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

  Part 3

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Friday, January 7th

  After my reveal of the murderer last night, I had asked Father Dom to call Marcy and tell her he wanted to visit her in the morning. After she had agreed, he mentioned I may be coming along. To which, she had no reaction.

  We didn’t want to come into the city, for fear the jury would be ready with a verdict, and we would be late getting there. So, I picked up brother Dom at Saint Helen’s in Brooklyn, and began making our way, in my collector’s Shelby Mustang, to Marcy’s place. Marcy’s apartment was a few blocks from Interstate two-seventy-eight, which would put me at the courthouse in Riverhead, in less than thirty minutes.

  “How is Marcy doing?” asked Dom.

  “Physically, she is recovering well. Mentally, I think she is still suffering from depression. At least, that’s what the doctors told her parents. She said that we should take a break from each other.”

  “She said that?”

  “She did. I tried telling her that it was wrong for two people that love each other to break up for no reason.”

  “But why does she want to break up?”

  “She says she needs time to think about her future. She’s contrasting my recent offers, to expand our investigation services, to her potential demise within the FBI.”

  “You think she resents your success?”

  “Not consciously, no. But, you may resent others who are on the escalator up, if you think you’re on the down escalator. Because of her state of depression, that’s what I think is going on.”

  “She’ll come out of that, I’m sure.”

  “She didn’t break it off completely. She just wants a little time to think. I’m willing to wait.”

  “You think she won’t be able to get her job back?”

  “If her right arm remains impaired by more than five percent, she will not be able to pass the firearms test. I’m pretty sure of that. I told her I would work with her as much as she needs me to.” Just as I said that, my phone vibrated, and rang.

  “This is Mancuso,” I said, as I answered the phone.

  “Mr. Mancuso, this is Eileen, Mrs. Goldstein’s assistant. The jury is ready with a verdict.”

  I glanced at my watch, and it read ten-thirty. ‘Shit’, I said to myself. “Thank you, Eileen. Let Mrs. Goldstein know I’m on my way.”

  Dom asked, “Verdict is in?”

  “Not good, Padre. Not a lot of deliberation. Why don’t you call Marcy, and let her know we’ll stop by later,” I said, as I took a left turn heading to the interstate.

  Dominic made the call that lasted all of fifteen seconds.

  I asked, “What did she say?”

  “She just said; whatever.”

  “Fuck, she’s pissed.”

  “I’ll talk to her later. She’ll be fine,” Dom added.

  I stepped on the gas as we entered the interstate, trying to spot any Highway Patrol vehicles. My red Mustang is a magnet for police looking for speedsters, and now that I don’t have a detective shield, it’s harder to talk my way out of a speeding ticket.

  We entered the courtroom, and I noticed Ruth, Inez, and Mr. Longworth already seated at the defense table. Dom took a place in the back, as I made my way to the defense table, and took my seat next to Inez. The Longworth children sat right behind us, in the first row of the gallery.

  The jury filed in and sat. A minute later, Judge Wesley came in from his chambers, sat, and called the session to order. He went through minor preliminaries, and then asked, “Has the jury reached a verdict?”

  Juror number four, who sat in the front, wearing a business suit, stood, and said, “We have Your Honor.”

  Wesley said, “Will the clerk read the charges.”

  Mrs. Goldstein, Harold, Inez, and I stood behind our table.

  The clerk stood and said, “In the case of the State of New York, versus Mr. Harold Longworth, and the charge of first-degree felony murder, how do you find the defendant?”

  There was complete silence in the courtroom, as juror number four, the foreman, glanced down at a sheet of paper, and read, “We find the defendant, Mr. Harold Longworth, guilty as charged.”

  Harold leaned forward, lowered his head, and put his hands on the table to remain steady, as his daughter, Margery, cried out, “No, that’s wrong.”

  Ruth put her right arm on Harold’s shoulder, pulling him into her.

  Judge Wesley asked the entire jury if that was their verdict, to which they all said, yes, almost in unison. Wesley thanked the jury, and said, “Sentencing will take place Wednesday, February first, at nine in the morning. Mr. Longworth, you are to remain in custody until then. The court is adjourned.”

  Margery and her brother, Tom, came over to the defense table. Harold sat dejected, as Margery cried, and embraced her father from behind.

  I had hoped for a ‘not guilty’ verdict, but I was prepared for this. Of course, it was a lot easier for me, than for Mr. Longworth. I approached him, as he still sat, leaned down, and said, “Mr. Longworth, this is not over. Please rest assured that I will do my utmost, to reverse this injustice.”

  Margery embraced me, and with tears in her eyes, said, “Please Mr. Mancuso, find the murderer.”

  Moments later, Harold Longworth was taken into custody.

  Before I walked out of the courtroom, I told Ruth that I would call her later, she replied, “Do your thing, Joey.”

  Out in the hallway, Detective Angelo Levy was waiting for me. As he approached me, he said, “I told you, brother Cain, this was a simple case, and the jury got it right.”

  “Angelo,” I said, “I know you’re happy, but the jury made a mistake, he didn’t do it, and I’ll prove it. But, I’m going to need a favor from you.”

  “Hah. Of course, you would say that. Look, I got it right, and the jury got it right. As for a favor, you’re all out of favors, Mancuso. See you around, buddy,” Levy said, as he turned and walked away.

  Father Dom was a few feet away listening to my exchange with Levy. Walking out with me, he asked, “What now?”

  I smiled, “Now, we go to work, and find a way to prove who killed Mrs. Longworth, Padre. I have a plan.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  I left the courthouse with Father Dom. Our next stop was to be Marcy’s, but, as much as I wanted to be there with her, I was not in the mood to argue.

  “Do you still want to go to Marcy’s? I asked.

  “I told her I would stop by. Why? You don’t want to go?’

  “Perhaps it’s best if you talk to her by yourself. I’ve got too many things in my head, and time is of the essence.”

  “Is that the reason?” Dom asked, looking at me.

  “No. I just don’t need any more rejection today. I need to stay focused and finalize this plan. To overturn the conviction, we pretty much need to prove who pulled the trigger. New evidence is not going to get this case reopened by anyone. They’re done, case closed, finito.”

  “I understand. Drop me off at her place.”

  “How about I drop you off a block away. I don’t want her seeing me in the car, and knowing I’m not coming in.”

  “No problem. I’ll tell her what happened with the case. She’ll understand that you’re on the hunt. Are you headed to the pub?”

  “No, I don’t want to drive into Manhattan now. I’ll go to my place, and make some calls from there.”

  I drove to my home, and as I looked around, it struck me that I would be spending more time here now, and not at Marcy’s. I had a small apartment, and it looked more like a huge walk-in closet, with a refrigerator.

  I started to put a few things away, when my cell phone rang somewhere in the apartment. Locating it, I answered it, “Mancuso here.”

  “Joey, Captain Johnson here, I just heard the verdict. I’m sorry to hear that, you were convinced he didn’t do it.”

  “Hey, Captain, I’m still convinced he is innocent. By the way, I was just going to call you.”<
br />
  “Ready to accept my offer to consult for us?”

  “Not yet, but, we’re leaning that way. First, I need to finish this case.”

  “You think you can find new evidence to overturn the conviction?”

  “No, I know who the killer is. Proving it, is another matter. That’s why I was going to call. I need your help.”

  “Joey, sounds like you’re up to one of your old tricks. The same thing that got you in trouble with Internal Affairs, before.”

  “Except I’m not under their scrutiny anymore.”

  “No, but I would be.”

  “Captain, I just need you for an hour, at most. Promise, I won’t get you fired.”

  “If this is going to help you close this case, and get you started with us, what do you need?”

  “How about we meet for dinner tonight at Vinnie’s, on me? I might have another person with us, and maybe Father Dominic.”

  “Eight o’clock okay?”

  “Sounds like a date,” I replied.

  “By the way, how is Marcy?”

  “Oh, she’s doing better. She’s home now. Thanks for asking.”

  “Give her my love. I’ll see you later, Joey.”

  “Thank you,” I said, clicking off my phone.

  That was part of the plan. Now, I had to recruit a second law-enforcement person, to join my ruse. I thought of calling Detective Angelo Levy, but then I thought to myself, ‘fuck him.’ I made my call.

  “This is Tony Belford.”

  “Special Agent Tony, Mancuso here. How are you?”

  “Good, Joey. I just left Marcy’s place. Your brother was there. I thought you would have stopped by, with him.”

  “I’m trying to put something together, and I’m tied up with it. That’s why I called. I may need your help again.”

  “Father Dom told me they found your client guilty. That's a shame.”

  “Well, he’s not. And that’s what I need your help with.”

  “How can I help?”

  “It’s a little bit out-of-box, type of thing.”

  “Is it legal?”

  “Ah, we can discuss that, you know more about the law than I do.”

  “Right, Mancuso, sure. How do you want to go about it?”

  “I’m meeting my old captain, Captain Johnson, for dinner. He’s agreed to help,” I said, with full conviction. “Can you join us at eight tonight?”

  He didn’t answer for a few seconds, then I added, “Look, you’ve got to have dinner anyway, and I’m buying. If, after I explain what I need, you don’t feel comfortable with it, that’s fine. You’ll have a little vino, some great Italian food, and done. Oh, by the way, dress casually.”

  “Okay, Joey. You’re in luck. I was headed to D.C. today, but, I’m leaving Monday instead. Tell me where.”

  So, I gave him directions to Vinnie’s, in Brooklyn, and that was that. I decided to text Dominic with the dinner plans, as opposed to calling. I guess I was trying to avoid Marcy, for fear of what she might say. Then a thought occurred to me; Is this Belford guy moving in on Marcy? Is that’s what’s going on here?

  I drove to Vinnie’s a little before eight that evening. I wanted to make sure we had the private room in the back so that we could speak freely. Old Vinnie Sparano, was a paisan and had been a good friend of my Dad’s, which, in itself, gave you a clue as to Vinnie and his customers. It was going to be fun having an FBI agent and a police captain, in a famiglia restaurant, full of wise guys. You know what I’m talking about.

  Vinnie greeted me upon entering the restaurant giving me a strong hug, “Giuseppe, Figlio mi, come stai?”

  I replied, “Buono, Vinnie, Buono.”

  “Va tutto bene?”

  “Sì, tutto va bene, grazie,” I responded.

  Having secured the private room, and having kissed half the patrons in the restaurant, I waited outside for my guys. I didn’t want them walking in there without an escort. Captain Johnson arrived first, and we made small talk without going in. FBI Special Agent Belford, came a few minutes after. No matter how casual he dressed, he looked GQ Federal, any way you put it. And of course, he was wearing his ever-present phone earbud.

  We walked to the private room, and I noticed the faces were not too happy with these two. As a matter of fact, the captain nodded to a few of the guys having dinner. Some of them are known as ‘the usual suspects.’

  Serving from a bottle of Chianti that Vinnie had set up for us, I finished introducing them to each other. I then informed them that Vinnie served food, family style. There was no menu, whatever Vinnie wanted us to eat, he would serve. I used Vinnie’s line with his new customers and sounding like Vinnie speaking English, I said, “If you no like it my food, get a boorger, at the corner macdonna.”

  We had a good laugh, and I got started.

  “Thanks again for being here. My client, Mr. Longworth, is innocent. Not because I think so. But, because I know so. All the evidence pointed to him, that’s why they, the police, overlooked the not-so-obvious,” I said, as a waiter brought in some appetizers.

  “Start at the top. I want to get a feel for the suspects you uncovered,” said Captain Johnson.

  “I started with four suspects, then narrowed them down to three, then the one, the killer. The background research we did on all four was precious, the information you provided me with, Tony,” I said, pointing at Agent Belford, “was a key to unraveling this mystery.”

  Johnson glanced at Tony, and smiled, then drank from his Chianti.

  “Then, the good old legwork the two detectives did was crucial. Here are some of the things I observed, I paused, taking a sip from my vino. “Mrs. Longworth and the killer had a romantic encounter in the large bathtub of the home. Then, they proceeded to shower together, and I guess to rinse the soap, or whatever, from their bodies. After that, Mrs. L put on a terry bathrobe, but, instead of putting on her own, she put on her husband’s.”

  “How do you know that?” asked Belford.

  “Right. The robes had a monogram. The only letter visible was an H, which I thought represented the Helmsley Palace Hotel, were Mr. and Mrs. L had stayed once. What I thought was the P, for Palace, was unreadable, since one round entered the body right on the P, and between the blood stains, and the powder burn, you could not see it. It turns out the second letter was an L, for Longworth. So, his robe had an HL, and her robe, would have had an SS, for Sheila Sanders, her maiden name. Harold, the husband, confirmed that they had had the robes monogrammed at the time they stayed at the hotel, when they were both single.”

  Johnson asked, “How do you know Sheila wore her husband’s robe?”

  “The crime scene video, and photographs, clearly show that the robe Mrs. L. wore had the letter H above the top pocket. The second letter was unrecognizable. Plus, the robe was way too long for her. And Mrs. L. was a tall woman, taller than her lover, slash killer. Had her lover worn Mr. L’s robe, it would have dragged uncomfortably. Plus, I think, it would have been more romantic for the lover to wear Sheila’s robe. To share the intimacy of being nude, wearing her lover’s robe.”

  “Was there any DNA found? Hairs, or anything else in the bed?” asked Johnson.

  “They did not use the bed, for that same reason. After all, Mr. L. would be sleeping in that bed that evening. Instead, they did their thing in the tub, and perhaps, in the shower. If so, everything would wash away. You should see the size of both the tub and the shower.”

  “Joey, even in the tub or shower, there may have been something?” inquired Belford.

  “Possibly, but again, the police never bothered to check that. It was all wrapped in a small package for them, and they stopped short.”

  “Was the second robe found? That would have some clues?” Johnson asked.

  “My theory is that the killer used the robe, turning it inside out, to cover their tracks down the stairs. For sure, they had to step on the bloody carpet, and the marble steps leading downstairs would have recorded their footprints.
They could have easily walked on the robe, as they made their way down, holding the collar and walking, or sliding, on the robe. Plus, at the same time, they removed that piece of evidence which would have their hairs, at a minimum, plus, the missing specks of blood, from the backward spatter.”

  “This is why I want you to come back and work with us,” added Johnson.

  Agent Belford added, “Oh, Marcy mentioned that to me.”

  I ignored Belford’s comment then smiled, continuing, “Mr. L. claims to have heard a noise downstairs. He saw a gun under the bed, when he was on the floor next to his wife’s body, picked up the gun, and cautiously walked downstairs. This was when he left his bloody footprints on the marble staircase. He looked around the home and found nothing, giving the killer time to exit the house via the kitchen door. He hadn’t reset the alarm to on, after he entered the home at eleven-ten that night.”

  Belford asked, “What was the noise he heard?”

  “I visited the home and spoke to their maid, who has been with them for years. Although she was not allowed in until the scene was cleared, she admitted to not finding anything broken that could have made the noise. At first, I thought the perp had knocked down a lamp, or fixture, but, after further review, the maid confirmed that two white wine glasses were missing after that evening.”

  “How do you know they were white wine glasses and not red wine glasses?” asked Captain Johnson.

  “Captain, I was born in Little Italy, but I’m not ignorant of the differences, you know what I mean?’

  “Then educate a boy from the Midwest, would you?” he quipped.

  “Tony, you want to answer that?” I asked, knowing full well that Mr. GQ knew exactly the difference.

  Tony smiled, “Happy to. When it comes to red wine, there are two types. But first the similarities; red wine glasses are rounder, wider bowl. This gives the wine space to breathe. Now, there is the Bordeaux glass and Burgundy glass. The Bordeaux glass is tall with a deep bowl, as it delivers the wine to the back of the mouth. The Burgundy glass is broader, and it has a bigger bowl to capture the aromas of more delicate red wines. This style of glass makes sure the wine goes to the tip of the tongue.”