by Owen Parr
I saw Kapzoff touch Evans’ shoulder and whisper something. Albert turned to Kapzoff and nodded. “You’re probably wondering when Susan Osmond became Melody Wright, right?” I said, wanting to be a smartass. “There’s no trace of Melody Wright anywhere until last year when she becomes a resident of the Upper West Side and leases an apartment at Riverside South. It is at this point when she and,” I coughed, “Mr. Agostino become close friends. Plus, we find out that the company that owns Riverside South—where Ms. Wright lives—is also owned by none other than Mr. Evans and Albert.”
Kapzoff quipped, “What are you insinuating?” “I’m sorry. Did I insinuate?” I replied, “Allow me to go on. None of these name changes by Ms. Wright were done in the traditional manner. All these names are new identities taken on by Melody,” I said, glancing at her over my notes. “As a matter of fact, all the other identities are still active, and two of the names have offshore accounts in Panama—the country, not Panama City in Florida.”
Sitting one seat away from Melody, Mrs. Parker asked, “How can you change identities so easily like that?” I turned at Adelle Parker. “Good question. You can buy what’s called a ‘three-pack’ almost anywhere in the U.S., particularly in cities that have a high concentration of illegal residents. A three-pack can cost around three hundred dollars, and you get a driver’s license, a passport, and, of course, a Social Security card.”
Melody got up from her chair. “I’ve had enough of this game,” she said, starting to walk towards the back. “Sit back on your chair, please,” said Victoria, Marcy’s boss.
“Who are you?” asked Melody, somewhat perturbed.
“Oh, that’s FBI Special Agent in Charge Victoria Stewart.” Everyone turned back as Melody took her seat. “Melody, do you own a Cadillac Escalade SUV?” I asked.
“I don’t own any cars,” she replied.
Mr. Evans became very uncomfortable and turned to his attorney, Kapzoff, saying something I could not hear. “Did you rent a Cadillac Escalade?”
“No,” she replied sternly.
It was time to begin the show-and-tell with my white screen. I nodded at Agnes. A picture of a black Cadillac Escalade flashed on the screen. Agnes oversaw the computer with the presentation we had prepared. The photo on the display showed an SUV with damage to the front.
“Do you recognize that SUV?” I asked, looking at Melody.
She replied, “No,” without even raising her face to see the photo on the screen. “Let me ask it this way. Did you, as Susan Ashen, rent that SUV from Enterprise Rent-A-Car this past Thursday?”
Kapzoff got up from his chair. “Ms. Wright, do not answer that question.”
Melody looked back at him.
“That’s good advice, Melody. I would follow his suggestion,” I added. I nodded to Agnes as a second photo appeared on the screen. This time, the screen showed a picture of a California driver’s license with a picture under the name of Susan Ashen, followed by a second scanned photo of the rental agreement signed by Ashen on Thursday, the day Kathy was hit by an SUV.
“Preliminary inspection of the SUV,” I began, “shows clearly that the SUV was involved in an accident and that there are traces of blood on the hood of the car. Once forensics examines the SUV, I am sure they’ll show that the blood belongs to Kathy Miller, the victim of a hitand-run accident on Thursday two blocks from here.” I pointed at Farnsworth and Charles. I said, “Detectives?”
Both detectives got up from their chairs and walked over to Melody, cuffing her and walking towards the back. Kapzoff said, “Our firm is representing Ms. Wright, and she is not to be questioned without us being present.” Kapzoff dispatched one of his associates towards the back, as Detective Charles began Mirandizing Melody.
“There’s more to this,” Melody said loudly. Her new attorney spoke to her and told her to be quiet. “Detectives,” I said, “you might want to stick around.” They nodded and began making a call to a squad car to remove Melody, I assumed. I wanted Melody to stay, so I asked, “Detectives, would you mind if Ms. Melody stays with us until the end?”
Farnsworth replied, “No problem.”
“Thank you,” I replied.
I started my presentation again. “Coincidentally, Kathy Miller was an employee of Evans and Albert, but more on that later. Allow me to turn my attention to Mrs. Adelle Parker and her father, Mr. Andrew Huffing.” CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Another suit walked into the bar, not an expensive suit, but off-the-rack stuff. Another civil servant, I assumed. The man spoke to FBI Special Agent Victoria, Marcy’s boss, and Victoria and the suit walked toward me. “Can we have a word in private, Mr. Mancuso?” Victoria asked.
“Of course,” I replied. We moved back behind the white screen and away from the guests. Victoria spoke in a hushed voice. “This is Special Agent William Casals, with the FBI’s Organized Crime Division in New York.”
I nodded at Casals. “What can I do for you?” I asked. Casals surveyed our surroundings to make sure no one was listening to us. “You spoke of Agostino, and Victoria called me immediately. We assigned an undercover agent to an ongoing investigation on Agostino. What you’re discussing today might jeopardize that body of work and, worse yet, oust our undercover agent.”
“I see you’re referring to Katerina Rostova,” I replied, taking a guess. Casals’ eyes met Victoria’s, then back at me with consternation showing on his face. “I can’t discuss it, and I’d appreciate if you don’t, either.”
“Then I won’t, Mr. Casals. Neither Agostino nor
Rostova are an integral part of my revelations today. Fair enough?”
“Thank you. I owe you, Mr. Mancuso,” Casals said, relieved at my quick acquiescence.
“Can I have that IOU in writing?” I asked, smiling to both. Victoria grabbed my hand. “Joey, we won’t forget. Thank you. Get back to your presentation; you’re doing a great job.”
Casals shook my hand now, and we walked out to the front. Both Victoria and Casals went to the back, which I noticed was a little more crowded now with the arrival of four uniforms, standing in the doorway.
“Sorry about the interruption, folks. We were about to discuss Mrs. Adelle Parker, the widow of Mr. Jonathan Parker, who passed away last Tuesday.” I noticed Adelle shift her position on her seat. Her father grabbed her hand and whispered something to her.
“Mrs. Parker is one of five persons who may have seen Mr. Parker last before he lost his life. Ms. Melody Wright, sitting in the back, is another. The other three are Mr. Huffing,” I pointed to him, “Mr. Evans, and Mr. Albert, but more on that later. Unfortunately, besides losing her husband, Mrs. Parker’s finances have been significantly affected. Not only did she lose her husband’s income, but also the investments she made through him with Evans and Albert are tied up in illiquid assets. Also, the return has been greatly diminished, and thus, her income from those has suffered greatly.” I saw tears in Mrs. Parker’s eyes as she wiped them away.
Kapzoff, the attorney for Evans and Albert, was losing his patience. “Are we getting somewhere with this?” he blurted.
I went on. “Mr. Parker had a life insurance policy of five hundred thousand dollars whose beneficiary is Mrs. Parker, so she’s not without means, albeit, a trivial amount for some. However, a year ago a new policy for two million dollars was issued on Mr. Parker’s life. But there are two problems with that. One is the fact that the policy in its first year does not cover suicide as a cause of death. It seems the medical exam was done a month after the policy was signed, and thus, the effective date of the policy, or I should say the first anniversary of the policy, is two weeks away. The insurance company has declined to pay on the policy since the death was ruled a suicide. But here is the biggest problem with the policy: Mr. Parker, Jonathan, never signed the application for the policy, and the person who took the physical for the approval of the policy wasn’t Mr. Parker.”
Huffing snapped at me, “What the hell are you talking about?” “Let me get to that,�
� I replied, glancing at the back of the room. “A Mr. Robert Sands took the physical, posing as Mr. Parker. Mr. Sands, who unfortunately was unable to attend this gathering, was the general manager of Andrew’s Sporting Goods, a company owned and later sold by Mr. Huffing and his two daughters, Mrs. Parker being one of them. Mr. Sands also has had a secret liaison with Mrs. Parker for the last year.”
Huffing turned to his daughter Adelle and asked, “Is this right?” “Mrs. Parker,” I said quickly, “I would not answer that right now. But handwriting experts have examined the insurance application and have concluded that you signed the documents, not your husband. The PA, or physician’s assistant, who performed the medical exam has agreed that it wasn’t your husband that took the physical. Furthermore, the same PA identified Mr. Sands as the person he performed the exam on.”
Huffing said, “This is preposterous. How do you know all this?” “It seems that Mr. Parker was suspicious of his wife, thinking that she was being unfaithful, and hired a private detective to follow her.”
“He hired you?” Huffing asked, as he pointed at me. “No, that would’ve been too much of a coincidence. But, I do have the private detective’s report,” I said, picking up a file from the table behind me. “Mr. Parker made a copy of it and handed it to his assistant, Kathy Miller, killed on Thursday, and we were able to get a copy of it from Kathy’s boyfriend. You see, Mr. Parker feared for his life and handed his assistant a sealed envelope in the event something happened to him—a sort of insurance, pardon the pun.”
Adelle Parker was in tears. I raised the file and saw Marcy. “Ms. Martinez,” I began, as Marcy was already on her way to the front, “I think it’s your turn now to take Mrs. Parker to the back.”
Marcy came to the front and cuffed Mrs. Parker, removing her to the back of the bar.
Huffing turned to Mr. Kapzoff and asked, “Can you handle another case?”
“Of course,” Mr. Kapzoff replied, dispatching another associate to sit with Adelle in the back.
Kapzoff then turned to me and asked, “So, did Mrs. Parker kill her husband?”
I made eye contact with him and then with the audience. “She had a motive, right? But, stay with me; we’ll get to that. I glanced at Andrew Huffing. “Mr. Huffing,” I said, “Let me address you now.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
“By the way, we have ice-cold water on the tables,” I said. “However, if anyone wants an adult drink or a cigar, we can accommodate that, too.”
The district attorney raised his hand. “I’ll take you up on the adult beverage and a cigar,” the DA said, asking Kapzoff if he wanted anything.
“Great, Mr. Pat can take care of you with that,” I said, pointing at Patrick, as he got up from one of the side chairs next to Father Dom. “Anyone else? Feel free; it’s on the house.”
The uniforms grabbed bottled waters from the icepacked buckets in the back. I waited a couple of minutes. Some had a need to use the restrooms, and others were taking advantage of the freebies Mr. Pat was handing out.
Marcy came up to me. “You’re such a ham, Mancuso.”
“Sweet ham, I hope. Is your boss happy with us now?” I asked Marcy.
“She loves you. I told her to wait for more surprises.” “Let’s get back to business, folks,” I said, asking everyone to take their seats. My last three suspects hadn’t moved from their chairs. The DA was the last to sit. Raising his second Belvedere on the rocks, he thanked me for the beverage. I winked at him.
“Okay, let’s go on,” I said. “I have to thank my brother, Father Dominic. We started this investigation at his request. Mr. Parker had been a patron of our little establishment and visited us the night before his untimely death.” Dom seemed excited at my recognition and smiled. “As you can see, he’s not your typical Catholic priest. And next to him is a young lady who has been instrumental in our investigation.” Agnes smiled and waved at the crowd, I think, expecting applause, which wasn’t forthcoming.
I began, “Mr. Huffing, you, too, were possibly one of the last persons to see Mr. Parker alive, so we had to include you in our research. We were unable to speak with you in the last few days. Your daughter Adelle told us you were in the Caribbean, trying to free up some of the funds tied up in offshore certificates of deposits—deposits made by Evans and Albert’s company. It seems Mr. Parker persuaded you to invest the proceeds of the sale of your business, Andrew’s Sporting Goods, after Parker joined Evans and Albert.”
“That’s right, but when I left his office, he was alive,” Huffing said. “We’ll get to that, yes. At this point, I want to thank the FBI office in New York for allowing me to make this presentation before they acted, which was planned for this morning.”
Andrew Huffing looked back and saw a new group of attendees wearing blue windbreakers with a yellow “FBI” emblazoned on the back.
“Besides visiting the Caribbean island of Bonaire— an excellent place for scuba diving, but I digress—you also visited Mexico City,” I said, noticing Huffing uncrossing his legs and rubbing his forehead. “In Mexico City, you met with Señor Rafael Galan, who was the attorney that represented the consortium that purchased your sporting goods business a few years ago. Galan is also the attorney who represents Señor Ricardo Lindo, who is the alleged drug lord of Lindo's drug cartel in Mexico and California. Remember the name Robert Sands from a few minutes ago?” I asked. “Mr. Sands, who became your daughter’s lover and partner in the insurance fraud, was also your general manager and has been with you many years, working at your stores.”
Huffing could not take it. “Where do you think, you’re going with this?” I ignored his question, reviewing my notes before I proceeded. “Mr. Robert Sands is being held for another fraud case unrelated to this and has disclosed your entire scheme to launder funds for Lindo’s cartel. You were paid twice as much for your stores as they were worth when you sold them. Forty million dollars, I believe, when at most, the stores were worth twenty million. But for years, you laundered drug funds through your store’s cash sales. Mr. Sands has testified that you convinced Galan to invest Lindo’s share in the Evans and Albert hedge fund with Mr. Parker, to further layer the illicit money. The problem is that you just recently realized that the funds were illiquid and Lindo was asking for his money, which you didn’t have access to. So, the proverbial shit hit the fan, and you were trying to buy time with Lindo.”
Attorney Kapzoff reached over and touched Huffing on the shoulder. “We can help you, too.” Huffing glanced back and stayed silent.
“To aggravate matters a bit more, both your daughters were ten percent owners each of your business. This morning in Tallahassee, Florida, the FBI took your daughter, Anita, into custody.”
“My daughters were not involved in anything,” Huffing said.
Legal eagle Kapzoff reached over to him. “Don’t say another word.” I winked at Marcy; she was already walking towards the front. “Ms. Martinez, if you will,” I said, nodding in the direction of Huffing.
Marcy cuffed Andrew Huffing and sat him next to his daughter Adelle, who had broken into another crying fit.
Kapzoff asked, “Are you almost done?”
“As a matter of fact, we’re coming to the end. But I wouldn’t complain if I were you. You picked up four new clients this morning,” I said, as the law enforcement crowd broke into laughter.
Evans and Albert sat there, subdued. They knew that their turn had come.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE My front row was depleted. Three of my suspects in the Parker murder had been removed and cuffed on other charges.
“We’re almost done, folks,” I said. “Mr. Evans, may I pick on you now?” Robert Evans got up from his chair. “I’ve had enough of this,” he said, turning to leave the room and seeing for the first time the number of law enforcement personnel in the back of the room.
Lucy, my former partner, who had been smiling all along and sitting on her wheelchair, cried out, “Sit your ass down.”
Attorney Kap
zoff stood, reached over to Evans, touched his shoulder, and pointed to the chair. “Rob, sit and don’t say a fucking word. I’ve got this.”
Evans uneasily returned to his seat and sat. I started again. “My last case at the NYPD went unsolved. I ran into a lot of walls during my investigation. After that, I retired from the force—I’ll leave it at that. But it bothered me that an innocent man lost his life and we weren’t able to bring his murderer to justice.”
Evans turned to Kapzoff and whispered something. “The case was a murder in an alley behind the 21 Club. An excellent restaurant, by the way. The victim was a homeless man, a John Doe. Mr. Doe’s COD, or cause of death, was the result of being struck on his head by a blunt object. Earlier that evening, Mr. Doe and another homeless person witnessed an argument in the alley behind the 21 Club. Later that same night, our John Doe died in the same alley. By the way, the other witness identified Mr. Doe as Jimmy, so I’ll use ‘Jimmy’ instead of ‘John Doe.’ Jimmy and the other witness identified the two men arguing in the alley as Mr. Robert Evans and U.S. Congressman Horatio Stevens. Mr. Stevens was only a candidate then.”
