The Squad Room

by John Cutter

  There was a murmur of disbelief around the table.

  “Look, Medveded’s great, no doubt about it,” Simmons said, “but this is pushing it for me.”

  “I agree,” Rivera said. “You have to be a complete idiot to talk to the cops, if you really committed a crime.”

  “An idiot, or an egomaniac,” Bill Morrison returned. “You can’t underestimate the lengths a person like this will go to for their ego, Frankie. Anyone they can get to appreciate how smart they are, and how they fooled the stupid cops for so long—they’ll do it. Think about the worst serial killers: so many of them ended up talking, for that reason alone. Galipoli might not be dumb, but he’s definitely got an ego, and in all likelihood he’s hankering for some recognition.”

  There was a general assent to this last; if there was anything Galipoli had in spades, it was ego. Morrison went on.

  “All right, now, what do we know about the two victims in the copycat case? They both were killed in their own apartments. So we figure, if Galipoli does ask Tina out, and he is trying to push things, he’ll want to get them back to her place at some point during the evening. Accordingly, Sergeant McNamara’s had a friend in TARU wire up Tina’s apartment for both audio and video. She’ll also be wearing a kel, starting in the morning, to capture any conversation between her and Galipoli. Remember, every conversation she has that day will be recorded for evidence purposes—so don’t say anything stupid.”

  The tension at the table finally broke a little as the others laughed.

  “Yeah,” Simmons said, “maybe that means Garriga will let up for a day on his Jack Nicholson impersonation from A Few Good Men—‘You want me on that wall! You need me on that wall!’”

  The group laughed out loud as Garriga blushed. Once a Marine, always a Marine, he’d been known to stand on a desk and recite the entire scene in its entirety, playing both roles.

  Morrison, smiling, quieted them down once more. “Okay, people,” he said, “here’s how it’s going to go for the rest of you. Rivera and O’Dell, you guys are backup team number two. I want you on Galipoli, as soon as he leaves the precinct. McNamara and Garriga, you’re team three, with ears on the kel. Simmons, you’re with me for team four. Remember, we don’t know what’s going to happen—we could all be wrong, and just spend a quiet night listening to them having dinner together. But I strongly doubt it.

  “The most important thing, obviously, is Tina’s safety. I can’t say this enough: we can’t lose her. If they end up back at her apartment, the second we have enough to lock him in, we go through the door. I’ll have the ram with me. Everyone is to wear a vest—Kasak, Marchioni, that means you—and bring flashlights as well. We know there’ll be at least two guns in the house if they go there, and if he’s capable of shooting his army lieutenant in cold blood, don’t think he won’t shoot us in the heat of the moment. Tina has a safety word in case things are getting too hairy and she wants to pull the plug early—in which case, presuming it’s outside, Sergeant Simmons will approach them as though he’d just seen them by chance, so as to not give the operation away. The code word is pumpernickel.”

  O’Dell laughed. “I thought a safe word was supposed to be something easy to slip in!” he said. “What’s she going to say—I love the color of your eyes, they’re just the shade of pumpernickel?”

  The rest of the table joined in his laughter. Yet there was a shade of nervousness underlying it, now that they knew the plan. Despite their strategy’s simplicity, they all knew how messy things could get either way. If Galipoli was the copycat, anything going otherwise than as planned could give him the opportunity to kill again. If, on the other hand, he wasn’t the copycat, and found out he was suspected, a world of shit could fall on all of them. Both scenarios were nightmarish. Still, the job had to be done.

  “All right,” Morrison said, rising. “I’m going to speak to a waiter; they’ve been kind enough to leave us to our business so far, but we should eat while we’re here. We’re going to need to be rested and ready tomorrow. If Tina gives me the green light, we all know what we’re doing tomorrow night.

  “Let me just add,” he concluded, “that I truly appreciate all of you standing with me on this one. I know this could mean all of your careers if it goes wrong, as it could mean mine. Thank you. No matter what happens, I’m proud to stand beside all of you.”

  “We’re with you, Cap, whatever happens,” said Rivera. “Now go light on the bread, will you? I don’t like to feel too heavy when I’m running a sting on one of my serial-killer coworkers.”

  The others laughed as Morrison went off in search of the waiter.

  35

  The next morning, Bill Morrison was at his desk before six.

  As usual, Sergeant Rivera was the next one in, not counting Medveded. Morrison had wanted Medveded and Koreski especially fresh for today, so he’d had Garriga and O’Dell relieve them on surveillance the night before; but typical for Medveded, he was already in the office this morning, reviewing the notes he’d been making since the arrests in Boston on his conversations with Galipoli.

  Morrison watched Medveded through his office window. The chess master at work, he thought. Not even six in the morning and the guy was already mentally sizing up his opponent. Morrison smiled to himself. He knew he’d made the right call on that one, at least.

  Tina Koreski showed up next, having spent the last hour getting set up with the kel. McNamara was already waiting outside in a surveillance van, ready to capture her every word. She’d made sure to dress normally, but Morrison’s practiced eye noticed an extra button open on her shirt, showing just a little more cleavage than usual.

  Morrison suppressed his many second thoughts about the operation, knowing they needed a smoking gun to ensure their case against Galipoli couldn’t go up in smoke. The man himself would probably stroll in between eight and nine; he was never one to be early, but never late enough to get him any grief over it. That gave Morrison a couple of hours to review his own notes and get his thoughts in order. If Galipoli was the copycat, it would certainly cause some trouble with the other two arrests; thankfully he hadn’t actually been involved in the case in any tangible way—his only connection had been through his friend, Chief Arndt—so it might be possible to prepare for that contingency, too. In any event, Morrison hoped the solution he’d prepared would work.

  As expected, Louis Galipoli wandered in around eight-forty. Morrison watched him come in, with a heightened sense of disgust at the man’s arrogance. It was unfortunate that other heads would likely roll if he turned out to be their copycat—particularly that of his initial investigator, who’d likely just been in the wrong place at the wrong time—but Morrison certainly wouldn’t mind seeing Chief Arndt take some serious heat for this one. It had been on his say-so alone that the pretentious asshole had been put here in the first place, behind which decision lives may have been lost. He turned as Galipoli strutted by, to conceal his disdain.

  Galipoli, for his part, had other things to look at. Almost immediately upon his arrival, he had his eyes on Tina Koreski. He had definitely noticed the extra button; you could almost see his face light up like he’d hit the jackpot.

  Koreski played it cool; she didn’t want to come across as too anxious by approaching him—she normally avoided him overtly whenever possible—so she made her way into the squad room kitchen, banking on the enjoyment he’d shown previously for cornering her there. Galipoli had always taken every opportunity to get her alone there, standing wide in the entryway to force her to make contact with him as she left. Today, she knew, it would probably make her skin crawl to touch him. It occurred to her that if everything went as planned, he’d have plenty of chances to touch her later, and the thought made her shudder.

  Galipoli, true to form, wasn’t ten seconds behind her.

  “Hey, beautiful,” he said, sidling up next to her so he could stare down her shirtfront. “I see you’re giving them some fresh air this morning.”

  She i
gnored him, busying herself in washing her coffee cup.

  “Come on,” he insisted. “Don’t tell me you didn’t do that for me. I’m sure Boston’s made you think at least a little about what you have in front of you—?”

  Koreski closed her eyes, imagining McNamara listening from the van outside. Guy probably wished he had a bucket to puke into.

  “Come on, Lou,” she sighed, playing along, though with restraint. “You’re the same egotistical man as always.”

  It was perhaps the first time she hadn’t cursed at him after a comment like the one he’d made, and he didn’t fail to notice. He moved closer, and when he spoke again, his voice was softer, more earnestly insinuating.

  “Tina, you know you want me,” he said. “What’s the problem with admitting it? No one else is gonna hear you.”

  Despite her revulsion at the situation, Tina had to suppress a laugh thinking of McNamara on the other end of the wire. She turned her face away from Galipoli to hide her reaction; it came off as evasiveness on her part, which he took up like an encouragement.

  “Hey, I can be quiet about it too,” he said breathily, moving still closer.

  Normally this would have been the point where she would have gotten rougher in brushing him off; but not this time.

  “Look, Lou,” she said quietly, allowing her voice to falter just a bit as she looked around. “It’s not—all right, yes, if you have to know, you looked pretty impressive walking those guys out in Boston.”

  For an instant she worried she’d given up the game, his expression seemed so surprised. But then, as quickly, he recovered.

  “Yeah?” he asked, the cockiness in his voice tempered with a wheedling note of self-deprecation. “That turn you on, just a little bit?”

  Again she hesitated, long enough to put the idea of an internal conflict in his head. “Lou, come on, don’t—” she said with a light laugh.

  “It’s okay,” he said with eerie tenderness, reaching out and touching her hair. She fought down the urge to break his fingers, instead closing her eyes just for an instant to let it happen. His hand slid down towards her shoulders and upper back.

  “Lou, not here,” she protested in a whisper. “People might walk in—then what’ll we do?”

  It was the opening he’d been waiting for.

  “So why don’t you let me take you out tonight?” he asked, in a voice barely louder than her own. “Nobody here has to know anything—it’s strictly between you and me, babe.”

  “I don’t know, Lou. I—”

  “Look, it’s not like we’re going to be on this bullshit task force forever anyway,” he said petulantly. “The case is done, those idiots are in jail, I’m moving on to better things. What’s the problem? I’m not telling anyone, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  It took everything in her not to lash out at him, but she was in it now. “You just—you have to promise not to, Lou,” she insisted. “You know no one here likes you, and I don’t want to get any shit from anyone for going out with you.”

  “Of course,” he said, flashing that oily smile again. “Only you and I need to know this night ever happened.”

  The words fell slowly from his lips, and she caught at them carefully. This night? The son of a bitch was already convinced she was in the bag.

  “All right,” she said. “I’ll go. Just get off my back about it, okay?”

  “I don’t think you’ll be saying that later,” he joked sleazily. “Why don’t I pick you up at your place, and we can have a drink before we go out?”

  Uh-oh, she thought. That’s the last place I want to start the evening with this guy. She thought quickly. “I won’t be going straight home after today,” she said. “I have an appointment at the beauty parlor after work.”

  “Come on,” he protested. “You’re beautiful just the way you are.”

  “If it’s a date, I’d rather look my best,” she said lamely. “Look, it won’t take long. We can meet up in Manhattan, have a bite to eat, and see where the night takes us. Okay?”

  For an instant, he didn’t seem pleased by this at all. For the second time she worried she’d scared him off; but then, as if by magic, the smile suddenly returned.

  “All right honey, anything you want,” he said. “Give me the address of the place where you’ll be, and I’ll meet you nearby.”

  She quickly scribbled an address on her pad, tore it off, and handed it to him. He glanced at it briefly, almost angrily, then abruptly turned and walked off without another word.

  When he’d gone, she closed her eyes and breathed a sigh of relief. Her heart raced, her palms were sweating. It flashed through her mind that she’d likely humiliated Galipoli by turning down his suggestion of meeting place; she prayed again that her backup team would be there for her later whenever he decided to make her pay for it.

  She headed to the ladies’ room. Once inside, she shut off the kel for a moment’s privacy, and stood looking into the mirror.

  Beauty parlor? she thought to herself derisively. Who the hell used that term anymore? Even her own mother would say “salon.” God, I’m such an idiot, she thought.

  She hoped she wasn’t doing something more drastically idiotic still. The door was still open; she could back out. The Cap had told her time and again that no one would think less of her. How could she have volunteered for this, anyway, after what happened to her before? Had she forgotten? The years of therapy, the nightmares, the memories she’d spent years working to put in their place—all of it piled up in front of her now: the horror of helplessness, the silent panic of getting in over her head. She couldn’t deal with that happening again. And it could happen again—

  “No,” she said out loud. She threw cold water on her face, tried again to breathe deeply. “Come on, girl, you can do this,” she went on in a whisper. “This won’t be like last time. Kasak and Marchioni are watching your back, along with a handful of other guys who’d kill for you.” She fixed her hair and dried her face, forcing her nerves to settle. “It’s going to be okay.”

  Besides, a voice at the back of her mind insisted, you’re in too deep to back out now.

  36

  The rest of the day flew by in an anxious rush.

  The backup teams all found reasons to leave early, in order to be set up on Koreski well before her scheduled rendezvous with Prince Charming. Morrison, left alone with them, tried not to watch Galipoli, but found it impossible; the way the man looked at her was enough to make anyone uneasy. When Koreski finally left he building, Morrison imagined it was almost as much a relief for him as it was for her.

  Twenty minutes later, Galipoli took off—a conspicuous difference from his usual routine. He was never the last person in the squad room, by habit. He was obviously being careful to maintain a clear separation between Koreski and himself in Morrison’s eyes. Morrison played along, keeping his head down over the case he was pretending to review. With a glance in his direction, Galipoli grabbed his jacket, shut his desk drawer, and without a word, was gone.

  Morrison reached immediately for the radio sitting next to him in its charger.

  “It’s show time,” he said to the waiting teams. “Let’s talk status. Team one, how’re we doing?”

  “All good, Cap,” came Kasak’s voice over the radio. “We’ve been on Koreski since she left the office. We’re parked down the block from the salon now.”

  “Okay. Team two?”

  “Standing by to follow Galipoli now,” O’Dell said. He and Rivera were out front in a car they’d borrowed from the impound lot, so as not to draw attention to themselves. “Sergeant Rivera points out that the car he’s driving matches one of our descriptions from the last homicide: dark sedan, looks like a patrol car.”

  “Good to know. Team three, how about you guys?”

  “We’re down the street from the salon now, mixed in with the commercial vehicles,” Garriga said. He and McNamara were in a tinted-out surveillance van, with McNamara in back listening in on
Koreski’s kel.

  “Okay,” Morrison said. “Simmons, I’m sitting tight for a minute—I’ll be down to join you when Galipoli heads out.”

  “Copy that,” said Simmons, from his position in the precinct parking lot.

  “All right, keep alert, everyone,” Morrison said, grabbing his jacket.

  Down in the lot, in a far corner from the access ramp, Simmons watched a shadow coming down. Morrison, he thought. He put his key in the ignition.

  A sudden feeling stopped him. Was it Morrison? He waited a moment to be sure.

  To his surprise, it was Galipoli who came around the corner instead. Simmons shrank down in his seat quickly, keeping one eye on Galipoli and thanking his lucky stars that he’d parked at an angle and distance where he couldn’t have been seen. What the hell was the guy doing in the precinct lot? Was he on to them?

  Galipoli looked left and right as he approached one of the squad’s unmarked cars. As Simmons watched in amazement, he produced a Slim Jim from his jacket sleeve, and expertly popped the lock with it. If he’d left something in one of the cars, why didn’t he just bring down the key for it? Simmons wondered idly; then, in a cold flash, he remembered the bag with the rape kit. He stiffened as Galipoli reached into the backseat.

  Jesus, he thought. If he opens it and finds those things missing—oh, Jesus. Galipoli was opening it.

  Shit, he’s going to see! You gotta get out there and do something, so he doesn’t—

  Just then there was a flash of headlights and a marked patrol car drove down the ramp. It was likely just a car that needed a fill from the precinct pump; but it may have saved their whole operation nonetheless. Simmons breathed a quiet sigh of relief as Galipoli shouldered the bag, smoothly as a cat burglar, and headed back up the ramp, whistling as he went.