“Well that’s just it Chief, about the arrest…” McGregor tried to voice his concerns but was once again cut off.
“If it’s about the exclusive I promised you, I can’t honor that right now. I’m sorry,” Courtney said before hanging up the phone on him.
McGregor stared down at his phone, thinking how abrupt Courtney had been. Why was he so quick to dismiss him this time when he had taken his phone calls in the past? He’s hiding something. He knows they have the wrong guy in custody. I can sense it.
McGregor, having been burned before, brought his suspicions to his editor’s attention. With his editor trusting McGregor’s instincts the two of them headed to Bay Ridge Brooklyn.
*
The two men exited the car which was parked along Sixty-Seventh Street in Bay Ridge Brooklyn. As they approached Fourth Avenue, McGregor glanced up at the workers on the scaffolding; giving the school a facelift for the upcoming school year. He thought how he wouldn’t want to be the construction workers out in the heat on such a hot July day.
“Brian, explain to me exactly what makes you think Chief Courtney was lying to you.” John Pantangelo, McGregor’s editor, trusted in his reporter’s instincts but he wanted to make sure he understood exactly what had led McGregor to the conclusion that the man the police arrested was not the Blue Executioner.
“It’s a bit hard to explain, John. More a gut feeling than anything else—and my gut feelings have led me to some pretty good stories. When I called Courtney, he seemed to be quick to blow me off. He assumed that I was calling to cash in on the exclusive that he promised me and almost immediately told me to forget about his promise. Even the tone in which he was speaking to me was different. You know when someone is lying to you and I’m telling you that he was lying.”
The men turned the corner onto Fourth Avenue, heading toward the main entrance to Bay Ridge High School—the same school that Charles Wahl had taught at for well over a decade. As they drew closer to the entrance of the school, McGregor saw quite a few New York Press license plates parked in front and recognized a few members of the press from the various local networks and newspapers. More than likely, they were there for the same reason McGregor was—to learn more about Charles Wahl. McGregor’s angle was totally independent from there’s though; he was sure of that.
McGregor continued his explanation. “Think about it, he promised us an exclusive. We write stories every day about the NYPD. Why would he break his promise, knowing it would piss us off and generate bad press…unless he was hiding something? I showed you that video from the internet—I spoke to the Blue Executioner on the phone. I’m telling you, the voice in the video was not the same voice I spoke with on the phone.”
McGregor studied the school before entering; it had been many years since he entered a school building. Bay Ridge High School looked much the same as many other schools throughout New York City. It was a three story edifice constructed of faded tan bricks with large nine foot by nine foot sections of windows, each divided into three individual segments. The steeples on top however, reminded McGregor more of a church than a school building.
Upon entering the building, McGregor was hit with a sweltering heat. As hot as it was outside, at least there had been a breeze. The two men were immediately met by the School Safety Officer seated at the desk in the hallway at the entrance.
“Can I help you gentleman?” His voice had been barely audible over the noise generated by the large standing fan, pointed in his direction.
McGregor and Pantangelo offered their press credentials and asked to speak with the principal.
“I’m sorry fellas. She left standing orders with me to tell any members of the press that she had no comments for them regarding Mr. Wahl.”
Pantangelo jumped in. “Please do me a favor and tell her that we are not here to ask her for a comment but we actually have information for her that she may find interesting.”
The officer’s eyes narrowed a bit, condensing his already bushy eyebrows. Apparently, Pantangelo’s offer had at least piqued the officer’s interest. He wiped the sweat dripping from his forehead with a washcloth on his desk and picked up the telephone. The desk was a light tan finish with silver legs, the same type of desks that were in the New York City public schools decades ago when McGregor had been a student. He didn’t doubt for a second that these may actually be the same exact desks and chairs from twenty or more years ago.
Much to their delight, the school safety officer informed them that the principal had agreed to speak with them. They were instructed to go to the main office. “That was the easy part,” McGregor commented. “I sure hope she’ll let us see some of Wahl’s paperwork.”
They walked down the charcoal gray tiled hallway just as the bell sounded. High school students poured from the classrooms. “I wouldn’t want to be them stuck in school in this heat,” commented Pantangelo. “That has to be the worst part of summer school.”
The office door was closed. It was a dull blue color, poorly conflicting with the tan tiled walls. McGregor silently read the wording on the door before they entered.
Bay Ridge High School
Main Office
Principal Donna Lopez
No sooner had the door been opened than was McGegor stuck with a refreshing blast of cool air. An attractive woman in her early forties came walking over to greet them. McGregor took a quick glance as she approached. She wore a knee-length, orange floral skirt and a loose fitting white blouse. Her black hair flowed down past her shoulders; just a hint of grey at the roots. She offered her hand and introduced herself to the men as the school’s principal.
Teachers certainly did not look this good when I was in school, let alone the principals.
McGregor was the first to shake her hand; her hazel eyes momentarily muting him. After introducing themselves, McGregor presented his press card for inspection as he began. “Mrs. Lopez, I was wondering if there was any way we could take a look at Mr. Wahl’s file.”
She shook her head in annoyance. She removed her rectangular, blue framed glasses and held them in her hand. “You’ve got to be kidding me! What makes you different than all of the other reporters waiting for a comment outside? You need to file a FOIL petition just like everyone else. You should know better than that,” she lectured.
She abruptly turned to walk away. “Wait, hear us out Mrs. Lopez. I think you’ll be glad that you did.”
She turned back around, her eyes seemed unforgiving at the moment but McGregor was confident he could turn her. “Obviously, Mr. Wahl’s arrest has brought you and your school some undesired attention. How would you feel if I told you that I was pretty certain the police have the wrong man in custody and I think I can prove it?”
Her eyes softened as she invited the men to enter her office. Once inside, “Okay, you have my attention. I’ll give you five minutes.”
It was a decent sized office with two desks—one for the assistant principal, guessed McGregor. He and Pantangelo each sat on one of the black leather chairs in front of the faded oak desk. Mrs. Lopez sat behind her desk, clearing the numerous files that had been scattered about on the desk top. Along with her degrees, hanging on the light blue wall behind her, was what appeared to be a family picture of her with her husband and two daughters.
I don’t think it’s necessary for me to file a Freedom of Information Law request. All I need to do is see anything that Mr. Wahl wrote while he was here. It could be a note to you or your staff or even the scratch copy of a test—anything that has a sample of his handwriting will do. Plus, filing for a FOIL request will take time. The sooner I can write an article exonerating your former teacher, the sooner the rest of the reporters go away.”
The principal carefully considered the possibility of ridding her school of the unwanted distraction. Lopez looked each man briefly in the eyes and then stood up. She walked over to the black file cabinet in the far corner of the room; he heels clicking against the beige tiled floors.
She returned with a file; Wahl, Charles— was written in the tab. Lopez sorted through the file; careful not to show the reporters anything that could possibly violate the confidentiality law.
She removed two pieces of paper from the files and offered them over to the reporters. They were both handwritten tests from a health class that Wahl had taught years earlier. McGregor retrieved the photo which he had taken with his cell phone of one of the first letters the Blue Executioner had sent him. The three of them compared the handwriting.
“Son of a bitch, you’re right,” Pantangelo declared. He gave McGregor a playful pat on the back. “I’m going to have to start putting some more faith into your gut feelings.”
Instant satisfaction came over McGregor. He was undoubtedly correct but the bigger question in his mind was why would the police department go through this entire charade? They must know as well that they don’t have the Blue Executioner in custody. What was their angle for lying?
“So you were correct then? Mr. Wahl is not the cop killer?” Lopez inquired.
“Definitely not; take a look here.”
Lopez walked from around her desk standing over McGregor’s shoulder. “Look at the way Wahl closes his o’s but the person who wrote me the letters does not. Look at the way the double ll’s are connected in the letters or the tails on the lower case g’s. These are two totally different handwriting samples; no doubt about it. You don’t have to be a handwriting expert to see the differences between the two writing samples.”
Looking up at the principal, “Would it be okay with you if I made a copy of this?”
“I have to be honest with you detectives. I never liked Charles Wahl; he seemed like a creep. Before I became the principal, I taught English here. Charlie gave me the creeps at staff meetings, but the truth is that if he is innocent, I wouldn’t want him blamed for murdering police officers.”
Lopez picked up the papers from the desk in front of the men and walked over to the copy machine. She carefully placed them side by side and pressed a button. The machine came to life. After burning off a copy of each she held it out to McGregor.
McGregor accepted the papers but Lopez held on just long enough to make a point. “I don’t mind giving you this if it helps clear an innocent man, but you gentlemen have to make me a promise…my name stays out of this. I can’t afford to be involved. If anywhere asks where you got these old tests, it was from a former student of his. Do we have a deal?”
McGregor and Pantangelo gladly agreed. “Look for the article by the weekend. I need a little more time to look into some other leads.”
###########################
Chapter 18
One week after the funeral was hardly enough time for the emotional wounds from losing Laurie to heal, yet Galvin knew it was best for him that he got back to work. He agonized over the fact that he knew Laurie’s death was directly related to him. He had been pretty sure that their relationship had been kept a secret but somehow the Blue Executioner had killed her anyway. As Galvin reflected, he decided the hardest part of the week had been meeting Laurie’s parents on the day of the funeral. He didn’t even know if they knew about him or not—either way, he was certain they didn’t know that their only daughter had been murdered because of her relationship with him.
Galvin’s mind was adrift as he pushed through the Monday morning debriefing. Having been assigned to the Blue Executioner Task Force was an honor. Some of the best detectives in the city were assigned to the case. In fact, Galvin had come to learn that he was the only one among the two dozen detectives who was not a First Grader. That didn’t bother Galvin. Whether or not he ever got promoted to second or even first grade detective took a back seat to catching the animal that had killed Laurie.
He also knew, although he was a pretty good detective, the most logical reason that he had been assigned to the case was because he was the only one who had ever laid eyes on the murderer, not due to his detective skills. The promise of a promotion if the case was taken down in a timely manner was also a nice incentive, but again it could not be as rewarding as placing handcuffs on Laurie’s killer.
The only downside at all to the transfer was the travel. Galvin went from a fifteen minute ride from his Bayside home to South Jamaica to a much greater commute. The Blue Executioner Task Force was based out of the Chief of Detective’s office in One Police Plaza in lower Manhattan. The rumor was that Chief Santoro wanted to be kept as close to the investigation as possible.
Having sat in traffic for the better part of two hours this morning, Galvin decided he would be taking the Long Island Railroad and the subway system for as long as he remained assigned to the task force. All he could think about was Laurie. The guilt that he endured was agonizing. He would make sure her killer was caught if it were the last thing that he would ever do. That was a promise that he made to her as her knelt down in front of her casket only a week earlier.
Since it was Galvin’s first day assigned to the Task Force (and his first day back at work in over a week), once the debriefing had ended Galvin decided to go over the case file. He hoped fresh eyes would see something that the other detective’s hadn’t. He knew of course that this was a long shot but he had to try. His Uncle Pat had always taught him to look at all of the details—even those that seem minor. He taught him that any good investigator will know every detail of his case inside and out. Although they never worked together, Galvin had learned a great deal about being a detective from his uncle.
Galvin spent the better part of the morning reading through the case files and examining the crime scene photos and sketches from each scene. When looking at Laurie’s crime scene photos, he was determined to keep it clinical; to see it as another murder but his emotions got the best of him. He took the folder into one of the interview rooms and silently wept to himself.
Having dissecting the case, one document at a time, Galvin grew frustrated. Each time that he thought he had spotted a potential lead; there was a DD-5, or complaint follow-up, from one of the detectives closing it out. At least he was confident that those who were working the case longer than him were doing a good job. Still, he had to keep looking. There must be something that everyone else had overlooked; but he had no clue what that something could be.
Galvin walked back to his desk and signed into the FINEST computer system. He once again began viewing arrest photos of white males in their thirties and early forties—something he had done for almost eight hours the day of Laurie’s murder. It was tedious work but Galvin prayed if he came across the man’s photo that he would recognize him. So far he had no luck. As painstaking as the task was, if it led him to identifying Laurie’s killer, it will have been well worth his time.
Galvin loosened his tie as it just occurred to him that he was wearing the same suit he wore on the day he testified in front of the grand jury; the same suit that Laurie said was her favorite. He could feel the tears begin to well up once again but he was determined not to release them. He continued searching through the pictures, silently promising Laurie that he would bring her killer to justice.
*
Immediately following the morning debriefing, Ray Santoro entered Chief of Department, Eddie Courtney’s office. Santoro had promised that he would keep Courtney advised on a daily basis of all developments in the case. Courtney was seated behind his large cherry wood desk sorting through paperwork when Santoro had entered.
“Morning Eddie, I just wanted to let you know that Detective Galvin started today.”
Courtney nodded his head. “Finally. Didn’t we transfer him to the Task Force over a week ago?”
Santoro pulled up a black leather chair, “Yeah Eddie, nobody has said anything but I get the feeling there was something between Galvin and the A.D.A.; he seems to be taking her murder pretty hard. I made some phone calls and there may be some teeth to my theory.”
“Jesus Christ!” Courtney slammed his hand down on his desk, inadvertently knocking a picture of his grandchildren over.
“That’s just what we fucking need,” he exclaimed as he picked up the picture. “Now we know why this sociopath went after her. This has to stay between us…the last thing we need is the A.D.A.’s blood on the department’s hands because she swayed a jury to protect her boyfriend. Could you imagine what the press would do with that? Is Galvin acknowledging the relationship?”
Santoro shook his head. “No Eddie. He seems to be fine with pretending there was no relationship there and I feel we should do the same…for everyone’s sake. I can’t even imagine the guilt that Galvin must be feeling if it is true.” Santoro paused and took a deep breath before he continued. “Speaking of the press, I’m sure you saw McGregor’s article over the weekend.”
Courtney’s face instantly reddened. “That son of a bitch; I’d like to kick him in the balls. He goes and writes an article like that after we promised him an exclusive. He stabbed us right in the back and made us look incompetent. The phone hasn’t stopped ringing in the DCPI’s office.”
“What are you having the Deputy Commissioner of Public Information tell the press when they call?”
Courtney took of his glasses and set them on top of the pile of paperwork on his desk. “What can I say? McGregor has us cold. Our only saving grace is that Wahl had kiddie-porn on his computer, so at least we didn’t arrest an innocent man. I told DCPI to offer a no comment and to refer them to my noon press conference. I’ll tell them that Wahl is not the murderer but he is a part of the investigation and that he arrest was not a mistake. Then I’ll give them the old ‘I can’t say anymore at this time for fear of jeopardizing the integrity of the investigation’. I’ll tell you one thing, I have half a mind to have McGregor’s press card pulled.”
Santoro held a hand out to his boss. “Relax Eddie, you know you can’t do that. That would generate a whole lot more bad press for you and the department. You’d make a martyr out of him. Could you imagine the stories the press would run if you ever did that?”
The Blue Executions Page 25