All their information was turned over to the strike force by early July, while Joe Coffey made plans to leave the NYPD and move to Washington.
Two days before his scheduled retirement, Joe got a call from James Harmon. Harmon said that the President’s Commission on Organized Crime was expecting a cutback in funds and that they were not in a position to move forward with hiring Joe as planned. He thought things would ease up by fall and that Joe was still in their plans.
“I remember being disappointed by Harmon’s call on the one hand, but on the other I was glad I would be around as the case continued against the Ruling Commission. I thought being involved with that would be the perfect way to end my career. I did not doubt Harmon’s explanation for the delay,” Coffey recalls. Instead he adjusted his retirement request until October.
In September Harmon called again. He told Joe that the presidential commission was about to lose its subpoena powers and that without that weapon a guy of Joe’s caliber would be wasted.
“Again, I had no reason to doubt Harmon, and it looked like the Ruling Commission case was going down in early 1985, so I really was happy to put off retirement again,” Joe says.
He decided to take up a standing offer to go to work for an old friend. He told Ron Goldstock that after the commission indictments he would accept his offer to be principal investigator of the New York State Organized Crime Task Force.
Over the next four months the strike force office was a madhouse. FBI agents, Coffey, McCabe, and a platoon of assistant U.S. attorneys met regularly to fit together the pieces of the Ruling Commission indictment they hoped to announce in late February.
Giuliani; the FBI’s Ken Walton; Barbara Jones, who was heading the strike force; and the NYPD’s Ward and Nicastro were cooperating on a level never before seen. Their agency rivalries and jealousies were put on the back burner for the sake of the biggest case ever made against the Mafia.
On February 26, 1985, the FBI handed out assignments to its agents to arrest Anthony “Fat Tony” Salerno, Paul Castellano, Antonio “Tony Ducks” Corallo, Philip “Rusty” Rastelli, Gennaro “Jerry Lang” Langella, Aniello Dellacroce, Salvatore Santoro, Christopher Furnari, and Ralph Scopo.
Joe Coffey was not sent out to make any arrests. “I did not expect my friends in the FBI to do me any favors. I was happy enough to wait at headquarters to monitor their progress. I tried just to concentrate on the importance of what was going on.”
All the targeted mafiosi surrendered without a fight or an attempt to flee. It was part of their code. Joe Coffey heard it many times: “Find me, fuck me, just don’t flake me.” As long as they did not believe they were being “flaked,” or framed, wiseguys, especially on the higher levels, did not resist arrest.
Later that day at a press conference, U.S. Attorney General William French Smith—with Rudolph Giuliani sitting on one side and FBI Director William Webster on the other, and with Ben Ward, Ken Walton, and Dick Nicastro all in view of the dozens of still and video cameras—announced that a federal grand jury in Manhattan had indicted the Ruling Commission. Smith described it as the ruling council of the Mafia’s five families in New York and other American cities. Joe Coffey stood in the rear of the group as the announcement was made.
The fifteen-count indictment charged nine defendants—the five bosses or acting bosses of the New York families and four other high-ranking family members—with participating in the decisions and activities of the commission.
The commission, it was explained, regulated the relationships among Mafia families, including criminal activities ranging from loan-sharking and gambling to drug trafficking and labor racketeering. It carried on a multimillion-dollar extortion scheme, described as “the Club,” which controlled the concrete industry.
The commission also authorized murders, specifically the killing of Carmine Galante and three capos in the Bonanno family who had carried out the murder.
“The commission press conference was the biggest circus I ever saw, even bigger than the Son of Sam one. Everyone was looking for a piece of the pie, and I thought there was enough credit to go around. For me it was the pinnacle of my career. I was happy to be a part of it,” Coffey remembers.
Later that day Joe was called by the department’s deputy commissioner for public information, Alice McGillion. She asked him if he would appear on a local television news show to help explain the meaning of the Ruling Commission indictments.
“The deputy commissioner thought it would be good to reinforce the public’s impression of the role the NYPD had played in the case. It was to let people know we were still the experts when it came to fighting the Mafia. I told her I would do the show if it was okay with Barbara Jones,” Coffey says. Jones told Coffey she had no objection as long as he talked in generalities about the Mafia and not about the specifics of their case.
“I did the program at about 5:30 in the evening and everything went well. The station had prepared a map of the Mafia in America, and the discussion was very general. The reporter understood I could not reveal details of the investigation at that point,” Coffey recalls.
“I wasn’t back in my office five minutes before Chief of Detectives Nicastro called. He ripped into me for going on the show. He said it was like my having my own press conference after the department’s. I explained that my appearance had been cleared by both Commissioner McGillion and Barbara Jones.
“Nicastro made it very clear to me that he was mad and was going to hold it against me. I knew where the chief was coming from. I was Jim Sullivan’s boy. Any glory I brought upon the department reflected on Sullivan and McGuire, not on Nicastro, who had his own image to protect. He had screwed me before, when he took me out of Homicide and sent me to Robbery after the Son of Sam case. I think he believed I was anti-Italian. Anyway, I sensed my glory days in the NYPD were over. I told Nicastro to go fuck himself.”
The following day, February 27, 1985, Joe Coffey reported to the department’s personnel division that he wanted to retire as soon as possible. It was arranged that his final day on the force would be March 20, 1985.
“That last day was a Wednesday and, despite some feelings of bitterness, I was really elated. My colleagues knew about the crucial role I played in the auto crime and the commission indictments, and everyone was patting me on the back. Reporters who were familiar with my work were quoting me, and I realized I really was an expert on organized crime. I loved it,” Joe says.
For the last time that evening Joe looked around his office at One Police Plaza. The Coffey Gang was gone, most of the guys reassigned to new units. He stood for a few minutes at a corner window with a great view of the Brooklyn Bridge and lower Manhattan. He thought about a newspaper article that day which said the commission case would end like any other Mafia trial—light sentences and younger men moving into the capo roles. He thought that was probably true, except the part about the light sentences. The godfathers would probably draw at least twenty-five years.
Back at his desk he put some personal items in his briefcase, pausing for a moment to study the plastic cube with the .44 caliber bullet suspended in its center.
He decided to leave the sign behind his desk, the one with the line from Pogo, “We have met the enemy … and they is us,” for the next guy. He always did seem to have more problems with the good guys than the bad guys, he thought.
That evening he took Pat to dinner. They planned a vacation and talked about how much Joe would enjoy working with Ron Goldstock.
Two days later Joe was guest of honor at a party thrown for him by Giuliani. It was very unusual for the feds to give a party for a local lawman and for a moment or two, as he entered the Ocean Club near City Hall, Joe wondered why he was chosen for the honor. But the thought quickly passed as Coffey was surrounded by almost every cop, federal or local, he had ever known. More than three hundred friends jammed the club, and there was a television news crew from WABC TV, where Joe’s daughter, Kathleen, was working as an assistant to the ne
ws director.
Barbara Jones served as the emcee, and she struggled to get the raucous crowd to order. Joe had high regard for her. He was continually impressed by her ability to keep the commission investigation on the right track. He thought Walter Mack could have done at least as well, but Walter, like himself, was a victim of politics.
Jones made a short speech about how much she valued working with Coffey and then, in a room dominated by federal agents, including Giuliani and Ken Walton, she said that New York detectives were the best she had ever worked with and that Joe Coffey was the best of the best.
It was a rare compliment and a courageous thing for an assistant U.S. attorney who relied on the FBI for investigative manpower to say.
“Out of all the honors and pats on the back I received that night, Barbara Jones’s words continue to mean the most to me,” Joe says.
Giuliani spoke next and presented a plaque to Joe. His remarks were so lavish and glowing that once again that evening Joe wondered about the motive for the party. As soon as he finished speaking, Giuliani excused himself. He was riding a wave of publicity that painted him as the greatest crime buster since Elliot Ness, and he had to leave for another speaking engagement. Eventually the image born from the two RICO cases would define his run for mayor of New York City, which he was to lose by a narrow margin.
One after another Barbara Jones introduced representatives of law enforcement agencies Joe had worked with. They included friends from the Treasury Department and its Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms Division; the Customs Service; the IRS; Drug Enforcement Administration, the NYPD’s Organized Crime Control Bureau and Detectives’ Endowment Association; the New York State Organized Crime Task Force, where Joe would soon be working; and the Federal Bureau of Investigation.
An FBI agent, Art Ruffles, was the final speaker. He was the lead agent assigned to the commission investigation. Like the speakers before him, he praised Joe as a modern-day Sherlock Holmes who was also a great guy and could really hold his liquor. But unlike the others, when he was finished speaking, he did not call Joe to the podium to accept a plaque as a token of his agency’s appreciation.
As the agent stepped down, his boss, Ken Walton, motioned to him to come to his table. He had to pass Coffey to get there. When Ruffles went by, he leaned over and whispered into Joe’s ear, “You got no plaque because of that damn book.” He was referring to The Vatican Connection by Richard Hammer. It detailed Joe’s pursuit of Vincent Rizzo and implied that the FBI had refused to follow leads into the Vatican that were developed by Joe Coffey. By the time of Joe’s retirement, the book was an international best seller.
A few tables away Walton was clearly displeased with his agent. “It was because of the book and that other thing,” Ruffles was heard saying.
Walton had the last word. “Make sure he gets a plaque,” he barked at Ruffles.
Then it was Joe’s turn to speak. When Barbara Jones called him to the podium, the Ocean Club erupted in waves of applause and cheers. For five minutes Joe tried to begin his hastily prepared farewell speech. Twice he started to talk, only to be drowned out as the cheering and applause grew louder. By that time several gallons of booze had been consumed by the well-wishers. Quiet appreciation of his carefully chosen words was not on the menu that evening. The third time Joe tried to speak two burly detectives went to the podium and lifted him off his feet. There were tears running down his eyes as the two cops carried him to the bar. They had heard enough speeches for one night.
At the bar Ken Walton approached Joe. Coffey admired Walton’s dedication and his willingness to buck bureaucracy. As much as he feuded with the FBI, he always tried to maintain a good relationship with Walton.
Walton offered an apology for not having a plaque. Coffey said he was sure it was just an oversight. “Forget about it,” he said. He would not let the FBI ruin that night for him. “During the party I had come to terms with my retirement. I had reached the pinnacle of my career. There was nothing left for me to do in the NYPD,” Coffey says.
The following Monday, Joe, a civilian for the first time in twenty years, joined Frank McDarby for a trip to Houston. One of the original members of the Coffey Gang, Frank had retired a few months before Joe and was making a good living doing private detective work. Joe agreed to help him out on an investigation in Texas.
McDarby’s client was a huge real estate investment firm. The president of the company could not understand why his Houston office was not producing more sales. He was also suspicious that some of the cash that went through the office was being pilfered, and he was certain many expense accounts were phony.
Posing as potential clients, Coffey and McDarby realized after only one trip to the office what the problem was. Their experience on the streets of New York had prepared them well. They immediately spotted the signs of heavy cocaine use among the Houston staff. That would account for the decrease in productivity and the missing cash. It was also a motive for doctoring expense accounts as a means of getting cash for drugs.
The two ex-cops turned private eyes were a little disappointed that they found the problem so quickly. They were each being paid $500 a day, which was almost a full week’s pay in Joe’s last years with the NYPD. When they reported back to New York, they were relieved that the client asked them to stay on to do a complete report on who they thought the ringleader in the office might be and who the drug connection was. They eventually spent two lucrative weeks in Houston.
Back in Levittown Joe and Pat found themselves with more time together than they had in the past twenty years. They decided to go to Florida for their first vacation ever.
Joe’s brother Tom owned a condominium near Boca Raton, and for two weeks Joe and Pat happily relaxed there. He was happy to see that the Florida newspapers were reporting on the Ruling Commission case. Giuliani and the New York cops were looking like heroes all over the country.
Joe was truly rested when he and Pat returned to Levittown two weeks later. Life had been easy for the past month. The demons of David Berkowitz, Archbishop Marcinkus, and the oddball collection of Mafia killers and informants were behind him, put to rest for the time being. The green-eyed monster was also at rest. His enemies within the police department could rejoice at his retirement. He was at peace with himself and anxious for a fresh start with a new boss.
The first morning home Joe drove to the local bakery for fresh rolls for breakfast and stopped at the post office, where his mail was being held while he was away.
A short time later he sat at the kitchen table going through the junk mail that had accumulated when he spotted a thick envelope from the New York Telephone Company.
“Pat, I thought you paid all the bills before we left for Florida,” he yelled to his wife, who was in the laundry room busy with the clothes left in a heap by Steven and Joseph III.
Before she could answer, Joe had the envelope open. Immediately he knew what he was looking at, and his freshly tanned face turned ashen. The telephone company was notifying the Coffeys that the U.S. Attorney for the Southern District of New York had subpoenaed a copy of the phone numbers called from the Coffey residence for the past eighteen months. Copies of Kathleen Coffey’s calls were also being provided. The letter mentioned the name of the assistant U.S. attorney in charge of the investigation. Joe knew the man was the head of the anticorruption unit.
Joe Coffey was very familiar with the paperwork in his hands. It was a common practice while investigating a criminal suspect to try to find out whom he was calling from his private residence. This method was used when there was not enough cause to get an okay for a wiretap. The telephone company was required by law to provide the information to the police. The law also stipulated that the customer must be notified when the investigation was completed. Many mobsters sent to prison by the Coffey Gang had at one time or another opened similar notifications at their kitchen tables.
When Pat came in from the laundry room, she was frightened by the look on her husband’s
face. She noticed the telephone company letter crumpled in his fist. “Are you all right?” she asked, fearing he may have had a heart attack.
Moments of silence passed. After what seemed like an eternity Joe said, “I’m all right. I just can’t believe it.”
Pat poured a cup of coffee for herself and made tea for Joe as he explained what the letter from the phone company meant.
“Who wanted these records?” Pat asked.
“The FBI.”
“The FBI? Weren’t you just working with them?”
“Don’t remind me. I was just trying to forget it,” Joe answered, as he reached for the wall phone.
“Don’t get excited, Joe. Why don’t you call Giuliani? You always said you could trust him,” Pat implored.
That’s who Joe was calling. He dialed his old office number and asked to speak to Giuliani. A secretary told him the U.S. attorney was not in. Coffey then asked for Barbara Jones. He was told she also was not in. “Then get Walter Mack on the phone,” Joe demanded.
The call was transferred to Mack’s office. Coffey did not even give his old friend a chance to say hello. As the phone was picked up, Joe said, “Walter, it’s Joe Coffey.”
But Walter Mack was used to unexpected confrontations and he tried to give himself some thinking time. “Joe, how have you been? What’s the matter? You can’t stay away from the office?” he said.
Joe also knew how to play that game. He was not about to be put off by small talk while Mack figured out his story.
“Walter, stop the bullshit. Why have my telephone records been examined? Why was I the subject of an official investigation by the Justice Department?”
The Coffey Files Page 23