The Blue Executions

by George Norris

  She tapped Brian on his knee, giving him a smile as she did. “This is so exciting Brian. What do you think it’s about?”

  He shook his head. “I have no idea Doris, but it looks like we are about to find out.”

  She looked back at him, figuring he was being coy—he had to know the finalists were being announced today. That was common knowledge among journalists.

  At ten minutes past noon, the newspaper’s publisher, William Lyons, entered the room. In all of her years at the paper, Doris had never laid eyes on the man in person. He was taller than she believed him to be from the pictures she had seen of him. He stepped up to the podium; his full head of snow like hair almost glistened off the fluorescent lights in the conference room. He retrieved a pair of reading glasses from the inside pocket of his light grey, Armani suit. He seemed to scan the crowd before speaking. Even though the two had never met, he offered Doris a nod and a smile before he began. As soon as his deep blue eyes met hers, she knew her suspicions were correct; he had sought her out among the crowd.

  “I’d like to thank everyone for being here this afternoon. This is a historic day for our newspaper. We may not be the largest or most well known newspaper in New York but we are a great paper nonetheless. As I have said time and time again, we are more than a newspaper here…we are a family. And as a family when something wonderful happens, we celebrate as one. As many of you know, the finalists for the Pulitzer Prize are to be announced later today. I have received word from the committee that not one, but for us, an unprecedented two of our staff, have been named finalists.”

  Two finalists?

  Doris was confused; she was unaware of any other reporter or photographer at the paper having been nominated for the esteemed award. Her excitement ebbed just a little bit. She was still excited as she was sure to have been one of the nominees but a little disappointed to have to share the glory. She glanced around the room as her boss continued to speak. But who?

  “At this time, I would like to have Doris Williams join me here at the podium.”

  There was a round of applause from the audience. She nervously smoothed her light brown dress against her legs before getting up and walking to the podium. She gave a somewhat sheepish smile to the audience as she took a place standing to the left of the publisher before he continued.

  “Doris has been named a finalist in the Commentary category. Her expose on police-minority relations opened the eyes in New York City as well as many large cities throughout the nation. Her firsthand account of the riot in South Jamaica was published nationwide and served as a spring board to her series of articles, where over the past few months she has traveled the country visiting five other major cities. The mayor’s of Los Angeles, Chicago, Detroit, Newark and Miami all sent her letters of recognition for her hard work in their respective cities.

  Here, in New York City, her series of articles has led to reform and more sensitivity training for police officers both in the Police Academy and those already on the streets. It is rare that a member of the press has such an impact on real issue rather than just reports on them.”

  Mr. Lyons placed a gentle hand on her shoulder; a chill ran down her spine. Doris felt an intense satisfaction; the feeling was unparalleled, seeing her hard work recognized. He continued, “In all my years in the newspaper business, I can honestly say that I have never before seen a finalist that I was surer will take the prize. It is an honor to have you on our staff.”

  He offered her his hand. “Thank you so much, Mr. Lyons.”

  As excited as she was, the curiosity was eating away at her. She sat back down at her seat; McGregor was quick to give her a hug. “Congratulations, Doris. I’m so happy for you.”

  She whispered. ”Thank you Brian,” as Lyons continued.

  “As I said, this is truly an unprecedented day for our newspaper. I have never in my professional career been more proud of this newspaper than I am today. I would ask Brian McGregor to join me here at the podium.”

  She turned to Brian with a big smile and applauded with the rest of the staff. Brian? Really? She had mixed emotions; she was happy for him but she also felt like he was stealing her moment. Watching him walk up to the podium, she became slightly annoyed that he had never told her that he had been nominated by the paper for the award. Still, she knew that she had to keep her most supportive smile on her face.

  She watched as Lyons shook hands with Brian as he began. “Brian McGregor has not only been reporting the Blue Executioner story but has been inserted into it. His work has been instrumental to the NYPD in trying to track down the killer. His detective skills have even trumped the best detectives the NYPD has to offer, as he is the one to inform them that they had the wrong man in custody. He has been named a finalist in the field of Investigatory Reporting.”

  Lyons looked back at Doris, pointing at her. “I can’t say as that I am as confident that Brian will win in his field as I am that Doris will win hers. But I will say this; if the police arrest the right man before the winners are announced next month, there is a real good chance I will see you both at the luncheon at Columbia University.”

  Lyons asked Doris, as well as John Pantangelo, the executive editor of the paper, to join him and McGregor at the podium. Pantangelo stood to his right, while McGregor and Williams flanked the pair on either side.

  “Reporting, just as in life, gets rewarded for not only hard work but also fortunate circumstances. We have two of our reporters here, whose stories standing alone, I believe are good enough to win the Pulitzer in each of their categories. The irony is, had it not been for the Pulitzer Prize committee moving the date back to September instead of April, neither of these great stories would have been eligible this year. You see, not only do we have two great reporters and two great series of stories; we also have fate working on our side. I don’t see how we don’t win in both categories.”

  There was a polite round of applause from the audience as Lyons motioned for a photographer to come forward. The group posed for a variety of pictures before the meeting dispersed. Once the crowd thinned out and after shaking close to a hundred hands, Doris put her arm in McGregor’s as they walked back towards the newsroom.

  “So why didn’t you tell me that they put you in for the Investigative Reporting award?”

  McGregor shrugged his shoulders. “Honestly Doris, I never thought that I had a shot to make it to the finals. I didn’t choose the story—the Blue Executioner sought me out. The only reason that the paper put me in for the award is because it’s receiving national attention; not because of the quality of my writing. I don’t deserve to be nominated…you on the other hand. I’m so happy for you. Your stories have truly made a difference; the fallout of your articles has had consequences nationally. Mr. Lyons is right; you’ve already won, regardless of what the Pulitzer committee has to say.”

  McGregor’s comments were genuine and heartfelt, she believed. Her initial reaction to McGregor having not told her about the nomination was that he was intentionally hiding it from her; she now realized his explanation was genuine. She respected him for being so honest with her.

  Doris felt it was her turn to be supportive. “Don’t be crazy Brian; your writing and the story itself are amazing. Did you hear what our publisher said? You trumped the best detectives in New York City. Be proud of yourself. You deserve to be in the finals as much as anyone else…myself included.”

  “Thank you Doris, that means a lot to me.”

  ###########################

  Chapter 20

  Pat Dempsey’s first day assigned to the Blue Executioner Task Force was not the thrill it once would have been. He was looking forward to working a real case again; not just pushing paper and doing background checks on Police Officer Candidates. Having as much time on the job as he did (and having been treated the way he had been), there was little that could repair his feelings towards the job.

  He had almost fallen off of his chair yesterday morning when Chief Edward Court
ney had called him and asked him to come aboard the task force. Dempsey had half a mind to tell the Chief of Department off and decline his offer, but he decided against it. Not only had Chief Courtney apologized—something he was not known for doing—but he realized that Tommy’s life was in legitimate danger. If he could help work and eventually help close the case, that would be reward enough.

  Dempsey painstakingly read through each and every item in the case folder. He read over the initial complaint reports as well as each of the DD5’s, or complaint follow ups, which listed every detailed investigative measure that each detective had done during the investigation. He examined crime scene photos and sketches and finally the handwritten letters the Blue Executioner had sent to the reporter. A chill ran down his spine as he read the killer’s chilling words. It’s always in the small details. He nodded his head knowingly just as a familiar voice broke his train of thought.

  “Hey Uncle Pat, welcome aboard.”

  Dempsey stood up and threw his arms around Galvin. They two men tightly embraced. “Hey Tommy, how are you holding up?”

  “I’m doing fine Uncle Pat.” Galvin motioned towards the case folder sprawled across the desk, next to the half eaten corn muffin and cup of coffee. “I see you didn’t waste any time familiarizing yourself with the case.”

  Dempsey raised his eyebrows. “What did I teach you about being a detective? A good detective…”

  Galvin cut him off with a smile…”will know the case inside and out. He will know all of the ins and outs of the case. It’s all in the details.”

  Dempsey smiled back. I wasn’t sure he was listening to me all of those years until now. “Exactly, Tommy, and this case is no different—trust me.”

  Dempsey walked over to an adjacent desk and rolled the black leather chair over to his, motioning for Galvin to sit next to him. Dempsey set the coffee and corn muffin aside, spreading the case folder to the center so both men would be able to see it. “Have you looked at these letters carefully?”

  “Of course Uncle Pat; I went over every inch of this case folder just like you taught me. I read each letter at least a dozen times. I was hoping fresh eyes would see something the others had missed, but they didn’t.”

  “Forget about reading them Tommy, did you study them? Do you know them like the back of your hand…the small details and nuances? Is he educated and well spoken or poorly educated and illiterate; is he left handed or right handed? There is way more to be learned in the writing than there is in what is written sometimes.”

  Dempsey pushed the letters directly in front of Galvin. “Study them while I sign us out a car.”

  “A car? Where are we going?”

  “There’s an academy class starting in three weeks; I have to stop by my old office at Applicant Investigations and square a few things away. I got a call from Medical Division this morning; a few of my candidates that had been disqualified, won their appeals. The department is pushing for every qualified candidate to make the class. They want to have as big a class as possible going into the academy. I have to let the candidates know that they’re going to be in the class after all. I don’t like leaving other people to finish my job. It won’t take long. Besides, it will give us a chance to talk about the case and bounce ideas off of each other.”

  Galvin nodded in agreement as he perused the letters just as Dempsey had suggested.

  Dempsey walked into the supervisor’s office and grabbed a set of guys off a hook on the wall. “Hey Lieu, Galvin and I are taking a ride into Queens; we need to pick up some things at our permanent commands.”

  After gaining his bosses approval he added, “If you want to have one of the guys get a lunch order together, we can pick it up on the way back. I know a great little deli in Brooklyn…unless of course we have the case closed by then.” Dempsey let out a chuckle as he signed him and Galvin out of the movement log.

  Detectives Dempsey/Galvin Unmarked auto 329 to Lefrak Plaza and 113 Precinct.

  He could hear the Lieutenant and Sergeant join in his laughter as he left. “Forget lunch,” the Lieutenant added, “I’d prefer the collar. Lunch will be on me.”

  Walking over to Galvin, who was still deeply enthralled in the case folder; “Are you ready, Tommy?” as he placed a hand on Galvin’s shoulder.

  “Ready,” announced Galvin as he stood up to face Dempsey who was donning his bullet proof vest under his suit jacket. Dempsey could see the slight look of surprise on Galvin’s face. “Expecting trouble Uncle Pat?”

  “I certainly hope not.” He shot Galvin an accusing glance. “I sure hope with everything that’s going on, you’re vesting up every time you walk out that door Tommy. I don’t care if you’re going out to get a cup of coffee. This guy is after you and you know that”, he lectured.

  “I know Uncle Pat. Don’t worry; I always wear my vest when I go out on the streets.”

  Given Galvin’s reaction to his wearing the vest, Dempsey wasn’t convinced but decided not to press the issue. He tossed the keys to Galvin. “Okay, then go and put your vest on and I’ll meet you downstairs in the parking garage. You can drive.”

  *

  Tommy Galvin parked the unmarked auto at a parking meter along Junction Boulevard in Queens. He reached above the sun visor, retrieving the unrestricted parking permit and placed it in the window, clearly visible to the multitude of traffic agents in the area. As they exited the auto, Galvin decided that there was something odd about Dempsey’s behavior today. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but he knew his Godfather well enough to know when something was not right.

  Maybe he’s just worried about me?

  Galvin looked up at the sign above the double glass doors leading to the building’s entrance. The large white letters, NYC, set against the tan bricked building let anyone entering know that they were entering a city owned building. The two men walked past the American flags displayed on both sides of the lobby and made their way to the elevator. Dempsey pressed the button for the fourth floor as the men stood in complete silence.

  Making their way to Dempsey’s office, Galvin was amused in the fact that nothing had changed in over a decade since he was a Police Officer Candidate himself. The walkway leading to the office still had the dull yellow walls decorated with poorly aligned pictures on the wall and gray tiled floors. Galvin could see three Police Officer Candidates sitting in the blue chairs of the reception area; he guessed that they were literally the same exact chairs that he had sat in so many years before.

  There was nothing fancy about Dempsey’s office either. It was typical of what you would find at any number of office jobs throughout the city, Galvin believed. There were a large number of cubicles separated by gray patricians. The carpets were a dark gray but not dark enough to hide the years of wear and dirt. Galvin walked around a stack of boxes, four feet high, against the wall behind Dempsey’s cubicle. Old cases, thought Galvin.

  “Have a seat at my desk Tommy. I have to grab a few folders from the file cabinet.”

  As Dempsey went through the black file cabinet in the corner of the cubicle, Galvin felt a sudden chill. He looked up to the ceiling. Among the white drop ceiling panels and florescent light fixtures, was an air condition vent aimed right down on him. Looking back down to Dempsey’s desk, a photo jumped out at him. It was one of his favorite pictures—obviously his Uncle Pat felt the same way about it. The picture was of Galvin on his graduation day from the Police Academy. He was standing in between his late father and his Uncle Pat. They were all in their dress uniforms. Galvin picked it up to give it a closer look.

  “I miss your old man, Tommy. He was one hell of a cop…just like you.”

  “Thanks Uncle Pat. I miss him too.”

  “Do you still carry his handcuffs around…the ones that I engraved a shamrock into years ago?

  Galvin shook his head. “No, I keep them in my locker. I’m afraid of losing them; they mean a lot to me.”

  “Once we leave here, we’re heading straight to the 113
th precinct. You need to carry them with you to bring you some good luck.”

  Galvin snickered, rolling his eyes as he did. “Okay, Uncle Pat.”

  Dempsey set six case folders in front of Galvin. Galvin didn’t immediately realize the significance of the number. “Tommy, I need you to do me a favor. With the Academy class about to start, these are my last few candidates that I need to either recommend be hired or recommend be disqualified. One of the guys I’m not sure about. These are the ones that I got the phone call about who initially failed for one reason or another but then passed on appeal. The department is pushing me to put them all through but there is something about one of them that bothers me. I’d like you to take a look and see if you can pick out the one I have an issue with.”

  Galvin was confused. Is this why he wanted me to come with him…to look through his Applicant case folders?

  He didn’t want to insult Dempsey, but this was the last thing Galvin felt they should be doing. He gently shook his head. “Uncle Pat, I don’t know anything about this…”

  Dempsey cut him off. “Tommy, look at these folders. There are six of them. Pay attention to detail. This is no different than working a homicide investigation; the answer is in the small details.”

  Galvin, not wanting to upset Dempsey, began to look through the folders. He did his best to mask his annoyance. The folders were all similar—NYSID and NCIC checks on all candidates, pictures, character references, interviews with family and neighbors and an assortment of other forms and papers signed by each officer candidate and notarized. Galvin was growing frustrated. He pushed the case folders aside. Looking up at Dempsey, he shrugged his shoulders. “I have no idea.”

  Dempsey placed a reassuring hand on Galvin’s shoulder. “Keep looking Tommy. Which one of these guys concerns me? Look carefully.”