Finn dragged himself to his feet and stretched. He sauntered into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator door. Maybe a can of coke would provide the caffeine burst he needed for his next task. Finn made short work of the soda, and let out a loud belch before relocating to the dining room.
It occurred to Finn that his home was very quiet. He looked at the clock on his phone – 8:05PM. Where was everyone? He shook his head as if to clear the cobwebs. That’s right. His mom was at the parish hall. It was bingo night. And his dad? As a deputy chief in the NYPD Finn never really knew when his dad would be home.
Finn sat at the dining room table and stared at the thick folder. He really didn’t know what to expect to find inside. During his brief career as a patrol cop, Finn filled out arrest reports, complaint reports, motor vehicle accident reports, and aided reports, but he had no idea what documents and reports he would find in a homicide investigative file. Finn removed the papers from the folder and spread them out on the table in front of him. Now what?
Finn heard the key turn and the door open.
“Anybody home?” Patrick Delaney called.
“In the dining room, dad.”
After a detour to the refrigerator for a beer, Patrick joined Finn in the dining room.
“What are you up to, Fineous?”
Finn waved his hands above the table. “I was just about to go over all this stuff.”
Patrick studied the papers spread about the table. “Is that the homicide file Paul Taggart gave you?”
“Yes, it is.”
Patrick took a couple of steps out of the dining room, but then wheeled around. “Do you want a hand going over it?”
Finn threw his hands in the air. “I thought you’d never ask.”
Patrick laughed heartily as he pulled up a chair next to Finn. Once he found a coaster for his beer he rubbed his hands together. “OK, Finneous, let’s see what we have here.”
For the next hour Finn received an education as detailed as anything he had learned at the Police Academy. First, there were the DD5s, commonly referred to in the world of NYPD detectives as fives. Patrick explained that the fives were the basic investigative report, and that anytime an action was taken in a case, it was documented by preparing a DD5 investigative report. Patrick noted that Paul Taggart had kept all the fives together in the folder.
“See,” Patrick nodded, “Pauly put all the 5s together, and I’m sure they’re in date order.” Patrick paged through the stack of investigative reports. “Yup, they are already in date order. This makes our job easier because we are starting with a chronological record of events in the investigation.”
Patrick and Finn went through every document. Some were obvious as to what they were and some required an explanation from Patrick. Painfully obvious were the graphic crime scene photos depicting all angles of the three victims, their heads nearly severed from their bodies. After reviewing all the documents, including the crime scene photos, the canvas looking for witnesses, the interview of Chris Mills, the interviews of the teen lovers who reported the crime, the Crime Scene Unit analysis of the scene, and background information of the victims, Patrick sat back in his chair and slapped the dining room table. “So, here’s where we’re at.,” he announced. “We have four males who go into the woods in Alley Pond Park to conduct some type of occult or satanic ritual. Three of the males have their throats cut with a large steak knife. The fourth male is discovered covered in blood, holding the knife. This male’s alibi is that demons flew into the woods and killed his friends. There are no witnesses, other than the teens who discovered the crime scene. A canvas of the neighborhoods surrounding the park found no one who saw anything unusual, like people running in or out of the park. There was also no video anywhere that showed people entering and leaving the park. There is no physical evidence at the scene to show that anyone other than the victims and the defendant were in the clearing, and the only fingerprints found on the knife belonged to the defendant. There was also nothing indicating who owned the knife or where it came from.
Finn looked at his dad. “So, what do you think?”
Patrick rubbed his chin with both hands and yawned. “I think Rusty McGowan figured he had a no-brainer – an open and shut case. And he was probably right.”
Patrick noticed the look of disappointment on Finn’s face. “I know how you feel, Finneous. This kid’s mother swears it was impossible for her son to commit this horrible crime – that’s what all mothers say.” Patrick was still focused on his son’s dour expression. “Look, you just have to keep pressing forward. This woman is paying you and you have a responsibility to do the best you can for her, even if your best means convincing her that her son did commit the crime.”
“What do you think I should do?” Finn asked.
“Gimme a sheet of paper,” Patrick directed. Finn tore a sheet from his notebook and placed it in front of his dad. “Be methodical,” Patrick exclaimed. “Always take a methodical approach. Leave no stone unturned.”
Patrick began scribbling on the paper. “First, we write what we know that is indisputable.”
Finn wasn’t catching on yet. “Like what?”
“Like who we know for certainty was there,” Patrick replied. “We know that the defendant and the three victims went into the woods in Alley Pond Park, correct?”
“Correct,” Finn agreed.
“We know that the three victims had their throats cut, correct?”
“Correct.”
“And we know that there is no other evidence to indicate anyone other than the defendant was at the crime scene, correct?”
“Correct.”
“Gimme another sheet of paper.” On the fresh sheet, Patrick drew a line down the center. “So,” he stated, “we are left with two paths. “At the top of the left column he wrote the initials O.R. “Do you know that that stands for?”
Finn shrugged. “Not a clue.”
“It stands for Occam’s Razor. Do you know what that is?”
Finn smiled and slightly chuckled, recalling his earlier explanation to Kevin. “Yeah, I know what it is.”
“Good,” Patrick responded. “So, in most cases the simplest explanation ends up being the correct explanation, and in this case, everything points to the kid being the murderer.”
Finn’s somber look returned. “So, you think Chris Mills did it.”
“Not so fast, Finneous,” Patrick cautioned as he tapped his pen on the empty right column. “I said the simplest explanation is USUALLY the correct explanation – but it isn’t always.” At the top of the right column Patrick scribbled OTHER EXPLANATIONS. He turned and looked at Finn. “So, lad, what’s another explanation?”
Finn shrugged. “Somebody else did it.”
“Ah!” Patrick sang. “Maybe you are a detective.” Under the OTHER EXPLANATIONS heading, Patrick now wrote WHO DID IT? And drew a line to subdivide that heading into two columns. “So, Finneous, who else could have committed the murders?”
Finn scratched his head. “I don’t know. Someone else.”
Patrick held up his hand. “Stop right there. That’s all I’m looking for, lad.” Under the left side of the WHO DID IT? Heading, Patrick wrote OTHER PERSON OR PERSONS.
“Well, I guess that covers about everything,” Finn remarked.
“Not quite everything,” Patrick replied. “I still have another column.”
Finn threw his arms out to the side. “If Chris didn’t do it, and another person didn’t do it, who did? They certainly didn’t cut their own throats.”
“You are forgetting one of the basic elements of the case – the defendant’s alibi.”
“What?” Finn blurted.
“That’s right. Who did the kid say committed the murders.”
Finn laughed out loud. “Demons. You really think that it’s possible demons flew in and cut their throats.”
“Hey!” Patrick held up a cautionary finger to Finn. “No stone unturned.”
“OK, OK.” Finn
sighed. “I really thank you for all this help, but I’m still not sure what do next.”
“Have you been to the crime scene?” Patrick asked.
“No.”
Patrick shook his head. “You have to go there.”
“Why?” Finn asked. “What could I find there two years after the fact?”
“Trust me, Finneous, you need to go there. It’s like a man who needs glasses. He sees the world alright without them, but everything is a little blurry. Once he puts those glasses on, however, everything becomes crystal clear.” Patrick placed his hand on Finn’s shoulder. “Go to that crime scene and who knows, some things in this case folder may suddenly become crystal clear to you.”
Chapter 9: Freedom of Religion
May 17th
The vibration prompted Finn to snatch his phone out of its holder. He glanced at the screen and rolled his eyes. “Hello, Mrs. Wesson. How are you?”
The voice on the phone was not interested in social pleasantries. “It doesn’t matter how I am. I’m paying you to find out if my husband is cheating on me with the mailman. Now is he or isn’t he.”
“Well, Mrs. Wesson, I did follow him into that park that night, and….”
Mrs. Wesson finished the sentence for Finn. “And you screwed the whole thing up that night. That’s old news, and if I were you I wouldn’t go around bragging about my incompetency. What else have you done?”
“Well, I really haven’t had a chance…..”
Again, Finn was cut off in mid-sentence. “So, you’ve done nothing – a big fat zero. Well, that’s the fee you will receive from me – a big fat zero.”
Finn shook his head and exhaled. He put his phone away and gingerly tested the coffee with a quick sip – still too hot. With the cup back on the bar he resumed paging through the New York Post. Kevin had just appeared from the basement carrying a rack of clean glasses. “Any good news?” he asked.
“Is there ever?” Finn replied. He turned a few more pages before settling on an article. “Hey, this is interesting,” he exclaimed. “There’s some type of free speech demonstration in Queens today being held by Satanists.”
Kevin wiped his hands with the bar towel. “Hey, I wonder if any of our friends are involved. Where is it going to take place?”
Finn ran his index finger down the text of the article. “It doesn’t say, I ……” His words came to an abrupt halt. With no regard for his knee he hopped off the stool, accidently knocking it over. “Holy shit!”
“What’s wrong with you?” Kevin snapped.
“Here!” Finn shouted. “It’s happening here!”
“What are you talking about?”
Finn pressed his finger on the text. “Woodhaven Boulevard and 65th Street. It’s gonna happen right outside in three hours.”
Kevin snatched the newspaper from under Finn’s finger. “Let me see that! Why the hell would they pick here to demonstrate?”
Finn snatched the paper back from Kevin. “Let me see that again.” Finn perused the article again. “Oh my God!”
“What?”
“Listen to this.” Finn read from the article. “Spokesman Aamon Lasalle said that all religions have a right to have their message heard, not just the traditional religions. The demonstration appears to be something of a victory celebration for Lasalle. Due to a recent complaint, the New York City Department of Health temporarily closed the Grammercy Park Brownstone where Lasalle conducts religious services due to the killing of live chickens during the services. The City contended that the ritual presented an inhumane and unsanitary condition. The New York State Supreme Court, however, ruled in favor of Lasalle, citing a decision that permits the killing of chickens during a ceremony in the Orthodox Jewish community called Kapparot. Lasalle lauded the decision as a victory for religious freedom. ‘No one has the right to change our religion, and this ruling proves we can’t be touched,’ Lasalle sounded somewhat ominous when he said, ‘We will now exercise our rights to take our message to the doorstep of those who would shut us down and make them see the error of their ways.’”
Finn slapped the newspaper down on the bar. “I told you that you shouldn’t have reported that guy for killing chickens, didn’t I?” Finn spoke out loud as he pondered the situation. “But how did he find us? We didn’t register with his church, and for that other Church of Satan where we had to submit applications, we used phony information.” Finn turned and stared at Kevin. “We did use phony information, right?”
Kevin blinked several times but remained silent.
“Right?” Finn repeated with greater volume.
Kevin threw the towel to the other side of the bar. “You never said anything about putting phony information on those applications.”
Finn’s jaw dropped as he pounded the bar with his fist. “It’s impossible to be that stupid – even for you. Any moron would know not to list his correct name, address and place of employment for that lunatic.”
“Well, it’s no big deal.” Kevin shrugged.
“No big deal?” Finn bellowed. “This guy Lasalle hates you and he’s not too fond of me either. That demonologist cop I talked to warned me to have no contact with Lasalle – he says he’s bad news.” Finn threw his hands in the air. “And in a few hours, he’s gonna be right outside with his whole crew casting spells and conjuring demons.”
Kevin pointed a finger towards Finn. “Don’t start with that demon crap again. It’s not funny, Finbar.”
“Who’s being funny,” Finn responded. “rest assured my imbecilic friend, in a few hours there will be a couple of demons here with our names on them.”
The first sign that this wasn’t going to be a normal day on Woodhaven Boulevard was the arrival of the barrier truck. The Barrier Unit of the NYPD was composed mainly of cops in the “Rubber Gun Squad” – those cops who had their firearms removed while they awaited the disposition of disciplinary charges or the resolution of medical or psychological conditions. These cops would drive in a flatbed truck to locations of scheduled events, like parades and demonstrations, and place metal barriers in the area designated for the event.
At 1PM an NYPD van arrived. A very young-looking sergeant referred to a rolled-up paper he pulled from his back pocket and directed the six cops to positions around the barriers. Finn recognized the collar brass worn by the sergeant and cops. “QNTF,” he stated to Kevin. “That stands for Queens North Task Force.”
Kevin’s terse response prompted Finn to say no more. “No kidding,”
Kevin divided his time between serving the three drinkers who had wandered into the pub, and standing at the window with Finn, watching the activities on the boulevard. By 1:45PM approximately one hundred people had gathered. The barriers had closed off two southbound lanes on Woodhaven Boulevard, and the police officers were herding arriving demonstrators into one of two corrals, depending on their point of view. In one corral were mostly older people, many holding bibles and carrying signs that contained slogans like Honk if you Hate Satan and Jesus Loves You. The other corral was filling up with a younger crowd. In this group there were a sprinkling of signs that mostly contained slogans referring to free speech, rather than Satan or the devil.
Finn studied the street scene from inside the pub. Maybe Kevin was right. Maybe it was no big deal. The demonstration was beyond subdued – it was downright boring. At 2:05PM Finn noticed two vehicles park at the curb just south of the barriers. He anticipated things were about to get interesting when five hooded individuals emerged from a dark SUV. Two more sinister looking individuals in black robes got out of the rental truck accompanying the SUV.
“Uh oh!,” Finn cautioned. “You better come see this, Kev.”
Kevin placed a fresh beer in front of an elderly drinker and rushed to the window. Two of the robed men had opened the back of the truck and placed ramps up to its rear door. The demonstrators in the Satanist’s corral were beginning to cheer.
“What’s happening?” Finn wasn’t sure why the crowd was cheer
ing.
A hooded man walked to the back of the truck. Finn noticed something in his hand. “What’s that guy carrying? Is that a bullhorn?” Finn’s question was answered when the man threw back his hood and put the bullhorn up to his mouth. “Holy shit!” Finn exclaimed, “It’s Lasalle!”
Even inside the pub, Lasalle’s amplified words were loud and clear. “Good people of New York and supporters of religious liberty. It will be a cold day in hell when we will have religious beliefs forced upon us.” Lasalle pointed the bony index finger of his free hand directly at the pub. “Those who would attempt to silence us will soon be forced to face their own demons.”
Kevin almost fell backwards. “That creep is talking to us, isn’t he?”
“Shut up,” Finn yelled as he continued to watch and listen.
Aamon Lasalle slowly adjusted the direction of his arm, until his finger was now pointing at the back of the rental truck. ““I present to you Baphomet: symbol of pluralism, legal equality, tolerance, free inquiry, freedom of conscience and reconciliation.”
Four hooded assistants began slowly rolling the 8-foot goat-headed, angel-winged statue down the ramp.
Kevin was back at the pub window. “Hey look, they brought Batman with them.”
Finn kept peering out the window as he repeated his previous order. “Shut up!”
Kevin shook his head. “Thank goodness Pete is in Aruba.”
Finn stared at Kevin. “Why’s that?” he asked, his words dripping with sarcasm. “You think the owner of this pub would have a problem with Satanists and goat statues being camped outside his business?” Finn returned to gazing out the window but quickly returned his stare to Kevin. “Oh, and I figure Pete would be thrilled to find out that his idiot bartender was the cause of all this.”
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