by Owen Parr
“This,” I said, “is a Scotty Cameron Tel3, Del Mar Two model, golf putter. I assume you’ve all played miniature golf at some time in your lives, so you know what this club is for. This model isn’t readily available anymore. It’s an old model. We searched Amazon, eBay, and other sites for us to find five identical putters. You see, when I saw the body of Mr. Parker at the ME’s office, we found a small blunt force trauma behind his head and above his right ear. It wasn’t enough evidence for the ME to change his suicide conclusion, but we both felt that it could have been administered, the trauma, that is, before the eventual death as he fell onto the landing on the second floor of the building.”
I nodded to Agnes again. “Now you see a picture of the putter’s face, and if you turn it,” Agnes flashed another picture, “you see that the front of the putter makes what seems like a right triangle.”
I moved to the screen and with my right index finger pointed to the triangle. Both Melody and Mr. Huffing examined the putter they were holding. “This triangle fits exactly the puncture that Mr. Parker had on the back of his head above the right ear.”
Albert wisecracked, “Good luck proving that. Parker was cremated.”
Melody, Adelle, and Huffing turned to look at Albert.
I smiled. “I found it mysterious how Mr. Parker’s golf bag was in his office on one day, and then the next day, it appeared at his home. Also, the large crystal Waterford ashtray and a golf trophy were sent to the home. Mrs. Parker confirmed that your office, Mr. Evans, had sent the items. You didn’t send any other personal items Mr. Parker had in his office—pictures, artwork, et cetera. Only the three items mentioned; the golf-bag, the Baccarat golf trophy, and the Waterford crystal ashtray. Our original thought was that one of these items could be the murder weapon. So, I stopped at your golf club in New Jersey, Mr. Albert, the same club Mr. Evans and Parker belong to, and while asking questions, I was told that you have quite the temper. As a matter of fact, few people like to play golf with you because of it, and you a have a reputation for throwing your clubs when you miss a shot.” I said, pausing.
Albert’s face became red and flushed with indignation, he got up from his chair, kicking the golf putter aside, from his jacket’s inside pocket, he pulled out a snub-nosed thirty-eight caliber revolver. There was a collective gasp from those sitting in the front seeing the silver revolver aimed at me. I could see the rage in his face and his trembling right hand holding the gun and taking a step towards me. He pulled the trigger as I stepped to my left. For an instant, I had a flashback of when my dad was shot in Little Italy when I was a young boy. I had been there and distinctly remembered the day. I thought to myself; Am I going to die like my dad, from a gunshot wound? The sound was deafening as the bullet grazed my right ear. Detective Farnsworth, who was standing in the front to the side, moved in quickly grabbing Albert’s right hand with both of his and kicked Albert in the groin. In the commotion, I heard a scream of “Joey,” from the back of the room as the white screen, behind me, fell to the ground from the shot striking it. Within seconds two uniforms reached the front and together with Farnsworth, wrestled Mr. Albert to the ground.
“Joey, are you alright?” Marcy asked, embracing me.
“I think so. Can’t hear very well. Other than that, I’m good.”
I glanced at the crowd; everyone was standing. Evans was frozen in place. Kapzoff, his attorney had a hand on Evans shoulder. I wanted to go on but I was a little dazed from the experience.
Dominic addressed the crowd, “Let’s take five minutes.”
Albert was handcuffed by the uniform officers and sat him in the second row between them.
I walked over to Farnsworth and thanked him.
After a few minutes, everyone took their seats again. I stood up to continue.
“That was a bit unexpected, I suppose we can add attempted murder to any other charges we may uncover. Right?” I said, smiling, then looking at Albert, “Let me go on. My assumption is, Mr. Albert, that on the day of Parker’s murder, both you and Mr. Evans argued with him. Jonathan Parker could not go through with conspiring to hide the Ponzi scheme and the insider trading. The promise of a full partnership, if he kept his mouth shut, wasn’t enough for him to be involved in the deceit and fraud you both created. Mr. Parker was a victim, and other than his misstep with Ms. Melody Wright, he was an honest person. We were curious why only three items were sent back to the home. Why lie about Mrs. Parker picking them up, and why only those three? Our assumption was that any one of those items—the golf clubs, the Waterford ashtray, or the trophy—could have been the murder weapon. You, sir, in a fit of anger, realizing your scheme was over, took one of the golf clubs, the ashtray, or the trophy and struck Mr. Parker on the back of his head. Then with the assistance of your cohort and partner in crime, Mr. Evans, you both pushed Jonathan Parker out the window.”
Albert said, “Try using that in court.”
“No, that’s not going to do it, of course. But here is what might work.” That was the cue for Agnes to flash a new photo. A picture of a white, rounded cast appeared on the screen. “Before the ME released the body of Parker for cremation, he made a cast of the back of Parker’s head. The section that had the blunt force trauma, the mystery triangle. And guess what? After examining each and every golf club in the bag, fourteen of them, the ashtray, and the trophy, we found that one golf club, the Scotty Cameron putter, fit the blunt trauma perfectly.”
“That doesn’t prove my clients did it,” said Kapzoff.
“No, but remember, I was curious why the golf bag and the other two items—the trophy and the ashtray—appeared at the Parker residence the next day. Would it be possible to remove the murder weapon from the scene of the crime? And so, Detectives Farnsworth and Charles got a warrant, and they had the actual putter in Parker’s golf bag dusted for prints,” I replied.
Albert moved uncomfortably in his seat.
“It turns out that the only prints on the putter, anywhere on the putter, belong to Mr. Thomas Albert III. Before you say he could have used the putter in his office to practice on the carpet, the prints aren’t consistent with the grip used when putting,” I said, as I grabbed a putter from Melody. “May I? Per the golf pros at your club who gave me a quick lesson on putting, this,” I said, showing the grip on the putter, “is the standard grip when putting for right-handed persons, such as Mr. Parker, Evans, and you, Mr. Albert. However, the prints on the putter are consistent with this grip,” I said, as I grabbed the putter in a manner compatible with striking someone. “I was further convinced just now that Melody, Adelle, and Mr. Huffing didn’t use the putter to kill Parker. They had no fear of handling the putter I gave them. But neither you nor Mr. Evans wanted to touch the putter I gave you.”
“Something else I found at your fancy club: Mr. Parker had stayed away from the club, but played Sunday, two days before his murder, and the protocol for caddies at your club is to wipe clean every member’s club at the completion of the game. Otherwise, they can be fined; you guys are tough on these poor caddies. So, we know the clubs were cleaned, and besides, the only prints are yours, sir. Ms. Wright will testify that she saw you both walk out of Mr. Parker’s office before she entered the office and found it empty and the window opened. So, that makes you both the last to have seen Jonathan Parker alive.”
Kapzoff whispered something to Albert.
I motioned to Agnes to turn off the screen. “That, folks, concludes our presentation.” Farnsworth motioned to the uniforms to come forward. Now they, Marcy, and her boss Victoria were handcuffing the perps.
Melody asked a uniform if she could say something to me. He nodded, and she approached me, quietly saying, “Is this why you didn’t want to have sex with me in your office the other day?”
“You were always a suspect, and I won’t have a relationship with a suspect. I can’t lose my objectivity, and I may, if I’m involved with a person,” I replied.
She smiled. “I see.”
&nbs
p; “Let me ask you a question.”
“Go ahead.”
“Is that why you wanted to have sex with me?”
“I found you attractive, but I thought that would help me.”
“At least you’re honest in that respect.”
“What if,” she paused, “what if I hadn’t been a suspect? Would you?”
I smiled and looked into her eyes. “I’m already spoken for. By the way, if you want to make a deal with the DA, better get yourself another law firm. This law firm has their bread buttered by the partners.”
“Yeah, but they’re out of money. I’m not.” Melody smiled and nodded as the uniform grabbed her arm and gently prodded her to walk towards the back.
I thought, she’s not as dumb as she acts.
Before she walked back, she asked one more question, “What led you to my identities? My prints from the drink we had at Woody Allen’s booth?”
“No, we were late to get those after you qualified as a suspect,” I replied.
“Then what?”
“Your kiss.”
“My kiss?” She asked as the uniformed policeman was getting anxious to take her back.
“The napkin you left me last Monday with your name and number. You planted a kiss on it with your bright red lipstick as a signature.”
“So, my lipstick was the clue?”
“No, not your lipstick. But we were able to rush a DNA test. From there we uncovered your identity. Remember your first husband that died from an overdose? You were a suspect then, and your DNA was on file. After that, it was like dominoes falling; one thing led to another, and another.”
She smiled, “So, I brought about this whole thing?”
I motioned to the officer to wait for another second, and said to her, “Mr. Parker’s death was the catalyst for our investigation. I think we would have solved his murder. Your involvement, however, led to a plethora of other crimes.”
The DA asked, “Is the bar still open?”
I replied, “Anyone that can stay is welcome to beverages, yes, of course.” The DA smiled and walked over to Mr. Pat, who was behind the bar putting ice in some new glasses. I waved at Kapzoff, who was walking out with all his newfound clients. “We’re having a wrap party for our off-Broadway play’s closing night during Happy Hour tonight, and you’re all welcome back then.”
35
Wednesday
It had been one day since our little off-Broadway play had closed. We’d been eagerly waiting for news on the crimes we uncovered. Marcy had come in early with The New York Trib in which Father Dom and yours truly were featured on the front page. Marcy had sneaked a peek at the article, and she couldn’t wait for me to start reading it. We sat a table drinking café con leches she’d made.
“The article merits a victory cigar, Detective Mancuso. Can I light one up for you?” Marcy asked.
“Be my guest. You know, I think women are sexy with a cigar.”
“I wonder why, you sick puppy,” she said, lighting up a Montecristo.
As she handed me the cigar, the sound of vehicular traffic signaled the front door had opened. In walked Mr. Pat, followed by a smiling Father Dom.
“I heard we made the papers,” Dominic said. “Did you read the article yet?”
I replied, “Have not, bro. Marcy did, but I’ve been waiting for you. Gather around; let’s read it. You too, Patrick. Join us.”
I had the newspaper facing up on the table. At the left margin, there was a picture of the office building in which the offices of Evans and Albert were located. Right below that photo was a photograph of the front of our pub. Displayed prominently were our neon sign and logo, Captain O’Brian’s Irish Pub and Cigar Bar. Dammit, that looks great, I said to myself. I read the article aloud:
“Priest, ex-NYPD detective lead cops to arrests"
By Barry Simon, The New York Trib
“Not since the arrest of Bernard Madoff in 2009 have New York authorities seen a Ponzi scheme and fraud of this magnitude. The investigation started by former NYPD Homicide Detective First Grade Joey Mancuso and his half-brother, Father Dominic O’Brian, from Saint Helen’s Catholic Church in Brooklyn, on a hunch led local authorities, the white-collar division of NY’s FBI office, and the Securities and Exchange Commission to multiple arrests for fraud and arraignments for three local murders.
Mancuso and the Rev. O’Brian, licensed private investigators, began last Tuesday to ask questions about the suicide of Wall Street executive Jonathan Parker, who reportedly jumped to his death from his 21st-floor office window.
Asked why they began their investigation, Mancuso said, “The victim, Jonathan Parker, had been celebrating at our establishment the night before. My brother, Father Dominic, had spoken to him that evening and upon hearing of the suicide the next day, found it odd that Parker would’ve taken his own life.”
Mancuso and O’Brian initiated a series of questions from family and co-workers that led them to three murders and a slew of racketeering, money laundering, insider trading, securities fraud and murder charges against five suspects. With a flair for the dramatic, the brothers invited the suspects to their pub, Captain’s O’Brian’s Pub and Cigar Bar in Manhattan’s Financial District, together with law enforcement personnel, this past Monday and built a case against each of the suspects as they sat dumbfounded in the front row.
A witness at the proceedings called it “the best off-Broadway show of 2017.” One by one, each suspect was handcuffed as the brothers made their individual case against them, removing them to the back of the room until the final reveal. It culminated in a Hollywood-style production, with all suspects holding a sample of the murder weapon, a golf putter, used to allegedly strike Parker and then push him out the 21st-floor window.
I stopped reading for a second. Puffing on my cigar, I said, “Is that cool or what?”
Dom replied, “Great article so far, thank you for giving me credit.”
“You started the chain of events. How could I not?” I said.
“Keep going. It gets even better,” Marcy remarked.
I read on. “Charged with the second-degree murder of Parker were Robert Evans and Albert Thomas III. Both partners are owners of a Wall Street hedge fund, Evans, Albert, and Associates. Allegedly, Albert struck Parker on the head with a golf putter, and then together, Evans and Albert pushed Parker out of the 21st-floor window of his office. The body came to rest on a second-story landing in front of the building and was discovered by passersby about an hour after the incident. Evans and Albert have pleaded innocent to the murder charge and are being represented by the law firm of Schultz and Essen.
To further complicate issues for the partners, a grand jury has recommended the indictment of Evans and Albert on charges of insider trading, creating a Ponzi scheme to defraud investors and racketeering after a whistleblower came forward and presented evidence supporting the charges. If convicted, each partner could face more than 100 years in jail, not including possible conviction and sentencing on second-degree murder charges.
It is estimated that the Ponzi scheme alone involved over $30 billion, much of which was used to pay new investors throughout the years and to support Evans and Albert’s lavish lifestyles. Both men are well-known socialites in New York City and overgenerous donors to many local charities as well as local, state and national political parties.
In an unrelated case, the murder of a homeless person that occurred almost two years ago in the alley behind the 21 Club had gone cold. A witness, who had been hiding and fearing for his life, came forward. Detective First Grade Lucy Roberts and Mancuso, her partner back then, had investigated the case to a dead end. Roberts received a tip about the lost witness, located him, and put him under police protection.
The witness produced the murder weapon used to kill the homeless John Doe, identified now as Jimmy. A two-by-four was used to strike Jimmy in the head and kill him. Blood on the wood matched Jimmy, the victim. Specs of blood on the opposite end of the wood are b
eing examined and compared to that of Robert Evans. Latent prints found on the wood have been already matched to Evans.
Jimmy and the person who had come forward witnessed Evans in a heated argument with a second man in the alley behind the 21 Club. Later that evening, Evans came back and killed Jimmy, evidently fearing he may have heard the argument. Evans later disposed of the murder weapon in an alley around the corner, stashing it in a trash bin. The witness followed Evans and retrieved the murder weapon, securing it all this time with the hope of developing enough courage to come forward, which he now has done. Evans has been additionally charged with second-degree murder and has pleaded innocent.”
I stopped reading, making eye contact with both Marcy and Dom, “Did you notice the Congressman went unnamed?” I read on.
“A third suspect, Melody Wright, an aspiring actress and model, was charged with first-degree murder in the death of Kathy Miller, who was struck by a car in a hit-and-run last Thursday night as she walked on the sidewalk after leaving her office. Miller was the assistant to Parker, and both were employed at the hedge fund company of Evans and Albert. Police continue to investigate the possibility that Wright didn’t act alone in the brutal killing of Miller.
Additional charges are pending against Wright, who allegedly has stolen and used various other identities to hide illicit offshore bank accounts under her various aliases. The law firm of Kapzoff and Associates is representing Wright. It is further believed that Wright is cooperating with authorities and may implicate Evans and Albert in the death of Miller.”
I had to put down the paper and take a break. “Can you believe the Pandora’s box we opened here?”
Father Dom was smiling. “It sounds more like a few boxes all at once, my goodness.”
“Fellows, the phone has been ringing off the hook,” added Mr. Pat.
I asked, “Who’s calling?”
Patrick replied, “It’s more like, who is not calling. I’ve taken messages, but you have local and national TV news producers calling. The AP and other news sources want an interview with you guys. There are invitations from cable news companies to appear on the morning shows. Even a well-known book publisher called with a potential deal. What do you want me to do?”
