by Owen Parr
Dominic was leaving, when I received a series of text messages from Detective Angelo Levy. The crime scene photos were there, including the video. I went back to the corner of the lobby where I had sat with Dom, and took a few minutes to review the messages. I observed a few things others had perhaps missed, and I wanted an explanation from Mr. Longworth. Taking the elevator to the ninth floor, I knocked on room nine-ten.
“Mr. Longworth, I’m Joey Mancuso,” I said, introducing myself, as he opened the door.
“Mancuso, please come in. You just missed your brother.”
“Oh, that’s okay. We’ll catch up with each other later.”
“May I get you some coffee?”
“No, thank you, I’ve had my share for today. Can we sit down and go over a few things?”
“Please, have a seat here,” said Longworth, pointing to a sitting area in the suite.
As I moved to the sitting area, I could see the rain coming down over Central Park. “Why would you kill her?” I asked, directly.
“Excuse me?”
“Why would you kill your wife?”
“Mr. Mancuso, I did not kill my wife,” he said, emphatically.
“I know. But, why would you?”
“I would never think of killing my wife. Why the question?” he asked, sternly.
“If she wanted a divorce and admitted to you she was having an affair, in a moment of rage, wouldn’t you kill her?”
“I loved my wife.”
“But, you get home, she wants to talk about the divorce, you argue, and she finally admits to the affair. You reach for the closest gun, the one she kept on her night table, and you shoot her.”
He moved forward on his chair without taking his eyes off mine and said, “Look, you have this all wrong. I would never have killed her, even if she was having an affair.”
“Why not?”
He raised his voice, “Because that’s an irrational reaction. If she was having an affair, I would have divorced her, not killed her, my God!”
‘So why hire a detective to find out?”
“Because, like I said, I loved her, and I wanted to repair our marriage, if possible. However, if she was having an affair, well, then I would know it was beyond repair, that’s all.”
“When did you send her the roses?”
“What?”
“The two dozen yellow roses in the bedroom. When did you send them?”
Longworth sat back and relaxed a bit, “The same day she was killed,” he replied, as his voice trailed off.
“Did you send them yourself?”
“I had my assistant do it.”
“Did you send a card along?”
“Yes, with a note saying that I loved her.”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Send her flowers.”
“I intended to come early that evening, as I was headed out of town the next day. I wanted to have a quiet dinner and talk. Something we did not do much of these days.”
“Talk about what?”
“Talk about us, our family. The good times we’ve had. I wanted a restart if necessary. The lack of communication between us, and lack of intimacy was not her fault, alone. We both contributed to that. You get to a point in a marriage after so many years, everyone settles into a routine, their own routine, and forgets, or better yet, takes for granted, the other person. You make assumptions about each other, without actually discussing things.”
“Did you call her to tell her you would be late?”
“Yes, I did, and to apologize. I told her I would be in by midnight that night.”
“So, you were early, arriving at eleven.”
“I wanted to speak with her for a while, I was leaving the next morning.”
“Did you call her to tell her you’d be in by eleven?”
‘No, there was no reason to do that,” he replied, a little perturbed at my rapid questions.
“Were you having an affair?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Have you had affairs?”
“No, not during my marriage.”
“Did you wife shower before going to bed?”
“You’re a little bizarre with your questioning, Mancuso. No, my wife liked to shower in the mornings.”
“Did she ever shower in the evenings?”
My questions were rapid-fire with no sequence, or order, to them. I wanted to see his responses to them. Longworth was a bit taken by my questions, he glanced at the window, closed his eyes and replied, “I suppose she may have, at some time or another. I don’t understand the questions.”
“But she showered after sex?”
“How would you know that?”
“Just a guess.”
“What kind of detective are you?”
“For your sake, a good one, I hope.” Why didn’t you set the alarm to on, when you entered the home?”
“You mean that evening?”
“Yes.”
“My hands were full, I had a briefcase in one hand, my phone and an overcoat in the other. I was going to go down to the kitchen after going upstairs. I figured I would do it then.”
I leaned forward in my seat, “What exactly did you hear downstairs, after finding your wife’s body?”
“The sound was like someone had knocked something down and it broke.”
“Then what happened?” I asked, opening my hands.
“I was on the floor next to her, after tripping over her. I heard the sound, then I saw her gun under the bed, grabbed it and walked downstairs.”
“Did you know it was your wife on the floor?”
“Not at first, I didn’t want to believe it was her. But, I could tell from the body and the white terrycloth robe.”
“Did you each have a white robe?”
“Yes, we bought those at the Helmsley Palace Hotel, we once stayed at, before it changed its name to the Lotte New York Palace, on Madison and fiftieth.”
‘That’s going back a few years. I assumed it was before your marriage.”
“It was probably in the early nineties, yes.”
“You still have yours?”
“Yes, we both kept them in the bathroom. They brought back some good memories.”
“From the pictures of the crime scene, your robe is not anywhere I could see. You’re sure you had it in the bathroom?”
“You’re going a back a year. But, now that you mentioned it, I haven’t seen it since that night.”
“Did the robes have the Helmsley Palace monogram on the front left?
“Yes, above the top pocket.”
“Okay, let me move on. In your first statement to the police, you said you didn’t know it was her until you came back upstairs the second time, turned the light on and saw her body.”
“Yes. I didn’t want to believe it was her. But I knew.”
“Why didn’t you call nine-one-one at that point?”
“I would have, except I heard the noise, and I thought the person who had done this was still in the house.”
“How did you see the gun if the room was dark?”
“I don’t know, it was dark, I assume my eyes had acclimated to the darkness. There was a little light coming from the bathroom door, enough to see the gun. I mean, I was two feet from it.”
“Then what?”
“I walked cautiously downstairs. I said something, like ‘who’s there, I have a gun’.”
“Then you shot the ceiling?”
“I heard another sound, I was nervous, and I fired into the ceiling, yes.”
“After the police came, did they find anything knocked over?”
“I’m not aware. I told them what I heard. But I don’t know if they did.”
“Were there any other cars parked in your driveway, when you came in?”
“Not that I remember, no.”
“Why would anyone want to kill your wife?”
He thought for a second, looking down at the floor, then raised his head, glan
ced at me and replied, “There’s absolutely no reason why anyone would want to kill my wife, none.”
“Would anyone want you dead?”
He replied quickly, “No, no one.”
“Any threats? Gambling debts? Business reasons?”
“None of that. No threats, I don’t gamble. We compete for business, but not to the point someone would want to kill me for it.”
“So, what do you think happened?”
“It’s incomprehensible to me still, one year after. We kept no valuables in the house, sure, a little cash and maybe some artwork. But, to kill for it?”
I made some notes letting the silence linger there for a few seconds. He asked, “What now?”
“You’re back in court tomorrow. I understand the prosecution will be done in two days. After that, Adams and Pearson begin presenting your defense. Are you going to take the stand?”
“I wanted to, but they’ve talked me out of it. You think I should?”
“Harold, I’m not your attorney, I can’t tell you if you should or not.”
“But, if it were you, would you?”
I looked at him and thought for a few seconds, ‘I’m not sure. The prosecution has a solid case against you, and while your answers to me are good, they can turn things upside down, and you might incriminate yourself. Sorry I can’t give you a straight answer.”
“I understand. Any other questions?”
“Just one more,” I said, starting to get up and glancing at a light snow drizzle that had begun.
Longworth got up, and also glanced out the window.
Standing next to him, I asked, “Harold, how tall are you?”
“Six-four, why?”
“Just a thought. And your late wife, how tall was she?”
He contemplated his answer for a second, “Sheila was about five-seven.”
“I see.”
I put my notes away and began walking towards the door. “How far did the detective you hired get with information about a possible affair?”
“He had just started the day before. He didn’t get very far.”
“Who is he? The detective,” I asked, knowing full well who it was.
“A guy by the name of Billy Williams.”
“Crunchy Williams?”
“Yes, you know him?”
I ignored his question, “Who referred you to him?”
“The offices of Adams and Pearson.”
10
Reaching the hotel lobby, I dialed for a car to pick me up. I own a red, nineteen sixty-seven Shelby Mustang, G500 convertible, in primo condition, that had cost me a small fortune. I only used it to drive on the weekends, but to get around the city, both brother Dominic and I use a car service. Parking near the pub, in the financial center of New York City, is at a premium, there was no need for us to incur that daily expense.
I called the pub, and Mr. Pat answered. “Mr. Pat, how goes it?”
“Our first shifters are starting to come in. However, it seems most are headed home to avoid the snow that’s expected. Looks like a slow night.”
“That’s always the case. Is Father Dom there?”
“Yes, but he is anxious to leave. He doesn’t want to get caught up in the snow, either.”
“Tell him to hang in there for a little longer, I’m on my way.”
“I’ll do that, Joey. See you then.”
Patrick Sullivan had been working the bar for Dom’s dad, Brandon O’Brian, and both had returned from the Viet Nam war. To both Dominic and me, Mr. Pat, as we called him, well, Patrick was like our uncle. While not an owner with us, we shared all profits of the bar with him. Captain O’Brian’s Irish Pub and Cigar Bar, without Mr. Pat, would be just another Irish pub. His presence there, a tall man with his red hair and full red beard, and his occasional Irish brogue routine added a certain authenticity to the pub that out regulars loved.
As I was about to get into my car, I noticed attorney Chuck Pearson get out of a yellow cab. I told my driver to wait for a second, not making him happy.
I walked over to Pearson. “Mr. Pearson, on your way to see Mr. Longworth?”
“Hey, Mancuso, yes, need to go over a few things and I want to get ready for our side of the story. Did you find our murderer yet?” He asked, smiling.
“Almost there,” I replied.
He looked up at me a little surprised by my answer, “Really?”
“How well did you know the Longworths?”
He hesitated, thinking about the answer, “Just for a few years, since I joined Adams. All business, I didn’t socialize with them, as Marshall did. Can we talk about this some other time? I’m in a hurry.”
“No big deal. I’ll give you guys an update tomorrow.”
“Thank you, Joey. We’ll look forward to that. Now, if you will excuse me,” he said, as he turned to walk into the hotel.
Arriving back at the pub, I noticed that our first shift, as we called the Wall Street gang that comes in after the stock market closes, was very light. This we have learned, was typical for a snow day, more so, if snow was late in arriving that day, like today. No one wants to get stuck in the city if they can avoid it. Our second shift of patrons usually began their entrance a little after six in the evening. The composition of the group was eclectic, police personnel, and other law enforcement. One Police Plaza, the NYPD headquarters, was but a few blocks from our pub. We had a sprinkling of some military, as had been the norm when the captain and then the sergeant had owned the pub, and then, what I called, the unsavory characters that usually mingle at an Irish pub. More like my old kind of people, if you know what I mean. Of course, we had our tourist crowd. The fact we had a smoking license, was an attraction to those that enjoy an excellent cigar with a drink.
I noticed Father Dom eyeing his watch, as I walked towards him. “What’s up, brother?”
“Joey, I want to get out of here, before the snow gets any worse.”
“Marcy texted me that they moved back her trip to D.C. until tomorrow. Let me call her, and see if she can give us a ride back to Brooklyn. If so, we can talk in the car.”
I dialed Special Agent Marcy, “Hey, love, are you still in the city?”
“Are you coming over tonight?” she replied, ignoring my question.
“If you want me to,” I said, knowing full well I wanted to.
“I do.”
“Yes, of course, I want to come over tonight.”
“Good, we’ll order in.”
“Are you still in the city?” I asked again.
“Why, you need a ride?”
“Do Cubans always answer a question with a question?”
“Do I do that?” she asked, laughing.
“Both Father Dom and I are at the pub, and he wanted you to drive us back,” I said, as Dom made a nasty face at me.
“I’ll pick you guys up in fifteen.”
“How is your new partner, Special Agent Tony?”
“I’m dropping him off at his hotel, then I’ll pick you up?”
“Are you running a car service? Can he not take a cab?”
“I don’t know, am I running a car service?”
“We’ll wait for you outside. Love you, special agent,” I said, smiling.
She disconnected without responding.
Dom asked, “She has a new partner? I thought she worked alone.”
“They brought in some stiff neck from Chicago. A real asshole, if you ask me.”
“You met him?”
“Yeah, he was here. Straight from central casting. He told me more about himself in five minutes than I know about you, after thirty plus years. You might like him.”
“Why would you say that?”
“He looks like a younger you; tall, blonde, slim, very stiff, no personality.”
Dom perused the surroundings, and said in a low voice, “You are such an asshole.”
“Thank you, Padre. Get ready, Marcy will be here shortly.”
“You want to tell me about the attor
neys that came in after Adams, on Monday morning?”
I had compartmentalized that chapter in the back of my mind, didn’t want to share with either Dom or Marcy, now. As much as it was enticing to me, I don’t think Dom was ready for me to take on a full-time investigative agency, and ignore our family enterprise. “I blew those guys off, told them we had no time now.”
“Did they have a case for us to work on?”
“Something like that. We can call them after we are done with the Longworth case.”
“What did you think of Longworth?”
“I want you to review the photos and video of the crime scene from the day of the murder, and see what you get out of them, before I discuss my meeting with Longworth.”
“Are you giving me a test?”
“No, no test. But for instance, let me ask you this, and don’t look. How many liquor bottles on the right side of the bar are stacked on the shelves?”
Dom started to turn that way.
“Don’t look. How many times have you looked at that shelf in the past years? Hundreds, thousands of times? And yet, you can’t tell me how many bottles, right?”
“At least hundreds of times. But, I’ve never counted them, have you?”
“In “A Scandal in Bohemia,” Arthur Conan Doyle, the creator of the Sherlock Holmes’ series, has Sherlock asking Dr. Watson a similar question. The question was: how many steps are there in the steps at 221B Baker Street? Which is where they lived. Steps, Dr. Watson admits to taking hundreds of times. Holmes goes on to tell Dr. Watson that there are seventeen steps. Watson is said to be baffled.”
“So, how many bottles are there on the right shelf?” Asks Father Dom.
“The difference, Holmes tells Watson, is that most everyone sees, but does not observe. I’ve studied Sherlock Holmes novels, or better yet, Conan Doyle’s style. In doing so, I’ve learned to observe, and have incorporated that into my detective work. The answer, Dr. Watson is, forty-two bottles on the right shelf.”
“Then, what you are saying is, that you observed something in the crime scene photos and video that most people saw, but did not observe, that could make a difference in our case?”
I wasn’t doing this to be a pain in the ass, nor to demean Dominic. I wanted to share a little secret I’ve learned and applied. “Not just one, but maybe a few things.”
