The Unsub: Joey Mancuso, Father O'Brian Crime Mysteries Book 7: (Joey Mancuso, Father O'Brian Crime Mystery)

by Owen Parr

  “Let’s get back to the case. Fire up the smartboard.”

  Agnes had already placed a cross on George Newton’s picture.

  “Let’s concentrate on the murders of Bobal and Newton. Add Yamamoto Sanae, aka Sanae Newton, under George Newton’s picture. Also, connect the chief of staff for Senator Shenbeck, Lance Friedman, to Bobal and Newton.”

  It was time to place the pieces on the board and see how they played out. We had four dead victims and a handful of suspects. The killer, or killers, had to be on our board. But who?

  “Yep,” she said as she inserted lines connecting these characters. “Friedman had the opportunity, the means, and, like you said before, the motive to protect Shenbeck and his own ride to a possible White House position.”

  “Now, our guy who came in to fix the AC, the mystery man, he could be a hired gun, just like the two guys who killed James and tried to erase Jack from the picture. He bothers me because he’s been very careful not to be identified. No mistakes, no trace of him anywhere.”

  “You think he’s a professional?”

  “He knows what he’s doing. The only factor I see is the proximity he used to kill these two. Close and personal. He wants the victim to see him, maybe he even delivers a message before he shoots them.”

  “The close and personal could just be a means to kill them. Make sure he hits the mark, no? Any one of our suspects could have hired this guy,” Agnes said, pointing to the blank photo of our mystery man on the smartboard.

  I looked up at the ceiling as I thought about the events. “I still think these two companies had nothing to do with it. They don’t want any more scrutiny on them. They’ve been able to diffuse the FBI's and SEC’s investigation. If I wanted to hire a professional to kill these two, I would make sure the murders looked like accidents, suicides, not so obvious that it would make me a suspect. For all we know, Fönix is out of business without their top guys. And Peníze can just retreat to their other illicit businesses outside the US and close down altogether.”

  “I’m sure Patrick would be happy if Fönix is shut down. He won’t have to play his part,” added Agnes, smiling.

  “You know what? Use one of our burner phones and call them. Try to get an appointment for Patrick and the professor for tomorrow morning. The more I think about it, I’m sure they’re closing. If so, call Mr. Pat and tell him not to rent an outfit.”

  “On it,” she replied and moved over to her desk to make the call.

  I stayed seated at the conference table, looking at our board and all the names on it. If Fönix closed, it would remove all potential ties to their illicit scheme we originally began investigating, whether it had been insider trading or some other form of nefarious activity. Peníze Private Capital, which owned a partial interest in Fönix, and had ties to the Drakos and the Czech crime organization, would easily rid themselves of any links to whatever the partners, Newton and Bobal, may have perpetrated with their schemes. The partners would be the sole architects, and the Drakos would be exonerated. I was stymied at this part of the investigation. And I didn’t want Marcy to dig any further into it, for fear it may have blowback on her career.

  So, who? Who on this board had a personal motive to kill Bobal and Newton?

  My thoughts were interrupted by Agnes as she disconnected the call.

  “Joey, there was no answer at the office. Either they’re all busy, or no one is there. I called the rental office for the building, and they’re not aware that Fönix may be shutdown. The lady I spoke to, Janice, says she saw people there this morning.”

  “Do you know where Mr. Pat went to first? The rental place, or your salon?”

  “There was an opening at my hairdresser, and I called him as soon as he left here to go there first,” Agnes replied, looking at her phone. “He should still be there.”

  “Okay. Call him and tell him that as soon as he’s done, head over by Uber to Fönix and find out what’s going on. No need to pretend he’s an investor at this point. Have him call us from there,” I replied, drumming my hands on the table and standing up.

  I grabbed a cigar and a nice pour of the Balvenie, an aged, fourteen-year-old single malt extra matured in rum casks, called Caribbean Cask, from my private stash in the office, and walked to our private cigar club in front of our office, which was empty at this time of day.

  The setting here was cozy, a series of comfortable leather couches and chairs set in small groupings for anywhere between one to five persons in each. Area rugs delineated each grouping, and we had five of those areas throughout the club. No overhead lights, simply beautiful lamps on side tables for a low-key and inviting ambiance. The walls were decorated with a series of pictures that depicted the history of New York City and its growth. The music was soft and calming, so anyone could enjoy a conversation or a good book with a nice premium cigar and drink. It was the total opposite of our next-door pub. I enjoyed both places, but there was no doubt the cigar club was the place to think and relax, if one chose to.

  I sat down in one of the leather chairs, pulled up an ottoman, and raised my feet. One hand on the Balvenie, the other on a Padrón. I was concocting a scheme to draw out the offender. It was obvious we had nothing to latch onto as far as clues, but what if I could draw him out?

  Just as I was getting comfy, my phone rang. Looking at the side table where I had set my phone down, the ID caller revealed my brother's smiling picture. I put the Padrón in an ashtray and picked up the call. I had spoken to him last night and made him aware of Newton’s murder. “Hey, Dom, what’s up?”

  “Are you at the office?” he asked.

  “Yes, I’m here. Are you coming in?”

  “Be there in five.”

  “Perfect, I can use your brainpower. I’m stymied with this case.”

  After hanging up, I sat back again, putting the phone down and returning to my cigar and single malt. I closed my eyes for a minute and realized how exhausted I was. I needed a good night’s sleep.

  Halfway through my cigar, Dom walked in with a soft drink in hand.

  “Concentrating?” he asked as he sat down on a sofa next to me.

  I smiled and sat my empty glass down. “That and relaxing for a few minutes. My brain is fried with this case. It seems we take one step forward, then two steps back.”

  Dom sighed. “I know. I’ve been thinking about it myself. We have no witnesses, no forensic tie into a suspect, nada. Whoever killed Bobal and Newton knew what he or she was doing. They left no trace.”

  “That matches my thoughts that the offender was a professional of some kind. My only contradiction is that it was close and personal. By the way, Mrs. Bobal alibied out, and Mrs. Newton was in Miami Beach.”

  He grunted as he sat back. “So, we’re left with the mystery HVAC person that entered the building. What about the chief of staff for Shenbeck?”

  “Lance Friedman was at dinner with the Drakos last night when Newton was killed. But we know he was at the Avalon Clinton building, supposedly meeting with Newton in his apartment, when Bobal was killed.”

  Taking a sip from his soda, Dom asked, “So, is this one of those cases where it's not the who, but the why?”

  I took a second to relight my cigar. “If it’s a hired gun,” I started, holding my torch lighter to the tip of the cigar, “then yes. Unless he kills again and makes a mistake, we’ll never find him or her. Then the issue is, if we don’t have the offender or the weapon, we ain’t got anything. Proving a why without anything else is almost impossible.”

  “Is there another possible target? Does anyone else know anything that could expose whatever the motive for these killings?”

  I hesitated. “Huh, Jack Ryder was a target at one point. But he doesn’t know anything. He never had a chance to uncover anything.”

  “Yeah. But do they know that?” Dom asked, concerned.

  I sat up straighter as a sense of dread washed over me. “Shit, brother, you’re worrying me. He’s such an easy target on his boat f
or a gunman.”

  “I think you should share our concern.”

  “I’ll call him right now,” I replied, resting my cigar in the ashtray and reaching for my phone.

  33

  Joey Mancuso ~

  It was close to four thirty in the afternoon, and I expected Jack to be at the Easy Ryder, but he wasn’t answering his phone. That only made me more worried. Dom had a good point. If they, or if someone else, were cleaning house, Jack could still be a target.

  “Not like him to let a call from someone he knows go to voicemail,” I said to Dom.

  “You have Detective Logan’s number?”

  I called Logan, and he didn’t answer either. “Shit, now I’m really worried.”

  I stood, scratching my head, and walked away a few steps in deep thought. I turned back to look at Dom, but remained silent.

  Dom saw my concern and said, “It could just be a coincidence. Try again in a few,” he said.

  I called Marcy to see if she had Odette’s number. She looked through her contacts but didn't have it. I told her I would call her back, not giving her an explanation, but she made me promise to call her back as soon as possible.

  “Maybe I worried you for no reason. I’m sure everyone is okay,” Dom said, also sensing my anxiety.

  “I know, I know, but still. You made a good point. The killer could have easily flown to Miami yesterday or today."

  My phone rang and I picked it up, not bothering to look at the ID caller. “Jack?”

  “Joey, it's Robert Logan. I noticed you call, but—” he started.

  Not letting him finish, I asked, “Where’s Jack?”

  “What?” he asked, surprised at my sudden interruption.

  “Where’s Jack? I called and he didn’t answer.”

  Logan paused. “I don’t know. I haven’t been able to reach him all afternoon. I just called him because—”

  My stomach bottomed out. “Hang on a second, Logan. We’re thinking Jack may be in danger. If the killings here are an attempt to clean house, whoever is doing this may think Jack knows something about Fönix Securities,” I said quickly.

  “Dammit. He was with Odette this morning. You’re thinking—”

  “Call her and call me back,” I said.

  Ten long minutes went by before Logan called back. The second his face appeared on my screen, I picked up without letting it ring. “You found them?”

  “No. Neither one answers the call. It goes to voicemail immediately. I’ll run over to the marina and see,” he said tightly.

  I was silent, thinking Jack and Odette may be new victims of this gunman. I raised my gaze upward to the ceiling and closed my eyes. My breathing was short and my heart palpitated rapidly. I was always creating these schemes, or as others have called it, little off-Broadway plays, to knab the killers. I put Jack in Bobal’s office in Miami Beach. Now four dead people later, was Jack in play again? And, was Odette an innocent casualty? This would be something I would have to live with forever.

  “Joey, you still there?”

  “Yes, I’m here,” I replied in a subdued voice.

  “I’m over at the Newton home. I picked up a call on the radio of a robbery gone bad and came over immediately.”

  “Shit. What happened? I’m putting you on speakerphone. I’m with my brother, Dom.” I clicked the speaker button on the phone and set it on the table between us.

  “Mrs. Newton was out and there was no staff at the home. When Mrs. Newton came back, she discovered a man in a hoody had broken into her home.”

  Dom and I exchanged glances. Was it our mystery guy?

  Logan went on. “Anyway, evidently she carries a Glock 19, has a carry permit. According to her testimony, she noticed the front door was unlocked and entered her home quietly, pulling out her Glock at the same time. Heard noises from the studio. Upon entering the studio, she saw this man knelt in front of the safe. The man had cracked the plaster around the safe and was in the process of pulling it out,” he recounted and paused. “Are you still there?”

  “Very much so. Go ahead. What happened next?” I inquired, intrigued by the mystery.

  Logan continued. “She asked him, 'What are you doing?’ Then she claims the man reached for a weapon that was on a table next to him, whereupon she pulled the trigger and she shot the guy dead in the studio.”

  I was still worried about Jack, but I wanted more information on this intruder. Could it be our mystery man? “Tell me, what did the guy look like?”

  “He’s a big bulky guy, maybe six-three, early fifties. Peppered hair and mustache. No identification on him. Prints are being checked as we speak, but nothing so far.”

  “You think he’s Eastern European?” Dom asked, and I nodded at the question. Another, like the goons after Jack?

  “Uh, not really, guys. More like Latino or Middle Easterner. Dark complexion,” Logan replied.

  “What about the firearm? A .380 by any chance?” I asked.

  “No, it’s a Smith and Wesson revolver. .38 caliber.”

  Both Dom and I frowned in unison. We were hoping this was our guy. But nothing matched. Different weapon, dark complexion. Unfortunately, not our offender.

  “What’s in the safe?” I asked.

  “Mrs. Newton is refusing to open it in front of anyone,” replied Logan.

  “But it’s evidence,” I snapped. All these people were being killed because of a coverup, and she might have the answer in there.

  “We’re going to need a warrant to open it. She already called her attorney. She won’t even let us take it with us,” Logan offered.

  “She’s not being smart. If someone wants what’s in there really bad, they’ll come back. The safe is safer with the MBPD. Pun intended,” I countered.

  “Good point. I’ll try that on her,” Logan replied. “I’ll take off and drive to the marina. I’ll call you from there.”

  “All right, man. Please do, we’re very concerned." I hung up and slid back in my chair.

  Dom glanced at me. “This had to do with Newton’s work and Fönix Securities. Maybe there’s something in there that can justify an investigation. Don’t you think?”

  “I agree. If so, maybe Marcy and her unit can get on the case,” I replied.

  A lot had happened in a short period of time. This break-in pointed back to our two companies. So, back to the question, were all the murders tied to them? Or, were there other motives present in these killings? I had an inkling that the Bobal and Newton murders weren't tied to this mess. But I was starting to question myself. Everything pointed to the Drakos and the Czech organized crime family, right? But, Sherlock, remember to look beyond the obvious.

  “My God, Joey. You think something happened to Ryder?” Dom asked, breaking my thoughts.

  I turned my head to look at him. I drifted momentarily. Perhaps I was forcing myself not to think of Jack for a moment. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s time for you to say a prayer.”

  “Done that already,” Dom replied.

  I didn't respond immediately. “Let’s just wait for Logan’s callback. I don’t want to think about it. I mean, shit, there’s nothing we can do.”

  I got up and walked away. Didn’t really want to talk about anything else. I thought about going to the pub side, but I didn't feel like saying hellos and smiling with our regular first shifters.

  Two guys, whom I didn't recognize, came into the cigar club and Dom spoke to them. They waved at me, and I waved back, but I wasn’t focused. Had no clue who they were and, frankly, didn’t care. Jack and I had become good friends after meeting in New York when I was with the NYPD. We were very much alike, kindred spirits if you will. He was a good friend and a gentle soul. Always smiling and making sure others did also. I couldn’t think a case I got him involved in was going to cause his premature death.

  34

  Joey Mancuso ~

  An hour later, my phone rang. Caller ID showed Robert Logan. “Yes, Logan. Did you find them?” I asked anxiously.
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  “I’m at the Easy Ryder, they’re not here. But there’s no sign of foul play. Max is here,” Logan replied.

  No sign of foul play was good, but then again, they could have been abducted elsewhere. “And Odette didn’t tell you where they were going?” I asked.

  “Yesterday, she told me she was staying with Jack overnight, but not what they were doing today," Logan said, concern bleeding through his voice.

  “What about the guy on the boat next to him? You know, the guy that takes Max out for his walk, is he there? Maybe he knows something.” It was a longshot, but it was something.

  “His boat isn't there. So, he’s out on it.”

  “Shit, man, I’m worried. Maybe is nothing. But we have this gunman cleaning house and they may still think Jack knows more than what he does. I mean, they tried before, right?”

  “I know. But let’s not jump to the worst conclusion. For all we know, Jack and Odette could be out at the beach or something,” Logan replied, doing his best to calm me down before we disconnected.

  And I was worried. We were stymied in this case so far. Few clues, suspects dead, and fresh out of ideas now. I didn’t have to recount my conversation to Dom, who was still next to me. He got the gist of it from hearing my side of the conversation with Logan.

  “All we can do is wait,” Dom said.

  I blew out a long breath. “I know, and I hate waiting. Let’s go back to the office. We need to come up with a better strategy.”

  Dom headed back, while I made some small talk with the patrons who were enjoying a cigar at the club before going back myself.

  As I entered the office side, my phone rang. I frowned, looking at the caller ID. Detective Farnsworth. I was so not in the mood for this joker.

  “Yes, detective,” I answered, my tone clipped.

  “Did you hear what happened in Miami Beach?”

  “I did, I spoke to Detective Logan a while ago.”

  “That guy that broke in, that’s our unsub for these latest murders,” Farnsworth acclaimed.

  I frowned. “Not so fast. His description doesn’t match our mystery guy in the video of the Avalon Clinton building,” I said, sitting down at our conference table.