His heart raced, just slightly, as he walked up to the door. The metal mailbox squeaked as he opened it. Not loudly enough for her to hear, but loud enough to make Underhill a little more uneasy. He thumbed through the mail before closing the lid very slowly, trying to silence the squeak as he did. He was relieved to see that while there was a decent amount of mail it had all been addressed to the same person.
Laurie Bando…A.D.A. Laurie Bando.
Underhill listened at the door. He was sure if there had been a dog in the apartment, it would have heard the mailbox squeak. Noting that there was not a dog could be important…but he wasn’t sure. He heard the woman talking on the other side of the door. He determined she must be on the phone as hers was the only voice that he heard. Coupling that with the fact that only she received mail at the location, Underhill concluded she lived alone.
After making some notations on his note pad, Underhill drove around the neighborhood. There was plenty of parking alongside Maurice Park only a few blocks away; that was good to know. His on-scene investigation having been completed, Underhill headed home.
*
He punched in the words ‘aiding and abetting New York State’ into his computer keyboard. Underhill grew frustrated to see that there was no such statue in New York State’s Penal Law. Some further investigation revealed they did have something called ‘acting in concert’. The way he understood it, if someone committed a crime and someone else helped them, they were equally as guilty under the law. This satisfied his ego, not grasping the concept that she had nothing to do with the incident itself.
She had acted in concert with that murderer, Galvin. She’s just as guilty as he is.
It was now time to vet A.D.A. Laurie Bando. The first and easiest step would be to Google her, which he did. He read her short bio from the Queens District Attorney’s website, noting she has worked in the office for seven years and graduated from Hofstra Law School. There wasn’t much else that interested him other than the fact that she had just taken over the highly publicized case against corrupt police officer Peter Groff. Could she be trusted to prosecute another corrupt cop after what she did in the Galvin case? With jury selection set to begin this week, he decided to write a letter.
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Chapter 15
It was not a great day to be the Chief of Department for the NYPD; in fact, it was one of the worst days in Chief Edward Courtney’s career. He sat around the large conference table in the room that had become all too familiar to all of those who were present. Courtney’s usual fiery and demanding traits had seemed to ebb to a more deflated one. This was a tough day for any member of the service; regardless of rank. Courtney also knew that he needed his best effort from everyone seated at the table. This was not the time to break them down, but the time to call on them to help in the best way that they could. The Mayor and the Police Commissioner demanded answers and results…and they wanted them quickly.
Courtney took a sip of coffee from his mug. “Ray, why don’t you begin?”
Courtney felt starting off with a success story—the only success story the department had over the eventful weekend—was the best way to begin.
Chief of Detectives Ray Santoro got up from his seat, remote control in hand. He walked to the front of the room where the large screen television had a still photo of the large group of protesters as they assembled prior to the march. “As I’m sure you’re all aware, we had members of T.A.R.U. on the scene to video tape the march just in case an unfortunate event such as this did take place.” He clicked the remote, the video played on the screen. The video shot by the Technical Assistance Response Unit was crystal clear.
As the video played on, “now pay attention to the small group at the tail end of the march; the ones all wearing the same Darrin Jackson memorial t-shirt.” Santoro froze the video as the men in question walked passed where the camera had been. Most of their faces were clearly visible.
“Unfortunately, TARU followed the march and never even realized that a group of the marchers had separated from the original group and doubled back. We are fairly confident that the same group of men you see here are the ones responsible for the ambush of the seven cops. Thank God all of them are going to pull through, despite some pretty serious injuries.”
Santoro walked back to his seat, taking a sip of his own coffee before he continued. “I have to tell you Eddie, this was great police work from both patrol and from the Detective Bureau to bring this case down so quickly. It was an anonymous cop, no doubt one of Paul’s guys, who gave us our first and biggest break.” Santoro, having felt badly for the way Courtney had treated Chief Paul Heider the last time, decided it would be nice to give Chief of Patrol Heider some accolades in front of the other chiefs.
Santoro explained, “At first it went totally unnoticed, but while the original 10-13 radio runs were still live, a unit came over the air with a license plate. Nobody in the division really took note of it. Once the tapes were reviewed, many hours after the incident, is when this came to light. We ran the plate and it came back to an address in Brooklyn. Santoro ended the video and instead displayed a New York City arrest photo of a twenty-eight year old black man named Malcolm Street. He gave his audience a minute or two to digest the photo before continuing. “Street had a long history of violent crimes, including robbery and weapons possession.”
He shrugged his shoulders. “I only wish we knew who the cop was that put the plate over. He deserves a medal. If he doesn’t think to do that, we probably don’t have this guy in custody or even have him identified yet.”
“Our next break came at the hospital where one of our detectives went to interview Officer Stargell. Stargell was sedated at the time but the officer noticed a strong smell of urine. He saw the officers stained shirt and decided to swab it for DNA. We ran it through the system and we got scumbag number two.” He advanced to the next frame. “Meet Lincoln Chisolm.”
“Street and Chisolm did time together in Elmira and both converted to Islam while in prison. We drew up arrest warrants and search warrants for their primary residents and executed them both at six am yesterday morning. We got them both without incident but here is where it gets interesting. In a dresser drawer in Chisholm’s apartment, we come up with a Glock 9mm. When we ran the gun, it came back as the gun stolen from that rookie who was jumped in the seven-five last week.”
“Finally, the DOA at the scene was one, Devon Littlefield.” Santoro displayed the next photo. Littlefield was wearing a New Black Panther party t-shirt when Sgt. March shot him dead. Santoro shut the television off and walked to the head of the table, standing just to Courtney’s left.
There was complete silence in the room. Nobody wanted to say it but everybody was thinking it. None of the men in the room had enough time on the job to remember when the Black Liberation Army had declared an open war on cops in the early 1970’s. Nonetheless, they were all fully aware of the violence that came with the radical group. A silent prayer was collectively made that this was not the case. Santoro sensed what each of them was thinking and did his best to put their minds at ease. “The good news here is that when we collared the first few guys, they folded like a deck of cards. These guys gave everybody up. We collared fourteen guys throughout the day and ID’d four others who we’re looking for, including the ring leader, Malik El-Khaleel.”
Santoro displayed his most recent arrest photo on the screen. “He was another shithead the others met in Elmira. It’s only a matter of time until we have them all.”
Courtney nodded his approval. “Great job Ray. Let your men know their work does not go unnoticed.”
Courtney retrieved his reading glasses from their case on the table. After putting them on, he grabbed the local newspapers which lay on the table in front of him. He glanced down at the headlines and then held them out for the room to see. He threw them down to the center of the table before beginning. “What the hell do we do with that clusterfuck in the 113 on Saturday?�
�
He looked at Chief of Patrol Heider. Courtney kept an even tone to his voice when he spoke. “Paul, how the hell did that get so out of control over there?” He shook his head before continuing. “Did the X.O. let it get out this far out of hand or was it out of his control. I hate to blame it on a white shirt but somebody has to take responsibility for this?”
Heider was careful to choose his words before speaking. “With all due respect Chief, I don’t think Captain Blaine is our fall guy here. Once that van knocked the woman to the ground, there was nothing anyone of us could have done to contain that crowd. They became an angry mob. The press was all over the place; they witnessed everything. You saw all of the pictures in the newspapers.”
Courtney had. In fact, he saw more about this incident than any police related incident in a long time. All three local papers had pages full of photos. Courtney picked up one of the papers as he considered what Heider was saying; the headline—Brutality. The photo on the front page of the paper was a split shot of the sixty-one year old grandmother as she lay on the floor after being struck by the van and the second was of her as she left the hospital; her arm in a cast. There wasn’t even an article about the seven uniformed police officers brutally beaten until page five. “Okay if not the executive officer then whom?”
“Lay it on the cop, boss. He’s the one who broke the old woman’s collarbone and arm,” reasoned Heider. Even Reverend Mitchell said that Captain Blaine was doing his best to calm the situation down.”
Courtney became annoyed. “Reverend Mitchell. Can anyone tell me why the Police Commissioner of the greatest city in the world gives this guy the time of day?” He scanned the room; although the question had been rhetoric.
“The guy is no more than a race baiter and a pain in the ass to the department but our PC wants us to kiss his ass.” Courtney knew it wasn’t wise be speak publically against his boss; he just didn’t care at this point.”
Heider continued to defend his point. “Chief, think about this. Mitchell is sticking up for Blaine…he likes him. He doesn’t want to see him take the fall. I think we need to consider staying in the good graces of the Reverend Mitchell and by extension, the Police Commissioner.”
Courtney interrupted. “Well somebody has to be the fall guy here! The city isn’t going to settle for a lowly cop. They want someone in charge to take the fall. I spoke to the PC and the Mayor on a conference call earlier this morning. Part of the reason for this meeting is to figure out whom. We can blame the Commanding Officer for not cancelling his vacation with such a serious issue happening in his command. Truth is that lazy son of a bitch was probably glad that they protested when he was on vacation.”
Heider started to feel better as it seemed the Chief of Department was actually listening to his council. “I don’t think it will be a hard sell Chief. Don’t forget the C.O. was put there because Reverend Mitchell specifically wanted him. Mitchell likes both him and Blaine. Use that to your advantage here.”
Heider grabbed the manila envelope which he’d brought with him. He slid it across the table to Chief Courtney. Courtney opened it revealing an eight by eleven photo of Police Officer Mark Jones. Courtney thumbed through the pages as Heider explained.
“Mark Jones is a male white, forty-five years of age. He has twenty-two years on the job and has been the subject of three internal affairs investigations; all closed out as unsubstantiated. He has also been the subject of one lawsuit for excessive force in which the city settled and paid out eight thousand dollars. Now here is the best part. He has eleven civilian complaints filed against him. Of the eleven, two were substantiated—one of the two was for hurling a racial epithet.”
Chief Heider began to feel a sense of excitement build up in the pit of his stomach. “He’s the perfect fall guy boss.”
Ray Santoro didn’t share in Heider’s enthusiasm. “Hold on Paul. Don’t be so quick to throw this guy under the bus. Is he married…does he have kids?”
Heider was reluctant to answer. “Yeah, he’s married with three children; one in college the other two in high school.”
Santoro shot a look to Courtney. “Eddie you can’t do this guy like that. He has a family and is eligible to retire. He may have messed up or maybe he saved some cops lives by getting there as soon as he did.”
Before their boss could respond, Heider jumped in, “don’t you see Ray; that’s why this cop is the perfect fall guy. Not only is he white but he has a disciplinary history with racial overtones. He’ll forfeit his pension if we fire him. That should alleviate any community unrest. They get their pound of flesh and we protect the white shirts.
Santoro didn’t like this idea one bit; he never liked the notion of white shirt immunity. He felt if a Captain or above screwed up they should pay the same price that the rest of the department would when making the same mistakes. He was shaking his head the entire time Heider was speaking. “Eddie, don’t tell me you’re considering this? This cop doesn’t deserve to lose his pension…not for this.”
*
Courtney was intrigued by the idea. “Ray, what would you like me to do? There are videos posted on everywhere on Youtube, every news channel has aired the video of this cop running the woman down. Did you read Doris Williams column this morning? She made us out to be a shade better than the K.K.K. There’s no way I can get DCPI to spin this one in our favor.”
Courtney picked up the phone and ordered Inspector Finch into the office.
Once Finch entered, Courtney handed him the folder. “Give this to the Deputy Commissioner of Public Information’s office. Have them discreetly leak this cop’s disciplinary history to the papers. Tell them to start with Doris Williams; she seems to have her finger on the pulse of this story.”
Santoro expressed his concern once more. “You’re going to at least let him retire Eddie, aren’t you? Any single one of us would have done the same thing to get to the scene of a brother officer fighting for his life. We’ve all done a lot worse.”
“That’s not up to me Ray. You know that. First I have to sell the Mayor, the PC and of course the right old Reverend Mitchell, that we’ve found our scapegoat. Then Jones’ fate will be up to them.” He hesitated before continuing. “Remember this isn’t 1986 anymore Ray. What we did, or would have done back then, has no bearing on today’s world of policing. There are cameras everywhere and these guys need to remember that.”
*
Santoro saw this as the cop-out that it was. Santoro thought it was ironic to be given a lecture on the NYPD’s history. This was all about the history to him; each man in the room was on the job during the Crown Heights riots and the Washington Heights riots. He knew that the city would be sure to avoid a repeat in history at any cost. He was saddened to know that by nightfall, Police Officer Mark Jones will have worked his last tour as a full duty New York City Police Officer. His guns and shield will be removed, never to be used again. He’ll have a trial date six months down the line but the trial will simply be a formality. Termination will be his reward for twenty-two years of service to the NYPD.
Chief of Detectives Ray Santoro looked on as Chief Courtney removed his glasses; placing them down on top of the pile of newspapers. Courtney looked tired, he thought. He noticed the dark circles under Courtney’s reddened eyes. He clearly he hadn’t gotten a great deal of sleep over the weekend. None of us have. His neatly clipped mustache and far receding hairline even appeared more gray than usual. Santoro recognized a look of despair from a man he has known for thirty years. “Ray, please tell me we have something new to go on with these cop killings.”
I wish to God I did. Santoro hated to let Courtney down, especially knowing the seriousness of the case. “Sorry boss, nothing new to report. In all three homicides, spent .38 caliber slugs have been recovered from the scene or from the deceased officer’s body. Every last round has absolutely no rifling marks on it. We can make the case that because we have never seen this before the same gun must have been used but a good defense att
orney can easily poke holes in that. Juries like facts, not speculation.”
Santoro watched as Courtney ran his hand through what was left of his hair, grabbing a handful. He stood up, turning his body from the table. With his back to Santoro and the rest of the chiefs, Courtney stared blankly at the wall. “Do we have anything to go on at all Ray? Cops are getting killed out there. I’m hearing whispers that the unions are going to start getting involved too.”
Santoro shook his head ever so slightly. “We’re doing our best Eddie. We’re cross referencing all of Long, Tatum and Garret’s arrests and civilian complaints to see if they all came across the same perp at different points in their careers. Hell, we are even looking into their personal lives to see if they ever banged the same woman. Unfortunately, the only thing we can find in common is the fact that they all killed somebody in the line of duty under questionable circumstances.”
The room grew quiet as the men pondered the implications. They had all thought it, but now that it was put out there for the first time it seemed to make it more real; more frightening.
“A God damn vigilante!” Santoro could hear the disdain in Courtney’s voice. “We have some scumbag vigilante out there preying on our own men. That’s just unbelievable.”
Courtney took off his uniform blazer, hanging over his chair. He unclipped the tie from around his neck; allowing it to fall over—being held on to his uniform shirt only by a tie clasp. He unbuttoned his top button and sat back down. “We have to get moving on this. I don’t want this out there. The incident in the 113 will keep the cop killings off the front pages for a little while, but they‘re still writing about it. The reporters are speculating that the killings are related to the ambush. Let them keep thinking that. It buys us a little more time but we have to catch this guy…and soon.”
The Blue Executions Page 21