Joey Mancuso Mysteries Box Set

by Owen Parr

  Lucy replied, “If Belford thought his mother knew what his stepfather was doing to him, then, very possible, right?”

  I didn’t wait for anyone to answer that question. “Folks, let’s not get sidetracked by that incident. I think this information is key to what we thought before. Belford is our guy. The question remains; how are we going to find out where he has Marcy?”

  Agnes had her laptop at the table, looking up from it, she said, “There’s no record of Belford, or Marcy, using their credit cards anywhere, for anything.”

  Victoria broke in, “How are you getting that information?” she asked, staring at Agnes.

  I said, “Victoria,” she looked at me, shaking my head, I said, “Some questions need to go unanswered.”

  Victoria said, smiling, “Disregard my question.”

  Mr. Pat said, “Belford must have rented a car. Very few places, if any, are going to let you do that with cash. They want a credit card. Plus, if he’s driving, he needs to buy gas, food, and a place to stay. I suppose he can do that with cash, but, somewhere along the line, he’ll need to use a credit card. So, he may be using a credit card not issued under his name. Don’t you think?”

  “Lucy asked, “He’s using an alias?”

  Special Agent Victoria said, “I’m not going to ask a question, but, allow me to think out loud for a second,” glancing at Agnes and opening her eyes wide. “Could there be a record of Belford buying supplies, for like a camping trip, somewhere, someone could find?”

  Agnes smiled, looked at me, as I pointed to her laptop, and nodded.

  Angela added, “Even if we find out he bought supplies, that’s not going to tell us where he might be headed. Although,” she paused, “he might have rented a place to stay, ahead of time.”

  I looked at my watch; I had set the stopwatch counter to correspond with the last time Marcy was seen, which was yesterday at three in the afternoon. It read twenty-six hours. I didn’t want think of the anguish Marcy must be going through. I swiveled my chair to face away from the table, and all assembled there. My stomach was churning, and I thought; I was going to throw up again.

  Lucy pointed at Victoria, and asked, “Mr. Stewart, what was Belford stepfather’s name?”

  Victoria opened her iPad, and scrolling through a few pages; she replied, “Reverend Thomas Stiles. What are you thinking?”

  Replying, Lucy said, “Perhaps Belford is using that name, or at least the last name.”

  “As a matter of fact,” Victoria said, “Belford was adopted by Stiles, and given the last name. For a while, he was Anthony Stiles, but, changed it when he went to live with his grandparents, back to his Dad’s last name of Belford.”

  Agnes said, “I’ll start a search of Stiles, and see what comes up.”

  I was listening to the discussion, swiveling back to face the group, I said, “No, wait. Don’t do that, —”

  Lucy interrupted me, “Joey that could be a possibility.”

  I said, “Peter Gruntel.”

  24

  Marcy with one hand tied, and fully naked, struggled to run behind the chair where Belford had the duffle bag with the arms they used for her firearms training. She knew if she could open it, she would have the advantage. She glanced to see Belford running towards her, with his red flannel shirt on fire.

  Tony stopped realizing his shirt was burning him. He took it off and stomped on it with his right foot. Ashes flailed everywhere. Raising his glance at Marcy, he smiled.

  Marcy’s free hand trembled as she attempted to open the zipper and reach for one of the revolvers in the bag. She was confused by his sudden stop and smile. Then, she realized the duffle bag had a Master lock.

  “Good try Marcy. I should never underestimate you. But, that’s what I like about you. You’re a fighter,” Belford said, stepping on all the little ashes on the area rug.

  Marcy was kneeling by the chair, dispassionately looking at the duffle bag. She looked up at Tony, who was now standing in front of her. His shaven chest was striking. He was white as fresh snow. Shivering from the cold, and trembling with fear, she remained quiet.

  “I told you not to try anything. I don’t want to drug you again, but, you’re not giving many choices, now are you?”

  “Tony, you don’t have to do this. You won’t get away with it,” she said, as she made a fruitless effort to cover herself.

  “Oh, but we’re going to be together forever, darling. We’re going to have little Belford’s running around our house, you’ll see.”

  “Let me go now, and I’ll tell everyone we’re out in the woods practicing for my FBI test.”

  “Marcy, you’re insulting my intelligence. There’s only one plan left. We go forward with our lives together. I wish it could have been different. We could have been together working, and enjoying our lives as a couple. I tried.”

  “Can I have my clothes? I’m cold.”

  “Here,” he said, reaching for a backpack on another chair, but still keeping an eye on her, “I brought your favorite clothes to lounge around, sweatpants and a top.”

  As Tony reached for the backpack, Marcy saw his exposed back, and she was horrified. “My God! What are all those scars?”

  Tony turned to face her, dropping the clothes he retrieved for her on the chair, he reached in and pulled out a tee shirt for himself. “Those, yeah well, that’s a family album,” he said, as he put on the tee shirt.

  Marcy couldn’t believe the many scars on his back. His entire back was like a checkerboard, little squares from just below his neck, all the way down to his waist, the width of his back.

  “Get up, and don’t try anything. I’m going to untie your arm so that you can put these on,” he said, reaching for her sweatpants and top.

  She didn’t want to be drugged again, so she decided to go along for the moment, and not try anything. She put on the pants followed by the top. “Can I just sit here?”

  Tony thought for a moment, “Yeah, you can sit there, but, the cuffs go back on,” he said, as he cuffed her hands in front of her, and connected the handcuffs to the cuffs around her ankles.

  “What happened to your back?”

  Belford picked up the backpack that was in the other chair, threw it on the floor, and sat down across from Marcy. Sitting back, he squirmed, from the fresh burns on his back. “You mean besides the blisters from you pushing me into the fireplace?”

  Marcy just nodded.

  “Three hundred twenty-seven crosses,” he said, glancing at the floor with a look of shame.

  “I don’t understand,” Marcy said, “what does that mean?”

  “Is your stepfather good to you? Alberto. Seems like a very nice man, is he?”

  “The best. So much so, I call him Dad. He loves both my mother and me.”

  “Love. Now there’s a word that requires definition. Doesn’t?”

  “What are you saying?”

  Tony’s facial expression changed, as he closed his eyes, he was deep in thought, angered was visible in his eyes, opening them once again. “Well, my stepfather loved me too. Three hundred and twenty-seven times.”

  “Oh, my God,” Marcy said, “Did he…” her voice trailed off.

  Tony looked up at Marcy, “Since he married my mother, I was fourteen until I left the house at sixteen.”

  Marcy asked, “Each cross, did he do that each time?”

  Belford still looking towards Marcy, but through her, replied, “Every Tuesday and Thursday, when my mother was out, supposedly playing cards with her girlfriends.”

  Marcy wanted to probe some more but was concerned about his possible reaction. She remained quiet.

  Belford, his eyes focusing on Marcy, asked, “You wanted to know about the scars?”

  She nodded.

  Belford looked down at the floor, “Every time he molested me; the Reverend would cut me in the form of a cross. Deep enough to scar me.”

  “Did you count them? The crosses, I mean.”

  “I didn’t have to
. I kept count of the times he abused me.”

  “What happened to them?”

  “I ran away to my grandparents, and when they saw my scars, my grandfather pressed charges against my stepfather,” he replied, in a somber tone.

  “Did he get what he deserved?”

  “Oh, they both got what they deserved, but, not from the authorities,” Belford said, taking a deep breath.

  “What’d you mean?” Marcy asked, with concern.

  Belford didn’t reply right away. He sat there unresponsive for a few moments. “I snuck back into their home one day and waited for them. I was almost seventeen…” his voice trailed off.

  “Did you…” Marcy began asking, but stop short.

  He looked at her again, “He kept a revolver on his side of the bed, in the night table. At first, they thought I was there to visit since I had not seen them for almost a year. Then, they saw the gun, I remember my Mom’s face, she knew why I was there,” he paused, “I had them sit in the living room. Standing behind him, I put the gun on his head. I can still hear my mother asking for mercy for this animal. I wanted to look into his eyes before I pulled the trigger, so, I moved to face him, still holding the gun touching his forehead,” he paused again, looking up at the ceiling and taking a deep breath. “In one quick motion, I moved the gun below his chin, pointed it upwards and pulled the trigger. The bullet went through his brain, and out the top of his head. I never had, and have never seen again, so much blood spurt out of the top of a head. It was like a broken sprinkler, just gushing water upwards.”

  “Oh, my God. What about your mother?”

  “My mother, you asked?” Tony said, glancing back at Marcy. “My dear mother it turns out was not playing cards on Tuesdays and Thursdays. No, she was fucking around with various men, while this animal had his way with me. She knew what he was doing to me, but to say anything, would have interrupted her devious acts. Right? I followed her for weeks, after I ran away from home, and saw more than I needed to see. The bitch,” he said, loudly, and closing his eyes.

  “What did you do?” Marcy asked.

  “I stopped her fucking around, that’s what I did. After I shot the bastard, she sat there motionless, almost catatonic. I wrapped the revolver around the animal’s hand, pointed it at my mother’s head, and pulled the trigger,” he said and sighed.

  Marcy couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She began to tremble from the fear of being in this room with such a cold-blooded killer. She had seen, little or no emotion from Belford, as he recounted this experience.

  “So, Special Agent Martinez, you’re probably wondering if I got away with it, right?” he asked, now smiling sarcastically.

  “I assume you did,” she replied.

  “The perfect murder, suicide scenario. See, I had pictures of my mother entering various motels with men. I displayed them on the coffee table, in front of where I had them sitting. So, I left home, called the police, from a public phone a few blocks away, and reported hearing gunshots. It was an easy conclusion for the authorities. Husband shoots wife for infidelity then kills himself in remorse. Case closed.”

  “Were you ever questioned?”

  “My grandparents told the authorities I had been in my room, and bed all the time. They never knew I snuck out of their home through my bedroom window.”

  Marcy felt hopeless. Her captor had been emboldened, at the age of sixteen, getting away with two horrific murders. Besides the recent crimes in Manhattan, she knew there had to be others before. She glanced around the small one-room cabin, searching for a way out, a way to stop this madness that befell her. She closed her eyes.

  “By the way, darling,” Belford said, as his voice shocked her back into reality, “we need to get ready to leave. I want to be out of here in an hour. I have tuna sandwiches. I made fresh for us. Are you hungry?”

  “Yes, I’m,” she replied. But, she wasn’t. Her stomach was in knots. Buy time, was her only thought. “Where are we going?”

  Belford looked at Marcy, and thought for a second, “I don’t know if I should tell you, —”

  She interrupted, “What difference does it make now? I want to know,” she said, softly and not in a demanding way.

  Belford smiled, “We have about three days of travel ahead of us. Our destination is the beautiful north-west. Whistler, British Columbia to be precise.”

  Her immediate thought assured her that this animal was not thinking of killing her. At least, not immediately. “Why there?”

  “Mr. and Mrs. Nichols, own a quaint one bedroom cabin there. Very much like this one, only bigger, and in two acres.”

  “The Nichols?’ she asked.

  “That’s us, darling. John, and Mary Nichols,” he said, grinning. “Nowhere, let me fetch your sandwich, we need to eat and run,” Tony said, walking over to a small refrigerator near the bathroom wall.

  “I would like to take a shower, please.”

  “A shower, now? No, I don’t think so. “Here,” he said, taking a bottle of cologne from the backpack. “Splash some of this on; you’ll feel better.”

  She looked at the bottle, without glancing at him she said sternly, “I would feel better if I took a shower.”

  “I like you just the way you are. Did you know Marcy, one of the biggest love stories in history was that of Napoleon Bonaparte and Josephine, in the late 1700’s?”

  “So, what about it?”

  “As Napoleon returned from his many battles, it is said, that he would send a messenger ahead to Josephine, with a simple message; ‘don’t wash.’ You see, he loved her ‘a la natural’ smell.

  Marcy didn’t know what to make of her situation. Was Belford crazy? What was going through his mind? How many victims are out there? Will she ever escape, or was her fate sealed?

  25

  Lucy asked, “What about Peter Gruntel? That’s the professor, Detectives Farnsworth, and Charles questioned. He’s been cleared.”

  I had an idea, and I felt right about it, “Yeah, he’s been cleared. But, that’s the profile Belford has been using on Facebook and other social media.” Turning to Lucy, I asked, “Please call Farnsworth, get Gruntel’s address. Agnes,” I said, pointing at her, “start researching Gruntel. I want to know everything about him, pronto, Agnes, please.”

  Father Dom said, “I think you’re on to something. Let’s hope this Gruntel fellow has some answers.”

  I stood up and walked away from the table; an adrenaline rush overtook me, I shivered. I felt like a lion, who just got a sniff of his prey.

  Lucy who was standing a few feet away said, “Joey, I have Gruntel’s address. Farnsworth wants to know if he should meet us there?”

  “Ah,” I thought for a second, “no, no need. You and I can handle this.” I went over to Patrick, “Mr. Pat, you and Angela follow us in your SUV. We’ll go to this guy’s home. Oh, and Pat, bring the backpack.”

  “You want me to go along?” Dominic asked.

  “Brother, how about you help Agnes with the research. Call me the moment you have something. Okay?”

  Lucy took the Lincoln Tunnel, then got on Interstate 85 North, on our way to Paramus, New Jersey. Mr. Pat followed behind with Angela. My mind was on Marcy. I looked at my watch and the stopwatch counter I had started when Marcy was abducted, it read thirty-two hours. A few minutes later we arrived in Paramus and located the home of Professor Peter Gruntel.

  Lucy knocked on the front door, and Professor Gruntel answered. Farnsworth had described him as a tall skinny nerd, with broad black rim glasses, and sure enough, a Woody Allen look-a-like said, “Yes, how can I help you?”

  Lucy flashed her creds, introduced me and inquired, “Can we ask you a few questions?”

  “Sure, please come in. What’s this about?” he asked, as we followed him to the living room. “Have a seat,” he said, pointing a sofa.

  “Mr. Gruntel,” I began, “you spoke to Detective Farnsworth, about a profile on Facebook.”

  “Yes, I did. But, I had
no idea the NYPD would follow up on these things.”

  “Yes, sir. There seems to be more than just a Facebook profile. Have you ever heard the name Anthony or Tony Belford?” I asked.

  He hesitated, thought for a second, and replied, “No, I can’t recall ever hearing that name. Why? What’s the issue?”

  His hesitation made me think twice. “Mr. Gruntel, is there anyone else in the house with you now?”

  “Why, what’s going on?” he asked, nervously.

  Lucy took my cue and sternly, asked again.

  He replied, “Just my wife, in the kitchen.”

  I asked, “Do you mind if we look around your home, sir?”

  “No, go ahead. But, please tell me what’s going on.”

  I had already called Mr. Pat, who was parked outside with Angela Asis. Lucy had requested that Mrs. Gruntel join us in the living room.

  “Detective Asis and Mr. Sullivan are at your front door. Would you mind if I let them in?” I asked.

  Mrs. Gruntel looked distressed, drying her hands on a kitchen towel, she asked, “What’s going on Peter?”

  Lucy said, “There’s a possibility that someone has stolen your identity, Mr. Gruntel, and they may be in the process of committing some crimes.”

  Mrs. Gruntel asked, “Oh, my God, in our home?”

  “No madam,” replied Lucy, “but, it’s the procedure that we secure your home. Can Asis and Sullivan check your home?”

  “Please go ahead,” said Peter.

  I nodded to Angela and Mr. Pat, as they began a walk-through of the home.

  Patrick asked, “Do you have a basement?”

  “Yes, through here,” replied Mrs. Gruntel, pointing to the stairs leading down to the basement.

  Lucy and I sat with the Gruntel’s, as Angela and Pat made their way to the basement.

  I asked Mrs. Gruntel, “Do you know an Anthony Belford?”

  She turned to her husband, then, shaking her head, she said, “No, I don’t.”

  Gruntel asked, “Is that the person who stole my identity?”

  Both Angela and Patrick walked back into the living room. Mr. Pat looked at me and shook his head. He pointed to the stairs going to the second floor, I nodded.