “Were you lovers?”

  “What happened in the past, is the past. I think you want to ask if we’re lovers now?”

  “That was my next question, yes.”

  “Let’s just say that we have remained excellent friends.”

  “That’s clear enough. Are you directly involved in bringing new donations to the Foundation?”

  “Originally the Foundation was mostly Longworth’s family donations. But, since I’ve joined, I’ve expanded the donor list considerably, yes.”

  “That’s due to the people you knew from your days as a trust officer and then, manager, right?”

  “Of course. You do the right thing for people, and somehow you get rewarded. Funny how that works, isn’t it?” She said, with a smirk.

  “That’s what I’m trying to do, myself,” I said, smiling. “Any issues with the IRS?”

  “For a detective, you should be more direct with your questions, Mr. Mancuso. I’m sure you know we were audited last year. But, that’s only due to the increase in funds coming in. It generated a red flag, and we were audited. Nothing more.”