by Owen Parr
Agnes Smith received a bonus of twenty thousand dollars from Mancuso and O’Brian as a token of their appreciation for her hard work on this case. Agnes continues to attend early morning Mass at St. Helen’s.
Patrick O’Sullivan, or Mr. Pat, continues to manage the pub and has been able to hire additional staff to handle some of his duties.
FBI Special Agent Marcela Martinez, or Marcy, was offered a promotion as the deputy director of the FBI’s white-collar crime division in Chicago, Illinois. Marcy declined the promotion and move, preferring instead to stay in the New York office, giving Joey hope that they soon will tie the knot.
—THE END—
—A note from Owen Parr I trust you enjoyed reading A Murder on Wall Street. I certainly enjoyed writing and researching the material. While I tried to be accurate in police and legal procedures, I may have taken some liberties and made some errors, for which I am entirely responsible. This is a work of fiction.
A big Thank You always goes to my wife, Ingrid, for putting up with my aloofness during my writing. And to the many friends whose first names I have used for characters in the novel. Not everyone got equal billing, and I hope you forgive me for that.
Below is Chapter One in the next Mancuso and Father O’Brian crime mystery series. Enjoy!
A preview of the next Joey Mancuso and Father O’Brian Crime Mystery Novel
A MURDER ON LONG ISLAND
CHAPTER ONE “With all due respect, Mr. Adams, you’ve had a whole year to find the murderer, and you’ve failed. What makes you think that we can do it in ten days?” I said, on my cell phone.
Adams replied, “In all honesty, Mr. Mancuso, no one at our law firm thinks you fellows can.” Harold Longworth’s final day in court was set for Tuesday, January 3, 2017. On this day, ten days from the court date, Longworth’s attorney, Marshall Adams, requested a meeting with my brother, Father Dominic, and me. Longworth’s reputation in New York City as a reputable and successful real estate developer was deserved. His charitable contributions were numerous, including building homeless shelters out of his own pocket. His social life was like an ongoing series on page six of The New York Post.
The notoriety we had received after the newspaper articles and the appearances on local and national television because of the last case we worked on during the summer had made us into local celebrities. I must admit that I didn’t mind the fuss they had created about Mancuso and O’Brian. My brother, the priest, not so much. Although secretly, I think he loved it. The Catholic Diocese hadn’t appreciated the front- page news about one of their priests being a private investigator and owner of an Irish pub and cigar bar.
During the last six months, a flurry of cases was offered to us—none of which interested us. We’d accepted the book deal, A Murder on Wall Street, in which brother Dom and I were the main characters. The cable channel USA was negotiating with us for a detective series based on the novel. Otherwise, I continued working the bar with Mr. Patrick, our manager, and brother Dominic continued his daily duties at St. Helen’s Catholic Church in Brooklyn.
Mr. Harold Longworth was facing a first-degree felony murder charge and possible execution if found guilty of killing his wife. Both Dom and I had followed this case in the papers and local news, and from the looks of it, Longworth was as good as cooked, pardon the pun. However, there was sincerity in his attorney’s plea to speak to us, which caused me to accept the appointment this morning. Besides, the ten-day time limit added the type of pressure I like to work under, assuming we’d agree to work on this case.
Our pub, Captain O’Brian’s Irish Pub and Cigar Bar in Manhattan’s Financial District, was a New York institution. It opened in 1948 after the war by Captain Sean O’Brian, Father Dom’s grandfather. It was almost seventy years old. Coinciding with Captain Sean’s death, his son, Marine Master Sergeant Brandon O’Brian returned from Vietnam and took over the pub in 1969.
Father Dom and I sat and waited for attorney Adams. The mornings were quiet in the pub, and we both enjoyed reading the papers and our espressos. The pub was comfortable for us to work out of. It was the center of operations for our little investigative service.
Hearing traffic always alerted us that someone was walking into the pub. Sure enough, two tailored suits walked in. Dom and I got up from our chairs and greeted them.
“You must be Father O’Brian,” said Adams, smiling and shaking Dom’s hand. “What gave it away, Mr. Adams?” I said as I shook hands with him. Father Dominic, my half-brother was a good- looking man of forty-five. An Irish priest, but like me, he also was a bit unconventional in the practice of his duties. Pragmatic is a word that comes to mind, and while religious, his practice was geared for the twenty-first century.
“Don’t have to be a detective to see that one. Hi, Mr. Mancuso,” Adams responded. “This is my associate, Mr. Chuck Pearson.”
We exchanged a couple of more pleasantries and sat down in a four-top in the middle of the pub to discuss the case.
Adams said, “Mancuso and O’Brian, safe to say you fellows share or shared a mother?” “Briana is our mom, living in Florida, that’s correct. First, she married Dom’s father. As you can see, he’s much older than me,” I said, as we all laughed and looked at Dom.
“Then she married my dad. She went from an Irishman to a second-generation New York Italian.” Dom, not being one for small talk, asked, “How can we be of help, Mr. Adams?”
Before he replied, I asked, “Can we get you anything to drink?”
Both Adams and Pearson replied, “No, thank you.” “Let’s get down to business. We don’t have much time as it is,” said Adams. “You might already know a little bit about our case, if you’ve been reading the local papers. Allow me to begin at the top, and then you can decide if you’re willing to help us. Fair enough?”
Dom replied, “Proceed, please.” “A little background on Harry Longworth. Harry and I met in high school. We ended up together at Yale. He went on to become a real estate developer, very successfully, I might add, and I went into the law profession. We’ve been friends forever and stayed close with our friendship. Our wives were good friends, and our kids go to the same schools. Other than for our professions, our families are almost mirrors of each other. His wife’s murder was a shock to our family, needless to say.”
I had my hands on the table. Opening my palms, I asked, “Would it be fair to say you believe Mr. Longworth to be innocent of the murder?”
Adams nodded. “Without question, Mr. Mancuso.” “Please call me Joey,” I said. “Go ahead.”
Adams began, “Thank you. Mr. Longworth arrived in his home a year ago at eleven in the evening from his office in mid-Manhattan. He went upstairs to his bedroom. And as was the custom between him and his wife, if she had gone to sleep, the room would be dark, except for a light in the en-suite bathroom, which she’d leave on for him so he could see his way there and to the walk-in closet. The darkest part of the master bedroom is by the entrance.
Mr. Longworth entered the room and tripped on something on the floor, not realizing immediately it was the body of his wife. He fell on top of her, still not recognizing the body, and felt around to see what it could’ve been. At that moment, he realized it was a body, but wasn’t sure who it was. He called for his wife but heard no response. He got up and turned the night table’s light on, next to the entrance to the bedroom. It was then he recognized it was she on the floor and her body was covered in blood.”
I asked, “I assume that’s how he got the blood on him?”
Adams replied, “He knelt beside her and felt her pulse. Then he put his ear over her mouth to see if he could detect breathing. None was evident. The falling on the body and the other steps he took to see if she was alive caused the transfer of the blood to him, correct.”
Moving forward on his chair, Dom asked, “How did her blood end up on the murder weapon?” Adam mirrored Dom’s move forward and replied, “Harry saw his gun inches below the bed at the same time he heard a
noise on the first floor of the home. He grabbed the gun, not thinking it’d turn out to be the murder weapon, and proceeded downstairs, all the time believing the perpetrator was there about to leave the premises.” I asked, “What happened next?”
Adam turned to look at me. “He took the stairs down, expecting to find someone. He moved quietly and cautiously and inspected the entire first floor. There was no one. Secured all the doors and then rushed upstairs. He put the gun down on the night table; again, he felt her pulse and concluded she was, in fact, dead. That’s when he called 911.”
I looked at Dom and asked, “Where are you in the case right now?” Adams looked at his associate, and Mr. Pearson said, “The prosecution concluded their case today. In two days, Monday, we begin to present our defense. Even knowing that our client is innocent, we have a weak case to show it. Their case against Mr. Adams is very strong. They have the gun, the murder weapon, and his bloody prints on the weapon. Her blood all over him. No other witnesses in the home at the time of the shooting,” Pearson paused.
Adams added, “Frankly, we have very little chance of succeeding. All we have are character witnesses in his defense.”
I motioned to Dom and back to myself. “What can we possibly do at this stage?”
“We need you to find the real murderer,” Adams replied, looking straight into my eyes.
I turned to Father Dom, “That’s a tall order, Mr. Adams, and in ten days?” “We think we can stretch our presentation that long and hopefully with the holidays, we can add a few days. But we don’t believe that we can go beyond that,” Pearson replied, as Adams nodded.
I opened my hands. “So, why are you here?” Adams leaned forward. “Harry’s oldest daughter, Margery, who’s nineteen, begged us to talk to you. She believes in you guys, having followed your other case. She and her father spoke, and you have a blank check to see this through to the end. Name your price.”
“Well, that’s flattering,” I said, “but I think the media has made us into something we’re not. I mean, there are no convictions yet in the other case. This Batman and Robin tag that they put on us is a bit exaggerated.”
Adams asked, “Would you mind if Margery called you?” Dom broke in, “No, no, that’d be highly inappropriate. We can’t raise her hopes like that. I’d be very uncomfortable with that. Wouldn’t you, Joey?”
“Yes. How soon would you want an answer from us?” Adam glanced at Pearson, thought for a second, and replied, “We can wait right here while you fellows talk about it.”
I smiled at both. Looking at Dom, I said, “Could you guys sit in the front booth while my brother and I discuss this?”
Both Adams and Pearson got up and proceeded to the front booth. I turned to Dominic and said, “Let’s go to the confessional and talk about it.”
The confessional, or Woody Allen’s booth, was a small booth all the way back in the pub. It was big enough for two people to sit across from each other. Twice, patrons had asked to speak to Father Dom privately in this booth, so we had baptized it the “confessional.” However, prior to that, Woody Allen would enjoy his privacy sitting at this booth. His black-and-white photo, like many other celebrities’ who had frequented our pub, hung by every booth of our Irish pub and cigar bar.
Dom and I talked for a few minutes, and I walked towards the front to where Adams and Pearson waited patiently. They both looked up as I approached.
I made eye contact with both, smiled, and said, “Let’s do this.” —END— Other novels by Owen Parr
—Due Diligence—A Caribbean Romantic Thriller Operation
—Black Swan—A John Powers Mystery Thriller —The Dead Have Secrets—A John Powers Mystery Thriller
—A Murder on Wall Street—A Joey Mancuso & Father O’Brian Crime Mystery
—A Murder on Long Island—A Joey Mancuso & Father O’Brian Crime Mystery
—The Manhattan Red Ribbon Killer—A Joey Mancuso & Father O’Brian Crime Mystery
Plus, A non-fiction self-improvement book by Owen Parr How to Sell, Overcome Fear of Rejection and Learn Time Management.
Visit Owen Parr at:
www.owenparr.com or write him at: [email protected]
