by Owen Parr
“If you want me to,” I said, knowing full well I wanted to.
“I do.”
“Yes, of course, I want to come over tonight.”
“Good, we’ll order in.”
“Are you still in the city?” I asked again.
“Why, you need a ride?”
“Do Cubans always answer a question with a question?”
“Do I do that?” she asked, laughing.
“Both Father Dom and I are at the pub, and he wanted you to drive us back,” I said, as Dom made a nasty face at me.
“I’ll pick you guys up in fifteen.”
“How is your new partner, Special Agent Tony?”
“I’m dropping him off at his hotel, then I’ll pick you up?”
“Are you running a car service? Can he not take a cab?”
“I don’t know, am I running a car service?”
“We’ll wait for you outside. Love you, special agent,” I said, smiling.
She disconnected without responding.
Dom asked, “She has a new partner? I thought she worked alone.”
“They brought in some stiff neck from Chicago. A real asshole, if you ask me.”
“You met him?”
“Yeah, he was here. Straight from central casting. He told me more about himself in five minutes than I know about you, after thirty plus years. You might like him.”
“Why would you say that?”
“He looks like a younger you; tall, blonde, slim, very stiff, no personality.”
Dom perused the surroundings, and said in a low voice, “You are such an asshole.”
“Thank you, Padre. Get ready, Marcy will be here shortly.”
“You want to tell me about the attorneys that came in after Adams, on Monday morning?”
I had compartmentalized that chapter in the back of my mind, didn’t want to share with either Dom or Marcy, now. As much as it was enticing to me, I don’t think Dom was ready for me to take on a full-time investigative agency, and ignore our family enterprise. “I blew those guys off, told them we had no time now.”
“Did they have a case for us to work on?”
“Something like that. We can call them after we are done with the Longworth case.”
“What did you think of Longworth?”
“I want you to review the photos and video of the crime scene from the day of the murder, and see what you get out of them, before I discuss my meeting with Longworth.”
“Are you giving me a test?”
“No, no test. But for instance, let me ask you this, and don’t look. How many liquor bottles on the right side of the bar are stacked on the shelves?”
Dom started to turn that way.
“Don’t look. How many times have you looked at that shelf in the past years? Hundreds, thousands of times? And yet, you can’t tell me how many bottles, right?”
“At least hundreds of times. But, I’ve never counted them, have you?”
“In “A Scandal in Bohemia,” Athur Conan Doyle, the creator of the Sherlock Holmes’ series, has Sherlock asking Dr. Watson a similar question. The question was: how many steps are there in the steps at 221B Baker Street? Which is where they lived. Steps, Dr. Watson admits to taking hundreds of times. Holmes goes on to tell Dr. Watson that there are seventeen steps. Watson is said to be baffled.”
“So, how many bottles are there on the right shelf?” Asks Father Dom.
“The difference, Holmes tells Watson, is that most everyone sees, but does not observe. I’ve studied Sherlock Holmes novels, or better yet, Conan Doyle’s style. In doing so, I’ve learned to observe, and have incorporated that into my detective work. The answer, Dr. Watson is, forty-two bottles on the right shelf.”
“Then, what you are saying is, that you observed something in the crime scene photos and video that most people saw, but did not observe, that could make a difference in our case?”
I wasn’t doing this to be a pain in the ass, nor to demean Dominic. I wanted to share a little secret I’ve learned and applied. “Not just one, but maybe a few things.”
“And you are not going to tell me?”
“No. You are going to tell me. Let’s walk outside, Marcy should be here any minute. You can observe the photos in the car ride back to Saint Helen’s Church.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Marcy’s radio was blasting with Sweet Home Alabama, by the Lynyrd Skynyrd Band.
“Can I lower the volume?” I asked, reaching for the volume knob on the radio.
“Why, you don’t like this music?”
“Yes, I like it. But, I want to talk.”
Marcy said, “You need to update your repertoire of music in the pub,” she said, turning to look at me.
“Yeah? With what?” I asked, smiling.
“Oh, I don’t know. How about Chicago, Alabama, Sting, Doobie Brothers, some modern country?”
“Maybe. I’ll think about it.”
Marcy had this nervous tic when she drove; first, she sat close to the wheel, which I personally found uncomfortable. But then, she would move her right shoulder forward every few minutes when she was engaged in a conversation. The faster Marcy drove, the more forward motions her shoulder would take. I found it cute, but of course, I found everything she did, cute.
She looked at me in the passenger seat and asked, “How’s your case going?”
“I’ve met with the detective at the Suffolk police that was lead in the investigation. Fortunately, I knew him from before, he’s provided me with the photos and a video from the scene of the crime,” I replied. “Dom is viewing those now,” I said, pointing to the back seat where Dominic sat.
“Did you meet with Mr. Longworth?” Marcy asked, as she engaged her right shoulder in a forward motion.
“We both did, yes.” I turned to look at Dominic, “Brother, you still viewing the photos?”
Dominic replied without taking his eyes off the phone, “Going over them a second time, give me a minute.”
“Did you find something new with the photos?” Asked Marcy.
“I think I did. I’m sure Longworth did not do it. But, I don’t have enough yet to identify the real killer.”
Marcy asked, “When is Agnes going to have the research ready?”
I glanced out the window, the snow was beginning to come down hard. “I gave her lots to do. She was going to research both attorneys, Adams and Pearson. Both husband and wife, and then I gave her the names of the executive directors of the charities Mrs. Longworth was involved with; Angels for Children and their own foundation, along with some close friends.”
“Do you think she was having an affair?” Marcy asked, keeping her eyes on the road ahead of her.
“Yes, I know she was,” I replied. “Are you done with the photos, Dom?” I asked, as I faced him in the backseat and patted his knee with the left hand.
“Yes, I am,” Dominic replied.
“So, tell me what you found,” I said.
“I don’t know if I observed everything you did, but I think I have some new ideas, only because you told me to look beyond the obvious,” he replied.
I turned halfway to the back seat. “What stood out?”
“The scene is very disturbing with all the blood on the walls, carpet and then, of course, the body. Everything in the room is white and then there’s the crimson blood as a contrast,” Dom said.
“Come on, that’s obvious. What else?” I asked.
“Yellow roses on their seating area. That stands out,” Dominic said.
Marcy countered, “Yeah, but what does that mean? I buy flowers for my place all the time. Many women do that.”
I added, “True, but this was an arrangement. Mr. Longworth told me he had his assistant send those, the same day, to his wife.”
Dominic asked, “Why send flowers if you’re planning on killing her?”
“Unless he’s a sick person,” Marcy said.
“Which he is not,” I replied. “He wanted to have a quiet eveni
ng with his wife, but wasn’t able to leave his office early. He was trying to rekindle their relationship.”
Dominic countered, “What if he got home, they had an argument, and he just flipped out and shot her?”
“It’s possible, but it doesn’t fit with the person I met. What else did you see in the photos?” I asked.
“Joey, you’re putting a lot of pressure on me. I need to review these one more time,” Dom said.
“Professor Mancuso,” Marcy started, “Why don’t you enlighten us with your observations.”
I smiled. “Dom, did you see, in the video, the large tub and shower?”
“Yes, both floors were wet.”
“Mr. Longworth told me his wife showered in the mornings. But, when I asked if she showered after sex, he said she would. Of course, I also know from the rape kit that there was evidence of sex, but no rape.”
Marcy asked, engaging her right shoulder once again, “Any semen?”
“No evidence of that, no.”
Dominic added, “So her partner wore a condom.”
“Dom, you’re assuming her partner was a man. What if it was another woman?” I asked, glancing back at him.
“But you said there was evidence of sex. I assumed from penetration?” Dominic asked.
“Father,” Marcy began, looking at him through the rear-view mirror, “There are other ways to, —”
“Okay, I get it, I get it,” said Father Dom, somewhat embarrassed.
“Are any of the people Agnes is researching a woman?” Marcy asked.
I replied, “It so happens that both the executive directors of the charities are females. Both charities have their main offices in New York.”
Dominic asked, “The suspects, in your mind, are these four persons: the attorneys and the charity directors?”
“At the moment, that’s all I got. I haven’t seen any research on anything yet. There’s always the pool boy, the gardener, et cetera, right?” I laughed.
“What, no butler?” Marcy quipped.
“What else did you observe, Joey?” Dominic asked.
“She died wearing a white terrycloth robe.”
“I saw that,” said Dom.
“But, what you did not see was Mr. Longworth’s terrycloth robe. He admitted to having one.”
Marcy asked, “What happened to it?’
“I believe the killer was wearing it, after their shower when he, or she, shot Mrs. Longworth.”
“What happened to the robe?” Dom asked.
“I think the killer used it to cover their tracks walking down the stairs. They turned it inside out, because it must have had blood spatter on the front. The stairs and living room are marble floors, so, I can imagine the killer sliding through the marble with the robe underneath their feet.”
Marcy glanced at Dom through her rearview and asked, “He’s good, Father, isn’t he?”
Dom replied, “Don’t encourage him. What else, Sherlock?”
“Mr. Longworth said the reason he went downstairs, after finding the body, was because he a heard a sound as if someone knocked down a lamp, or glass breaking,” I said.
“Assuming we believe him,” Marcy retorted.
“Yes,” I said, “yet, on the photos and video, there is nothing out of place in the living room.”
“What’s your theory?” Dom asked.
“My thought is, the killer removed the item that they knocked over in the living room.”
“What about prints?” Marcy asked.
“They dusted for prints in the bedroom, and found partials that are unidentifiable. Both husband and wife, maids, and Mr. Adams’ prints.” I said, as Marcy turned to look at me with an obvious question mark on her face. “Yes, Adams and Mr. Longworth have met in the seating room in their bedroom.”
Dom queried, “Did they dust for prints in the living room?”
“I’m sure they did. We need to check on that,” I replied.
We arrived at Saint Helen’s Church in Brooklyn, as the snow continued to come down hard. Father Dom had another question. “I still don’t understand how Mrs. Longworth and her lover, assuming she had one, would feel free to have an encounter at her home, then shower, get dressed and so forth. Wouldn’t they be concerned about Mr. Longworth coming home?”
I turned to Dom as he was getting ready to exit Marcy’s car, “My dear Doctor Watson, I have a theory about that. I’ll share it with you both, soon.”
“Okay,” Dom said, “Then your assumption is, that the Mrs. and her partner knew when he was coming home?”
I added, “Exactly. Except on this evening, the husband left an hour earlier than what he told her, the lover slash killer had no time to leave, before he got there.”
Father Dom said, “We are assuming there is a lover, although I am inclined to believe that, too. However, we don’t know who, or even if a male, or female, and most importantly, what is their motivation.”
“That’s why we are on the case, brother,” I said, extending a handshake as he was opening the door to get out. “And, we are running out of time on this one. Go say a little prayer for us.”
Snow was starting to come in the car as Dom was getting out, he stuck his head back in and said, smiling, “I think a nine-day novena is in order, for this one.”
“Good night, Father,” Marcy said.
“Let’s get a pizza and head to your place,” I said.
“I bought some fresh fish, you want me to make it?”
“What kind?” I asked, making a face.
“Tilapia.”
“You know what they call a Tilapia with four legs?”
“No, what?”
I replied, “Roadkill,” I paused, “let’s stick with the pizza.”
“Sounds good.”
“No really. Tilapia is a name given to hundreds of species of fresh water fish. It’s not like, grouper. So, whatever the hell they find, and it’s an unknown species, they call Tilapia.”
She looked at me kind of funny. “Fine. When will Agnes have her research done?”
“I’m hoping she’ll email me what she has, tonight. We’re running out of time.”
“You really think you can get this guy off?”
“Nothing’s been done for a year. The police folded their investigation, with the evidence against him. And the attorneys baffled me, in the manner they conducted their own investigation.”
“Is that why you think, the lawyers might be involved?”
“I just want to look beyond the obvious. I tend to believe Longworth’s claim of innocence. It seems he was trying to restart the relationship. He says things just went stale after twenty years of marriage, and he blames himself for it.”
“Could that happen to us? If we get married, I mean.”
“Is this your way of accepting my proposal?”
“We haven’t discussed marriage in a while. Answer my question.”
“My proposal was open ended. It didn’t have a termination date.”
“I know, Joey, and we can talk about it. Please answer the question.”
“Any marriage can go stale. It seems to me that it’s a work in progress from start to finish, right? Careers interfere, if you let them. Taking the other for granted is a mistake. Both partners have to want to work at it.”
“What if you fall out of love like these two, the Longworths.”
“The assumption is that they were in love in the first place. Assuming they were, then something broke down, a vacuum was created that allowed for the entry of the third party into the lives of one or the other. That’s why I say, it’s a work in progress.”
“How would you handle it?” Marcy asked, turning to look at me.
“Is this a test of some kind?”
“No, silly. I like to discuss this with you. Communication is part of the work in progress, right?”
“Very much so. Look, I’m ready to get married to you. Why? Because I love you, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Do I know if it’
s going to last? No one knows the future. But you go into it for the right reasons. You have your aspirations, your dreams, and you hope and pray for the best.”
“I know I’m guilty of worrying about you in the law enforcement field. When you got shot and almost died, and then, went right back to work refusing to take the disability offered you, well, that bothered me.”
“I understand why you felt that way. After all, you lost your dad in Viet Nam, then your brother was in the Army, and deployed to Iraq. Fortunately, he came home safely. Those experiences shaped your fears, but you must accept people, if you love them, for who they are. You can’t change them to fit your typical mold.”
“Fortunately, you’re out of law enforcement. So, I don’t have to worry about that anymore. I don’t mind you doing some investigative work like you do now, with Father O’Brian. But, I wouldn’t want you wearing a gun to work again.”
I guessed this was not the time to discuss the offer I’d had from my old captain, and the opportunity to open my own investigative services on a full-time basis. I replied, “Marcy, you wear a gun to work, and I accept that. We’ve talked about this before. I mean, what if, in a few years, we move to a small town, and I’m offered an opportunity to be the chief of the police force, like Jesse Stone, Tom Selleck’s character, that becomes a police chief? What then?”
“I know you love that series. Is that your dream? To become the chief of police in a little town?”
“I must say, it is appealing to me. How cool would that be?”
“To be continued. Let’s talk about it, after I come back from D.C.”
“What time do you leave tomorrow?”
“Eleven in the morning. I’ll be back on the twenty-ninth, Friday evening.”
“And this Special Agent Belford is traveling with you?”
“We’re being briefed on a case we are working on. He’s not such a bad guy, you know.”
“No, good guys can be assholes too. There’s just something that bothers me about this guy.” We arrived at the restaurant, and I stepped out of the car into the freezing temperature and snow storm. “Back in a second.”
The pizza, along with a Pinot Noir, was excellent. No more discussion of marriage took place. Our passionate lovemaking began on the living room sofa listening to Foreigner’s Waiting for a Girl Like You, and, I Want to Know What Love Is, which, being the romantic type of guy I am, I purposely placed in the CD player.
