The Blue Executions

by George Norris

  Bando looked at the jury—their collective attitude toward the case seemed to be quite different from where it was only about an hour ago when Lance Porter had played the race card. Detective, did you recover any ballistic evidence from the scene?”

  “Yes. I recovered one nine millimeter shell casing.”

  “Can you please tell the members of the jury where you recovered the spent shell casing from.”

  “Sure.” He studied his crime scene photos; he held it out to the jury so they could see and pointed to the casing in the picture. The casing was about fourteen inches to the right of where Mr. Jackson had been laying and slightly behind him.”

  “Detective, in your experience as a crime scene investigator, have you become familiar with handguns and how they work.”

  “Yes I have.”

  “Great, would you mind telling the jury how a shell casing would eject from a nine millimeter Glock?”

  “Of course; a Glock ejects spent shell casings slightly up and to the right.”

  Bando feigned as if she were pondering this for the juries benefit. She looked up as if she were lying on the ground—the way Jackson was—and motioned with her hand to the right. She had learned in law school that one of the most effective things a lawyer could do is to testify through the witness. “Detective, given the fact that Detective Galvin’s service weapon is in fact a Glock, is it safe to say that he did not fire the shot and that it was in fact Darrin Jackson who fired the shot, based on the physical evidence?”

  Breen nodded his head. “I can say with one hundred percent certainty, based on the location of the shell casing and the type of gun that was fired, it was fired by the person lying on the ground; in this case that would be Darrin Jackson.”

  That was probably the biggest point that she needed to make to secure the no true bill vote. However, she would take no chances. Once she dismissed the detective she called the EMS technician, who had been present at the scene. He testified that he had never heard Galvin or anyone else threaten or use racial epithets against anyone. He also said that Galvin was quick to remove the man’s handcuffs when requested to do so in order to try and revive the man. But his most important testimony was the fact that he had taken the man’s body temperature—it was 108 degrees.

  The last witness she would call before Galvin, Dr. Choudray Iqbal, a medical Examiner for New York City, would further clear things up for the jury. After she qualified him as an experienced doctor for over twenty-five years, she began the examination. He had jet black hair and a thin black mustache. He wore black rimmed glasses low on his nose.

  “Dr. Iqbal, how many contusions did Mr. Jackson have in the area of his head and body when you performed the autopsy?”

  Iqbal spoke through a thick Pakistani accent as he answered her questions. “He had one contusion which appeared to be the result of blunt force trauma to the left side of his head.”

  “Dr., are you familiar with cocaine psychosis?”

  “Of Course.” He almost seemed insulted at the question.

  “Would you mind telling the jury what some of the physical symptoms of a cocaine psychosis would be?”

  “There would be a very high heart rate. The person would suffer shortness of breath.” The doctor was using his fingers to illustrate the number of different symptoms. “The person would also likely have a very high body temperature.”

  Bando looked at the jury silently, making sure they were clear as to what the doctor was saying. “Would you consider 108 to be a very high body temperature?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Did you ever receive a toxicology report on Mr. Jackson, Doctor?

  “Yes I did.”

  “Would you mind taking a look at it to refresh your recollection and tell us what, if anything significant, the toxicology report had to offer?”

  Iqbal looked down at the report before he answered. “Mr. Jackson had a significant amount of cocaine in his system at the time of death.”

  “Doctor Iqbal, in your expert opinion what was Darrin Jackson’s cause of death?” As soon as the question was put to the doctor, Bando turned to face the jury, wanting to see their reaction.

  “In my opinion as a medical examiner, Darrin Jackson did not die as a result of the blow to the head. He suffered a heart attack as a result of cocaine psychosis which was brought on by physical exertion.”

  “Thank you doctor. You are excused.”

  Slam dunk!

  There was no doubt in her mind that this case would go as she wanted, but she would put Tommy on the stand just to play safe. She excused herself from the Grand Jury room long enough to get Tommy. She knew that he was going to be fine; she just had to make sure that he knew that as well.

  *

  He had been patiently waiting for his turn to tell the jury what really happened on the night in question. It was almost noon when Laurie came into the office to inform him that he was ready to testify. He looked her in the eyes for reassurance; he was frightened. She gave him a soothing smile as he stood up to meet her. She adjusted his tie and put her hands on the lapels of his suit jacket. “Everything is going great in there. Trust me. Just take it easy and tell the truth. You have nothing to hide.” She gave him a kiss on the forehead and then wiped off any traces of her lipstick before leading the way into the Grand Jury.

  Galvin knew how much was on the line for him. He was very unsettled as he sat in the witness chair after raising his right hand and promising to tell the truth. Galvin looked over the twenty-three men and women who made up the grand jury—the people who would decide if he acted within the guidelines of the law or would have him indicted and arrested. Their ages varied greatly; from their early twenties to their late sixties, he guessed. There were more women than men and the demographics were widely spread out. Galvin was unsure if that was good or bad for him. They were certainly no different than any other grand jury that he had testified in front of in the past. He didn’t know what to do, other than to put his trust into Laurie and tell the truth as she suggested.

  She began by asking him a series of questions regarding his career; how many arrests he’s made, how many medals and awards he’d received and how he made detective so young. Galvin could feel himself begin to relax as he answered each question she had laid out for him. He was vigilant to make eye contact with as many of the jurors as he could while testifying.

  As he detailed the events that unfolded on the night in question, Galvin sensed that he was winning over a majority of the jurors. He even received a few sympathetic nods and smiles from some. There were some who never looked up at him but they were in the minority.

  Bando interrupted him when he got to the point of the story where the shot was fired. “Detective Galvin, please explain to the court why you struck Darrin Jackson in the head with your department issued radio.”

  Galvin took a deep breath. He slowly looked each member of the jury in the eyes before he would speak. His momentary silence even made those who had not been looking his way to look at his so he could catch their eyes as well. “I was in fear for my life. He had taken my gun from my holster and pointed it at my head.” He was solemn and honest, just as Laurie had suggested.

  He swallowed hard and took a deep breath. “Believe me, the last thing that I ever wanted to do when I came on this job is to take a human life.”

  “Thank you Detective Galvin. You may step down.”

  Galvin complied but he was on autopilot. His thoughts were everywhere. How could five minutes of testimony decide his career—and more importantly his freedom? He walked out half dazed. He searched the jurors for a reaction—any reaction that would give him a clue to their thoughts. He found none. Once he exited the room, he sat down on the benches, now crowded with his fellow police officers and civilian complainants waiting to testify. He hoped that none of the police officers would recognize him and want to speak to him. He was too nervous. He buried his hands in his face and waited for the decision that could possibly change hi
s life forever.

  *

  Laurie Bando instructed the jury on what criteria must be met to indict for murder or manslaughter. She then very slowly described the self defense statute and when a police officer is justified in the use of deadly physical force. Upon completion she paced the floor in front of the jury box numerous times before moving on. “Ladies and gentlemen, Detective Galvin’s future is in your hands. Take your time and deliberate fairly.”

  As Bando walked out, she felt confident; the jurors had seemed receptive. Her heart sank for Tommy as she saw him hanging his head as he sat on the benches. She walked over, taking the seat next to him. She rubbed his back; not caring who saw. She felt that he needed to be comforted. “This will all be behind you in a few minutes, trust me.”

  *

  Galvin couldn’t even bring himself to look up when Laurie sat next to him. His mind continued to race. Then came the beep; he knew what that meant—the jury had reached a decision. His heart began to race against his chest, almost to the point where he could hear it beating. Laurie gave him a supportive rub on his back and went back into the room.

  While she emerged in less than five minutes, time seemed to stand still for Galvin. He stood up to meet her; searching her eyes for a clue. She looked him dead in the eyes. He noticed her eyes seemed to lighten just a bit. “Detective Galvin, congratulations; they voted no true bill.” She calmly walked over to him and offered her hand.

  He took her hand and then pulled her close for a quick hug. He desperately wanted to hold her but knew he couldn’t. “Thank you so much, Ms. Bando. You have no idea what this means to me.”

  Thank God! She really did it. I can finally go back to my normal life.

  He parted ways with Bando and walked toward the exit. His fellow officers were offering handshakes, pats on the back, and well wishes. He exited the building and saw scores of reporters there also waiting for the grand jury’s decision. So much for a normal life.

  ############################

  Chapter 12

  Michael Underhill first learned of the injustice while watching the morning news. It was the lead story on every channel. He sat in stunned disbelief as he watched the highlights from the press conference given by the Queens District Attorney, along with the female assistant, who presented the case. He reached for the remote control on the glass coffee table in front of him and turned up the volume. D.A. Dunham asked the people of Queens County and the City of New York to accept the grand jury’s findings. This was not acceptable to Underhill; this had been an egregious miscarriage of justice. Something needed to be done about it.

  He got up from the sofa and began to pace the floor. There had been no doubt in his mind that Galvin would be indicted and made to answer for his crimes. Everything that he’d read on-line or in the newspapers; every account he saw on television painted this to be a brutal and unprovoked murder. What could have possibly gone wrong?

  He paced the floor angrily, starring down at the hard wood floors. Lint. He hated lint. Where did it come from? Underhill picked up the lint, discarding it in the kitchen garbage before retrieving the morning newspaper.

  His anger only grew worse after seeing the front page of the newspaper; the top was a split photo of Officer Galvin on the left, and his victim on the right. On the bottom was a picture of the news conference depicting District Attorney Dunham and the Assistant District Attorney who presented the case to the grand jury.

  Maybe she was a new A.D.A.? Maybe they had a misinformed Grand Jury? Underhill couldn’t fathom any reasonable explanation for Galvin not having been indicted. He looked back at the picture of Darrin Jackson, clad in his cap and gown from his middle school graduation. He had his whole life ahead of him.

  Underhill sat back down on the edge of the couch. He placed the newspaper on the coffee table and searched out Brian McGregor’s column as he did every day, waiting for his letters to appear. Once again, there were no letters. There was however a message for him at the end of the article. The article itself was strange, but the message even stranger. The article went on to praise Police Officer Galvin as a highly decorated and dedicated police officer.

  Why would McGregor do that? He must know the man is evil. The last line of the column read “Blue E…the grand jury got it right.” Why would he put such a thing in print? Was he taunting me?

  He would take this up with McGregor another time. Still, there was some satisfaction knowing that he had finally been acknowledged, if only in a misguided blurb.

  Right now he had more important things on his mind, like Frank Garret…and now Tommy Galvin. The ineptitude of the grand jury had left him no other choice than to take matters into his own hands. After retrieving his diary and a black ball point pen from a kitchen drawer, he added a new entry to the list of cops awaiting execution.

  July 10, 2013—0852:12 hours—Detective Thomas Galvin—murderer

  Galvin’s execution should not be put off, he reasoned. His, was a high profile case, and would certainly receive a great deal of press once he was executed. He deserved to be put to the top of the list. Had he not invested so much time vetting Officer Garret, Galvin would be the next rogue cop to be put down.

  Garret’s murder would be an easy one; he’ll be unarmed. Although the grand jury had failed to indict Garret when he shot and killed an unarmed man who struck him with a car, Garret still faced a departmental hearing. His guns were taken away pending the results. Most of the press seemed to feel his termination was a foregone conclusion. While losing his job and pension was a punishment, it did not satisfy the penalty for murder. An eye for an eye, the bible says.

  Underhill refocused on the news. “Here at the home of Detective Thomas Galvin, there was no response when we knocked on the door,” began the reporter. Galvin liked her. She was both attractive and smart, he felt. She continued, “His neighbors also declined to comment on camera, but most who spoke on the condition of anonymity said Galvin was a good neighbor and an outwardly friendly man. Many had even been surprised to learn that he was a police officer.” She signed off from the spot, “Live from the Bayside home of Detective Galvin, and back to you in the studio.”

  Underhill barely heard a word the reporter said after learning the house on the television was where Galvin lived. As he watched the reporter knock on the door, the house number was clearly visible on camera. He pressed the still button on the remote control, freezing the picture. The news crew had just made his job a whole lot easier. He jotted down the house number on a blank page in the back of his journal and tore it out. A warm sensation came over him. After the reporter had signed off, the anchor man in the studio made mention of a community march to be held on Saturday afternoon in front of Galvin’s South Jamaica precinct.

  Underhill shut the television off and walked over to the computer desk in the corner of his apartment. He sat on the black leather chair and slid open the keyboard shelf. He moved the mouse, disengaging the screensaver to reveal his wallpaper—a blue background with the NYPD logo in the middle. He opened his web browser and searched the name Thomas Galvin. There were hundreds of Thomas Galvins living in New York, but now that he had the house number; it took only a matter of minutes to find the one he was looking for.

  *

  Brian McGregor had been watching the five o’clock news from his office later that day; his shift about to end. Doris Williams stood over his shoulder watching the latest report on the case. “It figures,” she said. “I knew they wouldn’t indict him. They never do.” She shook her head in disgust. “Oh well, good night Brian.”

  Not wanting to debate with her, “Good night Doris.”

  McGregor was relieved to see that Galvin had been absolved of any wrongdoing. He did however, have an eerie feeling that Galvin’s life may now be in danger. He prayed the Blue Executioner would take him at his word that Galvin was a good cop and didn’t deserve to die. He feared that he wouldn’t, however. He knew that he could no longer keep this to himself. Not if another officer�
�s life was at risk; especially a good cop who he personally knew and respected.

  McGregor paced the floor as his co-workers, one by one, left for the day. He momentarily sat on the desk at his cubicle as the night team headed into the editor’s office for a meeting. He picked up the telephone and then hung it back up without ever dialing a number. He sat in his chair; leaning the chair back as far as it would allow. He clasped his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling, debating whether or not to break his vow of silence to Chief Courtney. He decided that he couldn’t take the chance of endangering Galvin’s life.

  “113 Squad, Detective Middlebrook, can I help you?”

  “Hey, Paul, it’s Brian McGregor. Can I speak with Tommy please?”

  “Sorry Brian, he took off the next few days.”

  McGregor could feel the anxiety build up within him. “It’s really important, Paul. Can you take my cell phone number down and give him a call. Have him reach out to me as soon as possible.”

  “He said he was going away for a few days. He’s hoping everything will die down over the weekend,” explained Middlebrook. “I really don’t know where he went.”

  McGregor became frustrated. “Paul, it’s urgent. You must be able to get a hold of him.” After a brief pause, “please.”

  “Okay. I’ll call him on his cell phone. What’s so important?”

  “I really can’t go into that with you Paul. I’m sorry. I made a promise to Chief Courtney but I think there is something Tommy that needs to know immediately.” McGregor supplied Middlebrook with his phone number and instructions to have Tommy call him anytime day or night. McGregor felt a little better about things after hanging up the phone; he’d feel a lot better once he spoke to Galvin, he thought as he left work for the night.

  *