The Blue Executions

by George Norris

  Santoro and the precinct squad commander, Lieutenant Charlie Gaston, walked out of Gaston’s office. The officers seemed to quiet down all at once, giving their undivided attention to their boss. Santoro stood in front of a large dry erase white board on wheels; he was flanked on either side by Lieutenant Gaston and Lieutenant Jim Pelosi. Pelosi, being the supervisor of the highly trained Emergency Service Unit, was the only one of the three in uniform. Santoro wore a navy blue suit with a white shirt and light blue tie—an NYPD pin attached to his left lapel. Gaston wore a light brown suit which was not quite as crisp or sharp looking as Santoro’s—his tan shirt wrinkled from having been at work for well over twenty-four hours.

  Santoro liked Lieutenant Gaston. He always had a good grip on the crime occurring within his command. He could see from the bags bellow Gaston’s already pale, light brown complexion that Gaston was tired. Santoro knew from the reports which he had received earlier in the day that Gaston and his men were working a homicide from the previous day and Gaston had not been home for two days. He also knew that Gaston would never complain—especially if it meant being part of the take down of a cop killer. Gaston was a cop’s cop and a consummate professional.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” Santoro began. “We have identified the man who is responsible for killing three of our own.”

  Santoro flipped the white board over, revealing a photo of the wanted man, his arrest history and his address. Next to that information were photos of Police Officer’s Daniel Long, Christopher Tatum and Frank Garret. The intensity in the room seemed to ratchet up instantly.

  “I don’t have to remind anyone here that they need to be extremely careful. I want no mistakes and I want this man in front of me within the hour to answer for his crimes. To the best of our knowledge, the subject lives alone and we are to obviously consider him armed and dangerous. Lieutenant Gaston informs me that there are unmarked cars sitting on his house right now and that he is definitely at home. His car is parked down the street and they have reported seeing lights go on and off about a half hour ago. I’m going to turn the meeting over to Lieutenant Pelosi, who will go over the tactical points with you. Stay safe and go get this guy.”

  He looked over to Pelosi, who stood six feet tall and had the body of a linebacker. “All yours, Lieutenant.”

  “Thank you Chief.” Santoro examined Pelosi as he spoke. Santoro had never met the man before but Santoro felt the man commanded a presence. He was clean shaven with dark brown hair and intense light brown eyes. He was soft spoken, yet there was seriousness to the way he carried himself to let one know that he meant business. The heavy duty flak jacket he wore and the war-like helmet held in his left hand made it seem like he was ready for battle—and quite possibly he was.

  “As Chief Santoro explained, this guy has already murdered three of our brother officers. I know that you guys are all seasoned police officers but I want to make sure that there is no confusion so bear with me while I go over everything to assure there are no mistakes. Where are my fronts and rear security?”

  Two teams of uniformed officers in the rear raised their hands. “Good,” Pelosi continued. It’s very important that you guys understand that you do not enter the location for any reason, unless we call you in. If you hear shots fired from inside…stay out! We’ll take care of it. If the guy flees as we make entry, then he’s yours. If he runs back inside, he’s ours. You do not come inside. Is that clear?” They acknowledged it was.

  Pelosi moved on. “Where is my hospital auto? Where are we going if God forbid one of us gets shot?”

  “Right here boss,” said a seventeen year veteran of the department. “The hospital is Maimonides Medical Center on Tenth Avenue. The route will be Bay Ridge Parkway up to Fort Hamilton Parkway; left on Fort Hamilton Parkway to the hospital.”

  Pelosi nodded, happy to see how prepared the officer was. He glanced over to the EMS Lieutenant present at the Tac meeting. “Does that work for your men, Lieu?”

  After receiving confirmation, Pelosi continued. “Okay we are going to line up outside the precinct in front of the Seven Eleven on the corner. Lieutenant Gaston will be riding with us in the unmarked bread truck to point out the house. Remember no cars or pedestrians on the block once we get there. Give us ten minutes to suit up and we will meet you outside. Be careful.”

  Santoro was satisfied that the meeting had gone well and that every officer involved knew exactly what their specific assignment was. He watched as the men and women in blue filed out of the office to apprehend the most dangerous criminal the NYPD has known in decades—maybe ever. There was a big part of him that wanted to be suiting up and personally leading the warrant. Santoro was too smart to give in to his baser needs, however. He had been in the NYPD at too high of a rank for too long not to be concerned about the politics.

  The smartest thing for him to do was to stay behind and hope for the best possible outcome—the arrest of the cop killer without any incident. Over his time on the job however, he had seen too many well laid plans go sideways once put into motion. If the perp were to shoot it out with his men, or if shots were fired and (God forbid) a civilian was struck, the highest ranking officer on the scene was usually the one left holding the bag. Santoro had come too far and could sense a legitimate shot at the Police Commissioner’s chair to take any unnecessary chances. As much as he would love to slap his cuffs on the cop killer, his best play was to stay behind and hope for the best. “Stay safe, guys. Be careful!”

  *

  Lieutenant Gaston stood outside the large silver bread truck, talking over last minute strategy with his men. “I want one man in each car to stay on division radio and the other to switch to point to point. I’ll talk to you guys on point to point. If there are no questions, let’s line up.”

  The detectives and uniformed officers got into their cars and pulled out of the precinct lot onto 65th Street. Gaston walked to the back of the bread truck where the members of the Emergency Service team were busy with last minute preparations of their own. They had secured handcuffs from precinct personnel in case there were more people inside the apartment then they had anticipated. They were loading and inspecting the various weapons, including Mini-14 assault rifles that they would be using. Every member of the team wore heavy duty bullet proof vests and helmets. Once they were all ready, the men sat patiently on the benches on either side of the truck. There were ten members of the entry team seated in the back of the truck among the assortment of weapons and tools hung on the truck’s walls that these men used on a daily basis.

  Gaston got into the front passenger seat of the truck. He raised each member of the caravan, one by one, making sure they were all on the correct frequency. The truck pulled onto 65th Street, falling into the third position in the caravan; behind the auto assigned to traffic control on the far end of the target block and the hospital auto. The light on Third Avenue was red. Once Gaston was satisfied everybody was in place, he held the radio to his mouth, “We’re gonna go on green.”

  The light changed and the first car in the caravan proceeded.

  *

  Less than five minutes later, the head of the procession turned onto 74th Street. Gaston’s mouth began to go dry and he could sense his own breathing. The adrenaline was flowing—he was feeling none of the ill effects of having been awake for nearly two days. There was an apartment building on one side of the street and detached, two story brick houses on the other. Their subject lived in the first floor of one of the houses. As the bread truck slowed to a halt, Gaston quickly exited the truck, pointing out the target location. He watched as uniformed officers and detectives ran past him. Some hoped the chain link fence, allowing them entry to the back yard; others taking cover behind parked cars and trees in the front. Gaston took cover behind a minivan parked in front of the house. The predawn hours gave them a bit of an advantage as they had the cover of darkness and hopefully the element of surprise on their side. The subject of the warrant has no problem killing cops if
he sees them coming. A dog in a neighboring yard began to bark.

  I wish that dog would shut up.

  The house was completely surrounded by both uniformed and plainclothes officers. The members of the Emergency Service Apprehension Team quickly, yet as quietly as they could make their way to the front door of the house which Gaston had pointed out. The first officer was equipped with a large battering ram. The door gave way on the second strike; splintering at the frame. The officer discarded the battering ram to the right side of the door frame and pulled what remained of the door from its hinges; clearing a path for the rest of the entry team.

  The second officer on the line carried a four foot tall clear, ballistic shield. He led the way inside the house just in front of officers armed with assault rifles and their service weapons. Lieutenant Pelosi was the fourth officer to enter the house.

  *

  Pelosi had safely supervised hundreds, if not thousands, of entries and while there was never a guarantee, he felt this one would be no different. He was armed with a flash-bang grenade. The device, which true to its name, creates a distraction when officers enter a potentially dangerous location by creating a large flash of orange light accompanied by a very loud explosion when detonated. The device needed prior approval by the top echelon of the department in order to be used. It became somewhat controversial after it was used years ago during a search warrant and it was blamed for causing a heart attack to an elderly person in the location.

  Pelosi had the device at the ready in case it would be needed since prior approval had in fact been granted in the high profile case. His men fanned out to the left and right as they made their way through the apartment. He saw his shield man stumble over some shoes and boxes left in the center of the living room. One of the men found a light switch and turned it on, allowing the men to have a clear view of the unfamiliar location.

  *

  At shortly after six am, the quiet Brooklyn neighborhood was mostly still asleep. Michael Underhill was no different. He was sound asleep in his bed but he would not be for long. His alarm clock was set for six thirty as he had an eventful day planned. His gun, a .38 caliber revolver, lay on his nightstand directly in front of the alarm clock, which displayed the time 6:04 A.M. in large red font. Underhill was usually a heavy sleeper but he began to stir.

  *

  The bedroom was in the back of the apartment to the left—the door was closed. The officer with the shield and Lieutenant Pelosi stood on either side of the door. A third officer, armed with an assault rifle, stood off to the side awaiting a signal from the Lieutenant. Pelosi nodded at the door and the officer threw his shoulder into the door, breaking it wide open. The officers, led by the officer with the ballistic shield quickly entered the room. The target was still in bed and Pelosi opted not to use the flash grenade.

  *

  Was that a dog barking? He definitely heard a noise. First a dog and then some sort of commotion. Oh my God, a burglar! He glanced at his clock; it had been ten minutes past six when his bedroom door caved in. Nearly a dozen men came charging at him. He reached for his nightstand but before his hand could even reach it, he was stuck over the head with a four foot ballistic shield. As he began to shake off the blow, another officer struck him square in the face with the butt end of a Ruger Mini-14 assault rifle—blood pouring down from his now broken nose on to his bare chest and bed sheets.

  He was dragged out of bed and thrown to the floor. More blood flowed, staining his beige carpets. He was kicked and stomped as the cops called him a ‘scumbag’ and ‘a cop killer’. There was nothing he could do except curl up in a ball and try to wait out the beating. After about two minutes—although it seemed a lot longer—he heard a voice.

  “Enough. Cuff him up.”

  Thank God. The blood seemed the least of his problems; he was sure he had fractured ribs. He couldn’t breathe without a substantial amount of pain.

  “Stand him up.”

  Two of the cops rolled him on his side and yanked him up by the arms. He had never experienced so much pain. He was now on his feet and saw the small army of police officers surrounding him. He recognized Lieutenant’s bars on the collar of the one officer who was clearly in charge. Through his swollen eyes, he read the name Pelosi on the Lieutenant’s chest. Lieutenant Pelosi grabbed him by the throat and pushed him against the wall.

  “Somebody give me the picture.”

  Staring into the Lieutenant’s eyes was frightening. He’d never experienced so much hate before. The Lieutenant released his grip and compared the man’s battered face to a photograph. “That’s him boys; we got the scumbag.”

  Once the apartment was searched for any other people and cleared by the officers, the Lieutenant took his radio from its holder. “The apartment is clear. We have one in custody. It’s the subject of the warrant. Lieutenant Gaston, you can have your men enter to search the apartment for evidence.”

  The pain was bad but the fear of not knowing his future was really concerning. He looked around his room seeing the anger on the faces of the heavily armed officers. He mustered up enough strength to speak; his voice shaking. “Excuse me, Lieutenant…can I please have my glasses? I can’t see well without them. They’re on the nightstand by the bed.”

  *

  Is he kidding me? Pelosi couldn’t believe the nerve of this guy. He glanced at where the night table had been before they entered. It had been turned over during the struggle and whatever had been on it was now among the mess on the floor.

  “Hey Lieu, I see his glasses; they’re over here on the floor.” It was the officer who had been carrying the shield. Pelosi watched as the officer bent his knee as high as his flexibility would allow and stomped down on the glasses.

  Pelosi shrugged his shoulders and laughed in the man’s face. “Sorry, it looks like your glasses broke when you tried to assault us.”

  The precinct detective squad entered the house and began to look around. One of the detective’s took control over the bloody prisoner and Gaston thanked Pelosi and his men for a job well done and all of their assistance. The two men shook hands as the ESU team began to depart. Pelosi was the last man out. It had been a particularly gratifying morning.

  *

  The most dangerous part was now over but Gaston knew this was only the beginning of a long day ahead for them. His squad room would be inundated all day with bosses of every rank looking to get their name down on paper as having been present for one of the biggest arrests in the history of the department. He took his cell phone out from his jacket pocket and called his detective squad. He ordered one of the two detectives that he left behind, to call the riding ADA in the Homicide Bureau.

  It would be imperative for them to find the murder weapon and anything else that would connect their subject to the cop killings. They would also seize any computers that the man had just in case he had the killings documented somewhere on the computer. It was not a very large apartment and Gaston felt it would not take that long to search. He called for one of the uniformed teams to enter the location. They did.

  “Hey guys, do me a favor and transport this piece of shit back to the house. Bring him directly up to the squad and throw him in the cells upstairs. Grab him a pair of pants and a shirt. Oh and also, make sure EMS cleans him up before you leave.”

  “No problem, Lieu,” the younger of the two officers responded.

  “Thanks guys.”

  The officer grabbed the man tightly by the back of the neck as he walked him out. He whispered into his ear. “We’re going to take the long way back to the precinct, cop killer.”

  Gaston pretended not to hear the comment, but instead gave direction to his detectives. “Okay, guys. This is probably the biggest case of all of our careers. No short cuts. Let’s find the gun and make sure we take pictures of any evidence we find, where we find it. Let’s start the search right here in the bedroom. We almost always find the gun in the perp’s bedroom.”

  *

  There were but
terflies in Santoro’s stomach as he waited back at the precinct. Although the Apprehension Team was the best at what they did, there was always a multitude of things that could go wrong. Santoro was monitoring the point to point radio transmissions as he paced the floor of Lieutenant Gaston’s office. He finally breathed a sigh of relief when he heard Lieutenant Pelosi say they had the perp in custody.

  He wanted to call the Police Commissioner himself, but he knew that he would always follow the chain of command. He immediately delivered the good news to Chief Edward Courtney, who could use some good fortune for a change. Courtney could not thank him enough for his catch of the DNA before hanging up.

  After hanging up the phone, he waited by the entrance to the detective squad. He wanted to lay eyes on the man that was responsible for killing three cops. Rank went out the window where a cop killer was concerned. They were hated equally by all ranks. Still, it had been a successful endeavor. There were no members of the service injured, a cop killer was apprehended, and it was all due to Santoro’s sharp eye finding the DNA evidence. This would have to be made part of the case file and would be common knowledge to the entire city—including all of the candidates who were running for Mayor. While it wouldn’t guarantee his consideration for the Commissioner’s post, it certainly couldn’t hurt his chances.