by Owen Parr
“And he was celebrating the evening before his demise,” added Dominic.
I pondered that. “Maybe he saw his whole world crumbling in front of his eyes: upset clients—possibly losing some of them; letting his wife down and her father, with the money they entrusted in him. Who knows? Maybe even losing Melody over this. Not to mention possibly knowing or finding out about the alleged Ponzi scheme. Something happened that morning in the office that triggered the jump or the push.”
“What a beehive this whole thing is,” Dom said. “More like a hornet’s nest, if you ask me.” CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE Dom was going to wait for Kathy’s boyfriend, who we hoped had some added information that could make sense of this whole thing. I, in turn, was going to meet up with my old partner, Mrs. Lucy “Lucifer” Roberts, and follow up on the lead we had about the homeless guy.
Lucy was quite the gal; she was but a couple of years away from full retirement. An African-American, Lucy married young to Harold Roberts, a former Army Drill Sergeant. They have three grown and well-educated children. If you opened the dictionary under “perfect family,” I’m sure there’d be a picture of the Roberts family.
I think she learned the toughness she’d displayed at work from the drill sergeant. After all, these guys didn’t take any shit. Neither did Lucy—hence, the nickname “Lucifer.” Or maybe Mr. Roberts learned his toughness from Lucy. Much of what I learned as a detective, I learned from Lucy. She was relentless in her pursuit of the truth, and she never gave up on a victim’s cause. I was inspired by her and always thought of her as my second mom.
I saw a plain wrapper—or an unmarked police car— park illegally in front of the pub. While these vehicles were designed to not look like police cars, the funny part is that, somehow, everyone could spot these cop cars a mile away.
Lucy walked into the bar with her usual radiant smile. “Joey, my favorite Italian.”
“How good to see you, Ms. Lucy. But I bet you say that to all the Italians,” I replied, hugging her. “Just you, honey, just you.”
“Something to drink before we take off?”
“I wish, but I’m good. We can’t hang here too long. I don’t want to miss this guy at the homeless shelter.” “You sure you want to go? I mean, I can do this alone. After all, I did run into a problem as a result of this case.”
“This was our case, baby, and we’re going to see it through together. Besides, this guy is waiting to see me. Don’t know if he’ll open up to you alone.”
“Let’s do this then,” I replied, walking out with Lucy. Riding with Lucy in the plain wrapper reminded me of our time together working homicide for the NYPD. She always wanted to drive, and I wasn’t going to argue with her about that. Lucy reminded me of Oprah in one of her heavy phases, except Lucy was close to five feet ten inches tall, just one inch shorter than me. If she wore heels, forget about it. I was excited to meet this fellow. Maybe, just maybe, he could shed some light on his buddy’s murder that day behind the 21 Club. And now that my new jumper case had Mr. Evans as one of the potential perps, that made it just that much more interesting.
“Lucy, does anyone else know you and I are riding out to meet this fellow?” I asked as she pulled out. “I haven’t told anyone. No, why?”
“Cagney and Lacey are behind us in a darkbrown plain wrapper.” She laughed. “You mean Farnsworth and Charles?” “The same two, yes,” I replied.
“I try and stay away from those two. Are they tailing you or me?”
“Must be me they’re tagging along with.” “What’s up with that?” she asked, raising her eyes and peeking at them in her rearview mirror. “I’m working on a private case, and they stopped by asking questions about it. It’s really a coincidence, but this fellow Evans is involved in my new case.”
“You’re kidding? He’s the one that applied the pressure to get you thrown out last time, isn’t he?” “I think, the same. And I think he’s doing it all over again,” I said, as Lucy entered the Holland Tunnel on our way to Jersey.
“That should tell us something. Joey, are you still dating that skinny-ass Cuban FBI agent? Marcy?” I laughed. Marcy’s ass wasn’t skinny by any means, but I wasn’t arguing with Lucifer. “Still dating her, yes.” “Tell you what. Harry is making his world-famous short ribs Sunday for lunch, and I’m making that rice Marcy taught me how to make, the one with the black beans and rice mixed together. What was it she called it, Moors?”
“That would be moros.” “ Moros, right. Anyway, come over about two in the afternoon. I’m sure Harry would love to see you guys again.”
“Your kids in town?” “Just two of them. They’re off for the summer, why?”
“Want to make sure we bring enough Cuban bread and flan for dessert.”
“Oh, wait ‘til I tell Harry. He’s always asking about you.”
“We’ll be there. Why don’t you try and lose Cagney and Lacey?” “Give me a minute. Those assholes aren’t going to know if they’re in Jersey or Brooklyn in a few minutes,” Lucy replied, beginning to make some turns into alleyways and side streets. Even I was getting dizzy.
Forty minutes later, we arrived at our destination, sans Cagney and Lacey. There were the usual gatherings of homeless folk in the front milling around, some going in and others walking out.
I asked, “How are we going to know who it is?” “I got that covered, baby. He’s inside, and I’m supposed to ask for the director of the shelter who is going to take us to him.”
As we walked inside and received the usual looks when plain-clothed police visit a shelter. Somehow, they all think we’re coming for one of them. The place was clean, with painted cement floors, rows of tables, and posters with positive affirmations on the walls. The air conditioner was blasting cold air, which was a nice relief from the summer heat in the streets.
The shelter director took us to the back, where a handful of men were doing dishes and helping with the cleanup after their lunch.
“Ed,” he called to one of the men, “this is Mrs. Roberts, whom we spoke about. Don’t worry about what you’re doing; we’ll take care of it.”
Ed turned to greet Lucy. “Hi, Mrs. Roberts, the name is Edmonton Daniels. Please call me Ed,” he said, with a friendly smile as he dried his hands on a blue dishtowel.
Edmonton was about ninety pounds, if that, five feet, six inches at the most. He was probably in his late sixties, but seemed at least seventy-five. Short, cropped white hair, well shaven, and cleanly dressed. Lucy introduced me as a friend. Ed nodded, inspected me up and down, and evidently approved of me being there also, as he said, “Follow me to my place.”
Lucy touched my arm, and we began to follow Ed. “Ed, you don’t live here?” I asked.
“We save the rooms upstairs for those that need them the most, the elderly and sick. I can still manage, but I come here to use the showers and to help with the meals.”
I thought that was very honorable and immediately took a liking to Ed.
“I have something to give you in my place,” Ed said, as he looked around.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR Kathy’s boyfriend Arturo was late, and Dom feared the worst. He kept himself busy around the bar— organizing glasses, lining up the liquor bottles, and wiping the bar counter clean over and over.
Finally, a fellow of about twenty-five walked in. Clean-cut, wearing a light blue suit and a black tie. He was thin, but fit. His features revealed that his parents were of mixed race.
“Father Dominic?” Arturo asked, seeing Dom behind the bar.
“Yes, Arturo, good to see you. I am so sorry about Kathy,” Dom began.
Arturo lowered his head and shut his eyes to prevent the tears from flowing. “Let’s have a seat at this table,” Dom said, walking to the middle of the pub where our tables are and pointing to a table.
Father Dom pulled out a chair with its back to the front door, but Arturo moved around and chose a chair facing the front door. Something had this fellow spooked, and he obviously wanted to keep an eye on w
ho entered our pub. Dom thought it wise to start with an icebreaker, like small talk, to make Arturo feel more comfortable.
Dom asked, “Can I get you anything?”
“No, I’m fine, Father. I don’t have much time; I need to get back to work. But thank you.”
This was a good opening for Dom. “Where do you work?”
“I’m with Evans and Albert,” he said in a low voice, again holding back his tears. “What do you do there?”
“I’m an analyst training to be a portfolio manager.”
Surprised, Father Dom rubbed his hands. “What’s your role as an analyst?”
“I do research on the securities before we add them to the portfolio I’m assigned to.”
“I didn’t know there was more than one portfolio.” “Yes, the hedge fund manages three different types of funds, a growth portfolio called Alpha, a fixed-income portfolio called Gamma, and the one I work on. It’s a balanced portfolio, called Stable.”
“Can you share anything about the funds?” Ignoring the question and speaking in a low voice, Arturo said, “Father, I’ve done some things I shouldn’t have.”
“Can you elaborate?”
Arturo pulled out an envelope from his jacket’s interior pocket. Glancing around, he asked, “Are we alone?” “We are. Tell me, how long had you and Kathy been together?” Asked Dom, eyeing the envelope.
“We’d been dating for two years,” Arturo replied, composing himself. “I want to confess something, Father.” This took Dom by surprise. “I’m not ready to hear confessions at the moment.” Arturo interjected, “No, not in that sense, Father.” Relaxing a bit, Dom replied, “Then, go ahead.”
Arturo went on for a few minutes telling Dom about his relationship with Kathy and disclosed a few interesting things relevant to the partners and the manner they managed the various funds. He then proceeded to reveal some of the papers that were inside the envelope he’d brought with him.
The conversation ended abruptly when Mr. Pat walked in to the pub. “Who is that?” Arturo asked somewhat nervously. “It’s fine; that’s our manager,” Dom responded. Mr. Pat waved as Dom nodded to him.
“That’s all I have, Father. I have to get back to work now. Can you keep these papers safe?”
“Not to worry. We’ll do everything we can to solve this and bring to justice those that are involved.” “I trust you will, Father.”
“May I ask you one last question?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Did you call the police with any of this information?”
He lowered his head again and said, “I’m afraid not, Father. I don’t trust too many people. I only talk to you because Kathy liked you and you’re a priest.”
“Okay, Arturo, may God be with you.”
“And with you, Father,” Arturo replied and walked out of the pub. Dom sat at the table. He began to go over the documents that lay open on the table and took out his notebook, jotting down a few things. He smiled.
* * *
Marcy was back at her New York City office at FBI headquarters. Victoria, Marcy’s boss approached her, “The SEC [In chapter twenty, I put “SEC” in parentheses] is upset that the FBI initiated a new investigation after they already completed their own investigation. And in a few words, they told us there was no case to pursue regarding the insider-trading allegations.”
Marcy replied, “I at least expected the DA’s office to follow up on the new tip received about insider trading, hoping that since these two agencies compete for convictions, the DA would at least continue their own inquiry.”
Victoria got closer to Marcy. In a hushed voice, she said, “Yes, but the response was a resounding no.” Marcy argued, “There’s a potential money-laundering scheme going on, but we have no proof at the present time. At least they should let us pursue that.”
“Like you said, we have no proof,” Victoria said, “and I’m not about to risk my job on that. In plain English, they told us to cease and desist any further probing into Evans and Albert.”
“How can we get proof, if we can’t investigate?” Victoria ignored Marcy’s comment and added, “Furthermore, you’re reminded that you cannot aid your boyfriend, former NYPD detective Joey Mancuso, with what some are calling a personal vendetta on his part against Mr. Evans.”
“Mr. Mancuso is exploring the suicide angle on his own. I have nothing to do with that,” retorted Marcy. Victoria was losing her patience. “Mancuso is concocting a homicide out of a clear suicide case, and he’s trying to implicate Evans.”
Marcy thought for a minute and decided to remain silent. “Marcy,” Victoria began in a calmer tone, “If you assist him in any way, you might face a disciplinary hearing with a minimum penalty of being reassigned to some forsaken field office somewhere in the world. Is that what you want?”
Marcy was fuming as she sat back in her cubicle. “Understood.” Victoria started to walk away and turned back to Marcy. “Collect all your files on this case, and turn them over to me within the hour. I’ll assign you a new case involving some Russian bond certificates that were suspected of being forgeries.”
“That case has been around forever.”
“That’s right, and it hasn’t been solved. Your turn to take a crack at it,” Victoria said emphatically.
Frustrated, Marcy called Joey from her cell phone. Joey’s phone went into voice mail, and this pissed her off even more. She left a message: “Joey, I have a new case, some bullshit about Russian forged bond certificates. This case has been around for years, and now they want to pursue it again. The case of Evans and Albert is closed on our end. I’m pissed. I hope you guys come up with something. Later.”
Part 2
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE Edmonton gave us a valuable piece of evidence he’d cautiously saved for some time. Gingerly, Lucy bagged the item and placed tape around the ends, then placed the item in the trunk of her car. Upon her return to her precinct, she’d enter the item into evidence. We had no clue if it’d lead to something, but a clue is a clue. I noticed I had a voice mail from Marcy, and after listening to her message, I texted her to meet us at the bar later.
I turned to Lucy and said, “I want to make a stop before we get back. Do you have the time?”
“Where do you want to go?”
“It’ll only take a few minutes, and I want to check something out.”
“Point the way, Detective Mancuso,” she replied, amused. The ride back to Manhattan’s Financial District through the Holland Tunnel was smooth. Lucy and I reminisced about some of our old cases, and I was able to explain, in detail, what our current case was about and how it could tie Evans to both instances.
Arriving back at the bar, I saw two familiar faces sitting in their car about half a block from our front door. I waved at Farnsworth and Charles, which garnered a one-finger salute from the driver’s side of the plain wrapper.
After saying my goodbyes to Lucy and promising we’d be at her home Sunday, I walked into the bar to see the smiling red-bearded face of Mr. Pat, getting ready to open at two in the afternoon, and brother Dominic, sitting at a table and feeling exuberant.
“Is Marcy here yet?”
“Not yet,” Mr. Pat replied.
Father Dom was smiling. “Mr. Pat,” he said, “get Joey a MacAllan eighteen neat and the Rocky Patel cigar he likes. Joey, come on back, brother, and have a seat.”
“The MacAllan eighteen? You fox, what have you got?” I said, pulling out a chair and sitting down. Patrick brought over the single malt and my cigar, and Dom proceeded to tell me about the conversation with Arturo, showing me the documents Arturo had handed him.
I, feeling good, went over our conversation with Edmonton. The item he’d handed us was on its way to the evidence locker at the precinct.
Taking a slow sip of my single malt, I said, “It’s been a good afternoon, brother. This is really good.” “The information we got?” Dom asked haughtily. “No, the MacAllan. Good choice, the eighteen.”
“I have more good news,” Dom said with a snide expression. “More? Let’s have it.”
“My favorite parishioner called.”
“Agnes?”
“Your hunch paid off. She’s got new information for us. It should be in our emails in a few minutes. I asked that she send it to both of us.”
“I love it, bro. Except now she’s going to start emailing you all the time.”
“Shoot, I didn’t think of that,” Dom replied with a scowl. Marcy walked in with a moping face. She said her hellos to Patrick, ordered a drink, and sat at our table. “I can see you guys seem to be enjoying something. Glad somebody is happy.”
“What did you order?”
“A Pellegrino,” she replied.
I asked her, “Are you still on duty?”
“F’en no. Sorry, Father.”
Dom smiled and called out to Mr. Pat. “Mr. Pat, bring Ms. Marcy a Zacapa rum on the rocks with two ice cubes, please.”
“Wow, we must be celebrating. I’m glad, because I need something to cheer me up.”
“Sit back and relax,” I said, taking a drag from my cigar. We opened the email from Agnes and were excited to see the results of her new research. We then discussed with Marcy everything that both Father Dom and I had uncovered during the day.
Now we had to plan our presentation to the various players and I, as usual, came up with a brilliant idea. “Here’s what we’re going to do,” I said, adding, “We’ll invite the participants to our reveal on Monday at ten in the morning to gather here at Captain O’Brian’s. At which point, we’ll play our new and exciting show of whodunit.”
“Why not Sunday?” Dom asked. “Two reasons,” I began. “Tomorrow, Marcy and I have a lunch invitation that we cannot miss, and more importantly, it’s going to be hard to get all these people to come in on a Sunday.”
