by Owen Parr
Joey shook his head, obviously not understanding everything I just said. “I’m glad you know what the hell you’re talking about. Aren’t we in some kind of bull market with stocks going up? How come all these stocks went down, or were they predicted to go down by the software program?”
“These stocks have been very volatile, and while they may be up at the end of the year, every quarter could bring surprises. But I get your point. The program told him to sell these. I’ll need to see the actual results to see how the actual trades performed.” This event, stocks going down even though they reported good earnings was a conundrum to many investors. But there was a saying investors sometimes forgot: Buy on the rumor and sell on the news.
“Are there other dates?”
I looked at the notes app again. “Yes. I think he started tracking his trades one month after he began his employment. Maybe he couldn’t believe the accuracy of the software program and he kept notes.”
“Well, it’s a clue he might have, yes. But it doesn’t prove anything,” Joey said as he went back to opening drawers and looking in the closet.
“No. But a puzzle is composed of many, many pieces," I mused. "And, I think we found some. Add this to the fact that when I asked James, my trainer and Gene’s friend, about the private room in the office marked ‘No entry,’ he didn’t want to speak about it.”
“What about the room again?” Joey asked, examining a box full of memorabilia.
“The office space is totally open, except for this one room where they run the software program. I even asked James if Gene had gone in there.”
Joey glanced at me. “What did he say?”
I shrugged. “He didn’t want to talk about it. He just told me to stay away from it.”
“Anything else on Gene’s phone?” Joey asked.
“I don’t know. Let’s ask Ed if we can keep it and do more research. And, let’s call this Alberta whose phone number in his wallet. It may be the girl he was trying to pick up.”
Joey nodded thoughtfully. “I have some other questions for Ed. Let’s go outside and I’ll ask him.”
As we stepped outside on the porch, Ed was just sitting there looking dazed. I felt bad for the guy. He'd lost his son, and he felt like no one was taking his death seriously.
“Ed, anything else you can think of? Did Gene have anyone that could be a suspect besides what we’ve discussed?” Joey asked.
“Like I said,” Ed began, “he works, reads, and studies the stock market. No girlfriend yet, few friends. He’s too young, too young,” he repeated, shaking his head, “to have any enemies.”
“Okay, so no enemies. How about these clubs in South Beach, all kinds of people go there. Could he have pissed off anyone, maybe over a girl?” I asked.
7
Joey Mancuso ~
Ed didn't answer immediately. “Well, now that you mention it, he had a confrontation with some guy at a South Beach club a week or two ago.”
Now, that sounded promising. “What about?” I asked.
“He didn’t make a big deal about it, but he and this other guy fought about some girl they both seemed to have been trying to pick up,” Ed replied.
“When you say fought, do you mean physically?” Jack asked.
“Gene had a black eye when he came home. From what he told me, the bouncer grabbed him from behind as the other guy was swinging and connected with Ed’s right eye.”
“Were the police called in?” I asked.
“Yes. Both were questioned outside the club and then let go,” Ed responded.
“Do you know who this other guy was?” I asked.
“No, but the police should have a record of the event,” Ed alleged.
Jack crossed his arms over his chest. “I’ll check with my friend at the MBPD and follow up.”
“Anyone or anything else you can think of, even if a minor thing? We want to be thorough,” I asked. After all, the more we knew, the better the chances were of solving this case.
Ed thought for a second, glancing across the street. “See that light blue house across the street?”
“Yes, what about it?” I replied as both Jack and I looked at it.
“Two weeks ago, some neighborhood girls were selling some raffle tickets to raise money for their volleyball team at school. I wasn’t home, but Gene was. The girls ran from the front door screaming that the man had exposed himself to them. Anyway, Gene had just arrived from work and heard them screaming.”
“Oh, go on,” I said. Maybe we had something here.
“Gene questioned the girls and they told him what had happened. So, my son goes over to the guy’s house and gives him all kinds of shit. He pretty much insulted the fellow and threatened him with calling the police.”
I frowned. “What did the guy say?”
“His name is Oscar Hernandez. Anyhow, Gene told me the guy acted as if Gene was nuts. He threatened to call the police himself and told Gene to leave his premises or he was going for his gun.”
Jack looked at me. “That doesn’t sound like the reaction of a guilty person. Your son assumed Hernandez exposed himself to the girls?”
Ed shrugged. “Gene said the girls sounded believable.”
“So, what happened?” I asked.
Ed's eyes studied the house across from him. “Oscar and I don’t know each other, except for saying good morning or whatever when we see each other. But he won’t talk to me about it at this point. I did find the girls and questioned them at their homes.”
“And?” Jack inquired.
Ed rolled his eyes. “It turns out they were pulling a prank on the poor man, not realizing the seriousness of their actions. They thought it was funny.”
“And this man, Hernandez, doesn’t know it was a prank?” Jack followed up.
Ed extended his arms and, with open palms, replied, “I tried going over there. Before I could get close to the door, he told me to go to hell from inside the house.”
“He didn’t want to hear from you,” I added. No surprise there, if his son had unintentionally harassed the man.
Shaking his head, Ed replied, “No, and he told his next-door neighbor that he thought Gene spread the accusation throughout the neighborhood, when it was the girls that did.”
I glanced at Jack. “Somebody should tell Hernandez the real story. But it sounds like this guy had an issue with Gene.”
“Oh, my God, you think—” Ed started to say, but I interrupted him before he could finish that sentence.
“Don’t go there, Ed," I said sharply. "We’ll talk to this guy. Is he there now?”
Ed looked at the home again. “His car isn't there.”
“Speaking of which, what kind of car does he drive?” I asked.
“He has a Kia, four doors," Ed quickly replied. "I have his license number if you want.”
“You wrote it down?” Jack asked curiously.
“No, just habit. I see it every day, so it’s in my memory bank.”
“We don’t need it now, but what color is the car?” I questioned.
”Kelly-green, dark green,” Ed replied.
Okay, dark green, dark blue, black. I guess at night they could look the same. So, maybe this guy was a suspect.
“Ed, don’t do anything please," Jack said reasonably. "We’ll talk to Hernandez later or tomorrow. Can I have your assurances you won’t address the issue with him?”
Smart on Jack's part to make sure Ed wouldn’t start something unwarranted with his neighbor. He was protecting his son. But there was no need for more confrontations.
“Yes. No problem. I’ll let you guys do it,” Ed agreed easily.
“Good. Can you write down the address for the girls’ homes? I want these parents to do the right thing and apologize to Hernandez,” I asked.
“And, Ed,” Jack said, holding up the phone we'd been examining minutes prior, “we’re taking Gene’s phone if that's okay with you. We’ll bring it back at some point.”
“Sure, that’s
fine. Let me give you the addresses. Hang on a second.” Ed got up and went inside.
Moments later, he came out with a piece of paper, and we proceeded to the car. And the plot thickened. We now had three possible suspects who, whether justified or not, could be the one.
“Here, Jack, why don’t you drive back?” I handed him the keys. “You know the way back better. Let’s review what we have.”
“Okay,” Jack said as we slipped into the car. “Not in any particular order, we have three suspects. Number one, this Bobal guy at the hedge fund company. That’s assuming he thinks Gene was onto something they might be doing illegally. Number two, the neighbor across the street, Oscar Hernandez, who thinks Gene defamed him by spreading the news that he exposed himself to the girls. And finally, number three, the kid who fought with Gene at the club over the girl.”
“Agreed,” I said. “So, tomorrow we come back with Detective Logan. We need his badge, and—”
Jack interrupted me. “Brother, tomorrow I have my first day at the office. You and Logan can handle this.”
I smirked at the idea of Jack having to get up early and go to an office to work. “I forgot you’re a working man. Logan and I will deal with this. We’ll try to meet with the girls' parents and make them apologize to Hernandez, plus make him aware the girls are responsible for spreading the lie.”
I looked at the window, and my blood boiled at what I saw. There was a worker with a Miami Marlins baseball cap, goggles, and a red bandana. Using a huge blower, he was scattering leaves, dirt, and all kinds of crap around. “Jack, stop the car a second. There, by that guy.” I pointed.
“What’s up, man?” Jack asked.
Ignoring his question, I rolled my window down and waved at this guy to come over. As he approached my window, he bent down and asked, “¿Sí?”
“Buddy, why don’t you sweep and pick up that shit? You don’t need to blow it all over the street. Comprende?”
“No hablo ingles, señor.”
“Mierda, mierda,” I said, rolling up my window. “Fuck it, just go on.”
“Brother, what was that about?” Jack asked, turning to me as he waited to reenter the traffic again.
My jaw clenched. “Those blowers make me insane. Use the same effort to suck the shit up into a container, my God. Why blow it all over the place?”
“All righty then, countdown to ten with me. Ready?”
I turned to Jack and laughed. “I’m okay, I know it’s a lonely crusade. Where were we?”
“You were outlining your schedule for tomorrow.”
“Got it, let me think.” I paused for a couple of seconds. I had to organize my thoughts. This guy with the blower just irritated the hell out of me. We had a few people to meet with, and I wanted to properly set an agenda. “Okay, then, we’ll question Hernandez, and follow that with a visit to the guy at the club. But, before we do that, we need to read the police report, which Logan can get. Sound like a plan?”
“I say you have a full day. I’ll call Logan after you call this girl, Alberta.”
I dialed the number in Gene’s wallet for Alberta on the speaker mode, so Jack could hear the call. I was about to hang up after five rings when she finally answered.
“Hello.”
“Is this Alberta?” I asked.
There was silence for a moment and then she replied, “Yes. Who is this?”
“Alberta, my name is Joey Mancuso. I’m a private detective and I wonder if I can ask you a few questions.”
“What is this about?” she asked slowly, suspiciously.
“Are you still in Miami?”
I could practically hear her frowning. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know who you are. What is this about?”
“I understand. I’m investigating an accident," I said, keeping my voice light and even. "Did you meet Gene Wells a few nights ago?”
She paused briefly. “I met a guy named Gene. Don’t know his last name. But we met briefly in Miami Beach a few nights ago. Is there something wrong?”
“Unfortunately, Gene was involved in a car accident the night you met when he left the club. Were you aware of that?”
She sucked in a breath. “Oh, my god! We only met the once and had a drink together. Is he all right?”
“I’m afraid not. He passed at the scene of the hit-and-run accident.” There was silence for a moment. “Alberta, are you still there?” I asked, exchanging glances with Jack.
“Yes, I’m here. What a horrible thing to happen," she murmured, sounding genuine. "He was such a nice guy. How did it happen?”
I ignored her question. “We’re trying to clear up a few things, and since you’re one of the last persons to speak to him, I wanted to ask a few questions.”
“Sure. Oh, my God. I could have been with him when that happened,” she said, her voice more high-pitched than before.
I knew the answer, but I asked anyway. “Why do you say that?”
“Well, Gene wanted to hook up, but we were leaving early the next morning. So, I said I couldn’t. Maybe next time I visited Miami Beach we could get together.”
“You said we. Who is we?”
“My friend and me. We had been down there a few days and were returning the next morning. Otherwise, I probably would have left with him. He was a gentleman and didn’t press the issue, as others might have.”
“And you went back to West Virginia?”
“Yeah, that’s home… How did you get my number?”
“Gene had a receipt from the club with your name and number in his wallet.”
“Oh, yeah, I wrote that for him. I feel terrible.” She heaved a heavy sigh.
I went a different direction. “Was he there with a friend?”
“Yes, a guy named James. He introduced him to my friend.”
“Did she leave with him? With James?”
“No, no. James left first and then Gene left a few minutes later. My friend and I stayed a while longer.”
“So, you don’t know what type of car James drove?”
“No. I do know Gene had a motorcycle of some kind. He kept telling me how exhilarating a drive would be at that time of night.”
“Let me ask you, did he drink a lot?”
“He only had one drink with me, a beer. I don’t know how much he drank before we met. You said it was a hit-and-run?”
“Yes. Do you know if he pissed off anyone at the club that would have come after him?”
She considered that for a moment. “I don’t think so. Like I said, he was a very nice guy.”
“Maybe some other guy that you had met before and thought Gene was moving in on him?”
“Oh, no. My friend and I were there by ourselves. We knew no one at that club.”
There wasn’t much more I could ask this young lady. Everything I asked was what we had already learned. “Alberta, thank you for answering my questions. I’m sorry I had to tell you about Gene.”
“Sorry I couldn’t be of any help. I hope you catch the bastard that hit him.”
I clicked the call off and looked at Jack. “What’d you think?”
Jack shrugged. “I think she confirmed pretty much what we know. Nice kid, not pushy. James left before he did. And, I don’t think anyone from the club was trying to get even with him because of the girl,” Jack replied and added, “There’s a contradiction, however. The alcohol level on Gene we know was nowhere near the max. Alberta says he had only one beer. Yet, James claims he was doing shots and drinking beers. So, we need to keep that in mind.”
“I agree. Also, if this was premeditated, there was someone at the club watching him and waiting for him to leave.”
“True that. What can we do with that?”
I looked out the window, formulating my thoughts. “Well, two things. Maybe we can get Detective Logan to get the video recordings from the club, assuming they have cameras. And second, maybe the valet parking attendants remember a dark four-door sedan.”
“That’s assuming they haven’t
recorded over that night’s video," Jack pointed out, checking his rearview mirror. "And as to the valet parking, many people park on the street or use public parking. Valet parking in South Beach is very expensive.”
True, but it couldn't be ruled out. “Yeah but think about it. If this was premeditated, then the perp wasn't going to take a chance after Gene left and run to get his car a few blocks away. No, as a matter of fact, the perp probably paid extra to have his car by the front door. This way, he or she would be ready to follow Gene. Or, was nearby waiting in the car for Gene.”
“Shit, Mancuso. You’ve turned into a Sherlock Holmes type detective, haven’t you?” Jack threw me a smirk before returning his attention to the road.
“That’s my hero, and the author of the series, Arthur Conan Doyle, is my mentor of sorts.” I'd read all the books. Sir Arthur had a prolific life as a medical doctor, an amateur football and cricketer, a politician, as well as a justice advocate involved in investigating cold cases.
“I think you’re onto something.”
I thought so, too. “Let’s visit the club tonight and find out.”
“I’ve got to be at my new job at seven in the morning." Jack rolled his eyes with a grimace. "I’m hating it already. Maybe you and Marcy can go clubbing tonight. Better yet, bring Logan with you. You might need his badge to get some answers.”
“Good point. Although I might have Marcy fly back tomorrow," I mused, tapping my finger on my knee. "This might take more than a couple of days to resolve. And, I know she’s anxious about getting back to work.”
“She’s still with the White-Collar Crime Division, is she not?”
“Yes, she is.”
“Well, if this develops into a white-collar crime, maybe she can help us from her end.”
“Huh, John Landers did say they had opened a New York office. That might work and Marcy would be thrilled to help in this case. Brilliant, Dr. Watson,” I said. “Maybe I’ll open a branch of Mancuso and O’Brian Investigations in Miami and have you run it.”
“I’m an author, Mancuso,” Jack pointed out dryly.
