Absolution

by Henry Hack

  “Yes, sir,” one of them said. “I mean, he hasn’t been officially pronounced by a doctor, but there’s no doubt.”

  I chose not to uncover him. I wanted to remember him healthy and smiling as we ate our last meal together a few minutes ago.

  The street was filling up with marked and unmarked vehicles from the nearby precinct. I stood by Frank’s body until the ambulance crew picked him up, put him on the trundle, and wheeled him to their vehicle. I gave a half-hearted salute as they drove away. As I was wondering where Paul and Micena were, and if they caught the driver, a voice called out, “Mike, are you okay?”

  I looked up as Deputy Chief Roger Hendriks strode towards me, a worried look on his face. I said, “I think so, Chief, but I’m going to get checked out at the hospital soon.”

  “Good idea. What the hell went down here?”

  After I gave him the details I said, “As soon as I get done there I’ll be back to take charge of the investigation.”

  “Take charge, Mike? I don’t understand. This is Brooklyn, not Queens. Maybe you have received a concussion.”

  A little warning bell dinged in my non-concussed brain. I said, “The Bishop told me if anything happened to him – specifically an untimely, unplanned death – he wanted me to head up the investigation.”

  “I know you were friends, but –”

  “We had lunch together, Chief. He told me he mentioned it to you. He said he sent you a letter with that request in it.”

  “Letter? Mike, I don’t recall receiving any letter from Bishop Manzo. Are you positive he said that?”

  The warning bell clanged much louder now. You lying bastard, I got the return receipt and a recording of your telephone call to the Bishop after you got it. I had to play this carefully. I said, “Maybe he said he was going to send you a letter, Chief. I could be mistaken. My head’s a little fuzzy now.”

  “Maybe you’d better go to the hospital right away. And maybe this investigation will turn out to be an accident investigation handled by the patrol force. We have no indication this was an intentional act.”

  An accident? Unintentional? I played along and said, “You’re probably right, Chief.”

  “We’re thinking some kid took the car for a joyride and lost control. It checks out as a rental vehicle from Avis in Newark Airport. The dicks will follow-up on the guy who rented it, and if it was recently stolen from him.”

  Richie and John trotted up to us, sweaty and disheveled. “We lost him, Mike,” Richie said. “He was booking like a fucking rabbit.”

  “Young kid?” Chief Hendriks asked.

  Both Micena and Paul apparently did not know Hendriks as they looked quizzically at him. Before one of them had a chance to say, “Who the hell are you?” I said, “This is Chief Hendriks, guys, the boro commander.”

  “Oh,” Micena said. “Not that young, Chief. I mean he looked more to be in his mid-to-late twenties, not some sixteen year-old joy rider.”

  “I see. Did you see where he went? Did he get in another vehicle or a motorcycle?”

  “He may have been able to do that before we got around the corner,” Richie said, “but he could have ducked down into the subway entrance at the end of the block. When we got down there, on the city-bound side, we didn’t spot him on the platform.”

  “It was crowded,” John said, “and a train was pulling out on the opposite platform. He could have been on that.”

  “Give that description to the 84 Squad detectives, and they’ll take it from here.”

  John and Richie glanced at me and I shook my head slightly. They immediately got the message and John said, “Will do, Chief.”

  “Now, Mike, have someone take you to the hospital forthwith.”

  “Yes, sir. Sergeant Megara here will. John, Richie?”

  “Yes, Boss?” they said.

  “After you give your statements to the 84 Squad dicks, we’ll all meet back at the office. I’m sure Harry and I will have to give statements to them also after I get checked out.”

  “Okay, Boss,” John said. “Catch you later.”

  As Harry drove me to the hospital he said, “It’s curious Chief Hendriks didn’t ask you why you had your deputy CO and two of your dicks in Brooklyn while you were having lunch with the Bishop.”

  “I was wondering that myself, but we both know the answer to that, don’t we?”

  “Oh, yeah, Mike. The fix is already in. Hendriks passed that letter he got right to his boss, Chief O’Connor, and was told to dummy up about it.”

  “And they’ll whitewash this as a tragic accident caused by a joy-riding teenager who lost control of his stolen car.”

  “And a million Catholics in the Diocese will mourn the death of their beloved Bishop.”

  “And the church will give him a grand farewell at St. Joseph’s Cathedral to handle the huge crowd of shocked worshipers.”

  “And the Cardinal and all the Bishops will attend and put on their solemn faces.”

  “And all the high police brass will attend with similar phony solemn looks upon their hypocritical faces.”

  “What do we do now, Mike?”

  “I’m not sure, Harry, but whatever it is it will be a big explosion. I owe that to Frank. I owe him my life. And I will repay him by taking up and leading the crusade against all of them. I guarantee it.”

  . . .

  I was a lot longer in the emergency room of St. Vincent’s than I expected, as they did a thorough exam of my entire body, which was now beginning to hurt in several places after my untimely contact with concrete and brick. A big bruise on my right hip. Scraped knuckles on my left hand. Abrasions on the right side of my face. A slightly sprained left ankle. The x-rays all showed no fractures, and the doctor’s exam concluded I had no concussion. I smiled as he said, “The nurse will give you a couple of aspirin and that should be all you need, Lieutenant.”

  I was surprised he didn’t add, “And call me in the morning,” but concluded that omission was a good sign. Harry and I finally got out of there at four o’clock. As we got in the car I said, “I’m going to call Richie. I want to hear what they told the 84 Squad dicks.”

  “Like how they answered the question, ‘Hey, what were all you Queens’ Homicide guys doing down here anyway?’”

  “Exactly,” I said while dialing my cell phone.

  “How did it go?” I asked when Richie picked up.

  “It went well. We’re pulling into the squad now.”

  “Did they ask what you, what all of us, were doing in Brooklyn?”

  “That they did, Mike. We told them while you were having lunch with the Bishop we were chasing down a couple witnesses on a pending case.”

  “Good. Did you mention John was inside the restaurant filling his face on my dime?”

  “No, it didn’t come up at all,” he said laughing. “Next caper, I want to be the inside guy.”

  “You got it. Listen, you and John pack up and go home. We’ll talk tomorrow morning. Oh, what was your take on their investigation?”

  “They seem to be taking it seriously, Mike. Even had a couple of Brooklyn North homicide guys brought in to get involved.”

  “I figured Chief Hendriks would have second thoughts. There’s no way he can pawn this off on the uniform force. Not with a death involved. And that of the Bishop of Brooklyn, no less.”

  “So they pull out all the stops for the media, but it will go nowhere, right?”

  “Right you are, Detective Paul.”

  “What now, Mike?”

  “The five of us will hash it out tomorrow,” I said.
<
br />   . . .

  The detectives from the 84 Squad and Brooklyn North homicide treated us cordially and professionally. Having been informed of my relationship with the Bishop they expressed their sincere condolences on his death before they got to their questions. And it didn’t take long for Harry and I to figure out these guys had not been told to blow this investigation off at all. The chief was too savvy to do that. He figured, as time went by and the “juvenile joy rider” was never apprehended, the case would die on its own, as all old news does. And he also knew if the Bishop’s death was an intentional hit masterminded by powers much higher up the ladder than he, it would never be solved.

  I related my recollection of events, and one of the homicide dicks asked the question I would have asked, “Lieutenant, did you know if the Bishop had any enemies who might have reason to kill him? And if not, do you have any enemies that would resort to an attempt on your life?”

  “Excellent question,” I said. “No, I am unaware of any person or situation that would cause someone to target Bishop Manzo. As for me, after over twenty years of locking up assholes, who knows? But no threats have come my way lately, and no case comes to mind where I would become a target.”

  “Do you think the driver intentionally drove over the curb and onto the sidewalk to nail one, or both of you?”

  “I can’t say. I never saw the driver. I couldn’t get a read on his expression. The chief thinks this might have been a terrible accident caused by a panicked, inexperienced driver. He may be right.”

  “It may turn out that way, sir, but we have been directed to look at every angle before we come to that conclusion.”

  “I know you will, guys, and I appreciate all your efforts.”

  We were done with their questions in another twenty minutes and on our way back to Queens. Harry said, “That was some performance. Do you think they bought it?”

  “It doesn’t matter. What matters is when they report back to Hendriks, that he buys it.”

  The events of the afternoon had been so hectic I hadn’t had time to call my wife, although I knew that would not be an acceptable excuse. As I pulled into the driveway I realized I should have at least called her on the way home, before the six o’clock news broke on the TV. I turned off the ignition and dialed our home phone number. As expected, she said, “Wonderful of you to call now. What –?”

  “Stop, Vivian. I love you. It was a bad day, but I’m alive. I’m in the driveway. Please pour me a double vodka over ice.”

  “Come on in and I’ll get your drink ready. But I’m unsure if I’ll hand it to you or throw it in your face. And isn’t a double a bit strong for you?”

  “I don’t think my face would like that too much, and I need a double about now.”

  “Are you hurt badly? How stupid of me. Get that handsome face in here. It is still handsome, isn’t it?”

  “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, thankfully.”

  I hobbled to the front door, my arms, legs, and torso starting to ache and tighten up a bit more. I might need something stronger than two lousy aspirin, after all. The vodka would be a start. The door opened, and if Vivian were going to chastise me further, she changed her mind when she glanced at my face. “Oh, Mike, come in. Sit down. Oh, you are hurt!”

  I sat on the living room sofa and Vivian ran into the kitchen and came back with the vodka. I took a healthy sip and she said, “Be right back, I need one too.”

  She sat next to me and caressed my hair. “Tell me all about it. The TV said the Bishop is dead. How did it all happen?”

  I told her everything – well, almost everything – of what transpired after the Bishop and I left Giacomo’s Restaurant. Some things, as all cops learned, were better left unsaid.

  “Then this was a tragic accident?”

  “It seems so, pending further investigation. But who would want to deliberately run the Bishop over and kill him? He has a great reputation throughout the Diocese.”

  “Maybe the driver wanted to hit you, and missed.”

  “Same reasoning. I’ve put a lot of guys in jail over my years, but none that ever threatened to get me.”

  “That makes me feel better. How long are you going to take off?”

  “Take off?”

  “Yeah. From work. You have a line of duty injury, right?”

  “A few bumps and bruises aren’t going to keep me home. I’ll be good as new in a couple of days. Besides, I have to write up a lot of reports on what happened and on my injuries.”

  “Can’t that wait? Stay home with me.”

  I smiled and said, “As soon as I wrap this up, I’ll take a few days off. Maybe we can get away somewhere – just the two of us.”

  “I like that. Want another vodka? You sloshed that one down awfully fast.”

  “Oh, yeah, and three or four Aleve, too.”

  TWENTY-NINE

  By ten o’clock, with the regular morning business out of the way, we got down to it. After we all related our conversations and observations of yesterday’s events, I said, “This guy who killed the Bishop and ran away was definitely a zip?”

  “Oh, yeah,” John said, “without a doubt.”

  “I agree,” Richie said, “and I got a much closer look at the prick than my slow-assed partner here.”

  “Hey, I just had a big lunch. Gimme a break here.”

  “So I noticed,” I said. “What is that feast going to cost the NYPD?”

  “Don’t worry, Mike, I took care of the tab with my own money.”

  “That I don’t believe,” Sergeant Seich said.

  “The waiter asked me if I was a cop and when I told him yeah, he cut the bill in half. It still was a heavy hit.”

  “I guess the zip is already back in Rome, or Palermo, by now,” Harry Megara said.

  “And,” Richie said, “he’s either a dead zip, if he was expendable, or a happy zip with a big wad of Euros in his pocket.”

  “Wonder what he would have told us if you guys collared him?” I asked.

  “Non Capisco,” John said. “And after claiming he doesn’t understand, he’ll say whatever is Italian for, ‘I want my lawyer.’”

  “Do we all agree this case will never be solved and eventually go away?”

  “I think we do, Mike,” Harry said. “What now?”

  “Chief O’Connor’s letter from the Bishop contained the new combination to his safe. If the chief is a righteous guy, he would be at Manzo’s office right now getting those records.”

  “And taking them to the nearest shredder,” John said.

  “Or doing as Manzo asked – conducting an investigation and locking up a lot of misfit priests.”

  “Who wants to bet on that scenario?” Seich asked.

  There were no takers and John said, “So what do we do now?”

  “We have the lists. We could start arresting them ourselves.”

  “Are you kidding? Homicide Squad dicks suddenly locking up sex abusers? The brass will throttle you and stop that dead in its tracks.”

  “What are your ideas, guys?”

  “Go to the papers, Mike,” Charlie said. “The Times will eat this up. If they publish the allegations the department will have to act.”

  “What if the publisher is in bed with the Cardinal and the department’s top brass?” Harry asked.

  “I doubt that,” Richie said, “but you never know. I have a much better idea.”

  “Please,” I said. “Let us hear it.”

  “Sue them.”

  “You mean hire a money-hungry firm of Jew lawyers, uh,
no offense Boss, and take them to the cleaners?” John asked.

  I laughed and said, “I like the idea of civil action, but a firm of Jew lawyers might not be a great idea. They’d be targeted as Christ-killers all over again if they took on the Roman Catholic Church.”

  “Howie Stein!” Charlie shouted.

  “What about him?” I asked knowing, as we all knew, who he meant.

  “After he left the DA’s office years ago he joined a white-shoe law firm. I’ve been there. Howie’s my personal lawyer.”

  “What the hell do you need a lawyer for, Sarge?” Richie asked.

  “Estate planning, that’s what. He made out our wills, but when I told him I wanted to leave you something he told me there was no way to bequeath my common sense to you, no matter how bad you needed it.”

  “Very funny,” Richie said.

  “What about Howie?” I asked. “How does he figure in this?”

  “There are five partners. Howie is the only Jew. They have an Italian, an Irishman, and the firm’s founders, two WASPS, German and English heritage, I believe. And their main practice centers on medical malpractice and personal injury. This would be right up their alley.”

  “I’m starting to like this,” I said. “Hit the church hard in the pocketbook, but I also want the abusers exposed. No secret deals. No non-disclosure agreements.”

  “Do you want me to give Howie a call?”

  “Not yet. I want to think this over some more. And I want to see what Chief O’Connor is going to do. We have to give him a chance. I’m going to give the Bishop’s secretary a call now. I’ll put him on speaker.”

  A dejected voice answered the phone on the third ring, “Bishop’s office,” he said. “Brian speaking.”

  “Brian, it’s Lieutenant Mike Simon. How are you holding up?”