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

  “Who do you think killed Mrs. Longworth?”

  Geraldine shifted in her seat, “I think it’s obvious her husband did it. All the evidence points to him, doesn’t?”

  I ignored her question. “What happens to the Foundation, in that case?”

  “That’s up to the board, if Mr. Longworth is exonerated, and that’s a big if, then, he’ll probably become president. Otherwise, the board may decide to dissolve the Foundation.”

  “I see. What happens to the funds in there now, now?”

  “Those would be distributed to the various charities we have identified, and that will be that.”

  “Are you worried about your job?”

  “I never worry about things I cannot control. Many of our new donors have family foundations of their own, I’m sure I would not be unemployed too long.”

  “Can I get a complete list of the donors?”

  “You’ll have to ask the board. We are a private Foundation. But, if you like you can send us a letter and I’ll bring it up to the board.”

  “A letter, right. Mrs. Adams, Jessica Jones, is a member of the board?”

  “I’m sure you know the answer to that. What about her?”

  “Are you friends with her?”

  “In no different way than with other members of the board. Is there anything else, Mr. Mancuso? I have things to do,” she said, getting up from her chair.

  I got the hint that I was being dismissed. “No, that will do it, Ms. Francis. Thank you very much for your time,” I replied, standing and shaking the hand she had extended. “Oh, I did want to ask you if you have ever visited the Longworth’s residence?”

  “On occasion, yes. Sheila, has had a number of Foundation parties there.”

  “How about their master bedroom?”

  Geraldine’s facial expression revealed some concern, as she squinted, and replied with a question, in order to gain a few seconds to properly respond. “Their master bedroom, you ask?”

  “Yes,” I answered, curtly.

  “Sheila and I have sat in their bedrooms seating area, yes. By the bay window. Why?”

  “The police had found some prints there that they never connected to anyone,” I responded. In actuality, the police only found partials, but no need to reveal that fact. “Thank you again. I’ll be on my way.”

  Taking the elevator down eight floors, I added a few items to my small notepad. Old habits die slow, and I had not gotten used to tapping my notes on my phone’s notepad app. Geraldine Francis was one tough lady, but at least, I confirmed Mrs. Longworth’s bisexuality. Perhaps, Geraldine was the lover Mr. Longworth suspected.

  Reaching the lobby, I noticed it was fifteen minutes to noon. Court would still be in session, with a possible break for lunch soon. I wanted to talk to Mr. Longworth and both Mr. Adams and Pearson. I decided to head that way, and see if at least I could meet Harold, the accused.

  While in the car I dialed Agnes. “Hey, Ms. Agnes, how you doin’?”

  “Hi, Joey. How’s Marcy?”

  “Doing better, thank you for asking. I need you to go onto the web and find something out for me.”

  “Name it.”

  “I need the list of donors for the Longworth Foundation. The latest list, especially the ones that have donated after Geraldine Francis was named the Executive Director. Can you get that?”

  “You doubt my prowess?”

  “No, I don’t. But, I need it pronto. Dig deep, there may be some shelter companies that lead to others.”

  “I’m on it, Joey.”

  I disconnected Agnes, and next I searched for Special Agent Tony Belford’s number. Finding it, I clicked on ‘call.’

  “This is FBI Special Agent Tony Belford, how can I help you?” he answered, in a deep serious voice.

  “Belford, this is Joey Mancuso.”

  “Mancuso,” he responded, pronouncing my name correctly, not his usual ‘Man-cue-so’ mocking way. “I visited with Marcy this morning, she seems to be doing better. What can I do for you?”

  “Your offer to help me in my case, is it still open?”

  “Of course, anything I can do, just let me know.”

  “Great, thank you. I’m going to send you a list of donors to the Longworth Foundation.”

  “Okay,” he said, in an apprehensive tone.

  “I need to know if the FBI has any open probes into any of these donors. Can you do that for me?”

  “I think I can. Is there anything in particular I should be looking for?”

  “I don’t know yet. I just want to know that all these donations, and donors, are all above board.”

  “You suspect some shenanigans?”

  “I have a hunch. But, I want you to look into it for me.”

  “Text them to me, or, if too big, attach it to an email. I’ll text you my email address in a minute.”

  “Belford, thank you. I owe you.”

  “Anything for you and Marcy. By the way, how soon do you need this?”

  “Yesterday.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Arriving at the Riverhead Criminal court on One Court Street, Riverhead, New York, I asked a bow-tied, skinny clerk, with bad hair, and shadows under his eyes, for the courtroom in which Mr. Longworth was being tried. In a lethargic fashion, taking longer than necessary to find the information, he finally told me the courtroom the trial was in.

  Mr. Longworth was standing in front of both attorneys; Adams and Pearson. Court was recessed for lunch, and Harold was saying his goodbyes to both men. Slowing my pace, I waited for the huddle of three to break up, as I only wanted to converse with Mr. L.

  Longworth turned towards me, with the attorneys turning and walking the other way, without spotting my presence. “Mr. Longworth, I’m happy I ran into you.”

  “Hi Mr. Mancuso, Marshall and Chuck just left. Did you want to see them?”

  “No, sir. It’s you, I want. Do you have a few minutes?” I asked, keeping pace with his fast pace, as he headed for the exit.

  “Joey, I wanted to visit my office during our break. I have a few things pending, I need to attend to,” he said, without slowing down.

  “It’s important we speak, if you don’t mind,” I said, pointing to a bench in the lobby, by the entrance of a courtroom.

  “Very well,” he replied, turning to walk towards the bench. “I suppose whatever is pending may not be of importance, if they put me away, right? What’s on your mind?” He inquired, as we both sat down and turned to face each other.

  “I have good news and bad news. I’ll start with the bad news; I do believe that Mrs. Longworth was having an affair,” I said, as his face broadened with a frown.

  “And what would the good news be?” He inquired, lowering his head.

  “You, yourself, already know this, but I’m convinced you did not murder your wife.”

  His face brightened somewhat and he locked eyes with mine. “Unless you can prove someone else did, that’s of little consolation.”

  “I do think I can uncover the perpetrator. My issue is the time that is left on this trial.”

  “Who is your suspect?” He inquired.

  “That’s the problem, I have them down to possibly four persons.”

  “You have four suspects in this short time? How is that possible?”

  “I’m afraid that two of them are your attorneys.”

  “That’s absurd, Mr. Mancuso. Marshall and Chuck? I don’t believe it. What makes you think that?”

  Glancing around the vast lobby, I replied, “I rather not get into details with you. But, suffice it to say, I believe I can fashion some doubt with the jury. I don’t need to convict anyone, just sway one juror to believe that someone else may have been the murderer.”

  “But how are you going to do this? They are my attorneys.”

  “This is where it gets a little thorny. There’s more than one benefit to doing this, so, please hear me out. I want you to dismiss Adams and Pearson as your advocates. Then, we are going
to replace them. In doing this, we can accomplish two things; one, it allows another attorney to bring in Adams and Pearson to testify. Secondly; we may be able to have the judge give you a continuance, so that the new attorneys have time to catch up. Not a guarantee, but very likely.”

  “If I do this, are we telling Marshall and Pearson you think they are suspects?”

  “No, I would not want to do that.”

  “I didn’t think you would,” he said, glancing at the ceiling. “What would we tell them?”

  “I would say that they are excellent character witnesses for you, especially Mr. Adams, whom you’ve known most of your life, and that we need their testimony.”

  “But, do you have any proof that either one of them did it? I mean, my God, these guys are friends.”

  “Right now, sir, we need to find one more friend, amongst the twelve persons in that jury.”

  Harold sat back, then leaned forward, placing his hands on his knees. Shaking his head, he asked, “Do you have a law firm in mind?”

  “We don’t have the luxury of time, and I have done some due diligence, on another matter on the firm of Bevans and Associates. A top, top law firm in criminal justice.”

  “Yes, I’ve heard of them. How do we do this?”

  “You need to speak to Simon Cohen, the managing partner of the firm. I will call him and give him a heads up. Then, if you want, I can speak to Adams and Pearson.”

  “No, no. I must tell them both, myself.”

  “I understand. But, I need to question them later, after the trial today.”

  “I’ll tell them immediately after the conclusion of today’s trial. I guess I need to call Cohen now.”

  “I will text you his number in a minute. Don’t feel uncomfortable about this decision. I really think is for the best, your best interest.”

  “I see where you’re headed with this, and I appreciate your candor. As much as I hate to think one of them did this gruesome act, I’ll do as you ask.”

  “Remember, I haven’t said that either one did it. They may be as innocent as you are.”

  “Okay Joey, give Cohen a heads up, and I’ll call after. Text me the number after you speak to him, this way I know you have.”

  “Very well, sir. By the way, who testifies in the afternoon?”

  “My daughter and son. My heart breaks that they have to be brought into this,” he said, getting up from the bench. “Imagine having to testify on behalf of your father, who is accused of killing your mother. Repulsive, just horrible.”

  That had to be a very distasteful experience for children, regardless of age, to have to do. At least, neither one thought their father, Mr. L., was responsible for the death of their mother. Walking out with him, I asked, “Sir, are you taking a car service back to your office?”

  “Yes,” he replied pointing to a Ford Taurus.

  “May I take a minute and ask the driver a couple of questions?”

  “By all means, his name is Carlos,” he replied, as we approached the Taurus.

  Carlos, a slightly overweight Filipino-looking person, was waiting for Mr. Longworth.

  “Carlos, may I ask you a question?”

  “Yes sir, of course.”

  I wanted to know something, “Uber keeps a record of each of your trips, correct?’

  “Yes sir, that’s how they email you a receipt. It’s all computerized.”

  “Suppose I wanted to know if someone took your service to a particular address on a particular night. Would there be a record of that?”

  “I imagine the central office could do a search by dates, then destinations, or point of pick up. But, are you sure they used Uber?

  “That’s the thing, I don’t know.”

  “In that case, you have a problem. There’re a few companies like us, Lyft and others. Then, you have the cabs, and the limo services. You know what I mean?”

  “I hear you, Carlos, you’re full of good news.”

  Carlos glanced at me through the passenger window, and laughed out loud. “Sorry, sir.”

  “It’s okay, it was a longshot.”

  He added, “Do you know the person who took the ride?”

  “Maybe, why?” I inquired.

  “Because, if they used one of the services with an application on their phone, they would have a record on their phone. But, if they used a cab, or a private limo service, then no, no information.”

  “That’s very observant of you, Carlos, thank you.” So much for me using my powers of deduction. Huh, some Sherlock Holmes I am, I thought to myself. I patted the passenger door to signify I was done, waved at Mr. Longworth, and Carlos took off.

  I took Marcy’s car back to the hospital, knowing full well I may have to come back here to meet up with Adams and Pearson. And on that, these hombres were going to be pissed. Especially, if one of them did it.

  I wanted to know if brother Dominic had made contact with Mrs. Adams, Jessica Jones, so I pressed ‘one’ on my speed dial button.

  “Big bro, how you doin’?” I asked Dominic.

  “On my way to meet Mrs. Adams. How about you?”

  “Just left Mr. Longworth. He’s agreed to replace Adams and Pearson. Felt sorry about it, but he understood why.”

  “Have you spoken to the two attorneys?”

  “Will do later today, right now I’m headed to see Marcy.”

  “I’ll try and make it there, then. We’ll need to meet and compare notes. You want me to speak to Geraldine?”

  “I would, but, let’s play it by ear. I think I got all we’re going to get from her at this point. If we get a continuance, then perhaps you should.”

  “How is Marcy?”

  “When I left this morning, she was fine. I think she agreed to marry me.”

  “That’s wonderful, why did you say ‘I think’?”

  “She was doped up, I bet you she won’t remember she said it.”

  “Oh, that’s too funny. At least in her subconscious she’s thinking about it.”

  “She is, right?”

  “Later, Joey, I’m here now,” Father Dom said, clicking off his phone.

  Next, I called Simon Cohen, managing partner at Bevans and Associates. His first reaction, due to the fact it was only a few days since our meeting, was to think I was calling about declining their offer to join forces. But then, I went on to give him a heads up, on the fact he was about to receive a call from Harold Longworth, and telling Cohen I would explain the game plan later.

  Involvement in this case and the eventful happening with Marcy, had kept me from my duties at the pub, although Mr. Pat ran the place without any help from us. I called Mr. Pat on the land line, and he replied in his Irish brogue, “Captain O’Brian’s Pub and Cigar Bar, how may we be of service?”

  “Mr. Pat, how you doin’?” I asked, in my Italian way.

  Patrick laughed, and spoke without the brogue, “Joey, we’re okay. I talked to Marcy today, she sounds much better.”

  “I’m on my way to see her now. How’re things at the pub?”

  “Splendid, my boy. We’re doing just fine. By the way, Dino came over to talk to you.”

  Dino, whose real name was Alan Feinstein, was the owner of Dino’s Deli, directly adjacent to our pub. In my opinion, he served the best sandwiches in New York. It was a combination Italian and Jewish deli, and our patrons enjoyed ordering from Dino’s and eating at our pub. The synergy had worked well for both Dino and ourselves.

  “What did he want, Mr. Pat?”

  “He intends to sell the place, and retire to Costa Rica, with his wife. He wants us to consider buying it, before he talks to anyone else.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “I explained what’s going on right now, and that you boys had no time to consider his offer. He said he is in no particular hurry, just wanted to make us aware.”

  “Something to think about, I guess. Let’s put that on the back burner for now, and we can look at it later. How’s business?”

 
“This time of year, it’s slow, as you know. Our Wall Street regulars are mostly out of town during the holidays. However, we’ve had a constant flow of tourists to make up for it. Don’t worry about a thing, we have it under control.”

  I hung up with Mr. Pat as I was getting close to University Hospital. I called Agnes. “Agnes, my love, how are you doing’?”

  “Hey, Joey, how’s Marcy?”

  I gave her a quick update and told her I was on my way to visit.

  “How was the research I sent you guys?” she asked.

  “Excellent. By the way, I need you do more on Geraldine Francis.”

  “That’s the Executive Director of the Longworth Foundation.”

  “Correct. Find out more background, who she worked for before, and anything else you can dig up. Know what I mean?”

  “Is she your prime suspect?”

  “No, but we need to get more. I haven’t spoken to the attorneys yet. Also, see if there’s more on Mrs. Adams, Jessica Jones. Father Dom is meeting with her today.”

  “How is Father Dominic?” she asked, sheepishly.

  “You saw him this morning at Mass. How was he?”

  “Reverend, as usual.”

  I didn’t want to encourage this. Dominic was becoming an obsession with Agnes. I mean, every day she went to his two Masses in the morning. No wonder Dom thought Agnes was a stalker.

  “Agnes, let me know when you have this research done. We don’t have much time. Gotta go now,” I said, pushing the red button on my phone.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Marcy was, in fact, doing better. She was alert and smiling, with her parents. Physical therapy had not started yet, and that would be an ordeal for her. I didn’t know if she knew that she may lose some mobility of her right arm. So, I decided to leave that topic alone, for the moment. After all, that could be an issue that interfered with her FBI career. I was curious if she remembered her conversation with me last time I was here, so I decided to test it out, “Hey, remember the time we went to the Top of the Sixes?”

  “Sure, what about it?” she replied.

  “Remember what you ate that evening?”

  “It was a year ago, I had the corned beef and cabbage. Why would you bring that up now?”