Cassidy's Corner

by Henry Hack

  The little voice which had been submerged by Harry’s happy romantic interlude with Susan suddenly jumped up front and center with a vengeance. Murderer it whispered in his brain. Now you are a murderer as well as a betrayer. “Shut up, he muttered. I did not kill Richie.”You left him to die. Coward! Get your gun and end it now. “No, No, he would have died even if I had called it in. Everyone says so. I didn’t kill him.” None of that matters, my friend. You and I know what was deep in your heart that night – murder. You are a cowardly murderer and a betrayer of your shield. There is no worse crime. Go, get your gun now…

  When Susan returned and went into the kitchen she found Harry at the table with his head buried in his arms. The bottle of scotch was empty and the ash tray was full of cigarette butts. “Harry,” she said, shaking his arm. “Wake up.”

  He lifted his head and looked, bleary eyed, at Susan.

  “Harry, what’s the matter? Are you drunk?”

  “No, no,” he said. “Just had a little toast to my dear departed friend, Richie Winston.”

  “Jesus, you finished the bottle. Come on, let’s go up to bed.”

  Harry was in the condition he and the guys would call a few steps beyond mellow, and he wobbled as he stood up. “How did it go over there? Anything new?”

  Susan took note of the slurring of Harry’s words and said, “Nothing. A few moans and gurgles and sighs, and then it was all over. They feel it was a sudden massive heart attack.”

  “Poor guy. I said a few prayers for him. I hope they catch the guys who did him in soon.”

  “Why would you pray for Winston? I thought you hated him?”

  “Sometimes I kind of feel responsible for him, for his death, because it happened on my beat.”

  “You weren’t there, remember? We went through this all during the interviews. Why are you feeling guilty? Is there something you’re not telling me?”

  “No, no, I’m not feeling guilty, just responsible in a way. I’m not feeling guilty about anything. Stop interrogating me.”

  “I’m not interrogating you. Let’s go to bed. We’ll talk in the morning when the scotch is out of your system.”

  They did not make love that night or the following morning. Harry awoke in a sullen mood and, after they showered separately, they ate a quiet, light breakfast of English muffins and coffee.

  “How’s your head, Harry?”

  “My head’s fine. Why shouldn’t it be?”

  “You had a lot of scotch”

  “A lot? Were you here? What’d you do, videotape me?”

  “Harry, my God, where is this coming from? All I asked was how you were.”

  “I’m sorry. I guess I overdid it. Let me get out of here and leave you alone. I know you have to study.”

  They kissed good-bye and he left. Neither one said “love you” as they parted; in fact, neither one said a word at all. Susan watched him go, wondering what the hell had just happened here. And then, with a shudder, she thought perhaps Inspector Gregorovich had been right on the money with his theory after all.

  On Monday morning, Susan informed Gregorovich of the demise of Richie Winston, and he said, “It’s now officially a homicide, but nothing for your case, unfortunately.”

  “That’s my thought also, sir. Too bad he didn’t clarify those words for us before he died.”

  “Some things remain a mystery forever, Sergeant. We just have to accept it.”

  ●

  On a freezing day in Albany, the Court of Appeals published their decisions in several important cases, one of which was McGinn vs. The City of New York. The justices, in a split four to three decision, ruled Police Officer James J. McGinn must submit to a polygraph exam as part of an internal investigation if so ordered by the Internal Affairs Division of the New York Metropolitan Police Department.

  The Department received a fax of the decision at 10:45 a.m. and, at 11:30 a.m., after reading a copy faxed to him from Assistant Chief Kelly’s office, Inspector Peter Gregorovich called an immediate staff meeting directing all in-progress interviews be terminated by noon and resumed at two o’clock. When all the investigators assembled in the conference room, Gregorovich informed them of the decision and then said, “Chief Kelly wants all of our cases reviewed that had been closed, or in-progress, that indicated the use of the polygraph. This will be a priority with the most serious cases to be tested first. As you know, a four to three decision is a shaky one. The police unions could appeal this to a judge in the U.S. Supreme Court and ask for a stay if they can demonstrate a valid constitutional issue. Since being compelled to testify against yourself seems to fit that category we must act right now. I want you all to postpone whatever it is you’re now working on and dig out those cases. Review them and prepare a recommendation on each one, whether we should or should not proceed, and why. I’ll begin my reviews tomorrow at ten and help you prioritize them. Any questions?”

  “That’s not much time, sir,” Sergeant Bob Wilton said. “Can we work late on this?”

  “You can work till midnight, or later, if you feel it’s necessary. There may be only a short window here, perhaps a week, before a stay of the decision could happen. The chief wants as many tests done as possible before that.”

  There were no more questions and the staff headed out to begin their new priority assignments. Susan said, “Gee, Rita, as the only trained professional polygraphist currently assigned to Nassau Internal Affairs, you are going to be one busy bee.”

  “That I will be, but I’ll be laughing all the way to the bank when those overtime checks come in.”

  There were seventeen cases reviewed by Gregorovich brought to him by his investigative staff. Susan’s only one was that involving Cassidy. “What do you conclude, Sergeant Goldman? Should we close this out now?”

  What does he mean? A couple of weeks ago the Russian was hot on nailing Harry with his theory, and now he’s looking to close the case?

  “I’m not sure, sir. I thought about your theory, and I thought the polygraph would be indicated here.”

  “Look, it’s your case. You make the call.”

  She could read no hint in his expression or tone of voice that would indicate which way he wanted her to go. She took the plunge, “My decision is to proceed with the polygraph.”

  “Very well, report back to me for the prioritization meeting at three o’clock.”

  She had the definite feeling if she had said she decided to close the case now, he would have said, “Very well, close it.”

  After the prioritization meeting Cassidy’s case was number eight on the list. The inspector faxed his report over to Chief Kelly as did seven other IAD commanders. A total of 115 cases crossed Kelly’s desk – 82 police officers, 21 detectives and 12 supervising officers. The chief wasted no time in calling the IAD commander in Manhattan North saying, “Get that prick McGinn on the hot seat first.”

  ●

  “Rita, I’m finished with my case review,” Susan said. “When do you want to meet on this?”

  “I’m booked up with cases of a higher priority than yours. Let me see my calendar. How about tomorrow at two?”

  “On a Saturday?”

  “We’re pulling out all the stops on this. Remember the protocol on the polygraph?”

  “No.”

  “We prepare the questions, and then the subject gets 48 hours to review them with his PBA rep, attorney or whoever he wants. Only then can we test him.”

  “What’s the plan for Harry?”

  “We’ll finalize the questions tomorrow and get him in here Monday. What’s his schedule?”

  “He starts on day shift Sunday.”

  “Monday is fine, and we’ll schedule him for the test on Thursday.”

  “I have to call Harry now anyway, so I’ll give him the schedule.”

  “Sue, what’s going on here?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, aren’t you concerned about the effect on your relationship when you drag Harry in
here? You know he wants no part of the box.”

  “Gregorovich had me in a dilemma. I was afraid to recommend closure without the test, and you know, in a way, I need closure for myself.”

  “You don’t believe his story, do you? The Russian’s theory seems plausible, and Winston’s words about Harry saving his life are a mystery. Is that it?”

  “Yes, I want to know once and for all if the man I’m falling in love with is a liar and a betrayer of his shield.”

  “And if the polygraph shows that, what then? Is it over?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What if he fails the test, breaks down and confesses to you and begs your forgiveness? Tells you the street made him do it, hardened him, and caused him to lose sight of truth, justice and the American way? What if…?”

  “Stop, please. I don’t know. I just don’t know”

  Susan was in tears now and Rita came around from behind her desk and hugged her until she regained her composure. “Go powder your nose and call Harry. Then go home and pour yourself a stiff drink. This will be over in a week.”

  “That’s what terrifies me – it will all be over.”

  She called Harry from her office at six.

  “Jeez, Sue, I called three times today…”

  “Harry,” she interrupted. “I’ve been extremely busy. This place is a zoo. Gregorovich has the pressure on because of the decision.”

  “Yeah, I just heard about it yesterday.”

  She explained the urgency on the part of the Department to perform as many tests as possible before a possible stay, and how they were now working all kinds of hours to prepare those cases.

  “Am I one of those cases?”

  “Yes.”

  “But why? Richie’s dead. I thought this was over.”

  “I know Rita told you it was closed pending a possible re-open if the polygraph became viable again.”

  “But you don’t have to test me, do you? Isn’t it an option? And isn’t it unnecessary?”

  “It wasn’t my decision,” she lied. “Gregorovich ordered it. We reviewed our cases and he decided to proceed with yours. I couldn’t fight him on it.”

  “When is this going to happen?”

  “Come in to the office on Monday morning at eleven to go over the tentative questions. I’ll advise your CO, and call the PBA for a rep. You are allowed forty-eight hours to review the questions and your test is scheduled for Thursday morning.”

  “When can I see you? Tonight? Tomorrow I’m off all day. We could…”

  “Harry,” she said, “between work and school work I’m going to be tied up all weekend. I can’t see you.”

  “Not even for dinner? Surely you can spare a couple hours tomorrow night?”

  “I probably could, but I don’t think it would be a good idea. Your case has been officially re-opened. It would be better if we cooled it completely until after the test. If everything works out, we’ll have that entire following weekend together. I promise.”

  “Fine,” he said, “we’ll play it your way. I’ll see you in your office on Monday.”

  He hung up the phone without waiting for a response, dialed the PBA office and got a busy signal. It was an hour before he was able to get through.

  “Listen,” he said to the rep on duty, “I’ve been ordered in for a lie detector test…”

  “You and about a hundred others. The phones have been ringing off the hook. Give me your name and command and date of the exam.”

  Harry complied and added, “Are you guys doing anything about this?”

  “Yes. The PBA, Detectives Association, Officers Association – all the unions – are getting their lawyers together as we speak. They hope to file a motion to stay the judgment by Tuesday morning at the latest.”

  “What do we do in the meantime?”

  “You have to comply until we get the stay. We will page all PBA reps the instant something pops.”

  “Thanks, and good luck. I don’t want to go on that box.”

  “You’re not the only one, pal. Gotta run. So long.”

  Harry stayed in his apartment all day Saturday mulling over his situation. What could he do? Who could he call? Uncle Mike? Could Uncle Mike call Gregorovich and have him reverse his decision? How would he answer the questions that would arise from that request? How about Pop? Could Pop help him? Give him some advice? What advice? Father Tom? No, not yet. Not yet for the good priest.

  ●

  “Gee, Officer Cassidy,” Miss Livermore said “I can’t believe you’re here again. Hi, Joe.”

  “Hi, Marie. We’re here for Sergeant Goldman.”

  “She’ll meet you in Room Three. Do you know the way?”

  “Yeah,” Harry said. “Blindfolded.”

  They waited in silence for a few minutes and then the door opened and the Kamikaze twins breezed in. Susan looked at Harry and was shocked at what she saw. He looked older, tired and… beaten, a man in total defeat.

  “Let’s get started,” Rita said. “Here’s a list of questions I’m going to ask you. We’ll go over them one at a time.”

  “You, Rita? I mean, Sergeant Becker?”

  “Yes, I’m the unit’s only qualified polygraph operator.”

  They reviewed the questions for five minutes. They were straight forward, and if he answered them truthfully, he knew he would be finished.

  “Any problems, Officer Cassidy? Officer Vitale?”

  Vitale couldn’t see any trick questions, so he said, “I don’t see any.”

  “Very well. Please report here at 10:45 a.m. on Thursday, February 16.”

  Joe and Harry got up and left the room. When they got out into the hall, Harry grabbed Joe’s arm and said, “Joe, I cannot take this test. What am I going to do?”

  “Harry, we may get the stay before then. Keep the faith. Is it that bad?”

  “Yeah, very bad, but I’m not bringing you in on the gory details. If you don’t know, those bitches can’t get them from you, and try to drag you down, too.”

  “I appreciate that. You’re a stand-up guy.”

  “Joe, what if I refuse the test?”

  “You get suspended without pay. Then they put you on trial for insubordination and they fire you.”

  “Suppose I call in sick?”

  “They send a police doctor to your home to confirm it. You’d better be sick – very sick. If not, the doctor orders you in immediately. If you refuse, refer back to your first question.”

  “No way out at all?”

  “You could resign before the test and leave the Job on your own terms. That might be the way to go if things are as bad as you say they are.”

  “I can’t quit. Right now, the Job is all I have.”

  “We still have a couple days. Don’t do anything now. Stay in touch with me.”

  “Thanks, Joe. Thanks for being here for me.”

  “Do I have to keep reminding you that’s why you pay your dues?”

  Susan and Rita remained in the interview room. Neither one had spoken and it was Rita who finally broke the silence, “Are you not speaking to me?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I was just thinking.”

  “My God, Harry looked awful. And the temperature in here dropped twenty degrees. Talk about two icebergs. What’s going on?”

  “Isn’t it obvious? He’s guilty. He’s whipped and he’s resigned to the fact he’s about to be exposed. He didn’t even give his usual protests about the box – errors, unreliable, mistakes.”

  “Then you’ve already concluded he’s guilty of malfeasance and betrayal of his oath of office? That’s some vote of confidence in the man you profess to love. You could wait until I interpret the results of the test before you send him to the trial room.”

  “I know you’re very busy. I won’t disturb you further. I’ll see you Thursday morning.”

  ●

  Harry sat in his car and drew in a lungful of smoke as he stared at the list of questions:

  #1 – Is your na
me Harold Cassidy?

  #2 – Are you a member of the New York Metropolitan Police Department?

  #3 – Did you stab Richard Winston on December 25?

  #4 – Did you shoot Richard Winston on December 25?

  #5 – Did you see Richard Winston in his vehicle after he was stabbed and shot?

  #6 – Is your father’s first name Timothy?

  #7 – Did you choke Richard Winston on the evening of December 24?

  #8 – Did you observe the attack on Richard Winston?

  #9 – Is your mother’s maiden name Greta Schmitt?

  #10 – Did you pick up the telephone in callbox number 2B at, or about, four o’clock in the morning on December 25?

  #11 – Do you know what Richard Winston meant when he told us you saved his life?

  #12 – Have you answered all my questions truthfully?

  There they were – the twelve questions that would end his career. Despondent, he drove back to his beat. He walked the streets breathing in the cold February air, trying to clear his head. He shivered uncontrollably, not so much from the cold and the wind, but from the fear and uncertainty of the upcoming few days.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Associate Justice of the Supreme Court, the Honorable Ronald C. Billingham, studied the briefs before him with interest. A staunch liberal, who would have been very comfortable on the Earl Warren court of the Sixties, Billingham was known for his ardent support of individual rights. He consistently dissented in cases involving police tactics, procedures and policies that demonstrated the slightest hint of infringements on personal freedom. His decisions were hated by law enforcement agencies across the country. Prosecutors dreaded having their cases go up on appeal before him. Threats of death and bodily harm to him from militant right wing groups were common, and the religious right truly believed he was Satan incarnate. How ironic that he, of all the justices, would agree to review this petition for a stay. A request, if he were to grant it, would benefit hundreds of police officers who truly wished he were dead.