by Owen Parr
Longworth turned to me and asked, “What do you think, Mr. Mancuso?”
“Sir,” I began, “these ladies have done an excellent job, from my perspective. But, you have to manage your expectations. No matter what happens, I intend to expose the real murderer.”
Longworth frowned, “But if I’m convicted…” he didn’t finish the sentence.
Goldstein said, “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Ms. Hartman and I are going to complete our closing arguments, and will reconvene here in the morning.”
Longworth walked out, to the embrace of both his daughter and his son. I stayed by Ruth, “Can I ask you a question, Ruth?”
“Of course, what’s on your mind?”
“You pulled out pictures when questioning Mr. Pearson, and Inez also had pictures, when she grilled Ms. Francis, did you have any incriminating photos?”
“Only if you think our family albums are damning,” she replied, with a sly smile.
“Fantastic,” I said.
Everyone but a few reporters, tapping on their tablets, and phones, was left behind when we walked out of the courtroom. One reporter asked Ruth, “Mrs. Goldstein, do you think Ms. Francis, the lover, did it?”
“We have no comments at this time,” Goldstein replied, and hurriedly walked out with me. She inquired if I had spoken to Father Dominic about their offer. My response was short, just stating I had, but were waiting for this case to come to its conclusion. We said our goodbyes, and I told her I couldn’t wait for the final day.
My ass vibrated as a text from Marcy chimed. It read; ‘call me.’ Instead, I decided to go directly to the hospital, and visit with her. I had a feeling the conversation we were about to have was something I’d rather do in person, maybe.
I was anxious, and traffic was bad heading to New Jersey. I had gotten used to having a car service take me everywhere, but I was still driving Marcy’s car, so I entertained myself going over today’s testimony, as I made my way to University Hospital.
Entering Marcy’s room, I noticed that the flowers that were now a few days old, were past their prime, the fragrance was still there, but frankly, I’ve never liked the scent of so many flowers together. It reminded me of another place, and not a pleasant one, where flowers are sent to a person in grief.
FBI Special Agent Tony Belford was by Marcy’s bed, holding one of her hands. Huh, I said to myself. Marcy’s stepdad and mom, sat in two chairs, by the front and to the side of the bed. Tony let go of Marcy’s hand as he saw me entering the room, and turned to face me.
“Joey, how are you?” he asked.
“I’m doing good, thanks,” I replied, smiling. I proceeded to kiss both of Marcy’s parents and made my way to Marcy’s bedside, opposite GQ Tony. She looked refreshed, finally wearing makeup, which she had abandoned in the days prior. Leaning down, I kissed her on the forehead and grabbed both her hands.
“How are you feeling?” I asked.
“Better, I’m getting out of here tomorrow,” Marcy replied, with a broad grin.
“That’s great news. Are you going to stay with your parents?”
“No, they’re going to stay with me, at my place.”
“Excellent. I’ll leave your car here tonight.”
“I forgot you had it. But, no, keep it for a couple of days. I won’t need it, and Dad has his car here,” she replied, turning to Tony, she added, “call me from D.C. and, keep me updated.”
Tony got the cue that his visit was over, leaned in, and kiss Marcy on the cheek. “I’ll keep you posted.” He extended his hand towards me, and asked, “Did the information I supplied help you in the case?”
“Man, it made the case, I think. Those two wits didn’t know what hit them, when all that stuff came out. I can’t thank you enough, Tony, we appreciate your help with this. I owe you.”
“My pleasure, let me know if there is anything else I can help with.”
Marcy looked curiously at both of us, not knowing what we were discussing. She leaned forward, and said, “Mom, Dad, why don’t you accompany Agent Belford downstairs? I want to talk to Joey for a minute.”
Tony, followed by Mr. and Mrs. Rodriguez walked out of the room, and closed the door.
“So, how’s your physical therapy coming along?” I asked, trying to make small talk.
Marcy ignored the question. “Listen, I want to discuss something. And it’s serious,” she said, bringing the back of the bed up to an almost sitting position.
I sat on the side of the bed. “Sure, what’s up?”
“I’ve had a lot of time to think, and I’ll just come out and say it, okay?
“Say what?” I asked, apprehensively.
“Joey, I want to take a break from each other.”
“What a day, two days, a week?” I asked, smiling.
“I said it was a serious conversation.”
“What do you mean?”
“My life is a mess right now. They want me to take a leave. Until I feel better…” her voice trailed off.
Trying to insert a little humor, I said, “They want you to take an ALEVE, that’s only good for four hours, then what?”
“I’m serious, a leave of absence. Then, I have to be retested, to see if I can physically handle firearms again, both handguns, and long arms. I don’t know…” her voice trailed off again.
“Marcy, after you recover, and continue to do your therapy, you’ll be as good as new. You’ll pass that test without any problems, and I’ll work on the firearms test with you.”
“Recover, sure, that’s what everyone but the doctors, tells me. I’m not going to fool myself.”
“It’s not a question of fooling yourself, you’re resolute, feisty, and you’ll get it done. I’m sure.”
“Yeah, we’ll see. But, we are off subject.”
“That being; taking a break from each other?”
“You have a lot of things going your way, all positive things. Your new connection with that law firm, for investigative work. Your old boss wants you to consult for the NYPD and all. I’ve made my decision.”
“So, my new-found opportunities are causing this breakup? Tell me to give it all up, and I will, in a New York minute. You are the most important thing in my life, and none of this stuff is going to break up our relationship,” I said, as she let go of my hands.
“I’m not going to tell you to give anything up. You need to move on, and I need to think about my future, or, lack of,” she said, closing her eyes.
“Marcy, I’m not moving on anywhere, without you. We’re a team, meant to be together, have a bunch of kids, retire in a little town, with a dog or two, and grandkids running around the house.”
“See, Joey, that’s your dream. I don’t even know if I have a career tomorrow. I need to, to…” her mouth trembled, as tears began flowing.
I broke in, “You need to take it a day at a time. And, I want to be there with you all the way.”
“Please don’t make this more difficult than what it is,” she said, as her parents entered the room. “I’m still talking to Joey,” she said, loudly, “please wait outside.”
I turned to face her parents, widened my eyes, and apologized with an expression, saying nothing. Turning back to her, I said, “Marcy, I love you.”
She remained silent, wiping off her tears with a tissue.
“Did you hear me?” I asked, softly.
Crying she replied, “—heard you, and I love you too. That’s what makes it hard.”
“That’s what allows us to work this out. Two people in love should be together, not apart.”
She gathered herself, “What’s the saying Joey? If you love someone, let them go, if they love you, they’ll come back.”
“Whatever, except we know we love each other. Why let anyone go? We’re beyond that test.”
“Well, if you love me, then allow me to go through with my decision. Who knows, down the road, I may want to be part of your dream. Right now, I need to do this.”
“So, what are you saying? D
on’t visit you, don’t call you. For what, a month?”
“I don’t know. I’ll call you.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Thursday, January 6th
Closing Arguments
Judge Wesley entered the courtroom and sat. Everyone else followed suit. “Is counsel ready for the closing arguments?”
Both Morris and Goldstein responded in the affirmative.
“Very well. Mr. Morris, proceed,” Wesley stated.
“Thank you, Your Honor. May I approach the jury?”
“You may.”
Brian Morris, the prosecutor, walked towards the jury box, making eye contact, from left to right, with all the jurors, as he did. “Ladies and gentlemen, I want to thank you for your attention during this trial. I believe the evidence presented, speaks for itself. This is not a murder mystery of who done it. The defense has tried to obfuscate, to confuse you, in reaching the only verdict that that fits in this trial, based on the evidence, and only the evidence,” Morris paused for effect. Making eye contact with each one, he went on. “And that is, ladies and gentlemen, a verdict of guilty as charged. A verdict of first-degree, felony murder.” He let that sink in, as he took a few steps away from the jurors. “Let’s review the facts if I may. Mr. Longworth, the defendant, had the opportunity, and a motive to kill his wife, and I will elaborate on that in a minute. Mr. Longworth had his wife’s blood all over him. His prints were on the revolver that was used to kill his wife. Gunshot residue, referred to as GSR, was found on his right hand. Those are all facts, which were testified to during the trial by the patrolmen that first arrived on the scene, the two homicide detectives, and the crime scene investigators,” he stated, walking closer to the jurors. “As to opportunity, we know that the alarm was set at eight in the evening. Between eight and eleven-ten that night, no one entered or left the home. At eleven-ten, Mr. Longworth entered the house and conveniently did not turn the alarm back on. The TOD, or time of death, was determined to be between ten and midnight that evening, according to the medical examiner’s testimony. So, if the only two persons in the home were Mrs. Longworth and the defendant, during the time she was killed, there is no doubt as to who killed Mrs. Longworth.” Again, Mr. Morris paused for effect, and moved around. “So, the next question is motive. Why? Why, did the defendant kill his wife? What are the facts? We know Mr. Longworth was considering a divorce, something the defendant was opposed to. We also know, that he, Mr. Longworth, was suspicious that his wife was having an affair, and we also know that, in fact, she was,” he stated, as he walked back to the lectern, and deposited his notes. “We also know this, Mr. Longworth’s assets are in excess of seventy million dollars, and Mr. Longworth’s business was half owned by his deceased wife. Quite a nasty settlement he was headed to, if she divorced him.” Turning back to the jurors, and remaining quiet for a few seconds, he concluded, “Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Longworth not only killed his wife, but he planned the murder with anticipation and deliberation. Based on the facts, and only the facts, the only verdict that is fitting, for such a brutal murder, is guilty of first-degree felony murder.” Pausing, he added, “thank you.”
Brian Morris walked back to the lectern, gathered his files, and sat back at the prosecutor’s table.
Harold Longworth sat between Mrs. Goldstein and Mrs. Hartman, expressionless. At one point in the prosecution’s summation, he had made a comment to Mrs. Goldstein, and she had only responded with a nod. Some jurors had glanced at him, when the word kill was uttered by the prosecutor, perhaps expecting a reaction. But, he had volunteered none.
Judge Wesley said, “Mrs. Goldstein.”
“Thank you, Your Honor. May I approach the jury?”
“You may,” the judge replied, motioning with his hand.
Ruth Goldstein smiled as she approached the jurors, holding a yellow legal pad in one hand. “Thank you all for serving,” she said, making eye contact from right to left. “I’ve learned never to ask a question, especially in a trial, unless I already know the answer. But, I’m going to take a chance today to prove a point,” she paused, “without screwing up, I hope,” she added, with a smile. Most jurors smiled back. “Of those of you that own a car, I would venture to say, that only one or two of you, and you don’t have to reply, but think about it, could tell me the exact number of miles that your car odometer reads. Right?” About three-quarters of the jurors smiled, with some nodding, as Ruth quickly took inventory of their reactions, and processed it. “So, what does that prove?” she asked, pausing. “And, by the way, I have no clue about my own car’s mileage. I turn on the ignition, and immediately the mileage flashes on the dashboard, I look at it, but I don’t see it. So, you’re saying to yourselves, how does that relate to our trial? The visible sometimes keeps us from actually seeing the entire picture. We look at the odometer, but we don’t see the mileage. These facts presented by the prosecution are obvious, yet we heard from the detective, Mr. Levy, that although there was sound heard downstairs, no one bothered to look for fingerprints. He also acknowledged that the entry wound proved that the rounds were fired from an angle not likely to be shot by a person who is six feet, four inches tall. Further, they ignored the fact about not finding blood spatter on Mr. Longworth’s face, and hairs. But why did they ignore these things? Again, all they saw was the obvious. They didn’t pay attention to the odometer reading. They looked, but didn’t see. In a hurry to wrap this case, they were careless, and they were not thorough.” She paused, glancing at her notes. Looking up at the jurors, she added, “The only way you can convict Mr. Longworth, is, if you are completely, completely convinced, without a doubt, that he pulled the trigger in a deliberate manner. And here is the problem with that,” pausing again, “we introduced four witnesses that had the opportunity. They had no alibis as to their whereabouts the night in question. Any one of them could have entered the home at eight in the evening with Mrs. Longworth, and left, after Mr. Longworth entered the home at eleven-ten,” Ruth said, as she flipped the page on her yellow pad.
Mr. Longworth kept eye contact with the jury now. Some would occasionally glance at him, and he would make sure to look into their eyes, as instructed by Ruth, and Inez.
Ruth continued, “One witness not only admitted to having been in a relationship with Mrs. Longworth years ago, but, admitted on the stand, that he was still in love with her. Mr. Adams, whose photo from a high-school yearbook, showed him and Sheila Longworth, captioned, ‘love forever,’ admitted that his love for her remained until this day. He testified that they still met for dinners alone. Did this ‘love forever’ drive him to a point where he could no longer see Sheila with another man?”
Ruth paused, and flipped to another page, as she looked at two jurors, whom she noticed had nodded in the affirmative to her statement.
She continued, “Let’s look at Jessica Adams, the wife of Mr. Adams. Again, no alibi for the time the murder was committed. Did Mrs. Adams find out about her husband’s private dinners with Mrs. Longworth? We saw her temper on the stand, could she have killed Mrs. Longworth out of jealousy?” Ruth waited, and asked, “Possible?” Here is a woman, who may have had a love relationship with Mrs. Longworth, and could have learned of her husband’s infidelity with her, also.”
Harold Longworth, sitting next to Inez Hartman, was visibly upset at the character assassination of his departed wife, but tried to remain stoic, given these revelations. Turning to Inez, he whispered, “My God, is this necessary?”
Inez grabbed his right hand with her left hand and squeezed it gently. “Harold, we’re trying to save your life, it'll be all right,” she said in a hushed voice.
Ruth Goldstein continued her summation. “Now, let’s talk about our last two witnesses. First, Mr. Charles Pearson, the attorney for Mrs. Longworth’s Foundation. It is possible that the IRS audit, coupled with the FBI’s probe into the Foundation, could reveal some major impropriety that Mrs. Longworth confronted Mr. Pearson with. If so, these revelations could be devastating t
o him. Again, we find a potential suspect with no real alibi, so, he had the opportunity,” Ruth said, again concentrating her eye contact on the two jurors, who seemed sympathetic to her summation. “Was Mr. Pearson afraid that Mrs. Longworth would share her concern with the Federal authorities? Was this his motive to kill her?’ she paused briefly. “Finally, we get to the last witness,” she stated, flipping the page on her notes, and raising her glance to the jury box. “Ms. Geraldine Francis. Ms. Francis admitted to you that she was having a love affair with Mrs. Longworth. For years in college, and then, for the last two years, they have been romantically involved, she testified. She also had no real alibi, so, we know she had the opportunity. Then, the question is, what could be her motive, to savagely kill Mrs. Longworth? Jealousy for one, right? But, there’s also the issue of possible improprieties with the handling of the Foundation. She didn’t know, and didn’t do her due diligence properly in finding out that, at least two of her newly found donors were under FBI investigation for potential tax fraud. Was Ms. Francis a party to these felonies? And, was she concerned that Mrs. Longworth would tell the authorities of her concerns?”
Ruth walked to the lectern, letting that sink in. She had waited a few seconds before she walked back to face the jurors. Standing in front of the jury box, she clasped her hands in front of her, slowly making eye contact with all jurors.
Ruth continued, “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, in a few minutes, Judge Wesley will give you instruction for your deliberations. One of those instructions, as you will hear, is that if you are to find Mr. Longworth guilty of murder, it must be without any reasonable doubt. Therefore, if you have any doubts, any doubts,” she repeated, with emphasis, “that Mr. Longworth is guilty, you must find him innocent of the charge.”
Goldstein walked to the lectern, retrieved her papers, and before sitting down glanced at the jury, and said, “Thank you.” Then, she sat next to Mr. Harold Longworth.
Judge Wesley proceeded to give the jurors instructions as to the rules governing deliberations. Once completed, he said, “Court is adjourned until the jury comes back with a verdict.” The gavel came down once.
