*
It was shortly after eleven a.m. when McGregor finished explaining the details of the phone call and turned the letter over to the Chief of the NYPD. McGregor had done his best to remember the exact words used by the man; as the audio recording was at times, inaudible. He knew how important it was that this man be apprehended as soon as possible; especially with the threat of another murder within the next few weeks hanging over their heads. He also consented to having his home phone and cell phone tapped; he couldn’t consent to the same for his work place. That would not be up to him and the top brass at the police department didn’t want the top brass at the newspaper knowing about these communications just yet.
“Thank you Mr. McGregor,” Courtney began. “Your assistance and discretion in this case is vital to us. We can’t thank you enough.”
Courtney reached and offered the reporter his hand, which was accepted. As they shook hands, “and please, if he should call again, any time, day or night, call me right away.” Courtney then showed the reporter to the door.
*
McGregor had been trying to think of a way to bring up the letters since he arrived at the office but hadn’t been able to do so. He knew that since he was now being shown out of the office, he needed to open his mouth right now or not at all. His stomach was nervous; he knew Courtney’s reaction wouldn’t be favorable.
“Chief Courtney,” he began just as the door was being opened for him. “Did you see the headlines of the News today?”
Courtney had read the article and hoped the rank and file police officers wouldn’t believe the story. “No, I haven’t had the chance to see the papers yet this morning. Why do you ask?”
“They’re my competition, Chief. They’re running with my story,” he explained. “I have all of the facts as well as the letters. I’m afraid that I may need to speak with my editor about it and be guided by him.”
“You can’t do that Brian,” Courtney began to lecture. “You don’t understand the chaos that would cause. The police would be afraid to do their jobs. It would put eight million citizens of New York City at risk.”
He put his arm around McGregor’s shoulder; almost fatherly. “Besides, if you don’t print those letters or mention anything about him, you can bet your life he’ll call back wanting to know why. When he does call back, give him your cell phone number and tell him you can’t speak in the office. This way we can monitor the call and even try to trace it.”
McGregor wasn’t convinced. “How can you be so sure he’ll call again if I don’t run the story? Maybe he’ll just seek out a different reporter and then I lose my scoop altogether.”
“Trust me Brian, that won’t happen. Do you remember the Son of Sam killings in the late 1970’s?”
McGregor was just a boy at the time but he was familiar with the case. “Yes I do.”
“Berkowitz selected one reporter who he felt comfortable communicating with and he wouldn’t speak with any other reporter. For whatever reason, this sociopath feels that he clicks with you. Plus, even if others speculate, you’re the one that received the letters, not to mention Tatum’s memo book. This is your story. He’s inserted you into it. The people of the city just don’t know it yet.”
McGregor felt every word which Courtney said was true, but he would still protest. “But shouldn’t the cops be warned? I know you explained that you don’t want them alarmed but they’re all potential targets. They need to be more on guard out there. I don’t want another cop’s blood on my hands Chief. I want them to be warned.”
“Nobody cares more about the cops in this department than I do Brian. You can take that to the bank,” declared Courtney. “But I can’t let them know about this. It would be pure anarchy. I’ve seen it before when I was still a teenager and my father was a cop in Harlem in the early 1970’s. He told me stories how the cops were all running scared from assassinations of cops by the Black Liberation Army and the Black Panther Party. There were a number of cops shot and killed by those militant organizations back then and the cops were on edge. Trust me; the last thing we want is thirty-five thousand cops running around with high capacity nine millimeter handguns scared out of their minds. Plus, this guy told you that he wouldn’t strike again for a few weeks. That gives us time to track him down.”
Courtney stared the reporter directly in his eyes before finishing. “Trust me on this one Brian; I know what I’m talking about.”
McGregor reluctantly gave in but not before adding, “Okay for now, Chief. But if this psycho hurts one more cop, this story will be on the front page of the paper. That’s a promise.”
Courtney nodded in agreement. “Fair enough Brian.” He showed the reporter out and closed the door behind him as he left. Courtney then rejoined the rest of the chiefs at the conference table. He looked at Paul Heider—thinking back to the confrontation they had last time they were at this table together—“Chief Heider, what have your people been doing to help stop this cop killing scumbag?”
Heider, who would never forget the chastising he had received at Courtney’s hand, was much better prepared than he was on their previous meeting. “Well Chief, Tatum was a very active street cop. He had over three hundred arrests in his career as well as an even dozen civilian complaints. Each one of his arrestees is being scrutinized as are all of those who filed complaints against him. We are cross referencing each of these individuals against Officer Daniel Long’s arrestees and those who filed complaints against him. We’re looking to see if the two cops ever arrested the same person or if the same person ever filed a complaint against both officers. So far we have negative results, but we are going through every arrestee’s fingerprints just in case they used an alias and the search by name would not be definitive.”
Heider took a deep breath before continuing. “We also confirmed that Tatum did have a prisoner die in custody just as the letter stated. We looked into the decedent’s wife but it looked like she moved back to Jamaica with her family, shortly after the incident. It doesn’t appear that she or any members of her family ever came back to the United States once they left. The man had no known family in the United States either.”
Courtney nodded his head in approval. That was more of the type of response he expected from his men. Heider may turn out to be a good Chief of Patrol yet. He probably just needed the proper motivation. “Very good, Joe. Thanks.”
Courtney placed his glasses on the table in front of him and clasped his hands behind his neck. He leaned back in his chair and sat silently staring at the ceiling for a brief time. He was hesitant to ask the next question—only because he was afraid that he already knew what the answer would be. After all, the last time the FBI lab confirmed exactly what his own men had told him. “Ray, where do we stand with ballistic evidence on the Tatum homicide?”
Ray Santoro shook his head from side to side. “I’m afraid it’s the same results as the Long homicide; there were no ballistic fingerprints. Our best men are at a loss.”
Then there was complete silence encompassing the room. It wasn’t the same uneasiness as the last time they sat there. This time it was more of a unified bewilderment. Courtney scratched his head and stared down at the numerous reports that lay on the table. There were dozens of them but none of them gave them any substantial leads or information. They had no ballistics that could be compared, they had no fingerprints or DNA left behind at either crime scene, and they had no eyewitnesses.
They didn’t even know if they were looking one individual or an organized group. If it were a lone gunman, was he a young white man, an older black man, or a middle aged Asian man. They had nothing substantial to go on—other than the all too real threat that another police officer would be killed in the coming weeks. All they had were questions; no answers.
Chief Courtney stood up and walked over to the giant map of New York City displayed on the wall to the left of the live video feeds of various locations throughout Manhattan. The map showed a city which encompassed over eight mi
llion people—one of them a mad man bent on stalking and executing his officers. Courtney had seen this very map thousands of times, yet he studied it as if it were the first time seeing it. He sought answers; answers that the map could not yield. He glanced left to right; up and down. He didn’t know where to begin the search that would bring the man to justice. Where in the world to begin…and who would his next target be in the coming weeks?
#############################
Chapter 9
It was a warm spring evening; warmer than it should be for mid May, thought Tommy Galvin as he stepped outside into the rear parking lot of the South Jamaica stationhouse. Galvin held out the keys to the unmarked department auto, offering them to Paul Middlebrook. “You feel like driving tonight?”
“Sure, why not?”
Galvin tossed him the keys, which he caught as they both scanned the parking lot for the black Chevy Impala. Middlebrook was the first to spot it. “Over by the gas pumps, Tommy.”
As they walked towards the car, Galvin decided it was much too warm to be wearing his jacket. He removed the denim jacket, folding it over his arm. His handcuffs, now exposed, tucked in the small of his back and his nine millimeter handgun clearly visible as it was strapped to his right hip in a pancake holster. He placed the jacket in the back seat of the auto and adjusted his Glock to a comfortable position along his beltline before getting in the car.
Galvin heard his partner ask him something as they pulled out of the parking lot onto Baisley Boulevard but it had been nothing more than white noise to Galvin. He had been preoccupied, thinking of the argument which he’d had with Laurie on the telephone before going to work. The argument had been silly, and as he sat there, he conceded to himself that he was most likely in the wrong. Still, it was their first real fight and he felt bad about it. After all, the only thing she asked of him was that he takes the next Sunday off so they could spend the day together. He decided to call her at home when they came in from patrol later on. He would apologize and submit a request for leave of absence form, requesting next Sunday off. He then refocused on what his partner was asking him. “I’m sorry Paul, what were you saying?”
“I asked you if you heard what happened to Eddie Dwyer last night.”
Galvin was quite fond of Eddie Dwyer and hoped it was nothing bad. Middlebrook now had his undivided attention. “No. What happened?”
Middlebrook began to explain. “Dwyer and his partner, a rookie that I don’t even know, went on a radio run of an aided case. It was a male with chest pains. When they pulled up 10-84 to the location, they noticed that the house next door was abandoned. Dwyer noticed movement from an upstairs window and supposedly freaked out. He swore it was a set up. He refused to go into the house without back up. The Patrol Sergeant got on the air and asked if there was a call back number. When the radio dispatcher advised that there was and that it came from the location, the sergeant advised them over the air to handle the aided case. The sergeant told them that they didn’t need to wait for back up. Dwyer still refused.”
Galvin shook his head in disbelief. “Are you kidding me Paul?”
Middlebrook held his hand out interrupting Galvin. “Wait Tommy, it gets worse.” He continued, “The aided’s wife comes running outside; an elderly woman in her late seventies. She’s begging the cops to come inside and help her husband. Dwyer really freaks out now and pulls his gun. The rookie is clueless as to what the hell he should be doing. Instead of helping the man having the heart attack, Dwyer goes into the abandon house with his gun drawn. The rookie—being a rookie—follows Dwyer. EMS and the Patrol Sergeant pull up on the scene as Dwyer and the rookie come out of the abandon house escorting a couple of teenagers who were using the abandon house to have sex. EMS goes into the aided case’s house but it was too late. The guy was D.O.A.
The woman started screaming to the sergeant that the cops let her husband die. The sergeant in turn, starts yelling at Dwyer that he disobeyed a lawful order by not going inside the house to help the man. Thank God the union delegate was driving the Sergeant or I’m telling you Dwyer would have been suspended on the spot. I heard it was a real bad scene.”
“Wow! I can’t believe that. Dwyer’s a good cop. These damn cop killings have everybody scared.” Galvin felt really badly for Dwyer; he hoped that he would come out of the situation without too harsh a penalty.
Middlebrook had more to add to the conversation. “I hear the P.B.A. delegates have been instructing their membership to request back up at any time they feel something isn’t right. I’m sure that also played into Dwyer’s mind when he pulled up to the scene. They seem to believe that not only were the killings not random but that they may also be connected.”
“Maybe they are, maybe there not,” Galvin reasoned. “But you can’t take a chance with your life. If these guys out here feel something is not right they should trust their instincts and be careful...no matter what the patrol sergeant thinks.”
Middlebrook pulled to the curb in front of a bodega on Guy Brewer Boulevard just off Baisley. “I’ll be right back. Do you need anything?”
“A water would be great, thanks Paul.”
As his partner went inside the store, Galvin took the opportunity to call Laurie. He wanted to patch things up with her as soon as he could. He had debated sending her a text message but felt she deserved an actual apology instead of a text. Her phone went to voicemail. “Hey Laurie, it’s me. I’ll give you a call a little later.” He felt a little better having broken the ice but knew that he still had to make his amends when he spoke to her later.
Middlebrook got back into the car handing Galvin a bottle of water. Galvin took a sip and wedged the bottle in between the seat cushion on his left side and the car’s mobile digital computer. Middlebrook took a long swig of his soda and pulled away from the curb.
“Do me a favor Paul, since we’re right here can you head over to the Baisley Houses. There’s a complainant who lives there that I need to interview. The guy told the cops who took the complaint report that he didn’t have a telephone.”
“No problem Tommy.”
Mddlebrook proceeded down Guy Brewer Boulevard until he reached Foch Boulevard, where he made a left. He parked the unmarked department car at a fire hydrant and reached above the sun visor; retrieving the unrestricted parking permit. Once it was displayed in the windshield, they were about to exit the car when something caught Galvin’s attention.
“Hold on a second Paul.” Galvin was staring at a group of six young men who had been standing on the outskirts of the housing projects. Galvin did his best to quickly assess the situation. He was particularly interested in the one male who until they parked the car had been seated on the bicycle rack. As soon as they parked the car, this male slowly got off the bicycle rack and raised up at their presence. He slowly walked towards the center of the courtyard to where the buildings entrances were located; he glanced back over his shoulder at them.
Galvin’s instincts were almost always correct. “This guy’s stepping Paul; the one with the white t-shirt and blue jean shorts; he’s dirty.” As Galvin started to exit the car, the male took one more look over his shoulder and began to pick up his pace. Middlebrook started to get out of the car as well when Galvin gave him instructions. I’ll go after him on foot. You stay with the car and cut him off when he tries to run out of the projects on the other side.” Galvin quietly closed the door and placed his portable radio in his back pocket.
Middlebrook sped off, trying to get to the other end of the projects before the man could get there while Galvin began his pursuit of the man on foot. Galvin studied the man as he ran softly up from behind—the young black male was about Galvin’s own height but he had to outweigh Galvin by at least twenty pounds. Galvin continued to jog, holding one hand over his handcuffs, the other over the shield affixed to a chain around his neck. In Galvin’s experience, running without holding these two items, often makes a jingling type noise, alerting the person you are pursuing to your pres
ence. Galvin had closed the distance between him and the man to within about twenty feet when one of the other men still at the bicycle rack called out.
“Five-O.”
Damn it! Galvin heard the warning just as clear as the man did. The man looked back over his shoulder and seeing Galvin closing ground, quickly broke into a sprint. Regardless, Galvin, who always kept himself in good physical shape, was still closing ground. When he was within ten feet, the man in the white t-shirt reached his right hand into his pocket. Galvin alerted to the potential danger and reached for his gun; his fears alleviated when he saw the man throw a handful of zip lock baggies containing crack cocaine to the ground.
They were now almost squarely in the center of the courtyard and Galvin was within just a few of him. Galvin was almost surprised how easily he had caught the man—he appeared to be in decent shape. Without warning, the man stopped running and turned on a charging Galvin. Having been taken off-guard, Galvin had no time to slow down or draw his service weapon. He prayed the man was not armed as he spread his arms and lowered his shoulder.
He nailed the man square in the chest—just as he had done hundreds of times playing high school football. As they made contact, Galvin absorbed a right hand to the bridge of his nose. The man had thrown it with a great amount of force and Galvin could feel the blood trickling down his nose before the two of them even crashed to the ground. Galvin landed on top. Galvin landed a smashing right hand to the man’s head but what escaped Galvin at the time, was that the man made no effort to block the punch. Neither one of the man’s hands came up to his face to defend himself. Galvin reached to the small of his back to take hold of his handcuffs when the reality set in.
The Blue Executions Page 11