Mickey really doesn’t know what to tell his old friend. Only one thing comes to mind. “If your gut is telling you it’s time to go, then it’s time to go. But I’d still check in with your family doctor. Just because.”
“I will. That’s how I see it, too. Follow my gut. Ya know, Mick, I’m a little worried—I’ll have a lapse and somebody could—get hurt.”
“All I can say is that the Department is losing a gem. And I’ll miss our little get-togethers over lunch. We had a lot of good times.”
“I ain’t dead yet, Mick. We’ll still have lunch once in awhile. I hear a bunch of retired commanders meet once a month to shoot-the-shit.”
Both men smile, then laugh. Mickey adds, “Sure we’ll still have lunch. Absolutely!”
Inspector Gallagher gets up and shakes Mickey’s hand. “See ya, Mick. Remember silence is golden.”
“You got it.”
Mickey watches Mark walk back down the dark hallway toward the lobby. He didn’t have any idea that his friend and he wouldn’t be having those planned lunch get-togethers. Inspector Mark Gallagher suffered a massive stroke and passed away a week later. He was still on active duty at the time. He never got a chance to retire. Mark’s wife of forty years asked Mickey to be a pallbearer. It was an honor for Mickey to carry the inspector’s casket with Mark’s four sons, all cops in the PPD.
Mickey will miss his good friend. And the PPD will lose one of the “good guys.”
CHAPTER 11
“Strike while the iron is hot.”
Irish Proverb
After finishing just one peanut butter cracker and a couple swigs of cola, Mickey’s cell phone rings. He answers, “Devlin.”
“Hi, Captain. Sly Cliver here. I got a couple of things for ya.”
“Great, Sly. What ya got?”
“For one thing, the Crime Scene guys found a Sig 9 in the sewer at the corner of 2-5 and Meredith.”
“Outstanding! That sewer inlet is only forty yards from the end of the alley that runs behind Drum’s house. Anything else, Sly?”
Then, Mickey’s pager starts to vibrate. Can you believe this? When it rains, it pours. Mickey unhooks his pager from his belt, and takes a quick look at the displayed number. It’s Doc.
“I got a question for ya, Boss. Is Drum married?”
“Negative. Never got married. At least there’s nothing in his PD personnel file about takin’ a bride.”
“Then he’s got a friend with long blonde hair. How ‘bout any next of kin in the area?”
“He has at least one brother that I know of for sure. Patrick. He lives in a little town outside of Dublin, Ireland. Why? What’s up?”
“The corporal from CSU asked me about expanding his search to the entire house. I know you got a horse in this race, so I don’t want these guys rifling the place, find something that’ll later be thrown out at trial. I can tell ya right now Drum has some pretty interesting hobbies. In clear view, no warrant required stuff. He’s a collector. He’s into presidential assassinations.”
“Assassinations?”
“Successful and blundered.”
“Some hobby. And you’re right. I do have a horse in the race. And my steed keeps moving up in the pack. So, keeping with the horse theme, I’d suggest pulling the reins back on CSU and get a warrant. I can make a call if you want.”
“Not necessary, Boss. I’m with ya. This guy is, was, scary. I’ll call the judge.”
“It’s the right call, Sly. Got anything else?”
“Because the Sig was found up the street, I’ve extended the crime scene to take in a possible escape route.”
“Another good idea.”
“I also called for reinforcements to help with the neighborhood interviews. I mentioned your name to the captain and he approved two bodies. The new guy, Cox, said he used to work for you.”
“He did. In the 14th. He’s been working West Division for a while. Kid’s a hustler.”
“Seems like it. He’s running on the owner of Bill’s Market a block away who says he saw a longhaired white male running by and getting on a red Vespa scooter parked outside his store right before the District cops arrived. Might be something there.”
“Did he say if the male’s hair was blond?”
“He did not.”
“That it, Sly?”
“For now. I’ll keep you in the loop, Cap.”
“Thanks. Nice work.”
Mickey hits the end key on his department-issued cell phone. Still holding his pager in his left hand, he brings up Doc’s number and fingers it into his cell keypad.
“What took you so long, Mick? I started to worry about you.”
“Hey, Doc. I was on my cell.”
“I know. Called that number, too. It was busy. So I called your pager.”
“I was on the line with the homicide detective from the Drum scene. He had some pretty interesting stuff.”
“Good! I got some pretty interesting stuff for you myself. Ready?”
“Shoot.”
“Your Mister Drum was shot three times. Once in the chest, that one would not have been fatal. It missed all the important bits and pieces. And then there were two more to the back of the head. I’d say all were from a 9 millimeter. I’m guessing at this point. There’s still one round missing. It’s probably lodged in a wall somewhere at the scene. The chest shot was straight on, from two, two-and-a-half feet.”
“Say from across the kitchen table?”
“Could be. The head shots were within an inch. There’s no way there isn’t brain matter all over the shooter and the gun. The chest shot showed signs of what we call ‘active trauma reaction.’ In other words, he was alive when he took that hit. The second head shot was post-mortem. In my opinion, that shot was just for the hell of it. Either the doer wanted to make certain Drum was dead. Or he or she was showing a gargantuan hatred for your buddy Jerry.
“The two head shots were in a downward path. Based on what you told me about the scene, I’d say Drum was first shot facing his assassin. Maybe as you suggested, from across the table. If so, there’ll be evidence of that all over the tabletop. Then the shooter got up to leave and gave him two more, at blank range, like I said, just for the hell of it. “
“That is interesting. So would you say it presents as a well-organized pro hit?”
“I can go with that, unless we find out Drum was shot with his own gun. Then I may have to change my mind. For a pro to show up gun less could mean the crime was unplanned, at least at that moment in time, and at some point an opportunity presented itself and pop, pop, pop.”
“Or, he or she forgot to bring a weapon. Better yet, the doer was a frequent visitor at Jerry’s house. A friend, a neighbor, the mailman. Whoever! This person knew Drum had guns in his house and where they were kept. Just looking for the right time to use them.”
“All you need now is motive, Mick.”
“Workin’ on it, Doc. Oh! And by the way, CSU found a 9 mil in the sewer close to the scene. I’m guessing it’s the 9 mil registered to Drum. We’ll know for sure once FIU finishes processing it. I’ll make sure they touch base with you ASAP.”
“Good! Ya know if the sewer was wet or dry?”
“I don’t.”
“Guess I’ll find out soon enough. If the Sig was in water, we may lose some evidence. We’ll see.”
Mickey doesn’t respond.
“Mick, do you have any idea what’s going to happen with Drum’s remains? Any next of kin? I wouldn’t want to lose them to the grave or, worse, to cremation before they stop talking to me. I think this job will end up being one of those ‘bragging homicides.’ It’s gonna be hard to keep this under wraps.”
“You could be right, Doc. And you’re the second person asking about Jerry Drum’s next of kin. As far as I know, he only has a brother still living in Ireland.”
“You rascal! You’re trying to get the PC to send you to Ireland on company time, aren’t you? That’s why you’re meeting with him.”
“Ya got me, Doc. But Drum’s brother is only the tip of the iceberg.”
“I knew it. So you gonna reveal the rest of the iceberg for me or you gonna make me read about it in the newspaper?”
“Let me connect a few more dots first, Doc. But I will tell you this. I think ‘The Greek’ was in Dublin recently and may have known Jerry Drum and his brother, Patrick.”
“Holy shit, Batman. You’re going after Odysseus, aren’t you?”
“It’s just a gut feeling right now, Doc.”
“Promise me you won’t make me read all about, Mick.”
“Cross my heart. Now I gotta go. I have a two o’clock with the PC.”
“Stay in touch, Mick. And stay safe.”
“Will do. Talk to ya, Doc.”
Mickey hits the end key, dumps what’s left of his vending machine lunch into the trash can, and walks back down the hall to the elevator. Once inside he hits #3.
Okay, commissioner. Let’s do the right thing.
CHAPTER 12
“Keep hold of the bone and the dog will follow you.”
Irish Proverb
P ing, Mickey steps off the elevator and makes his way past the two-cop security detail, around the hall to the commissioner’s outer office: a small, wood-paneled, rectangle-shaped office with two desks just inside the door. One desk is for the PC’s private secretary on the left and another smaller desk for his aide on the right, historically occupied by a lieutenant with “connections.” The previous commissioner had a captain friend of his filling that position. But the captain had a thing for rookie cops. He and his cop girlfriend had an after-hours rendezvous using the Boss’ desk. They made so much racket they set off the motion alarm in the commissioner’s outer office.
The captain was transferred and his girlfriend tried to claim sexual harassment. She sued the commissioner, the captain, and everyone in between. She lost at every level. She retired after one year on the job and took a position at the Public Housing Commission as a clerk-typist.
In the outer sanctum there are two sets of double doors. A conference room is on the left and the PC’s office is on the right. As Mickey approaches, he sees Lieutenant Rambo and the commissioner’s secretary Carol Nelson standing in the hall talking.
“Hey, Cap. You’re early.”
“Always. Hi, Carol. How are you?”
“Good afternoon, Captain. I’m good.”
“What’s up? You folks been expelled from the commissioner’s neighborhood?”
Rambo answers. “More of a voluntary withdrawal. He’s in his office with Inspector Kuhn. He just paid his bail and got a hearing date. The Boss asked him to come up. Who knows what’s gonna go down in there.”
Carol adds, “I don’t think the Boss knows himself. In any case, LT and I wanted to be a safe distance from the blast. If you get my drift.”
Mickey comments. “I think I already made my thoughts on the matter known. Bottom line, I did what someone should have done years ago when he ran over that poor girl.”
Rambo asks Mickey, “You sure you want to be standing in the hot zone when Kuhn comes out?”
“It’s not me who should be looking for someplace to hide. If Kuhn is dumb enough to make his situation even worse, then…”
Rambo whispers, “He’s coming.”
The commissioner and Kuhn walk out of the PC’s office together. The commissioner has his right arm around Kuhn’s shoulder and appears to be cajoling him. They walk right past Carol, Rambo and Mickey as if they’re not even there. When they pass, the three look at each other and shrug in unison. A minute or so later, the commissioner returns not looking in the cheeriest of moods.
“Okay, Devlin. Get in here.”
“Yes, sir.”
Mickey follows the commissioner through the outer office and into his much larger private office. The PC’s space is substantial, boasting wood paneling, floor-to-ceiling bookcases and a sizeable dark mahogany desk. Two large windows overlook the always busy east-bound Vine Street, a small park area and the vacated Metropolitan Hospital.
“Close the door, Devlin. Tell me what’s so damn important.”
Lieutenant Rambo and Carol Nelson hear the commissioner’s seven-foot solid wood door shut. Carol looks at Rambo.
“I wouldn’t want to be the Captain.”
“I wouldn’t worry ‘bout Captain Devlin’s well-being. He can hold his own with anybody. It’s the commissioner who needs your sympathy.”
Carol laughs. “Heard that about the captain. So you may be right, Lieutenant.”
“I know I am. When the captain was a detective, I saw him convince a suspect that a ten-year-old girl he buried in his basement two years earlier was alive. And she was waiting in the hall to forgive him if he would just apologize to her in writing. The guy wrote a two-page apology and outlined why he killed her.”
Carol Nelson can only laugh. Inside the commissioner’s office Mickey stands in front of the massive wooden desk centered on the north wall back lit by his floor-to-ceiling windows. The Commissioner speaks first.
“You curious ‘bout what I decided to do with Inspector Kuhn?”
Mickey shrugs. “A little. Figure if you want to enlighten me, you will.”
“What the fuck is it with you, Devlin? You’re a hard nut to crack. I never know what you’re gonna do next. The only thing I’m sure of, is whatever you do, it will somehow affect me and this office.”
“I call ‘em as I see ‘em. I realize that sometimes my calls find their way up here. Nothing personal.”
“Sometimes I wonder. But if I really thought it was personal I’d, I’d…”
Mickey without hesitation says, “Transfer me to CIB.”
“See. That’s what I mean. You’re a…”
The commissioner stares at Mickey as if he expects a reaction. He gets none. He also never invites Mickey to sit down in either of the two burgundy leather chairs strategically positioned in front of his desk. It’s his way of taking control of the situation. It’s I’m the Boss 101.
He’s starting his little game of who’s the boss already.
Mickey moves between the two chairs, close to the Commissioner’s oversized rectangular desk, and starts to reorganize some of the PC’s personal picture frames. Mickey realizes that he really can’t win the struggle for who owns the close personal space between the two men, so he settles for a draw. He stops the arranging.
The commissioner tries step two, bullying.
“Fuck it. What do you want, Devlin? I got other things I can be doing.”
Mickey begins to present his case. He meticulously walks the PC through the new evidence that shows ex-Chief Inspector Michael Odysseus, “The Greek,” has set up camp in or around Dublin, Ireland. He shares the still photographs he received from “a source.” He compares the photo with Odysseus’ last Police Department photo ID card, assuring the Commissioner that the person in both is indeed Michael Odysseus. He also compares the photo of the woman at the Dublin Museum with a photo of Penelope Odysseus at her husband’s trial.
Mickey reads from a copy of a report prepared by security personnel stationed at Dublin’s National Museum and the Bank of Ireland, both in the heart of the city. The Bank of Ireland is located directly across the street from Trinity College. He also summarizes his long-distance conversation with Superintendent Kevin O’Clooney concerning the suspicious activities of Jerry and Patrick Drum. Including the link between the special mix of sheep feed they use on their Castleknock ranch and explosives used by the IRA in Ireland and Great Britain. Mickey then mentions his scheduled follow-up call with the superintendent.
Next, he informs the commissioner of the ongoing investigation into Jerry Drum’s homicide: his own part in that investigation, including his early morning Central Detective Division chat, the preliminaries from the Drum scene and the ME’s Office. Next, he shows the commissioner the last two seething letters sent to Michelle Cunay at City Paper from Odysseus. Both postmarked from Dublin, Ireland
.
He continues describing the relationship Patrick has with his brother and Jerry’s proclivity for researching and collecting information on U.S presidential assassinations and attempted assassinations.
Mickey also suggests that he be the one who notifies Patrick about the sudden death of his brother Jerry. And he concludes by encouraging the PC to let him follow the evidence all the way to Ireland, so the door can finally be shut on the case against Michael Odysseus and the “We the People” case. Mickey pushes the notion that he should be the person to do it because it was he who lost five men that day in 1991. Plus the fact that he’s been to Dublin twice and is very familiar with the city.
Mickey adds that by using his already-established connections with Dublin Garda, he’ll be able to cut through any red tape that may pop up. Mickey drove home the point that the commissioner’s legacy will be that he was the one who cleared the books on the death of five of our own, when no one else could.
Through the entirety of Mickey’s delivery, the commissioner sat in silence. Never interrupting him. Never posing a single question. Then he broke his silence by asking Mickey, “When would this trip take place?”
“As soon as I can book a flight. I already have a place to stay in Dublin.”
“And I guess you’re asking to make this trip, this following-of-the-evidence trip, to Ireland on the PD’s dime. Is that right?”
“I am.”
“And if I say no, then what?”
“I’m going anyway. I got hundreds of hours of time on the books. I’ll use some V time. But you’ll miss out on taking credit for bringing the whole Odysseus thing to an end. But I don’t believe you’d go down that road. Would you?”
The commissioner doesn’t answer. Instead, he swivels his executive chair around and stares out one of the windows seemingly watching the traffic make its way east on Vine Street toward the Ben Franklin Bridge to Camden, New Jersey, or I-95. Mickey doesn’t move or speak. He just watches his commissioner watch the traffic. Then, without turning back around, the commissioner utters, “Thirty days with intent to dismiss.”
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