by Owen Parr
“One thing is for sure, I need to get back to work. I can’t take this leave of absence too much longer.”
“That’s one reason I want you to join me in Miami. You need to get out of the apartment. Plus, I think a change of scenery and the warmer weather will be good for both of us.” A few months ago, she averted a mass shooting aboard a plane at Newark Airport. A Federal Marshal was shot and killed by one terrorist, with the other exchanging gunfire with Marcy. Lucky for her and me, she only sustained physical injuries to her right shoulder after one of the rounds found its mark.
“I’m still nervous about the firearms test. Of course, the psych evaluation is up to the doctor,” she said, taking a sip from her wine.
“That’s normal. You’ll do fine in both. I’ve seen you shoot; you have no issues with that. As far as the psych part, just be yourself…maybe not your spunky self,” I smiled, leaning over to refill her glass.
“What if I don’t recover from my PTSD?”
“I don’t think that’s an issue. As soon as you get back to work and begin getting involved in your new cases, you’ll be as good as new. Plus, one thing you have now that you didn’t have before I think will be a major positive.”
“And what’s that?”
“Ah, that would me, your nuevo marido. That’s new husband, in case I mispronounced it.”
Her eyes opened wide. Putting her wine glass down, she laid down on the sofa and put her head on my thigh. “I love you Mancuso,” she said, as she moved her head up to kiss me.
“And I love you,” I said, embracing her. “We have a whole new future to plan together. My suggestion is that you take inventory of all the good things that are happening in your life at the moment and concentrate on that. Don’t let any negatives thoughts of the past creep up. Always look toward our future.”
She put her head down, closed her eyes, and did not respond for a few seconds. Then opening her eyes, she asked, “You want to fool around?”
Grinning, I replied, “As a matter of fact, I do. But first, let me quickly brief you on why we’re going to Miami.”
“Give me the short version.”
5
Tuesday
Arriving in Miami miraculously on schedule, the car rental agency told us that she upgraded a Ford Fiesta to a Ford Taurus. “Aren’t we lucky,” I said to the clerk, who seemed not to have a sense of humor. “Does it have a GPS?” I asked the young lady.
“No, sir, these economy cars don’t have one. However, you can rent one,” she said, pointing to a display of handheld GPS gadgets.
“Never mind, thank you. I have an app for that. It’s not a stick-shift, is it?”
“No, it’s not. Would you like one?”
“We’re good, thank you.”
I looked at Mr. Pat, all six feet plus of him and smiled.
“What?” asked Patrick.
“I would have enjoyed seeing you get your ass in a Ford Fiesta. You could have rested your chin on your knees.”
Marcy broke in. “Mr. Pat, you can sit in the front with Joey, and I’ll sit on the back.”
I glanced at Marcy’s derriere, and before I could say a word, she quipped, “Don’t even go there, Mancuso.”
All our phones made a different sound at the same time. Agnes had texted us the names of both Jennifer Allison, Gavi’s roommate, and her boyfriend, Carlos Alvarez. Somehow, she’d found the address for the home where Carlos resided with his parents. Plus, she found the name Loli Lumas, a friend from Snapchat and fellow student at the university.
It was day four of Gavi’s disappearance, and the Druckers still reported no ransom calls. That was not a good sign. I still hoped that Gavi was just having a good time with Carlos and that our trip to Miami could turn into a couple of days in the sunshine.
“Huh…we have to go to Hialeah,” Marcy said, as she read the text form Agnes.
“What’s Hialeah?” I asked, as I made a right turn onto Le Juene Road.
“You know what Superman says about Hialeah?” she asked, looking at my eyes in the rearview mirror.
“This should be good,” Patrick said, making a futile effort to turn sideways and look at Marcy.
“Superman says, ‘I fight crime everywhere, except in Hialeah. I don’t go to Hialeah.’”
Patrick broke out laughing. But, he laughed at every joke Marcy told.
“Why? Is that a bad place?” I asked.
“Not really. It used to be a mostly Cuban population back in the seventies. Now, it’s Latinos from everywhere.”
I wanted to ask what the difference was, but I knew I would get an earful from her.
“But, is it safe?” Mr. Pat asked.
“Of course, it is. No different than any other city. Lots of businesses and factories and a large suburb.”
“Superman doesn’t speak Spanish, so he stays out,” I said with a chuckle.
My Waze lady interrupted our meaningless conversation and advised me that in zero point five miles I should make a right onto US 1 and go north two miles to my destination.
Marcy was not finished. “I’ll tell you a real fact about Hialeah.” She paused, expecting me to say something stupid.
Hearing my sigh, she went on. “In a meeting with the DA in New York City and our White-Collar Crime Division, the DA called Hialeah the money laundering capital of the USA.”
Now that got my attention. “Mr. Pat, do you have the file on Agnes’s research?”
“It’s in the back seat in my briefcase,” he replied.
“Marcy, could you open the file from Pat’s briefcase?”
“Sure. What am I looking for?”
“Drucker’s firm has three clients in Miami. Check to see where they are located.”
“Hang on.” She opened the briefcase and pulled out the file. After a minute or so, she said, “One of the clients is an import-export business by the airport—Meso Trading. Another is a bank—Solimark Bank. The third is MarAir Cargo. MarAir means sea and air.”
“Any in Hialeah?” I asked, glancing at Patrick.
Marcy looked down at the file again. “Only the bank, Solimark. But, the other two are just adjacent to Hialeah, which happens to be by the airport, and that makes sense for their type of business. To be near the airport, that is.”
“Interesting, very interesting,” I noted.
“You think one of these clients could be involved?” Mr. Pat asked.
“I don’t know, but you know me. Go where no one has gone before.”
“Captain Kirk,” Marcy said, “I’m texting Agnes to do a deep-dive on the ownership of these three businesses. Let’s see if they have a relationship.”
“Good call. Yes, I like that.” I loved the fact Marcy was getting engaged in the case. Her mind was off the concerns about her job, and she seemed to be back in her element.
We arrived at the Holiday Inn, thanks to Miss Waze and her directions. As usual, only one of the rooms was ready—a room with two twin beds. I told Pat to take it, although his legs would extend past the end of the bed, but I wanted the room with a king. After all, technically Marcy and I were still in our honeymoon phase. How long does a honeymoon last? At least until the first ‘I have a headache, do you mind?’ And, I had not heard that yet.
Wasting no time, I asked the hotel clerk, who sported a haircut my dad would have shot the barber over if he had given him one like that, for directions to the dorms of the University of Miami. Smiling, he pointed across the street. All we had to do was cross the street, and The U, as the clerk called it, was right there. So, we were off to try and find Jennifer Allison and Loli, the other friend.
Pat agreed to stay behind and get comfortable in his room. I really didn’t want three of us walking in on these young girls. I thought two men, especially one Big Red dude, might intimidate them. But I did want Marcy to go along as I questioned the ladies, her presence would relax them.
Marcy and I stood at the corner of South Dixie Highway and San Amaro Drive waiting for the walk sign
to turn green. University Village, private residences for students, was within sight. Jennifer and Gavi occupied a two bedroom in building six, at 1500 Liguria Avenue. Loli Lumas lived in the same complex, two buildings over.
“I’m concerned at the lack of contact. I wish it was a ransom, because it means they would have called, and we’d at least know. I hope I’m wrong, but this does not look good now,” Marcy said as we crossed the street.
6
Father Dominic arrived at the corner of Broadway and West Forty-Seventh Street. Parking was going to cost more than what the collection was at the two Masses this morning. Drucker and Feinstein was located at 1375 Broadway. Agnes’s research revealed that the accounting firm had three hundred fifty personnel and twenty partners. It was considered a top-tier accounting firm nationwide in terms of quality, management, and scope of services.
As was his custom, Dom removed his white collar as he entered the office building, not with the intent of keeping his church affiliation secret, but more to not have it be part of the conversation. He took the elevator to the eleventh floor. Approaching the receptionist, he said, “Hi, I’m Dominic O’Brian, here to see Aaron Drucker and Sid Feinstein.”
“Yes, Mr. O’Brian, Mr. Drucker is waiting for you in his office. Let me tell him you’re here, and I’ll walk you to his office in a moment,” replied the receptionist, a pretty looking young millennial who wore too much perfume.
“Thank you.”
Putting the phone down, the receptionist said, “Mr. Drucker said he’ll come out to get you as soon as he’s ready.”
A few moments went by, and Aaron Drucker came to meet him. Smiling, and in his dry tone, Drucker said, “Father O’Brian, pleasure to meet you.”
Dom stuck his hand out to meet Drucker’s. “Mr. Drucker, I wish it was under different circumstances. Glad to make your acquaintance.”
“I agree. Please follow me to my office. Can we offer you anything?” Drucker asked.
“Thank you, I’m fine. Is Mr. Feinstein joining us?”
“Ah…no. I’m afraid Sid is indisposed at the moment. Perhaps another time.”
Dom followed Aaron to a large corner office. Sitting down in a sitting area opposite Drucker’s desk, he said, “Sorry to hear that.”
“Yes, well, we’re extremely busy. Frankly, Sid is despondent about what’s happening, but he’s not involved in this incident. Tell me, is Joey in Miami yet?” said Drucker, changing the direction of the conversation.
Dom looked at his watch. “Joey should be there now. He was going to locate your daughter’s roommate and another student.”
“I see. Good,” Aaron said. “Tell me Father, you and Joey are half-brothers and own an Irish pub?”
“With all due respect, Mr. Drucker—”
“Please call me Aaron.”
“Very well, Aaron. If I had a daughter missing—what, three or four days?—I would be a basket case. You sir, seem be to be exceedingly aloof. At least that’s the impression I get. Why is that, Aaron?”
Drucker frowned, leaned forward in his club chair, placed his elbows on his knees, and glared at Dom. “I see the resemblance between you and your brother. You both go for the jugular immediately.” Sitting back and rubbing his nose, Drucker added, “Father, I’m keeping up a façade so as not to disrupt the workings of our firm and to not add more worry to my poor wife.” He lowered his voice. “No one but Sid knows what’s going on at home, and I want to keep it that way. Now, as to your question, inside Father, I feel as if I’ve been in a ten-car pileup. Everything hurts. I’m worried sick that Gavi is at the hands of a sicko…or worse yet…” His voiced faded.
Father Dom didn’t back down, “Then why not call the police and report Gavi missing the moment you realized she was?”
“I’ve already explained that to your brother. We didn’t know Gavi was missing until Sunday night when she didn’t contact her mother. That very same night we called Ruth Goldstein, our attorney, for advice. The next morning, yesterday, your brother was at our home.”
“Yes, I know, and now we’re on the case. But we don’t have the resources the Miami PD has, or the FBI in a case like this.”
A little exacerbated Drucker said, “Our firm has been around since both my grandfather and Sid’s grandfather established it in 1937. We’re considered a top-tier advisory and accounting firm. We have clients all over the world. If this is a kidnapping, the ransom could easily be trade secrets about our clients. That Father, could be disastrous to our reputation.”
Dom pressed on. “So, you’re more worried about your firm’s reputation than your daughter’s life?”
Drucker bolted from his chair, obviously pissed off, and stood, “I think we’re done here, Father. I’m not going to sit here and have you question my love for my daughter. You can leave now.”
Father Dom remained seated and watched Drucker pace around the office. “It is not my intention to contest your love for your daughter, Mr. Drucker. It is our intention to find your daughter, but you’ve tied our hands by not asking for police involvement. I’m sorry if I have offended you. Please have a seat. I just have a few more questions.”
Aaron Drucker came back around and sat opposite him. Without making eye contact, he asked, “What else do you want to know?”
“You told Joey you would look at your client list and think of any reason why one of them could be connected to this case. Have you done that?”
Drucker crossed his arms, still not making eye contact, looking up at the ceiling and to the left. “Yes, and I see no correlation. Is that what you want to know?”
“Fine, for now we’ll discard that angle,” Dom said, not wanting to upset Drucker any more after reading his body language. “I understand you know very little about Gavi’s boyfriend, Carlos?”
Drucker finally lowered his gaze and looked at Dom, “What, were we supposed to do a background check on everyone she dates?”
This wasn’t going well. Drucker was awfully defensive. “Let me ask you this. What do you think happened to Gavi?”
Aaron uncrossed his arms, rested them on the arm rest, and opened his palms upward. “Unfortunately, I think this Carlos person is involved.”
“How so?”
“Either they’re off on a wild long weekend—drinking, drugs, or whatever—or, Gavi has been kidnapped, and I’m about to get a call for ransom.”
“Does Gavi have a drug issue?”
“Never. But, you never know what peer pressure can do when they are in a new environment. As bad as that would be, it is the best-case scenario, don’t you agree?”
“Yes, I would agree. Frankly, a kidnap for ransom should have played itself out by now.”
“I think you guys should concentrate on Carlos and his friends. Now, are we done? I have things to do.”
“Yes, sir, we are. I wish I had had a chance to speak to your partner, Mr. Feinstein.”
“He’s got nothing to add to this conversation. Are you going to meet with my wife?”
“I am. She’s expecting me a little later today,” Father Dom said, getting up and heading out of Drucker’s office.
“Now look, I don’t want you upsetting her more than she is already.”
“I understand, Mr. Drucker. I’ll see myself out. Thank you for your time.”
Father Dominic reached the reception area at the same time as a man he recognized from the firm’s website entered an elevator—Sid Feinstein. The elevator’s door closed before Dom could jump in. Turning to the receptionist, he asked her, “Was that Mr. Feinstein?”
“Yes, it was,” the young lady replied.
“Do you know where he’s headed?”
“There’s a Dunkin’ Donuts on the corner of Broadway and 37th,” she said. In a low voice, she added, “he enjoys his coffee and a bagel at this time of day.”
“Thank you,” Dom said, before running into another elevator to give chase to Feinstein.
7
We made it across eight lanes of US 1 tr
affic. I wondered if the traffic lights in Miami had the usual red, amber, and green, because some drivers seemed to ignore the lights altogether. Maybe they were color-blind. I was starting to sweat from the heat and humidity as we approached Jennifer’s dorm.
Locating her room, we knocked on the door and hoped she was home.
A young lady of about nineteen opened the door. “Hi, I’m Jennifer, you must be Joey Mancuso,” she said, smiling and moving back to let us in.
Jennifer looked like a typical nineteen-year-old. She wore faded jeans with cutouts by the knees, a long-sleeve bright-green pullover with an orange U, and no shoes. She was cute. Short blonde hair with dimples and freckles.
“Hi, Jennifer, this is Marcy Martinez,” I said, introducing Marcy and walking into the apartment. “Thank you for allowing us to talk to you.”
“Oh, I don’t have class until later in the afternoon. Your office called and told me to expect you. Can I get you anything?” she asked, pointing to a sofa. “Perhaps a bottle of water?” she inquired as I put my sweat-soaked handkerchief back in my pocket.
Marcy replied, “Yes, that would be good, thank you.”
The apartment was older and small, but it seemed comfortable enough for students. It was a step up from the normal one-room efficiency dorm room. Some posters hung from the walls. Bruno Mars occupied a spot behind the small dining table, the Chainsmokers had a prominent spot in the living room, with Justin Bieber and Quavo behind the sofa where we sat. There was a turntable for vinyl records on top of a small table by the entrance to the bedrooms. I was glad to see vinyl was making a comeback with the millennials.
Jennifer came back with two bottles of water. “Any news on Gavi?” she asked, sitting on the floor in front of us.
“We were hoping you would have heard something,” I replied.
“Oh my god, no. I haven’t. You mean she hasn’t called her parents?”
