by Owen Parr
“Marcy, can you help with that?” Dom asked.
“I can call the coroner and ask that they hold off. But, I’m going to get questioned about that. I’m not investigating the suicide,” Marcy retorted.
I said, “Tell them you want to make sure the suicide isn’t related to your investigation and you need the body one more day.”
“I’ll get some shit for that, but what’s new, right? You have the coroner’s number?”
I gave Marcy the number, and she made her call. I expected some blowback from the family. But the guy was dead anyway, so what was the hurry, unless they were covering something up?
Marcy disconnected her call. “Guess what?”
“What?” I replied.
“The body was cremated this morning. We are S.O.L.,” she said.
“Doctor Death promised me he was going to hold off for one day,” I said, a bit loudly.
Dom glanced at me. “By ‘Doctor Death,’ I presume you’re referring to the coroner?”
“His name is Frankie,” I said, hitting the bar counter with my hand.
Marcy said, “I’m out of here. Let’s reconvene here at noon or so.”
“I’ll call Ms. Melody and Mrs. Parker to tell them I’m coming over,” said Father Dom. “What are you going to do, Joey?”
“I’ll wait a while and visit the partners after Marcy is done. Wouldn’t want to interfere with an FBI investigation,” I said, making a face at Marcy.
She stuck her tongue out at me and walked out.
I turned to Mr. Pat. “Mr. Pat, you can’t be here eighteen hours a day. Go home. We’ll open the bar at two in the afternoon. Come in about four, please.”
“Okay, I’ll do that. Everything is clean and ready to open. See you then,” Mr. Pat said as he walked out.
Besides being the manager of the pub, Patrick O’Sullivan was like an uncle to Dom and me. We shared any profits from the pub with Mr. Pat, as if he was an owner.
Father Dom and I stayed for a few minutes comparing notes to make sure we’d advanced the investigation by asking the right questions. I was wondering if Ms. Melody would make a move on Dom. After all, she was a bit aggressive. Maybe a nymphomaniac, I thought. I’d love to be a fly on the wall for their meeting.
12
Marcy showed up at Evans, Albert, and Associates wearing her dark blue FBI windbreaker. “Good morning, I need to see Mr. Evans and Mr. Albert, please,” she announced, flashing her creds to the receptionist.
“Do you have an appointment?” replied the receptionist, a bit snappy.
“Let them know FBI Special Agent Martinez is here, and I need to speak to them.”
“Have a seat. I’ll see if they’re available.”
Fifteen minutes later, Evans’ assistant came for Marcy. “Ms. Martinez, follow me, please.” They walked to the conference room. “Mr. Evans and Albert will be right in.”
“Thank you.”
Another three minutes went by, and Albert showed up alone. “Good morning, I’m Thomas Albert. You must be Ms. Martinez?”
“Yes, good morning. I’m special agent Martinez with the FBI. Is Mr. Evans not available?”
“He may join us in a few minutes. He’s tied up in an overseas conference call with a client. How can I help you?” Albert said in is raspy voice.
“Mr. Albert, I’m with the white-collar division of the local FBI office here in New York City.”
Albert sat up in his chair. “I see, and what can I do for you?”
“This is simply a preliminary discussion. I’m just gathering some facts.”
“I’ll be happy to answer your questions, unless you think I need an attorney present.”
“That’s always up to you, of course.”
“What sparked this visit? Perhaps you can start with that,” he replied, smiling.
“The Department of Justice received an anonymous letter that claimed your firm is involved in the practice of insider trading.”
“That sounds like a broad allegation. Do you always follow up on anonymous letters without any facts?” Albert asked, crossing his arms and leaning back.
“I didn’t say the letter did not have facts.”
“If you had serious facts, this might not be just a preliminary investigation now, would it? Sounds more like a disgruntled former employee—or even a client,” he said, opening his arms.
“Have you let any employees go lately?”
“I’d have to check, but this is a highly competitive field. Some make it; others don’t.”
“I see. How about clients? Have you lost some lately?”
“We always have clients that close their accounts or change firms, for some reason or another.”
“Is it possible to get a list of both?”
“We can put that together for you, of course. But we’ll need a warrant. You understand that our clients’ files are confidential.”
“How many traders and portfolio managers do you have?”
“I assume you’re asking about individuals who manage funds invested by our clients. We have five portfolio managers overseeing different styles of portfolios, and then we have twelve traders who perform the buying and selling of the actual securities based on the portfolio managers’ direction.”
“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 repos
sessed. “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.”
13
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 avenue, 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.<
br />
“We’re headed to the Riverside Apartment complex on the Upper West Side of Manhattan, correct?” asked the Uber driver.
“Yes, thank you.”
14
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?”
