by Owen Parr
“Okay. Move to the Mrs.”
“Very well, Sheila Sanders, born nineteen-sixty-three, which would make her fifty-three when she passed. Also, attended Horace Mann High School. From there she went on to attend Columbia University and graduated with a Psychology degree. Married Harold Longworth in nineteen-ninety-five. Met him in high school. But look here, oh, oh. Agnes writes the following, —”
I was looking at my cell phone, as if wishing for a call about Marcy, glancing at Dom, I asked, “What?”
Dom went on, “Per her sophomore year book, she wrote on a photograph: ‘my love forever.’”
I asked, “On Harold’s high school photo?”
“No, no. Over Marshall Adams’ picture of her and him.”
“What? Adams, the attorney?”
Dom replied, “It seems these two were an item before Harold Longworth came in the picture.”
“So, she writes ‘my love forever’ in high school. How long is forever? These three have remained friends since then. Is he, Adams, who she is having an affair with?”
Dom glanced up from the file, and turning his gaze on me, asked, “Like you asked, how long is forever?”
I put the phone down on the table, and said, “It could be just crap you say in high school. But, something to think about. Any social media information on Sheila Adams?”
“Yes. Agnes included several pages of her Facebook postings and list of friends including; Mr. and Mrs. Adams. Mr. and Mrs. Pearson, a bunch others not related to the case. Oh, here is a photo of Mrs. Longworth and Mr. Chuck Pearson, at what seems to be a Foundation party or gala, in Houston, Texas.”
“Is Mr. Longworth or Mrs. Pearson in the photo?”
“No, and there are a few of Sheila and Chuck together.”
I leaned over to see the photos. “Chummy, these two in the pictures,” I said, observing the photographs.
“Pearson is the attorney for their Foundation, right?” Dom queried.
“How do you know that?”
“I was glancing at the organization of the Foundation just a second ago.”
“I didn’t know that. But, he mentioned he didn’t socialize with the Longworths.”
“Attending a gala is not equivalent to socializing, is it?”
“Technically, you’re right, brother. Anything else on Facebook?”
“The rest seems to be about the Foundation itself. The charities they contribute to, et cetera.”
“Dr. Watson, look beyond what you see there, observe. Tell me more about the charities they donate to.”
“Animal shelters, climate change, medical research for a cure for AIDS, LGBTQ groups, and something in the Congo. That’s about it.”
“Interesting.”
“What is?” Dom inquired.
“We didn’t want to limit her potential lover to a male partner, right?”
“I see, so, because she contributes to LGBTQ groups, she’s a lesbian, and thus her lover is a female?”
“I didn’t say that. But it adds a possible angle we shouldn’t ignore. It’s amazing how much you can glean from social media pages. People keep adding stuff to their pages, without realizing how much of a profile they are creating on themselves, for others to see.”
Dom said, “Let me get into the Adams’ section. Marshall Adams, also born nineteen-sixty-two, same as Harold. Attended the same high school and Yale. Graduated with a Juris Doctor degree. Joined Levan and Goodwin, as an associate upon graduation. In the year two-thousand he opened Adams and Associates. Same year Longworth opened his own real estate firm.”
“Adams did say they were like mirrored families,” I added, lighting up a cigar and keeping my eye on my phone. “What about a wifey and finances?”
“Getting there,” Dom replied. “Married Jessica Jones, eighteen years ago. Two children, a boy; sixteen, and a girl; eighteen. Blah, blah, blah, okay finances; no record of net worth, but no significant debts, except for a mortgage on their home. Mrs. Adams, Jessica Jones, is not employed; she’s listed as a homemaker. However, she’s on the board of the Longworth Foundation.”
I asked, “Any Facebook postings on these two?”
“Not on Mr. Adams. But, Mrs. Adams has a page, and Agnes included some of that. Take a peek at Mrs. Adams’ profile photo,” said Dom, turning the file so I could see it.
Mrs. Adams, also listed as Jessica Jones, had her profile picture covered by the colors of the LGBTQ flag; red, orange, yellow, blue, green and purple. “Good observation, brother.”
“That doesn’t necessarily mean she is a lesbian. She could be showing her support of the group.”
“That’s right. But there is more to the group than just lesbians. What does the letter ‘B’ stand for?” I asked, smiling.
“Bisexual.”
“Exactly. We have no proof, but, what if both ladies are bisexual, and have a relationship? Mrs. Adams is on the board, right?”
“I suppose you’re right.”
I summarized, “Very well. In a few minutes, we have uncovered that Mr. Adams was an item with Mrs. Longworth in high school. And, a longshot, but, Mrs. Adams and Mrs. Longworth could have a more intimate connection than just a friendship. Further, Mrs. Longworth seems too cozy on those photos with her Foundation’s counsel, Mr. Pearson.”
“At some point, we’ll have to analyze opportunity and motivation,” Dom said, in a searching fashion.
“All in due time. First, we need to find all possible suspects, then, rule them out, one by one.”
“Are we going to have time to that?”
“We better, for Mr. Longworth’s benefit.”
“And we still have to review the executive directors of the two charities.”
I took a puff from my cigar, “We do. Let’s review Charles Pearson,” I said, letting out the smoke and enjoying the flavor.
“I gotta go back to Saint Helen’s afterwards. Let’s see, Charles Pearson, born nineteen-sixty-eight, in Detroit, Michigan. Attended high school in Michigan. Then graduated from U of M, not Michigan, but Miami’s law school. Joined Adams as an Associate, rose to junior and then senior partner in two-thousand thirteen. Married to Judith Lee Parker. One son, fifteen. Pearson, as we already know, is listed as counsel for the Longworth Foundation.”
“Any information or social media on these two?”
“Agnes does not have anything else on these two, no.”
“Then reviewing, besides Mr. Longworth as a suspect, we’ve added three more, potentially. I think you need to interview Mrs. Adams, or Jessica Jones. I’ll question Adams and Pearson, myself. Hopefully Agnes will have the research on the charity directors in the morning.”
“I’ll take off then, and I’ll see you after my last Mass tomorrow,” said Dom.
“Speaking of Mass, is Agnes still attending your Mass in the early morning?” I asked, smiling.
“Both the six-thirty and seven,” Dom replied, closing his eyes, with a bit of consternation on his face.
Just as Dom was leaving the pub, my cell phone rang. The pub was crowded and noisy, so I went into our small office and answered, not recognizing the ID caller’s number, “This is Joey Mancuso.”
“Joey, this is Alberto Rodriguez, Marcy’s stepfather, can you come over to the hospital now,” he asked, somewhat agitated.
“Mr. Rodriguez, is Marcy alright?”
“Joey, she’s critical. Come over as soon as you can, please,” he replied in a somber tone.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Rushing to the hospital, in another yellow cab, all I could think of Marcy dying on me. The thought of not sharing the rest of my life with her was unbearable. We’ve had two wonderful years together, and my vision of living in a small town sharing a caring, loving life together was being obliterated.
I ran to the emergency room, only to find out she was in the OR, but, all the way at the opposite end of the hospital. I felt my legs shaking, and it seemed the faster I ran, the slower my pace was. I hate hospitals, their broad corridors with
the white tiled floors, their cold temperature, and the smell of iodoform; a compound of carbon, hydrogen and iodine, that’s used as a disinfectant. None of my memories of hospitals are good, and this was certainly adding to that.
The first person I recognized in the OR’s waiting room was Victoria Stewart, Special Agent in Charge of the FBI’s white collar crime division, and Marcy’s boss. Standing next to her was Alberto Rodriguez, Marcy’s stepfather. Both looked at me with a sullen look in their eyes.
“What happened, I thought everything was fine?” I asked, short of breath.
Alberto gave me a hug, “Joey, her right lung collapsed. They’re doing a thoracoscopy. It seems the bullet, or a piece of the bullet, hit her lung and collapsed it. They’ve stapled off a portion of the lung.”
Victoria came over and gave a me a hug. “I’m so sorry about this, Joey.”
I could see she was genuinely concerned. I replied, “Marcy is a tough lady. She’ll overcome this, I’m sure.”
Alberto had tears in his eyes, I asked, “Where is Rosa?” referring to Marcy’s mom.
Victoria responded, “Special Agent Belford walked down with her to get some chamomile tea. They should be back in any moment.”
I nodded. “When did her lung collapse?”
Alberto sat down and replied, “They were getting the bullet out, which they did. They have not been able to repair the damage to the shoulder joint yet. Joey, —” his voice trailed off. Then he gathered himself and continued, “Joey, she may lose some movement in her right arm.”
“Alberto, don’t worry about that, now. Besides, she’s left handed, and physical therapy will do the rest.”
Alberto just nodded his head in the affirmative. Victoria’s facial expression was not as convincing.
Victoria and I sat down next to Alberto, we both glanced at a large clock on the wall at the same time. It read eleven-ten in the evening.
Victoria asked, “How’s the Longworth case coming along? I heard you were on that.”
“Yeah, well, that’s going to take a back seat now. At least, until we are done here.”
She added, “From everything I’ve heard and read, the husband did it.”
I sighed, “That seems to be the consensus. However, I’m not convinced. There was never any follow up done on this case. Everyone assumes he did it, and that was that.”
Victoria became interested in my reply. “Have you uncovered anything pointing to someone else?”
“Just circumstantial stuff. We’re looking at it, now. The clock is ticking, and like Vince Lombardi once said, ‘We didn’t lose the game, we just ran out of time.’”
“Was Marcy helping you in any way?” Victoria asked, gazing into my eyes.
This was a double-edged knife type of a question. Once before, Marcy had been reprimanded for helping me in a case. As a matter of fact, it had been Victoria who warned her not to do it. I thought about my answer.
Before I could reply she spoke. “Joey, if there is anything I can help you with, just ask. You got that?”
“Thank you, that’s very sweet of you. But, for the record, Marcy was not helping. We just got involved in this case, and she’s been busy, herself.”
“Feel free to call me, I mean it,” Victoria whispered.
I nodded, as a nurse was coming out from some double doors. “Mr. Rodriguez?” She inquired.
We all stood up.
“Yes, I’m Mr. Rodriguez,” Alberto said.
The nurse glanced at all of us, before saying anything, “It’s all under control, now. The doctors have the right lung functioning.”
I asked, “Any more bullet fragments?”
The nurse hesitated. Alberto said, “This is Mr. Mancuso, my daughter’s fiancé.”
She nodded, “The doctors believe they have removed all fragments,” the nurse replied.
“What about the repair to the shoulder joint?” I asked, touching my right shoulder.
“The doctors want to wait until she recovers from the trauma. They’ll be doing that later tonight, or early morning,” she said, turning to glance at the wall clock, as we all followed her gaze to the clock. “For now, she’s stable. There’s not much more to tell you for now. As soon as they begin on the shoulder, I’ll come out and let you know.”
“Thank you, Elaine,” I said, after noticing her name tag. “You’ve been very kind.”
“Yes, thank you,” Alberto added.
We all looked at each other, and took our seats again. Mrs. Rosa Rodriguez, and Belford walked into the waiting room. I greeted both, hugging Rosa, Marcy’s mom, and shook hands with Belford, who looked genuinely concerned.
My cell phone rang, and I got up, walking away from the group to answer it. It was Agnes. Keeping my voice down, I clicked the ‘talk’ button. “Hi, Agnes, I’m at the hospital.”
“Why are you back there?” Agnes asked, surprised.
“Marcy’s lung collapsed, but, she’ll be fine.”
“Oh, my God!”
“Agnes, she’s going to recover.”
“Why didn’t you call me?”
“It’s been a busy day.”
“They’re calling her a hero for preventing a mass shooting.”
“Unfortunately, the other hero, a Federal Marshal, was not as lucky as Marcy.”
“I know. What a shame. I’ll visit her tomorrow, she’ll be there?”
“Oh, she’s going to be here for a few days.”
Agnes lowered her voice, “Joey, is she going to be alright?”
“She’ll be okay. Lots of physical therapy, though,” I said, not wanting to get into details now.
“Listen, do you want me to email the information on the two executive directors of the charities, or would you rather wait?”
“No, no, go ahead. I’m going to have some time to review your research. Anything stand out?” I asked, as I began walking back to the waiting room.
“You can pretty much eliminate the director for the Angels for Children Charity, a Mrs. Miriam Kolozoff, she was on vacation with her husband when Mrs. Longworth was killed. However, you’ll need to read about the director for the Longworth Foundation, Ms. Geraldine Francis. I think I uncovered some stuff there.”
My caller ID showed Dominic was calling me. “Agnes, thank you. I have Father Dom calling on the other line.”
“My best to Marcy, bye Joey.”
I clicked Agnes off, and clicked again for Dom. “Padre you heard?”
“Mr. Patrick called me to tell me. How is Marcy?”
I gave Father Dom the short version, and assured him that Marcy would be alright. Albeit, some possible loss of motion on her right arm.
He said, “That could be an issue with her job.”
I had not even considered that possibility. “Marcy is strong,” I said, “Plus she’s a lefty.”
“I’ll be in to see her tomorrow after my two Masses. I’ll dedicate both to her fast and full recovery.”
“That’s great, she’ll want to see you.”
“Are you going to hang there tonight?” Dom asked.
“I’ll be here until she wakes up. They’re working on her shoulder. Agnes is emailing the research on the directors of the charities, so I’ll have something to work on.”
“I’ll pray for her tonight, Joey. Forward a copy of the research, if I’m not copied on it already. I’ll do some reading myself, in case I can’t sleep. And Joey, Marcy is going to be fine.”
“From your lips to God’s ears, brother. Thank you. I’ll see you in the morning,” I said, clicking off the call.
Walking back into the waiting room, I saw everyone was talking calmly. “Any good news?” I asked, of no one in particular.
“They are working on her shoulder, as we speak,” Alberto Rodriguez said. “Her rotator cuff is damaged, but, there’re no other complications, thank God.”
I patted Alberto’s face with my right hand. “She’ll be fine, your daughter is a feisty fighter, she’ll come out of this stronger tha
n before.” I said to him. But, I was actually saying it to myself, and hoping I was right.
Special Agent Tony Belford approached me, “Joey, Victoria is going to give me a ride back after the surgery is completed. But, I’ll be back first thing tomorrow morning. If there is anything I can —”
I interrupted him, “Thank you Tony, and again, sorry about my outburst before.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he said.
I felt a vibration on my right leg. Taking out my cell phone from my pants pocket, I noticed Agnes had sent the email.
It was going to be a long night, and morning. Agnes’s research was going to keep me occupied for a while. I was looking forward to sitting and reading her report, I needed to get my mind wrapped around something else for a little bit. I wanted to call my ex-partner at the NYPD, Detective Lucy Roberts, to give her an update, but, it was almost two in the morning. I decided to wait until a decent hour, to let her know about Marcy.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Thursday, December 29th
Alberto, Rosa and I stayed in the waiting room until four in the morning, when Marcy was moved to the recovery room, located on the same floor, but down the hall a few hundred feet. One by one, we could see her for a few minutes. However, she was still out from the anesthetic. The prognosis was good. But, she was in for a long recovery period with extensive physical therapy. I was the last one to visit her and held her hand in mine quietly, for a few minutes.
When I came out, Alberto had gone down to the cafeteria and brought back six of the hospital’s best attempt at an imitation of McDonald’s Egg McMuffins, and coffees. I was famished and gulped two of those suckers, in two bites each, then eating Rosa’s second one, that she didn’t want. We were told that in approximately another hour, Marcy would be moved to a private room, and that by then, she should be aware of her surroundings and alert.
As much as I tried reading the research Agnes sent me a few hours before, my mind kept wandering off, and I hadn’t been able to focus on the material. I was going to wait for Dom to arrive, and go over it with him.
