Absolution

by Henry Hack

  “A bombshell. And when the shit hits the fan the high-ranking Cardinals in Rome and the high-ranking brass in the NYPD are going to be covered in it from their red hats and uniform caps to their soft slippers and shiny shoes.”

  I drove right back to my office building, parked illegally directly in front of it, and called our mailroom. I directed them to bring out a cart and load up the boxes. I left the mail room guy with my car and personally wheeled up the load to my office, unloaded it, re-locked the door, and headed home. No way was the evidence staying in my car or house, overnight. Maybe I was paranoid, but maybe Rome was still after my ass. Who knew? A zip or two could be on their way right now to finish the job.

  . . .

  With our new evidence in hand we laid out our general plan of action. Nick Marino had both a criminal and civil litigation background, and we hit it off immediately. He had five years with the NYPD, quitting after he finished law school whereupon he joined the prestigious Manhattan DA’s office as a prosecutor of white-collar crime. He then went into private practice and eventually specialized in suing firms whose products had damaged their users. Dangerous chemicals, defective mechanisms, and shoddy building materials were among his specialties. He said, “I don’t see much difference in these cases, Mike. We have a defective product, the hierarchy of the church, and we have damages due to their negligence. Rape, sexual abuse, forcible touching, and acts of sodomy committed on their trusting parishioners, who innocently had no expectations of being subject to these acts.”

  “Sounds good to me, Nick. How do you think we should proceed?”

  “Let me ask you that question first. I know you’re a man of action, as Howie told me, but we may want to begin cautiously.”

  “I agree. I believe we should, for now, bypass the NYPD and the media and lay some paper on the local hierarchy of the church, meaning the new bishop of Brooklyn and Cardinal Callahan. We build about a dozen solid cases first, and I need an investigative team to do that.”

  “Why not go to the NYPD right off the bat?”

  “They were given that opportunity by Bishop Manzo and they took absolutely no action. The boro commanders and chief of detectives denied any knowledge of the cases and claimed Manzo never sent them a letter with his allegations. Why try again? And most grievously they alerted Callahan, who alerted Rome, and now we have a murdered Bishop, whose death remains unsolved by the way, and I want justice for him.”

  “I understand, Mike, but when we begin legal action, the media will pick up on it right away. They will question why we didn’t go to the police with these criminal allegations. They will insinuate we are only in it for the money.”

  “That’s exactly what will happen, Nick. And then you call a press conference and agree with the media one-hundred percent. You produce copies of the letters, and the original signed return receipts, and in your saddest tones say, ‘Yes, you are right. We tried to do that, but we were ignored. And the letter to the chief of detectives had the combination to Bishop Manzo’s safe where the lists of victims were kept.’”

  Marino smiled and slapped his hand on the table. “I love it! Are you sure you’re not a lawyer?”

  “No way, but I do know how to go for the throat. Just like a good lawyer does.”

  “Terrific. Hire some people. Let’s get rolling.”

  THIRTY-SIX

  The sorting and compilation was completed by the firm’s clerical staff a few days later. The final totals were staggering. There were over 4,000 reported incidents involving over 800 priests – and nuns – in the metropolitan New York area alone, to include New York City, Nassau and Suffolk counties on Long Island, and Westchester county north of the city. This was the area the firm decided they would handle directly. Cases outside it would be referred to other law firms after we got our feet wet and the procedures down pat.

  Four thousand cases! I did some figuring on a piece of paper, and a couple hours later I came up with a tentative organizational chart with me at the top, four supervisors directly reporting to me, and eight investigators reporting to each supervisor. That was a lot of manpower, but these investigations had to be thorough, detailed, and professionally prepared to the legal standards of the firm. And we needed women – a lot of female investigators. And training in sex crimes investigations. And vehicles. And recording equipment. And surveillance equipment and…

  I stopped and took a deep breath. Go easy, I told myself. Rome wasn’t built in a day, and you’re not going to destroy it in a day either.

  When I put it all together I asked for a meeting with Howie and Nick to get their input. I said, “I’d like to start with a few cases in the Brooklyn Diocese.”

  “Of course you would, you vengeful bastard,” Howie said

  “And I’d like to begin with two supervisors and sixteen investigators. I figure a week of training, a week or two to get properly equipped, and then we’ll give it a go.”

  “I like it, Mike,” Nick said “but I think I know what’s going to happen when our first lawsuits become public.”

  “And what is that, Nick?”

  “Our phones will start ringing off the hook. Abruzzi? He’s the one who molested my child, too.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Howie said. “Your files contain known victims who made a complaint against a specific priest for a specific incident. Who knows how many others he abused who didn’t report it? Thousands?”

  “Jesus,” I said, “this may turn into a ten-year project.”

  Howie poked me in the ribs and said, “Job security, you dumb flatfoot. For you, your investigators, and my law firm.”

  . . .

  Before I had a chance to begin the recruitment process, I checked the list of those who had already called during my first week of employment at Schroeder, Harwood. There were five names there, all of whom had attended my impromptu retirement party – Joan Yale, one of my homicide investigators, who I suddenly realized had been in the Sex Crimes Unit before she joined our squad, Dan Nitzky from the 106 Squad, Doug Monroe and Lou Isnardi from Queens Narcotics, and last, but not least, Johnny “The Jack” Micena.

  I know I had told everyone they had about two weeks to decide. Those two weeks were not up, but I was anxious to get going. I picked up the phone and dialed Harry Megara. He screamed, “Mike, get me outta here. This guy is driving me crazy!”

  “Why the hell do you think I’m calling? I want you as a team supervisor and I want Charlie, too. What are you waiting for?”

  “It’s a big decision, Mike.”

  “Get a hold of Charlie and come over to my house tonight after dinner. I’ll lay it all out, and when I do you’ll make the move as I did, and as fast as I did.”

  “See you later.”

  . . .

  Harry and Charlie arrived on schedule at 8:00 p.m. and we went into the den where Vivian had set up four bottles of cordials. “I surmise it’s not going well with Lieutenant McAuley?”

  “I can see why the guys in the 28 Squad were happy to see him go,” Charlie said. “He treats us like we are still in uniform. Would you believe I had to sign out on meal tonight to leave the office? And he holds you to one hour.”

  “How would he know how long you take for dinner?” I asked.

  “He personally comes in on surprise visits,” Harry said.

  “And,” Charlie said, “he transferred in a couple of guys, who we think are his personal rats, to spy on us.”

  “Not good at all,” I said, “but I can offer you much better working conditions. Pour yourselves a drink, and prepare to visit the Pension Bureau tomorrow.”

  After I explained the particulars, Charlie Seich said, “Let me recap this deal to see if I have it right. We each
supervise eight investigators – four teams of two. And for this we get $125,000 a year, a take-home car, full company benefits, and four-weeks vacation?”

  “Correct, and a 50% bonus potential.”

  “And the position should last five years?” Harry asked.

  “Yes, most likely longer.”

  “I need time to think this over,” Charlie said. “Oh, wait. Time’s up. I’m in.”

  “Harry?”

  “I’m in, too, Mike.”

  “Terrific. Figure on starting next Monday. And during that time work on Richie Paul to come on board. Micena’s already interested. Of these sixteen investigators, I want at least six females, and I want Spanish-speaking people, and African-Americans. These abusers were equal-opportunity predators.”

  “I have a few in mind,” Harry said.

  “Good. Talk to Joan Yale, she’s expressed an interest. See if she can contact other sex crime investigators – from the Feds, the NYPD, the Nassau and Suffolk PD’s, from all over the metro area –”

  “Slow down, Mike. We’ll get it done,” Charlie said.

  “Sorry, guys. I’m real itchy to get going. Oh, one more thing –”

  “Yes, Columbo?” Harry said.

  “Get some new suits and shirts and ties.”

  “Hey, Mike, what’s wrong with what I’m wearing now?” Charlie asked.

  I shook my head and said, “Fucking everything, Charlie.”

  . . .

  Two weeks after Harry and Charlie had joined us, and who both were now appropriately attired thanks to another check from Howie Stein, we had made substantial progress in our hiring process, with four positions left to fill. I had done my own research discovering Chief of Detectives Kevin O’Connor lived in St Edward’s parish in the Fresh Meadows section of Queens. Over the past ten years, four priests had incidents detailed in our lists, but all four had been transferred to other parishes within the Diocese of Brooklyn. However, three other priests with similar transgressions had been transferred into St. Edwards. Talk about musical chairs. How about musical pedophiles?

  I assigned the case to Team A where Harry Megara was in charge. All three victims, each in a different parish where the priests had previously worked, were white males between the ages of ten and twelve. The six victims of the four priests who were transferred out were a white female age thirteen, a black female age ten, two males with Hispanic last names, ages ten and eleven, and two white males ages twelve and thirteen.

  Knowing we could not get all of them to agree to partake in a lawsuit, we chose several more incidents to follow up on. The two lawyers assigned to our team, Andy Forma and Sam Ehrenkranz, wanted to go with an initial batch of twenty-five to file on the first go round. My investigators hit the streets. Finally, the first step in this crusade had begun.

  . . .

  Three weeks later the firm was ready to file. We had to interview thirty-seven victims to get the twenty-five to agree to sue the Diocese. The reports the team of investigators prepared had first to be reviewed by the team supervisor then signed off by me. If it passed my muster it went to one of the lawyers who reviewed it and, if all was in order, they called the victim and his parents in to sign the necessary legal permissions to proceed, and a fee contract for the firm’s one-third cut.

  On D-Day, November 15, the lawsuits were filed in State Supreme Court and the firm issued a press release to all its media outlets. They jumped at the story with all the major newspapers reporting it no further back than page four. It was one of the lead stories on all the local news channels at six o’clock, and several all-news cable channels ran with it. The firm also announced it would hold a news conference the following morning at 10:00 a.m. at its headquarters to answer questions and give out further information on future additional lawsuits. They also took out a full-page ad in four major newspapers naming the fourteen priests accused of committing the abuses, and asking anyone else who might have been similarly abused by any of them to contact the firm as “you may be entitled to a major compensation award.”

  We were on our way, and I couldn’t wait for the fallout.

  . . .

  “As the saying goes, be careful what you wish for,” Vivian said as I finished relating the details of our first slew of lawsuits.

  “What do you mean? You were fully on board with me on this, remember?”

  “Yes, but now I realize a lot of lives are going to be affected – and ruined. This is a tragedy of huge proportions in the making.”

  “I see your concerns, but to sound like I’m on a soapbox, I feel justice must be served. Don’t you?”

  “I guess so,” she said.

  “Are you forgetting they murdered a Bishop and almost yours truly, to prevent these allegations from being exposed to the public eye?”

  “No, but sometimes I wonder if Michael Simon is seeking justice or outright revenge.”

  “Both,” I said.

  “Remember, Mike, the Lord said revenge is –”

  “Stop, Vivian. Please, no Bible quotes now. I am going to seek justice, if you will, against those who ordered the killing of Bishop Manzo, even if I have to go to Rome myself to hunt them down.”

  “All right,” she said with a sigh. “But please be careful out there.”

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  The sixteen investigators and two supervisors sat with me in our conference room as we watched the press conference on closed-circuit TV. The firm was represented by partner Nick Marino and the two lawyers who worked with us. Nick did not make an opening statement, opting to begin with questions, and the first one was what I was hoping for. “Mr. Marino,” the reporter from the Daily News said, “It appears these allegations against those fourteen priests are criminal acts as well as civil ones. Why weren’t they referred to the NYPD for investigation, and possible arrests, followed by prosecution?”

  “An excellent question, Phil, and the answer is they were referred. Twice, as a matter of fact, and the NYPD chose not to act on them.”

  “Twice?” Phil followed up.

  “Yes, on the original complaint the NYPD chose to let the Diocese handle it, and most recently they ignored the written pleas of the murdered Bishop of Brooklyn, Francis Manzo.”

  “Murdered? Did you say murdered?” shouted the entire media assemblage.

  Marino held up his hand and frowned. “That’s exactly what I said. And I place the blame for his death squarely on the shoulders of the NYPD hierarchy and the hierarchy of the Roman Catholic Church.”

  Nick waited for the shouting to die down before he spoke again. He held up the letters and said, “Before his death Bishop Manzo wrote these letters to the three detective boro commanders in his Diocese, as well as one to the chief of detectives, documenting the allegations of abuse and requesting they be investigated. I will provide copies for you at the conclusion of this press conference. All four police officials called the Bishop and promised their assistance. However, before that assistance was provided, the Bishop was killed by a hit-and-run driver who fled the scene on foot.”

  “And you think it was intentional murder, not an accident?” screamed out a reporter from CNN.

  “Yes, I do. Brooklyn North investigated and covered it up, calling it an accident. And not one of the allegations contained in the letters was ever investigated. That was over two months ago. I suggest you ask them why. And, ladies and gentlemen, that is why the firm of Schroeder, Harwood, Curran, Marino and Stein is taking the action it began today. We will seek justice for these victims, even if the NYPD will not.”

  “How many more will you sue?” asked the reporter from the Times.

  “Thousands,” he said. “No
w, that’s all the time I have. As I said my staff will hand out copies of all the letters the late Bishop sent to the NYPD brass. Thank you all for attending.”

  We all applauded in our conference room as Nick Marino left the podium amidst the shouting and scurrying crowd.

  “Great job,” Charlie Seich said. “He stuck it to the NYPD real good.”

  “I couldn’t have said it any better myself,” I said. “I can’t wait to see their reaction.”

  “They’re all probably converging on the PC’s office downtown right now to get their story straight,” Harry said. “And I wonder what that story will be?”

  “Nick Marino never mentioned we had the originals of the return receipts proving they did receive the letters,” I said. “I wonder if they will deny, deny, deny.”

  “I know what I would do if I was one of those three boro commanders,” Joan Yale said. “Play it straight and truthfully. I would admit I got the letter and immediately passed it directly to the chief of detectives.”

  “And if I was the chief of detectives,” I said, “I would say I took the three letters plus the one I had received, and walked them down to the PC’s office for further instruction.”

  “Do you think that’s what happened, Mike?” Dan Nitzky asked.

  “I’d bet on it, and I’d bet the PC dumped it right on Cardinal Callahan to handle.”

  “Do you think they’ll admit that at a news conference?” John Micena asked. “That they flagged it to the Cardinal and took no police action on sexual abuse allegations?”

  “What else can they say?” I responded. “We didn’t see any priests in handcuffs over the last two months, did we?”

  . . .

  Two days later, NYPD Police Commissioner Sean Flanagan stood behind a podium at One Police Plaza and said exactly that. He was flanked by his chief of detectives and the three boro commanders as he related the details of their actions, and then took questions. The key question first asked was, “Commissioner, you stated you passed on the combination number of Bishop Manzo’s safe to Cardinal Callahan and he assured you he would handle the matter internally?”