by Owen Parr
And that wasn't chump change. “Okay. So, our shooter was wearing one. If he bought it used or new, it tells me he’s got the means. Not your average street thug who’s hired on a one-off.”
“That confirms your original assertion that the shooter is a pro of some kind,” Dom observed.
“Correct.” I nodded. “Now, he wears a watch on his right hand and held the gun with his left, which may tell us what?”
“He’s lefthanded,” Larry offered.
I pointed at Agnes as she typed in the notes. “He’s white, taller than five-ten, and has mad, intense blue eyes. Brown mustache. Looks older than fifty due to wrinkles on his face running up and down,” I added, touching my face to make the point.
“Mad eyes? What does that mean?” Dom asked, furrowing his brow.
“That’s how the wit described him. Beto the janitor. Mad eyes? Meaning what?” I question.
Marcy scoffed. “You’re asking us to formulate an opinion of what that means? Really?”
“I’ve said before that this guy had a personal agenda, he’s not a cold killer or a hired gun. Every kill he’s done has been up close and personal. I’ve suspected that he tells the victim something before he shoots them. Patrick now has confirmed it,” I said.
“But Patrick said he heard U-turn. What does that mean in this context?” Dom asked, opening his hands on top of the table.
Immediately, I knew what that meant. This had been another close and personal encounter of the killer with his victim. “I bet you he said ‘Your turn.’ And, I bet you he said that to Bobal and Newton when he shot them,” I replied.
Agnes stopped typing and looked up. “So, we have a white, blue-eyed male. At least five-feet-eleven-inches tall, who’s left-handed, and of financial means. Plus, he has a beef of some kind with the owners of Fönix Securities. Anything else?”
I was going to say fast as hell on his feet, but I refrained. “Add the fact that he’s familiar with weapons and possibly police procedures. He’s kept his face hidden from every camera, and never left any forensics behind.”
Harry chimed in. “Are the records of Fönix available to us? We could see if anyone had a complaint of any kind against them.”
“Good point, Harry. But Fönix is history. Everything they had is gone, and any digital records probably wiped out,” I replied.
“What about the cloud?” Larry asked.
I looked at Agnes, and she said, “No. If they removed the server, I won’t be able to access anything. Plus, I doubted they would be saving anything to the cloud. However, I can do a search with the SEC or FINRA, and see if anyone filed a complaint.”
“I doubt anyone did. Supposedly, everyone made tons of profits with these guys. Which is why they were being investigated,” Dom asserted.
“It’s still worth a shot,” I said, nodding in the direction of Agnes.
“What would be another reason why they would want to kill the owners of the firm?” Marcy asked.
We all remained quiet and pensive. Marcy had struck a chord. I should have checked employment records, maybe a disgruntled fired employee? Or, was it more personal than that?
“It can’t be really personal,” began Dom, “because he went after Patrick simply because he was part-owner. Nothing else.”
Marcy offered, “Good, so we think it’s personal, but related to owning the company.”
Related to owning the company. That struck a chord. I was deep in thought, repeating everything that was being said. Suddenly, the light went on. “I think I know who the shooter is.”
43
Joey Mancuso ~
My phone ringing startled everyone.
“Yes, captain,” I answered. “Can I put you on speaker?”
“Who’s there? The usual suspects?”
I smiled. “Exactly, including Marcy."
“Forensics’ report is back. No prints anywhere in the office building, janitor’s closet, or any equipment. The rounds embedded in the vest are .380s, same as the other two murders.” He paused.
“Captain—” I began.
He cut me off. “It wasn't a bomb in the backpack. It turns out the man arrested has just been discharged from two tours in Afghanistan. Army Rangers, an IED specialist. He had two years of back taxes he hadn’t filed and had planned with the CPAs to drop off his paperwork for them to file. So, all he had in the backpack were tax papers.”
“Captain,” Dom tried.
“Yes, Father,” responded the captain.
“The dog picked up the scent of explosives. How come?” asked Dom.
“The backpack was his field backpack in Afghanistan. Who knows how many explosives this guy worked on,” replied the captain easily.
“So, the Ranger didn’t fly back commercial, otherwise the backpack would have never made it through the airport,” Agnes offered.
“Whoever said that is correct. Good pick up,” said the captain.
“It was Agnes,” Marcy said.
We all looked at Agnes, and she blushed under the attention.
“Joey, you were about to say something, and I interrupted you. What was it?” Johnson asked.
I had been thinking all along. “I know, I forgot,” I lied as everyone in the room, almost in unison, expressed disbelief in one way or another. “Probably not important. Are you still with the detectives?”
“Yes, they’re here. Do you have anything to share?”
“No, not right now. I’ll call you back if anything develops from our brainstorm.” Disconnecting with Johnson, I said, “Good. It wasn't a ploy to shake us out of the stakeout. So, our shooter is working alone, as I thought.”
Marcy knocked on the table with her closed fist. “You were about to reveal the killer, or who you think is the killer. Are you going to play one of your games with us? And, why didn’t you tell Johnson?”
Dom smirked, knowing me almost as well as he knew himself at this point. "He doesn’t want the other detectives to know what he’s about to do.”
I smiled and pointed at Dom, nodding my head in agreement. “Stay with me a second.” I picked up my phone, scrolled through my favorites, punched a contact, and put the phone on speaker.
Two rings later, Jack Ryder answered. “What’s up, Mancuso? I’ve called a bunch of times for an update.”
“Forget the update, put your gray cells to work a minute,” I said.
Jack snorted. “Yes, Hercule, what you got?”
“Did you see Ed Wells at his wife's funeral services?”
Everyone around the table looked at each other. I had revealed my suspect.
“It hasn’t happened yet. I think it’s scheduled three days from today. Why?” Jack asked, the frown clear in his voice.
“How’d you know that?” I inquired.
“Logan asked the coroner’s office to notify him of the disposition of the body. Anyway, it seems Wells called today to make arrangements for the funeral.”
Today, he called and set the funeral for three days from now? Was he still in New York and planning on going after Drakos, the Czech crime boss? I went on. “Think back to when we met Ed Wells. Did you pick up if he’s lefthanded or righthanded?”
“Fuck, man,” he began incredulously, and we all laughed.
“Oh, by the way, you’re on speakerphone with my team and Marcy,” I shared.
“Oops, I apologize. Thanks for telling me now, dumbass,” he snapped.
“Left or right?” I probed.
“Let me replay our visit with him. He was mowing the lawn as we approached. Then, we shook hands and he offered us a bottle of water from a Yeti cooler.” He paused. “I remember he reached for the water and at the same time swiped sweat from his forehead with his left hand. I remember that because the beautiful Rolex watch on his wrist shined in the sun from the water in the cooler when he took out his hand. So, I’m guessing he's lefthanded.”
Everyone nodded around our table.
“You answered three questions with that lengthy story,” I sa
id.
“I was thinking out loud, brother,” Jack countered.
“What about his eyes? They were blue if I remember correctly. But would you call them mad?” I queried, drumming my fingers on the table.
“Mad?" He hesitated. "I don’t know how to answer that. But they were piercing blue eyes. Why? What are you after?”
I had more questions. “What about his face? Wells didn’t have a mustache when we met him. But do you remember his face worn with wrinkles?”
“No, not at all. Smooth as a baby’s rear,” Jack replied.
A second call was coming in. I frowned, but I saw it was Officer Smythe. “Hang on, Jack, don’t go away." I switched calls. “Yes, Smythe, you found the weapon?”
“Yes, sir. I’m looking at it. It’s a Bersa .380, black. It’s bagged, and I’m taking it to the precinct. Oh, and the registration number has been filed off.”
“Excellent, Smythe. Good job. You guys go get a beer on me. Thank you, I gotta go.” With a wide-ass grin, I pounded the table, disconnected, and turned to my team. “We have the weapon.”
I switched back to Jack. “Tell me something, are you familiar with a Bersa .380 pistol? Because I’m not.”
“I know it looks like a Glock. Made in Argentina, and because of that, we see a lot in Miami. But Logan can probably give you more information on it. Why?”
“The trap we set for the shooter with Patrick worked. Patrick is fine, but the shooter took the bait and hit Patrick’s vest with two to the chest at close range,” I reported.
“Oh, my God, I’m glad you prefaced that with he’s fine. So, you got your man?” Jack inquired.
“No, he eluded us. But you’re not going to believe who I think is the perp. I think our man is Sergeant Ed Wells,” I said and waited for his response.
There was silence for a few seconds, then he said in amazement, “What? Ed Wells? Why?”
I went on to recount the statements made by our witness, Beto. And his mention of "mad eyes."
“Wow, I don’t get it,” Jack said, sounding shocked. “Why would he do that?”
I sat up and looked at the phone as if Jack were there. “Think about it, he was upset that someone killed his son. We told him that James did it, but he always thought there was someone else who ordered the hit. And, he guessed that his son knew of some illicit transactions at the company. Then, James gets murdered and pretty much confirmed his suspicion,” I explained.
“This man has been a policeman forever, man. How could he do that?”
“He’s a man first, and the death of his wife made him go from angry to wanting revenge. I mean, shit, we weren’t getting any closer to solving this,” I replied by way of an explanation.
“Are you sure it’s Ed?” Jack asked.
“All the pieces of the puzzle are coming together, and they display his picture. Hey, I feel horrible also,” I offered.
“You want Logan to question him?”
“No, not yet. But do check if he’s in town. Can you find out if he traveled to New York without him finding out?”
Agnes raised her hand. “I can do that.”
I nodded back at Agnes. “Jack, forget the trip.” I suddenly thought of something else I wanted. “Have Logan call me as soon as he can. You got that, buddy?”
“You want me to do a three-way call?” Jack suggested.
“Not right now. I’m in the hospital and I haven’t visited with Patrick much. I’ll speak to him when he calls,” I said and disconnected.
I looked around the room. It seemed the consensus was that we were on the right course. Wells was our shooter, as much as I hated to admit it. Revenge was best served on a cold plate, as the old saying went, and unfortunately, Wells didn’t wait or trust the wheels of justice for his recompense.
I got up and everyone followed. I had to spend a little time with Patrick. On the way there, I dialed Captain Johnson. He answered on the third ring.
“Joey, did you solve the murders?” he asked, and I imagined his grin.
I couldn’t tell him yet of what we came up with. We were on it, and I didn’t want anyone else involved now. “Captain, not yet. However, we think the shooter may go after Drakos. Is he still in town?”
“I don’t know. But why?”
“The thinking is the shooter is eliminating everyone associated with the firms, both Fönix and Peníze. At least the leadership.”
“Huh. Well, Drakos has a detail of bodyguards around him. It would be difficult." He paused. "But he did get to Patrick. I’ll find out and maybe put some eyes on him.”
I really wouldn’t mind that guy getting hit. After all, he had an international crime syndicate going on. “Sounds good, captain. I mean, it’s just a thought. Oh, any ballistics on the firearm yet?”
“Too soon, I’ll get to you on that,” Johnson replied, and we hung up.
We entered Patrick’s room. Larry and Harry said their goodbyes to him and left. Carla was sitting on the bed, somewhat cozy with Mr. Pat. I looked at him and nodded in Carla’s way without her seeing me.
Patrick smiled back. “Did you solve it yet?” he asked with a smartass blink.
“Working on it, Mr. Pat. We’ll get our guy.” And that was a promise.
We visited for a while, making small talk and finding out that our senior member of the team had been dating Carla only a few days. Things were moving fast. Good for him. The last time I asked him if had a young honey at home, he'd replied, "The only honey I have is in the fridge and it’s expired.”
44
Joey Mancuso ~
On the way home with Marcy on the 407, Detective Logan called me.
“Mancuso, how’s it going?” Without giving me time to answer, he went on. “Jack brought up to speed. I can’t believe it either. But anyway, Ed Wells hasn't been home for a few days according to the neighbors.”
That was another nail in his coffin. “Yeah, man, it's tough to swallow. Listen, two things I want to ask. First, can you covertly find out if Wells was ever involved in a crime scene that the perps used a Bersa .380?”
“Sure. I know someone in the Miami Shores Detective Squad. Why don’t you run a VICAP search with your captain?”
“That was number two. Can you do it?”
“Of course. I’ll get on it. You have enough to arrest Wells?”
“Not at this point, brother, we're still working on this. No ADA is going to bring charges with what we have. A bunch of circumstantial things. No hard evidence, and the guy is law enforcement.”
“Understood. One thing and I don’t know if it helps. I visited him during the investigation and saw a picture of him with his wife and sister in the Jersey Shore Boardwalk. Maybe she’s still around. That’s where he’s from.”
“Do you have her name?”
“No, but when I call my guy at his station, I’ll find out.”
“Great idea. Do that. Thanks.”
We were halfway through the 407, on our way to Brooklyn Heights. Marcy was, as usual, weaving from one lane to the other and engaging her right shoulder with each lane change. I loved her little quirks. She was looking radiant with her pregnancy.
“I think you’re on your way to solving these murders. It’s just a shame it's Wells.”
“Frankly, I don’t know what I would do if it was me. Burying your young innocent son and then your wife. Powerful emotions there.” I tried to think of what that would feel like but couldn’t.
She turned to face me. “I doubt you would murder three people in cold blood like he did.”
I shrugged, not sure what I was capable of. “We’re all capable of killing another person. It just depends on the circumstances, don’t you think?”
“Not in cold blood, no,” she replied, turning to face the traffic.
“I just hope he doesn’t do anything stupid when we find him. He’s a desperate man,” I said, looking out the window at the Upper Bay.
Suicide by police was my thought. No cop wanted to go to prison and face other f
elons, especially ones they put there.
Time was of the essence. If we could arrest Wells while in New York, it would be a lot easier than chasing him back to Miami. I really didn’t think he would go after Drakos. Wells had gotten to the main players of Fönix, two of which worked directly with his son in the Miami Beach office.
I dialed Agnes as we approached our apartment building. “I need you to check social media for Ed, Edward Wells, Miami resident. See if there are any pictures with his sister. Maybe originally from New Jersey or New York. I need to find out if she’s alive and where she lives. Call me ASAP, please.”
We disconnected. Agnes was used to my direct conversation without the usual "Hi, how are you?" crap. This could be a quicker way of locating his sister.
Marcy had ordered in as we drove, and the food delivery was waiting for us when we arrived at our building. An hour later, we had our dinner and were talking about the baby’s sex. Marcy still didn't want to know. I was ready, though. Was it a little Joey or….? Come to think of it, we hadn't picked out a name for a baby girl. And frankly, I think Marcy had other ideas about another Joey.
My phone rang at eight that night. “Agnes, you found her?”
“No, not yet. Wells has a social media page, but nothing really on it. He hasn’t posted in a year. No tie-ins to any family on the page. The Wells name originates in Scotland, and at one point, twenty-three percent of them resided in New York. Do you know his deceased wife’s name? Maybe she had a page.”
“No.” I thought for a few seconds. “How about if you look at property records for Wells in Miami Shores? They owned a home there.”
“Give me some time. I have to get into the county records and go from there.”
“Agnes, if this guy is anywhere near here, I want to go after him now,” I said, trying to impress upon her the urgency.
“I’m on it, boss. Don’t hang up yet. I found an Edward Wells in the American Airlines passenger manifest. He traveled from Miami to New York six days ago. I can’t confirm it was our Wells, though.”
“That fits our timeline. Great. Find his sister.”
