New York City Murders

by W. D. Frolick

  “That makes sense. Or…it could be the Black Devils,” Kristie said. “They’re in a turf war with the White Skulls.”

  “Possible but unlikely. The timing’s too much of a coincidence. It’s got to be Kruger’s doing.”

  They jumped out of the car and bolted down the street. When they arrived at the scene, there was blood pouring out of Cooper’s chest. Buck checked for a pulse––nothing.

  After the crime scene had been processed and Cooper’s body removed, Buck and Kristie headed back to the station house. They presented the recorded conversation to Captain Robertson, and she agreed that they now had enough evidence to issue a warrant for Kruger’s arrest and to obtain a search warrant for his condo and vehicle.

  Two hours later, warrants in hand, they headed over to Kruger’s office, but he wasn’t there. No one knew where he was.

  They went back to the car, and with the siren clearing the way, headed for Kruger’s condo.

  “Sorry, Detectives, Lieutenant Kruger doesn’t live here anymore,” William McKenzie, the building manager, said. “He sold his condo privately a few weeks ago, furniture and all.”

  Shocked, it took a few seconds for Buck and Kristie to digest the unexpected news.

  Finally, Buck asked, “Do you know where he went?”

  McKenzie hesitated for a few seconds. “He didn’t leave a forwarding address. When I asked Lieutenant Kruger where he was going, he didn’t give me a direct answer. He told me he was taking an extended vacation. That’s all I know.”

  “Who purchased his condo?” Kristie asked.

  “I don’t know much about him. I think he’s some rich Texan who’s in the oil business.”

  “Okay, thanks for your time, we appreciate your help,” Buck said.

  They got into the car, and before starting the engine, Buck pounded his fist on the dash. “Shit! Shit! Shit! Kruger’s skipped the country. He knew we were closing in on him, and he got out while the going was good. I bet he’s on his way to South America or someplace without an extradition treaty.”

  “You’re probably right. Obviously, Kruger had an escape plan in place.”

  “Kruger’s no dummy. Knowing him, he’s got a fake passport and fake ID. By now, I’m sure he’s long gone. With his connections, his bribe money will have been laundered and sitting in an offshore account.”

  Buck pulled out his cell phone. He called Captain Robertson and updated her on the latest development.

  After finding out what had happened, with frustration in her voice, she said, “Shit! It looks like he’s on the run. I’ll put out a BOLO to watch for him at all places of departure. He may try to leave the country. When you get back, we’d better sit down and discuss our next move.”

  “Before coming in, there’s something I want to check, Captain,” Buck said.

  “Okay. See you when you get here.”

  After hanging up, Buck laughed.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “In all the years I’ve worked with Captain Robertson, I’ve never heard her swear. Not once. She wouldn’t say shit if her mouth were full of it until now. She must really be pissed off at Kruger.”

  Kristie smiled and said, “I guess he’s getting to her.”

  “Yeah, he’s starting to get to me, too.” Buck paused, the wheels turning. “Did the building manager seem a little nervous to you?”

  “Come to think of it, he did. I’ve got a feeling his story was rehearsed. It was like he was telling us what Kruger wanted us to hear.”

  “Exactly! Funny, I got that same impression,” Buck said.

  Looking at one another, alarm bells went off. They flew out of the car, and rushed back to the entrance, and buzzed the management office.

  McKenzie reappeared and through the speaker asked, “What is it now, Detectives?”

  “Open the door,” Buck commanded.

  At first, McKenzie hesitated, then he complied.

  “We don’t buy your story about Lieutenant Kruger,” Kristie snapped.

  “We know that’s what he told you to say. We want the truth,” Buck demanded.

  “I told you the truth.”

  “No, you didn’t. Did Kruger threaten you or buy you off?” Buck asked.

  McKenzie’s face paled. “All right, all right. Kruger told me what to say in case someone came looking for him. He threatened my family and me with physical harm if I didn’t comply. Lieutenant Kruger looked desperate.”

  “Is he still in his condo?” Kristie asked.

  “I think so. Lieutenant Kruger went up about an hour ago.”

  “What’s the unit number?” Buck asked.

  “Fourteen twenty-four.”

  Listening at the door, Buck could hear a muffled conversation, of what sounded like someone talking on a phone.

  Buck turned to Kristie and whispered, “It sounds like Kruger’s still in there.”

  Kristie whispered back, “What do you want to do? We don’t have a battering ram, so we can’t break down the door, and we don’t want to knock and give ourselves away.”

  “We’ll just wait. We’ll grab Kruger when he comes out. I’m sure it won’t be long.”

  Ten minutes later the door opened, and Kruger appeared carrying a shoulder bag. Actually, it didn’t look like Kruger. He wore a realistic-looking black wig, mirrored aviator sunglasses, and a fake black mustache. He had on a brown leather windbreaker, blue jeans, and white running shoes.

  Startled, Kruger groaned, “What the––what the fuck are you two doing here?”

  “Nice disguise, Kruger,” Buck said, pointing his pistol at him. “I almost didn’t recognize you.”

  “Drop the bag, turn around, spread your legs, and place your hands against the wall. You know the routine.” Kristie said.

  Kruger did as he was told.

  She began to frisk him. No weapon was found, but his wallet contained a New York State driver’s license and a Visa card with the name David Warren Duckworth. Inside his jacket pocket, Kristie pulled out a ticket for a flight to Port Vila, Vanuatu, tucked inside a passport. The picture on the driver’s license and on the passport matched Kruger’s disguise.

  “Taking a little trip, are we, Mr. Duckworth?” Kristie asked. “If my memory serves me correctly, Vanuatu is located in the South Pacific, a nice warm climate in which to enjoy spending your bribery money. And let me take a wild guess, I bet it doesn’t have an extradition treaty with the United States.”

  Waving the warrants in his face, Buck said, “Looks like we caught you just in time, Mr. Duckworth. You’re under arrest for the first-degree murder of Detective Dan Mason and for taking bribes from drug dealers. We also have a warrant to search your premises and your vehicle.”

  Buck read Kruger his rights while Kristie cuffed his hands behind his back.

  “Let’s go back inside before we take him to the precinct,” Buck said. “I’d like to take a look around.”

  Kristie opened the door, grabbed the bag, and shoved Kruger inside.

  “Where’s your safe located?” asked Buck.

  “I don’t have a safe.”

  “Bullshit! Don’t lie to us. We know you’ve got one somewhere,” Kristie said.

  “Tell us where it is, Kruger, or we’ll tear the place apart until we find it,” Buck said.

  “Okay. It’s in the living room behind the picture with the mountain scene, but there’s nothing in it.”

  “Let’s take a look, anyway,” Buck said.

  Kristie uncuffed Kruger while Buck kept his gun trained on him. They walked over to the picture, and Kristie removed it from the wall.

  “Open it,” Buck demanded.

  Kruger punched four numbers into the digital keypad, turned the handle, and pulled the door open. Just like he had said––it was empty.

  “See, I told you there wasn’t a
nything in there.”

  “I’m guessing all your bribe money has been removed, laundered, and sitting in your offshore account. Am I getting warm?” Buck asked.

  “There’s plenty to go around. I can make you and Kristie rich if you look the other way and let me go.”

  “If we did let you go, and you left the country, how would we get our money?” Kristie asked.

  “You’d just have to trust me. I’d get it to you somehow.”

  Buck laughed. “I’d trust the devil before I’d trust you, Kruger,”

  Kristie cuffed him and said, “Too bad, Kruger, it’ll be hard to spend all your bribe money when your sitting in prison for the rest of your life.”

  “What’s in the bag?” Buck asked.

  Kruger stayed silent.

  “Let’s find out,” Kristie said.

  They went into the kitchen, and Kristie unzipped the bag and dumped the contents on the table.

  “Well, well, what do we have here?” Kristie said.

  Mixed in with Kruger’s clothing and personal grooming items were two envelopes bulging with hundred-dollar bills.

  Buck chuckled. “Well, Mr. Duckworth, if we had arrived a few minutes later, you’d have flown the coop. You’d be on your way to a life of leisure basking on a beach watching all the lovely ladies in bikinis. Now you’ll be staring at concrete walls and bars for the rest of your life, afraid to bend over in the shower.”

  Picturing what Buck had just described, Kruger begged, “Please guys, there’s plenty of money for all of us.”

  “Sounds tempting, but not every cop is dirty like you, Mr. Duckworth,” Buck said.

  Before leaving, they did a quick search of Kruger’s car but came up empty.

  At the station house, Kruger was booked and processed. He was allowed a call to his lawyer before being escorted to a holding cell. The false ID items and the airline ticket, along with the two envelopes stuffed with money, were cataloged and placed into evidence.

  Captain Robertson was ecstatic when she was informed of Kruger’s capture. She congratulated the two detectives and immediately canceled the BOLO.

  Once Kruger was behind bars, Buck and Kristie headed to Raymond Cooper’s apartment with a search warrant. They were let in by the building manager, and after only ten minutes they found what they were looking for. In a shoebox under the bed, they found Dan Mason’s cell phone, a 9mm Smith & Wesson pistol, along with a silencer. Buck slipped on latex gloves, labeled the items, and placed them into evidence bags.

  “Why do you think Cooper kept the gun and Mason’s cell phone?” Kristie asked.

  “Beats me. I’m sure Kruger would have told him to get rid of them. Cooper probably kept them as insurance against Kruger. Especially the cell phone with the videos showing him meeting with Kruger. Why he kept the gun, I don’t know.”

  Two days later, they received a report from ballistics confirming that the gun found in Cooper’s apartment was the one used to kill Detective Daniel Mason. The DNA from the coffee cup matched the DNA from the reefer butt.

  The morning after Kruger’s arrest, he was transferred to the Tombs, the colloquial name for the Manhattan Detention Center located at 125 White Street in lower Manhattan. At two that afternoon, his high-priced criminal lawyer, Michael Armstrong of the prestigious law firm of Armstrong, Barry, Evans & Morison, represented him at his arraignment and bail hearing.

  At his arraignment, Kruger pleaded not guilty to the charge of first-degree murder. At his bail hearing, Armstrong argued that Kruger was a respected police officer who had served the NYPD faithfully for over twenty-five years. He stated that Lieutenant Karl Kruger was a decorated officer with an unblemished record and had never been arrested before.

  The prosecutor, Assistant DA Jessica Boyd, argued that bail should not be granted because Kruger was a risk to flee based on the false ID and airline ticket found on him at the time of his arrest.

  After hearing the arguments from both sides, the judge deliberated for less than five minutes. He agreed with the prosecutor that Kruger was a flight risk. Kruger was remanded into custody, and the next day he was scheduled to be transferred to Rikers Island Correctional Facility, also known as Rikers Island Jail and Rikers Island Prison, where he would be held in solitary confinement until his trial date.

  A few days later, a preliminary hearing was held. The prosecutor presented her witnesses, Buck and Kristie, along with the evidence they had gathered. Assistant DA Jessica Boyd claimed there was probable cause to prosecute the defendant for the first-degree murder of Detective Daniel John Mason and for accepting bribes from drug dealers. Kruger’s attorney cross-examined the witnesses and stated the evidence presented did not prove his client had committed the crimes of which he was accused. After considering the evidence presented by the prosecutor and the arguments by the defense, the judge agreed with Jessica Boyd, that probable cause existed, and the defendant was to be held over for trial. After a brief meeting with defense lawyer Michael Armstrong and Jessica Boyd, the judge said that due to the large volume of cases in the system it could take up to six months before Kruger’s trial could be scheduled. Neither Boyd nor Armstrong was happy about the long delay, but there was nothing they could do about it.

  CHAPTER 18

  The day Lieutenant Karl Kruger was delivered to Rickers Island he was placed in solitary confinement for his own safety and protection. From past experience, any cop in jail had a target on his back and was kept away from the general population.

  The first night in his tiny cell, Kruger couldn’t sleep. He lay on the lumpy mattress, his eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling. His mind was racing like a runaway train.

  How did I become so careless and stupid? That fucking Buckley Woods and his partner got the better of me. When that bitch and I went out to dinner, I wasn’t thinking, and too much booze didn’t help. Trying to impress her, I bragged about where I got my money. I’m sure she was wired up. They’ve probably gathered enough evidence to send me away for the rest of my life.

  If I had only left my condo half an hour sooner, I would’ve been gone and out of the country. I’d be enjoying life in a warm, sunny climate with enough money to last me two lifetimes. Instead, here I am locked up in this fucking rat-infested jail.

  Somehow, I’ve got to find a way to get the hell out of here before I go to trial. I’d love to give that asshole Buckley Woods and that Karlsson bitch a little payback. The one thing that Woods and Karlsson don’t know is that I’ve been a member of the White Skulls since I was twenty. I’m sure Kristie would be shocked if she saw my White Skulls tattoo. Kruger laughed. It’s engraved in a place where the sun won’t shine––on the right cheek of my ass.

  I joined the White Skulls because I believe in what they stand for. This country is getting overpopulated with blacks, Spanish-speaking immigrants, and Orientals. I agree with the president, all illegals should be sent packing to the country they ran away from, and a wall should be built along the Mexican border. If that had happened a long time ago, my dad might still be alive. Those fucking wetbacks! All illegals are taking jobs away from hard-working white Americans who were born here.

  When Billy comes to visit me, I’ll tell him my plan. With any luck, I should be out of here before my trial starts.

  His mind no longer in turmoil, Kruger smiled, rolled over, and drifted off to sleep.

  The day after Raymond Cooper was gunned down in cold blood, all hell broke loose. The bodies of two Black Devils gang members were found floating in the Bronx River near Bronx Park. Each man had been shot through the back of the head, execution-style.

  The NYPD took a hands-off attitude. As long as innocent people weren’t getting hurt or killed in the crossfire, they appeared content to let the two gangs battle it out. Sooner or later, the leaders would come to their senses and call a truce. In the meantime, bodies from both sides continued to pile up.

  A
t 1:40 p.m. on the third day after Raymond Cooper’s murder, Buck’s desk phone rang.

  “Detective Woods.”

  “I know who killed Ray Cooper,” the man said.

  Caught by surprise, Buck asked, “Who is this?”

  “I’d rather not say. I prefer to remain anonymous.”

  “Okay, Mr. Anonymous, tell me what you know.”

  “The shooter is a guy named Tommy Gaylord. He’s a member of the Black Devils.”

  “We’d like you to come to the precinct and sign a statement of what you witnessed.”

  “Sorry, I can’t do that. If Gaylord finds out I fingered him, I’m a dead man.”

  Click. The line went dead.

  Hearing the conversation, Kristie asked, “What was that all about?”

  “Some guy says he knows who shot Cooper. He wouldn’t give me his name, and he won’t come in and sign a statement. He said he wants to remain anonymous.”

  “Do you think he’s legit or some nut job?”

  “Who the hell knows. If he’s telling the truth, it might be worth checking out.”

  “Who did he say killed Cooper?”

  “He said the shooter is some guy called Tommy Gaylord, a member of the Black Devils.”

  “Did he say how we’re going to find this Tommy Gaylord guy?”

  “No, but I’ve got an idea. I’ll talk to a few of our CIs and see if anyone knows Gaylord and where we can find him.”

  “I guess it’s worth a shot since it’s our only lead.”

  The first CI drew a blank, but the second CI they talked with knew who Tommy Gaylord was and where he hung out. The CI gave them a detailed description of the man. He was black, short, and stocky with dreadlocks and had an artificial left hand. Gaylord would be easy to spot in a crowd. Buck slipped the CI a fifty, and they headed to the bar where they were told that Gaylord spent most of his afternoons.

  The place was called Punchy’s Bar & Grill. It was a sleazy dive in the heart of drug country in the north Bronx. The owner was a former heavyweight boxer named Piran “Punchy” Porter. Porter had been a mediocre fighter losing ten out of twelve of his professional heavyweight fights. When he retired from the ring at age thirty-three, he had accumulated enough savings to purchase the run-down bar. Rumor had it that the place was a front for his drug-dealing activities. Porter also controlled a stable of young prostitutes that he kept dependent on the drugs he supplied.