by Owen Parr
Evans couldn’t resist. “Those bums were drunk in the alley.”
Kapzoff reached over. “Don’t say another word.” “Besides the fact that Mr. Evans just admitted to being in the alley, we were able to confirm that Evans and Congressman Stevens were patrons of the 21 Club that evening. Employees in the restaurant will testify that they saw both men walk to the back of the club and into the alley. We don’t know the reason for the argument between those two, but that doesn’t matter at this point. What we do know is that Mr. Horatio Stevens was one of the original investors in the company formed by Evans and Albert. Moving on, the second witness that had been AWOL since the incident came forward after all this time.”
Evans became restless in his chair. I nodded to Agnes to flash a photo on the screen behind me. “The witness, call him ‘Ed,’ was in the alley when his buddy Jimmy was struck in the head with a piece of wood, a two-by-four you see on the screen. Ed never came forward for fear that the same outcome that befell Jimmy would come his way. Ed saw our murderer hit Jimmy on the head. He then followed our perp around a corner in the alley, where the perp disposed of the weapon in a trash bin. But Ed retrieved and kept the murder weapon all this time. That weapon is in police custody and has evidence of blood on both ends. On one end, once the forensics team does an analysis, we’ll find Jimmy’s blood, and on the other end, there are specs of blood from the murderer, who cut himself with splinters. I am sure that the blood will match the killers. Also, we have fingerprints the police have already matched to Mr. Robert Evans.”
Evans raised both his hands in desperation. “Detectives Farnsworth and Charles, if you’d be so kind,” I said.
Lucy, my partner in this old case, chimed in, “Go get that asshole, boys.” We’d seen this scene three times before, the perp walk. The detectives cuffed and moved Evans to the back. I waited a minute or so and went on.
“We can move on to Mr. Thomas Albert III,” I said, as Albert crossed his legs in front of me. “As much as both Evans and Albert want to hide it, their company is in dire financial straits. Our research shows that both have maxed both their personal and the firm’s lines of credit.”
Attorney Kapzoff moved from the second row of seats and took a seat next to Albert in the front row. “However, our deceased Mr. Parker, we uncovered, had realized that the hedge fund of Evans, Albert, and Associates, was not only trading on insider information, but also involved in a Ponzi scheme, defrauding their investors. For those interested in a little trivia, Charles Ponzi in the 1920s is credited with the name. The practice is simple. You promise investors an above-average return, and you pay these investors with new money coming into the company from unsuspecting new investors. Our most recent case in New York would be Mr. Bernard Madoff.”
Albert thundered, “You have no proof of that.” “Frankly, I’m not here to prove that case. I’ll leave that to the authorities. However, the documents Mr. Parker left with his assistant, Kathy Miller, do show a chain of events and accounts in which clients’ funds were inappropriately commingled with company funds. His notes tell us that he brought this up to both Evans and Albert within the last month, because he feared that the infusion of two hundred million dollars from his new client was going to be misused. To quiet him down, he was offered a partnership in the firm. The fact he handed his assistant a file with this information shows he was still troubled by the arrangement and feared for his life.”
I took a moment to let that sink in. Everyone was still waiting for the reveal of the person who took Mr. Parker’s life. I raised my gaze towards the back. “Could you bring forward our cast of characters and uncuff them, please? They can have a seat here in the front again.”
Reluctantly, the detectives and Marcy brought everyone to the front and removed their handcuffs. Farnsworth, Charles, and Marcy, plus a uniform, stayed to the side by the perps.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Annoyed by my little game, Kapzoff asked, “Is this some off-Broadway play, Mr. Mancuso?” I smiled and walked towards Kapzoff. “It does seem that way, doesn’t it? We have a cast of characters, love triangles, greed, mystery, and murders. And all plays have three acts. So now we enter the third and final act,” I said, glancing around at the audience.
“Something bothered me about the cause of death attributed to Mr. Parker. And, as we progressed in our investigation of the so-called suicide, all these other things that we have discussed came out. All five of you,” I said, pointing at my front row, “seemed to have had the motive to kill Jonathan Parker. All of you pointed to others as having been last in Parker’s office.”
I walked over to Melody Wright. “Ms. Wright’s motive could have been jealousy. She was dumped by Parker one day before going on holiday with him and was supposedly planning a wedding in Aspen for New Year’s. Then we uncovered a secret liaison with Mr. Evans and a prior relationship with Vittorio Agostino, when she called herself Susan Osmond. Agostino, one of the original investors of Evans and Albert’s company. A little convoluted, right? Allegedly Ms. Melody ran over and killed Kathy Miller,” I said, as Melody lowered her head.
“I can say more about that,” Melody interjected. I put my hand out, stopping her from going on. “There’ll be time for you to tell your story. Now is not that time.” I moved over to Mrs. Adelle Parker.
“Let me go on. Mrs. Parker, who was having an affair with Mr. Sands, may have had an idea that her funds invested in the hedge fund were probably lost. So, she concocted an insurance fraud with her lover and was waiting until the policy was in effect.”
“Mr. Huffing, her father,” I began, taking a couple of steps towards him, “was also there the day of Parker’s death and had a heated argument with Parker. He realized the money he had laundered for the Lindo’s cartel could be lost, and now he feared for his life.”
Walking over to the partners seated by Kapzoff, the attorney, I stated, “The partners, as we have shown, had plenty of motive. If there was a Ponzi scheme and insider trading going on, that would have brought an end to their company, and they would be facing over one hundred years in jail, each. We know they were operating on fumes, as most of their money was gone.”
The DA had been silent but smiling all along, enjoying his Belvedere vodkas on the rocks and a nice, expensive cigar. Now he asked, “So, who killed Parker?”
I moved to my table of props and removed a white sheet, uncovering five golf putters. I handed one to Ms. Melody, which she grabbed with her right hand. One to Mrs. Parker, who did the same thing, and one to Mr. Huffing, who followed suit and grabbed one. However, when I got to both Evans and Albert, neither one reached for the putter. They both ignored me and didn’t grab it. I laid a putter between their opened legs, but neither one of them touched it. I then nodded to Agnes, and she flashed a photo of the same golf putter. I had handed out all five, on the screen.
“This,” I said, “is a Scotty Cameron Tel3, Del Mar Two model, golf putter. I assume you’ve all played miniature golf at some time in your lives, so you know what this club is for. This model isn’t readily available anymore. It’s an old model. We searched Amazon, eBay, and other sites for us to find five identical putters. You see, when I saw the body of Mr. Parker at the ME’s office, we found a small blunt force trauma behind his head and above his right ear. It wasn’t enough evidence for the ME to change his suicide conclusion, but we both felt that it could have been administered, the trauma, that is, before the eventual death as he fell onto the landing on the second floor of the building.”
I nodded to Agnes again. “Now you see a picture of the putter’s face, and if you turn it,” Agnes flashed another picture, “you see that the front of the putter makes what seems like a right triangle.”
I moved to the screen and with my right index finger pointed to the triangle. Both Melody and Mr. Huffing examined the putter they were holding. “This triangle fits exactly the puncture that Mr. Parker had on the back of his head above the right ear.”
Albert wisecracked, “Good lu
ck proving that. Parker was cremated.”
Melody, Adelle, and Huffing turned to look at Albert. I smiled. “I found it mysterious how Mr. Parker’s golf bag was in his office on one day, and then the next day, it appeared at his home. Also, the large crystal Waterford ashtray and a golf trophy were sent to the home. Mrs. Parker confirmed that your office, Mr. Evans, had sent the items. You didn’t send any other personal items Mr. Parker had in his office—pictures, artwork, et cetera. Only the three items mentioned; the golf-bag, the Baccarat golf trophy, and the Waterford crystal ashtray. Our original thought was that one of these items could be the murder weapon. So, I stopped at your golf club in New Jersey, Mr. Albert, the same club Mr. Evans and Parker belong to, and while asking questions, I was told that you have quite the temper. As a matter of fact, few people like to play golf with you because of it, and you a have a reputation for throwing your clubs when you miss a shot.” I said, pausing.
Albert’s face became red and flushed with indignation, he got up from his chair, kicking the golf putter aside, from his jacket’s inside pocket, he pulled out a snubnosed thirty-eight caliber revolver. There was a collective gasp from those sitting in the front seeing the silver revolver aimed at me. I could see the rage in his face and his trembling right hand holding the gun and taking a step towards me. He pulled the trigger as I stepped to my left. For an instant, I had a flashback of when my dad was shot in Little Italy when I was a young boy. I had been there and distinctly remembered the day. I thought to myself; Am I going to die like my dad, from a gunshot wound? The sound was deafening as the bullet grazed my right ear. Detective Farnsworth, who was standing in the front to the side, moved in quickly grabbing Albert’s right hand with both of his and kicked Albert in the groin. In the commotion, I heard a scream of “Joey,” from the back of the room as the white screen, behind me, fell to the ground from the shot striking it. Within seconds two uniforms reached the front and together with Farnsworth, wrestled Mr. Albert to the ground.
“Joey, are you alright?” Marcy asked, embracing me.
“I think so. Can’t hear very well. Other than that, I’m good.” I glanced at the crowd; everyone was standing. Evans was frozen in place. Kapzoff, his attorney had a hand on Evans shoulder. I wanted to go on but I was a little dazed from the experience.
Dominic addressed the crowd, “Let’s take five minutes.”
Albert was handcuffed by the uniform officers and sat him in the second row between them.
I walked over to Farnsworth and thanked him. After a few minutes, everyone took their seats again. I stood up to continue. “That was a bit unexpected, I suppose we can add attempted murder to any other charges we may uncover. Right?” I said, smiling, then looking at Albert, “Let me go on. My assumption is, Mr. Albert, that on the day of Parker’s murder, both you and Mr. Evans argued with him. Jonathan Parker could not go through with conspiring to hide the Ponzi scheme and the insider trading. The promise of a full partnership, if he kept his mouth shut, wasn’t enough for him to be involved in the deceit and fraud you both created. Mr. Parker was a victim, and other than his misstep with Ms. Melody Wright, he was an honest person. We were curious why only three items were sent back to the home. Why lie about Mrs. Parker picking them up, and why only those three? Our assumption was that any one of those items—the golf clubs, the Waterford ashtray, or the trophy—could have been the murder weapon. You, sir, in a fit of anger, realizing your scheme was over, took one of the golf clubs, the ashtray, or the trophy and struck Mr. Parker on the back of his head. Then with the assistance of your cohort and partner in crime, Mr. Evans, you both pushed Jonathan Parker out the window.”
Albert said, “Try using that in court.” “No, that’s not going to do it, of course. But here is what might work.” That was the cue for Agnes to flash a new photo. A picture of a white, rounded cast appeared on the screen. “Before the ME released the body of Parker for cremation, he made a cast of the back of Parker’s head. The section that had the blunt force trauma, the mystery triangle. And guess what? After examining each and every golf club in the bag, fourteen of them, the ashtray, and the trophy, we found that one golf club, the Scotty Cameron putter, fit the blunt trauma perfectly.”
“That doesn’t prove my clients did it,” said Kapzoff. “No, but remember, I was curious why the golf bag and the other two items—the trophy and the ashtray— appeared at the Parker residence the next day. Would it be possible to remove the murder weapon from the scene of the crime? And so, Detectives Farnsworth and Charles got a warrant, and they had the actual putter in Parker’s golf bag dusted for prints,” I replied.
Albert moved uncomfortably in his seat. “It turns out that the only prints on the putter, anywhere on the putter, belong to Mr. Thomas Albert III. Before you say he could have used the putter in his office to practice on the carpet, the prints aren’t consistent with the grip used when putting,” I said, as I grabbed a putter from Melody. “May I? Per the golf pros at your club who gave me a quick lesson on putting, this,” I said, showing the grip on the putter, “is the standard grip when putting for right-handed persons, such as Mr. Parker, Evans, and you, Mr. Albert. However, the prints on the putter are consistent with this grip,” I said, as I grabbed the putter in a manner compatible with striking someone. “I was further convinced just now that Melody, Adelle, and Mr. Huffing didn’t use the putter to kill Parker. They had no fear of handling the putter I gave them. But neither you nor Mr. Evans wanted to touch the putter I gave you.”
“Something else I found at your fancy club: Mr. Parker had stayed away from the club, but played Sunday, two days before his murder, and the protocol for caddies at your club is to wipe clean every member’s club at the completion of the game. Otherwise, they can be fined; you guys are tough on these poor caddies. So, we know the clubs were cleaned, and besides, the only prints are yours, sir. Ms. Wright will testify that she saw you both walk out of Mr. Parker’s office before she entered the office and found it empty and the window opened. So, that makes you both the last to have seen Jonathan Parker alive.”
Kapzoff whispered something to Albert. I motioned to Agnes to turn off the screen. “That, folks, concludes our presentation.” Farnsworth motioned to the uniforms to come forward. Now they, Marcy, and her boss Victoria were handcuffing the perps.
Melody asked a uniform if she could say something to me. He nodded, and she approached me, quietly saying, “Is this why you didn’t want to have sex with me in your office the other day?”
“You were always a suspect, and I won’t have a relationship with a suspect. I can’t lose my objectivity, and I may, if I’m involved with a person,” I replied.
She smiled. “I see.”
“Let me ask you a question.”
“Go ahead.”
“Is that why you wanted to have sex with me?”
“I found you attractive, but I thought that would help me.”
“At least you’re honest in that respect.”
“What if,” she paused, “what if I hadn’t been a suspect? Would you?” I smiled and looked into her eyes. “I’m already spoken for. By the way, if you want to make a deal with the DA, better get yourself another law firm. This law firm has their bread buttered by the partners.”
“Yeah, but they’re out of money. I’m not.” Melody smiled and nodded as the uniform grabbed her arm and gently prodded her to walk towards the back.
I thought, she’s not as dumb as she acts. Before she walked back, she asked one more question, “What led you to my identities? My prints from the drink we had at Woody Allen’s booth?”
“No, we were late to get those after you qualified as a suspect,” I replied. “Then what?”
“Your kiss.”
“My kiss?” She asked as the uniformed policeman was getting anxious to take her back. “The napkin you left me last Monday with your name and number. You planted a kiss on it with your bright red lipstick as a signature.”
“So, my lipstick was the clue?” “N
o, not your lipstick. But we were able to rush a DNA test. From there we uncovered your identity. Remember your first husband that died from an overdose? You were a suspect then, and your DNA was on file. After that, it was like dominoes falling; one thing led to another, and another.”
She smiled, “So, I brought about this whole thing?” I motioned to the officer to wait for another second, and said to her, “Mr. Parker’s death was the catalyst for our investigation. I think we would have solved his murder. Your involvement, however, led to a plethora of other crimes.”
The DA asked, “Is the bar still open?”
I replied, “Anyone that can stay is welcome to beverages, yes, of course.” The DA smiled and walked over to Mr. Pat, who was behind the bar putting ice in some new glasses. I waved at Kapzoff, who was walking out with all his newfound clients. “We’re having a wrap party for our off-Broadway play’s closing night during Happy Hour tonight, and you’re all welcome back then.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Wednesday It had been one day since our little off-Broadway play had closed. We’d been eagerly waiting for news on the crimes we uncovered. Marcy had come in early with The New York Trib in which Father Dom and yours truly were featured on the front page. Marcy had sneaked a peek at the article, and she couldn’t wait for me to start reading it. We sat a table drinking café con leches she’d made.
“The article merits a victory cigar, Detective Mancuso. Can I light one up for you?” Marcy asked. “Be my guest. You know, I think women are sexy with a cigar.”
“I wonder why, you sick puppy,” she said, lighting up a Montecristo. As she handed me the cigar, the sound of vehicular traffic signaled the front door had opened. In walked Mr. Pat, followed by a smiling Father Dom.
“I heard we made the papers,” Dominic said. “Did you read the article yet?” I replied, “Have not, bro. Marcy did, but I’ve been waiting for you. Gather around; let’s read it. You too, Patrick. Join us.”
