The Last Crusade: A Harry Cassidy Novel

by Henry Hack

  That was all he could do this depressing day in December—and surely, that was enough, but he had one more important thing to do. He had to call Dennis O’Neill and discuss their plans for finding, and killing, Dukie Greens. At Julie Carver’s funeral Harry had whispered to Denny, “After Christmas we go look for him, okay?”

  “I hope the Task Force doesn’t beat us there, Harry. I want him bad.”

  “I’ll give you a call on the twenty-sixth,” Harry had said.

  It had been almost two weeks now since the murders of Rita and Julie Carver and the Task Force had thus far been unable to ferret Greens out. And even if they had, he would clam up and not admit a thing. How could they tie him to the shooter, Lyles? They couldn’t; there was no evidence and no witnesses, and despite the tremendous pressure they had exerted on Dukie’s operations, no one had cracked. And no one would—his minions feared Greens a helluva lot more than they feared the police.

  When Dennis picked up the phone he said, “Harry, I was just about to call you. They got him. The fuck is dead.”

  “The Task Force killed him?”

  “No, they found his body in an alley behind a joint he owns out in Hempstead. I guess he was holed up out there. Two shots to the back of his head. They figure his own guys did him in to get the pressure off. Dukie became too much of a liability.”

  “That’s great news, Dennis, although I still would have preferred doing the bastard in myself.”

  “Yeah, I know exactly how you feel. You hang in there now, Harry.”

  Now he knew the first thing he would do tomorrow morning—he would drive out to the cemetery on Long Island and visit his beloved Rita and tell her the news.

  A weak winter sun illuminated the frozen earth at Rita’s gravesite. If he thought he would gain some solace, some peace, from this visit, he was mistaken. Most of a recent two-inch snowfall had melted, exposing frozen clods of new soil. He shifted from foot to foot and stared at the ground. Was she as cold down there as he was up here? He knew that was a ridiculous notion. If Rita were anywhere she most certainly was not in the earth below his feet. She was in Heaven, wherever that might be. Out of religious conditioning, he raised his eyes skyward and said out loud, “Hi, honey. Rita, I love you. I love you so much. I hope you can hear me. I’m here at your grave. I want you to know the bastard behind your murder is now dead. They think his own buddies did him in to take the heat off. I know that won’t bring you back to me, but it makes me feel a lot better. Just thought I’d let you know…”

  He lowered his head and noticed the bouquet of cut flowers he had purchased from a roadside florist shop outside the cemetery gates was still in his hand. He gently laid them on the grave and silently said the Our Father for her soul. He trembled and then sobbed violently. “See you later, lover girl,” he said, the tears flowing fast as he turned to leave.

  Late Saturday morning Susan Goldman and Rose Becker arrived bearing cold cuts and rolls for lunch. The mood was somber as they all ate their sandwiches and drank tea.

  “I really appreciate you two coming over,” he said. “I don’t think I’m up to this task alone.”

  “None of us is,” Susan said.

  “So, let’s get to it,” Rose said, rising from her chair.

  They began in the bedroom and decided what they couldn’t use would be donated to the poor. On Rita’s side of their big closet, Susan discovered a soft, dark-green sweater. “So, that’s where it was,” she said. “Stolen by my best friend.”

  “What, stolen?” Rose said.

  “I’m only kidding. Rita and I shared a lot of clothes since we were pretty much the same size. I’m certain I have some of her things in my closet, too.”

  “Keep them, and take whatever else fits you. This little negligee must be yours also. My Rita would never wear something as shocking as this.”

  “Now, Rose,” Harry said, blushing a bit.

  Rose found a scarf she had given to Rita on a birthday many years ago and clutched it to her breast as the tears started to flow. That brought them forth from Susan, and then from Harry. They all sat on the bed and had a long, wet release of sorrow. After they regained their composure, they continued the task in silence and finally, by mid afternoon, it was over—a box of clothes for Susan, two larger boxes for donation, and two small boxes of mementos, one for Rose and one for Harry.

  “My God,” Harry said. “I feel awful, like a grave robber.”

  Rose took his hand and said, “It’s time to move on. Let her gradually fade away in peace, but remain forever in our hearts. We will all join her soon enough.”

  Rose and Susan left with the possessions of their daughter’s and best friend’s life neatly packaged in two cardboard cartons. The apartment now was emptier and lonelier than ever.

  PART 3

  POLICE WORK

  12

  The months on patrol in the Midtown South Precinct flew by. Harry had moved from the apartment in Queens to a much less spacious, but more expensive, studio in Greenwich Village, and the business of the Job served to keep his mind occupied and not continually fixated on the the loss of Rita. Snyder used Harry to fill in as head of the precinct’s Narcotics/Vice Unit for several weeks when the sergeant heading it had to go on extended sick leave for gallbladder surgery. This was followed by two months as boss of the Street Crime Unit, another hectic assignment with a lot of overtime.

  Despite occasional invitations from Nick Faliani, who worked a few blocks away in the Midtown North Detective Squad, to join him in hitting on the ladies at the numerous bars in the area, Harry always declined. “Thanks, Nick,” he would say, “but I’m not quite ready for a romance just yet.” And Nick would reply, “Harry, I’m not talking about romance, I’m talking about getting laid. Jesus, are you turning celibate on me?”

  But Harry was kept perfectly content with his work, his numerous visits to Peggy and his daughters in Pennsylvania and his friendship with Uncle Mike, Aunt Mary and Pop and Vera. And, of course, his weekly visits to the grave of his beloved Rita.

  On a clear day in early November that had just a hint of winter in the air, Inspector Snyder called Harry in off patrol and ushered him into his office. After pouring themselves coffee, Snyder closed his door and said, “The lieutenant’s list has finally been published. You’ll probably get your official notification in the mail tomorrow. Congratulations, you are number twenty-seven out of the eight hundred sergeants who passed.”

  He handed the list over to Harry and he began to scan the list of names down to his own, but stopped short when he read, “Number sixteen—Rita Becker, Eight-Three Precinct.”

  “Can I keep this?” he asked. “Just the first page?”

  “Sure, I’ll have a copy made for you.”

  “Any idea when the promotions will happen?”

  “Around the first of the year, and I’ll be leaving here then with a promotion of my own.”

  “Congratulations, Inspector. Where are you going?”

  “The Manhattan District Attorney’s Detective Office—and I want to take you with me. I think it would be a good career move to go there.”

  “How so?”

  “After you make captain and successfully run a precinct, a major consideration for further promotion is the variety of your experience in the Department. A stint as a unit commander in the DA’s office would be a huge plus.”

  “You’re making a big assumption about me making captain.”

  “Nonsense, you’ll be wearing those gold railroad tracks before you know it. Have I ever steered you wrong?”

  “I guess I’ll start shopping for some new suits and ties,” he said.

  On December 13, Harry took the day off and drove over to pick up Stan and Rose and they headed out to Farmingdale in silence.

  “I can’t believe she’s dead a year,” Stan said, wiping a tear from his cheek as Harry drove through the stone-pillared entrance of New Montefiore cemetery.

  All the gathered friends and relatives bowed their hea
ds in prayer at the unveiling of Rita’s headstone. Harry’s knees buckled when he saw her name and date of death carved into the gray granite. It made her passing so final, so official. After the ceremony was over they walked back to their cars and Harry took out the copy of the lieutenant’s list and gave it to Rose. “Look at position sixteen,” he said.

  “My Rita, she would have been a lieutenant!”

  “Look at number twenty-seven. We would have been promoted together.”

  “So, my girlfriend beat you,” Susan said.

  “Smart girl, my daughter,” Rose said.

  “Maybe not so smart picking a guy like me.”

  “Rita knew a good guy when she saw one,” Susan said, with a definite trace of regret in her voice.

  “Thanks,” he said. “How are you doing?”

  “I’m doing fine. I’m working in the Manhattan District Attorney’s office now, in the White-Collar Crime Bureau.”

  “Prestigious,” he said, realizing his new assignment would soon put them in the same downtown building.

  “You know, we’re not far away from each other right now. Maybe we can have coffee or lunch some day, before you get promoted and maybe transferred out of Manhattan.”

  “Yeah, maybe,” he said, deciding not to mention he already knew where he was going to end up and that it would be very close to her.

  “You’ll give me a call when you get a chance?”

  “Sure.”

  As they headed back to Stan and Rose’s home, Rose said, “Didn’t you and Susan go out together before you hooked up with my Rita?”

  “Yes, for a short time.”

  “She’s a wonderful girl, Harry. You could do worse.”

  “I’m still in love with Rita,”

  “And you always will be. But Rita is gone now, and a man needs a woman.”

  “Rose,” Stan said, “stop playing matchmaker.”

  “Remember, Harry,” she persisted, “life is for the living. Rita would be the first person to tell you that. You would not disgrace her memory if you started to see other women. It’s been a year. Think about yourself for a change.”

  “Thanks Rose, but I don’t think I’m quite ready yet.”

  The promotion ceremonies took place on December 31. Aunt Mary and Uncle Mike showed up as well as Pop and Vera, and in a nice surprise, the remaining members of the Task Force, including Walt Kobak. They all went out for lunch after the ceremony and Pop asked Walt if there was anything new on bin Yousef. “Not a thing,” he said. “He disappeared completely.”

  “Maybe you should send a couple guys over there to try to dig him out.”

  “We did. Jerry and Dick spent a month there chasing down leads.”

  “You sent Jerry?” Harry asked. “Our Jerry? And you mean he couldn’t even detect an Arab in friggin’ Arabia?”

  Everyone at the table laughed remembering how Jerry had lost the blue-eyed OBL-911 section chief he had been tailing in Chinatown, and how they used to tease him with the fact that Detective Campora couldn’t even detect an Arab in Chinatown. Jerry started to say something, but Harry stopped him saying, “Now, now, Detective Campora, no foul language please. There are ladies present, and remember, I am a lieutenant now. You wouldn’t want to be insubordinate, would you?”

  After lunch, Jerry got up to go to the men’s room, and when he passed Harry’s chair he bent over and whispered, “Fuck you, Lieutenant Cassidy, you blue-eyd bastard—with all due respect, of course, to your new exalted rank.”

  In early May, Peggy called Harry and asked if he could meet her for lunch on the next Saturday. She said she had something important to discuss with him and preferred to do it in person. He had agreed, wondering what this could possibly be about. They met at Tavern on the Green in Central Park and ordered a glass of wine. After Peggy brought him up to date on the girls’ activities, she got a serious look on her face and said, “Harry, there’s something I have to discuss with you.”

  “Sure. Is anything wrong?”

  “Not at all. I’ve been seeing someone, and I think he’s going to pop the question.”

  “So tell me about this new guy in your life.”

  “Tom is a banker in town, widowed, with one child, a girl. His wife died of breast cancer about two years ago. I met him at a neighborhood house party.”

  “What makes you think he’s going to ask you to marry him?”

  “It’s my birthday in two weeks, and he’s already asked me out to a real fancy French restaurant for dinner. Women sense these things. I’m sure he’s going to propose then.”

  “I’m happy you found someone, Peg,” he said, as a feeling of loss and jealousy passed briefly through him.

  “I want you to meet him. He would be the girl’s stepfather, you know.”

  “If he pops the question, I’ll meet him before you walk down the aisle.”

  Peggy’s intuition had been right on the money, and Tom Wallace did indeed pop the question on her birthday. At the engagement dinner, Harry took an instant liking to this mild-mannered banker and to his daughter, Katy, who in age fell right between Patty and Lizzy. After dinner, Harry asked Tom when they planned to get married.

  “I don’t know. We haven’t set a date yet.”

  “Do it soon, Tom. The sooner you marry, the quicker my alimony stops.”

  He laughed and said, “I’ll try to speed it along.”

  “Tom, being in the banking business, maybe you could help me with something.”

  “Sure, if I can.”

  “I’d like to take what I’ve been paying in alimony, and set up a college fund for Patty and Lizzy. Can you handle that?”

  “Absolutely. I just set one up for my Katy a couple of months ago. I’ll be happy to do the same for your girls.”

  As the party broke up, Peggy cornered Harry and asked, “So what do you think of him?”

  “I think you made a good choice, and I wish you all the happiness you deserve.”

  “Thanks. You think he’ll be good with our girls?”

  “They sure seem to like him, and they were playing with Katy all day, so yes, I think he’ll be fine with them.”

  “I’ll see you at the wedding?”

  He hesitated a moment, then smiled and said, “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  In early January Harry arrived at the District Attorney’s Squad on Hogan Place, and Snyder assigned him to head up a squad in the white-collar crime section that dealt with counterfeiting. “And I don’t mean money, Harry,” Snyder said. “The Secret Service deals with phony currency, thank God. But we have a serious problem—a multi-million dollar problem in this city alone, with counterfeit goods of all kinds—movie DVDs, music CDs, designer clothes and accessories, duplicate circuit boards to receive free cable and satellite TV—you name it. Whatever it is, there seems to be a knock off of it somewhere.”

  “And I have a squad of a dozen guys to handle all this?”

  “Yeah, but you have help. Most of the big companies have good security departments that work the cases up before they knock on your door. The majority of the security directors are ex-law enforcement—our guys, or Feds. They know their products and they know some of the players. Get to know them as soon as you can and make allies of them. It will be like increasing your manpower a hundred fold.”

  As always, Harry took Snyder’s advice to heart and jumped into his new assignment as he had jumped in when Snyder brought him into the Midtown South precinct—with the energy and enthusiasm of a rookie cop. He discovered a whole new world of criminal thievery he only vaguely knew existed. His squad worked cases involving items from designer jeans to high-end wristwatches, emerald necklaces, fur pieces and rare coins—all genuine-looking fakes.

  Harry was having a drink with Nick Faliani one day after work and was telling him about his new assignment. “Nick, I never knew the extent of this phony stuff, and when I say phony, I mean real good phony. At first I couldn’t tell the difference, but the security guys showed me how, a
nd even then I had to take some items back to the company’s designers and scientists to distinguish the real stuff from the fakes.”

  “It sounds like interesting work. Do you get to move around much?”

  “Wherever the case takes us. I have two guys going to Hong Kong tomorrow.”

  “Do you need another guy in your squad?”

  “Are you applying for a job, my friend?”

  “Yeah, I need a change of scenery.”

  “Why? Did you exhaust the supply of eligible women in midtown Manhattan? Or do several of them have hits out on you making it dangerous to move around the club scene?”

  Nick grinned and said, “Yeah, something like that. And it’s time I spread my Italian charm to the cuties of downtown. But seriously, I’m sick of robberies, rapes, murders, and assaults. I need a new challenge.”

  “I’ll talk to the boss tomorrow. I’d love to have you working with me.”

  “Thanks. Hey, how about Pop? Do you think he’d like to hook up with us again?”

  “I’ll call him, but I bet I’ll never blast him out of Nassau Homicide.”

  “You’re probably right about that.”

  “In fact, let’s call him now,” Harry said, digging out his cell phone.

  They found him in the office and Nick took the phone and told him about his pending transfer to work with Harry. “Doesn’t that sound interesting, Pop? Would you like to join us?”

  “Nick, I don’t want to go to Hong Kong just as I don’t want to chase terrorists anymore. Leave me be. I am an old man content to catch murderers right here in Nassau County. But thanks for thinking of me. That means a lot.”

  “We came through some bad times together,” Nick said. “We would never forget you, Pop. Stay well, you hear.”