Underhill knew it was an empty threat. The first few times Tatum had told him that, Underhill broke down into tears. Having heard it so often, Underhill now realized it was just another way that Tatum was trying to torture him. Underhill retrieved his belongings and put them back in the plastic container.
He placed his hair brush, magazines, toilet paper, and toothpaste back up on the white ceramic shelf on the wall at the foot of his bed. The toothpaste seemed ironic to Underhill as he had thrown his toothbrush away months back. Having been forced to brush his teeth with it after Tatum had thrown it in toilet bowl had repulsed Underhill. Brushing his teeth by putting toothpaste on his finger was far more appealing.
Underhill’s heart raced every morning until Tatum came and got his daily taunting out of the way. Since being moved into protective custody at least the beatings had stopped. Occasionally Tatum would slap or spit on him but it was nothing like the other thrashings he had received in the beginning.
Underhill remade his bed, making sure the grey blanket was taught. Kneeling on the bed, Underhill looked through the bar covered window onto the prison yard. He missed the fresh air. Being locked in the cell for twenty-three hours a day was frustrating. The anti-anxiety medicine did help, but it made him sleep most of the day. Underhill couldn’t decide which was worse, protective custody or the psych ward. He looked around the eleven by thirteen cell; the walls and ceiling were white, the shelf an ivory and the toilet and sink, stainless steel. There was a lack of color. Underhill missed the vibrant colors in the world. Underhill sat in the corner on his bed—he tucked his knees under his chin, wrapping his arms around his legs and closed his eyes thinking of better days.
*
“Detective Second Grade Damien Easton.”
Tommy Galvin applauded with the rest of those in attendance in the auditorium at One Police Plaza. His white gloves muffled the sound of the applause. Standing on the steps leading up to the stage, Galvin searched the audience seeking out his mother. The auditorium was much smaller than what Galvin would have expected from the largest police department in the world. The walls constructed of different shades of red and tan bricks seemed to even make it smaller. It didn’t take Galvin very long to spot his mother seated in the third row next to his Uncle Pat.
“Detective Second Grade James Fitzpatrick.”
As the next promotee walked across the stage, Galvin gained another stair. He looked at the backdrop, behind the stage; a picture which had to stand twenty feet tall depicting a bronze statue of a police officer standing upright, a child hugging him on either side. In the background of the picture; the familiar patch of the New York City Police Department. Below the statue, the words: A TRADITION OF EXCELLENCE. Once again Galvin applauded with the crowd.
While he was excited to be getting promoted, Galvin couldn’t help to think of how he got here. He would gladly give up the promotion—even the job—if it could bring Laurie back. But he knew that was not an option. He thought of how upset Laurie would have been to see that Michael Groff was actually acquitted of all charges last night after a jury had deliberated for six days and somehow came to the conclusion that he was not guilty. In his heart, Galvin believed that had Laurie still been alive and finished the case, not only would Groff have been convicted, but she would have also been promoted to Bureau Chief. She would have been here with him to celebrate his promotion as he would have surely been there for hers.
“Detective Second Grade Elisa Fuentes.”
Of course, there was no turning back time and Galvin had to accept that. He had to move forward just as everyone else did. He climbed up one more step; almost onto the stage. Today, he was being promoted. Monday, he would attend Michael Underhill’s competency hearing—back to police work. Galvin had made a promise to himself—and Laurie—that he would see Underhill behind bars for the rest of his life. It was a promise that he had to keep.
“Detective Second Grade Thomas Galvin.”
Galvin ascended the final stair; looking down as he did, making sure not to trip. The black scuff marks from the heels of the paten-leather shoes were evident against the highly polished wooden floors of the stage. The ovation was clearly louder for Galvin than it had been for any other promotee. Every cop, cop’s family, and every other member in the audience, were aware how Detective Tommy Galvin had singlehandedly solved the case of a serial killer targeting their own. They also knew that he had been shot during the arrest. Although it had only been a graze wound, it had been built up to sound a lot worse by the Pulitzer Prize winning reporter, Brian McGregor.
The audience stood on their feet, as did the esteemed member of the dais. Galvin proudly walked across the stage as the Chiefs got up from their black and brown chairs to show Galvin the tribute that he deserved. Once at the podium, Galvin accepted his certificate of promotion with his left hand as he accepted the Police Commissioner’s hand with his right. It was not your typical obligatory handshake—it was powerful and with purpose. The Commissioner held the grip slightly longer than normal, catching Galvin’s eyes in the process. He offered a thankful nod. Flashes of light, almost celestial, filled the auditorium. The familiar sound of cell phone cameras and the clicks from the press photographers was instantly identifiable to Galvin.
Galvin hadn’t attended many promotion ceremonies before, but he didn’t think it was unusual for the Commissioner to pause to acknowledge an officer who was being promoted that had been involved in a high profile case—and he was correct, it wasn’t unusual. It was often reserved for officers that had been injured (usually shot) in the line of duty. What was different this time was that the Police Commissioner went into an entire speech.
Galvin liked this particular Police Commissioner. As far as Galvin was concerned, the current Commissioner was the best he had worked for in Galvin’s tenure with the NYPD. Most of the Chiefs and Commissioners were usually not from the street. They were often the pencil pusher who hid inside to study for tests. There were, of course, always exceptions and Police Commissioner Kevin Czartoryski was one of them. Czartoryski was well spoken and charismatic. Those in the department who knew him vowed that he had been an active cop throughout his time on the street; he understood the streets and the cops who worked them. Czartoryski had taken the unprecedented path of becoming the only First Grade Detective to ever become a Police Commissioner in the NYPD’s history.
“Ladies and gentlemen, my fellow officers, families and friends, members of the press,” began the Commissioner.
Galvin could feel the chills reverberate throughout his body. He stared up at the imposing figure as he spoke. Galvin figured him to stand six foot six or better. Galvin knew the man was not yet fifty years of age but the full head of gray hair might suggest that he was older. Czartoryski also looked impeccable—his presence embodied what the NYPD wanted their officers to look and act like.
“It is often said that adversity builds character. I say it does not…I say it reveals character. Tommy Galvin knew that he was in the cross hairs of a serial killer. He could have stayed at home under 24 hour protection from our department but he did not. Instead, not only did he request to work the case, but he also singlehandedly solved it within two days of his transfer to the unit.”
Czartoryski put a firm hand on Galvin’s shoulder as he continued. “Each and every member of our NYPD family owes Detective Galvin a debt of gratitude. There is no way that we will ever know how many more of our brother and sisters in blue would have fallen prey to this madman. I also want to point out that Detective Galvin was shot in the head at point blank range by the killer during the arrest. He was out with a line of duty injury for nearly a month to recover from the near fatal wound. It is only by the grace of God that he stands here before us to be honored and promoted.”
Galvin chucked to himself at the Commissioner’s assertion that he needed a month to recover. I begged them to let me return to work after as soon as I could hear again.
Galvin had enough time on the job to know how to
play the game. The suggestion that he miss a month of work had not been his, still it was a suggestion he was too smart to question. A hero cop, shot in the head made the case that much stronger against Underhill as well as helped erase the controversial incident in the South Jamaica houses for which Galvin had been painted a racist cop by some of the press. Now the press united in singing his praises.
Once the Commissioner had completed his oration, all of those in attendance gave an ovation. Galvin paused for a picture with the Police Commissioner. Chief’s Courtney and Santoro, who had been part of the dais, spontaneously stood up and joined in the photo opportunity. The flash bulbs once again created a light show.
The enthusiastic response from his fellow cops was surreal. The applause just continued…far longer than it should have in Galvin’s opinion. He immediately sought out his mother in the audience. She held a tissue to her eye; it was an emotional moment for Galvin as well. He thought of his father, who he knew would have been proud of the police officer he had become. He also thought back to Laurie. He felt a tear well up in his eyes as he walked off the stage.
“Detective Second Grade Lawrence King.”
Galvin quickly scanned the press pen. He knew that Brian McGregor would not be in attendance but he looked anyway. Today was the day that the Pulitzer Prize winning reporter was being honored in Washington for his Blue Execution stories. The two of them had spoken on the phone the previous week; the irony was that a mad man had brought them together to receive such high honors in their respective professions. Galvin was looking forward to having dinner with McGregor on Friday night just as they had planned.
#########################
Epilogue
It was the second time in less than a year that Tommy Galvin was being promoted—this time to Sergeant. Galvin, wearing his dress blue uniform and white gloves, sat quietly in the audience as Police Commissioner Ray Santoro gave his opening remarks and introduced the members of the dais. Seated in the fifth row on the aisle, Galvin politely clapped as each member was introduced.
Having worked for Santoro for only a couple of days some months back, it was hard to get a true sense of the man and who he would be as a newly appointed Police Commissioner. Still, Santoro carried a good reputation amongst the rank and file and they were usually correct. Galvin had always heard great things about the former PC and they were accurate. Czartoryski had left the department to head the Department of Homeland Security shortly after the elections last fall.
The officers were seated in alphabetical order, broken down by the rank they were being promoted to; the higher ranks to the front, the detectives to the rear. Galvin, along with the rest of those being promoted, was anxious to find out the command they would be transferred to. Having been promised his command of choice (the 103 Precinct) upon promotion, gave Galvin a slight sense of ease. He was quick to remind himself of the words his father had told him on the day he graduated from the Police Academy; ‘The only thing this job promises you Tommy is a pension after twenty years.’ Still, he wouldn’t be totally at ease until he was handed the personnel orders along with his certificate of promotion by the Police Commissioner.
The row in front of Galvin filed out; they made their way to the stage. A member of the ceremonial unit stood over Galvin. He placed a hand on Galvin’s shoulder, signaling that it was time to stand. As he stood, Galvin searched the audience behind him. His mother was once again in attendance, and again sitting next to his Uncle Pat. But this time it was no longer Detective Dempsey—it was Mr. Dempsey. Dempsey had retired just before the holiday season and moved out of state. Galvin was thrilled to see that his Godfather came back to New York to see him get promoted to Sergeant.
*
This would be the first promotion ceremony that Ray Santoro presided over since becoming the Police Commissioner of the New York City Police Department. It was almost as momentous a day for him as it was for those he was promoting. Santoro was now living out what was a lifelong dream. He had wanted to be a cop ever since he was a child growing up on the streets of Brooklyn. Once he did join the department, his only aspiration was to one day be the Police Commissioner. He wasn’t unrealistic though. He knew that it was going to be a long shot but with each promotion his dream came one step closer, culminating with his appointment this past January.
The appointment was not without its price however. An unequivocal condition of taking the job was that Santoro fire a police officer with more than twenty-two years of service for an incident which happened over the previous summer. Mark Jones, a father of three, had been made the scapegoat for a riot last summer. While Santoro didn’t object to him being disciplined for striking a civilian with a police van, he felt the loss of vacation days would suffice—termination was far too harsh. The new Mayor didn’t agree. ‘Fire him or I’ll find someone else for the job that will,’ were the Mayor-Elects exact words to him. Clearly, there was no protecting the officer at that point.
The real kicker regarding that incident for Santoro was that the man who oversaw the detail and should have been ultimately accountable was also present today. Santoro would be promoting Captain William Blaine to Deputy Inspector in spite of the fact that Blaine only had three months experience as a commanding officer in a Brooklyn North stationhouse. Blaine had what former Police Officer Mark Jones did not—an ally. In Santoro’s estimation, it should have been Blaine to take the fall for the events of that day, not a street cop. Blaine was in charge and had failed to supervise his men on more than one level.
However, Blaine was well liked by the Reverend Mitchell who once again had the ear of the new Mayor, just as he had of the previous one. Much to Santoro’s dismay that meant that he also had influence within Santoro’s department. The hardest part of the job so far was not the day to day running of the department, but instead learning the ins and outs as well as the politics that make the job.
The worst part of the appointment for Santoro was how upset his longtime friend, Edward Courtney had been about being passed over for the job. Santoro felt that Courtney would have made a fine police commissioner but the new mayor saw it differently—not that Santoro was complaining. Santoro had even asked Courtney to stay on as his first deputy commissioner. While it would have still been a promotion for Courtney, he turned the offer down. Santoro believed that Courtney’s pride was behind the declination. Courtney had always been Santoro’s boss and quite possibly the role reversal was something that Courtney was unable to accept.
With his opening speech out of the way, and the butterflies having settled, it was now time to call up those being promoted. Santoro was happy that this was a straight forward promotion ceremony. There was nobody or nothing to distract from the ceremony itself. He knew, quite often there would be some such ceremonies, but for his first one, he was happy to keep it simple. Santoro looked down at the name of the first promotee then up at the officer standing just off stage. He swallowed his pride and began the promotions.
“Deputy Inspector William Blaine.”
*
Galvin was one of seventy officers being promoted to Sergeant today. It was an average size group as far as promotions of that rank were concerned. As Galvin reached the top of the stage waiting for his name to be called he studied Santoro, wondering what kind of leader he would be. Galvin noticed the Honor Legion pin affixed to the lapel of the new Police Commissioner’s navy blue suit. He also noticed the electric blue tie, possibly a sign of solidarity; NYPD blue, thought Galvin. The honor legion pin was a good sign in Galvin’s mind. Being a member of the Honor Legion was usually reserved for active street cops. Since Santoro was the Chief of Detective’s for as long as Galvin could remember, he had never seen a picture of Santoro in uniform; therefore he didn’t know if Santoro had many medals. Medals were usually another good indication of whether or not someone was an active street cop or not. Those with no or few medals didn’t always understand what the streets were really like.
“Sergeant Thomas Galvin.”
As he approached the Commissioner, the two shared a familiar nod, they exchanged right hands and Galvin accepted his certificate of promotion and an envelope containing the personnel orders in his left. The two men held a pose long enough for the department photographer to take a quick picture and then Galvin made his way down the stairs back to his seat.
The ceremony continued as Galvin opened the envelope to confirm his command.
Detective 2nd Grade Thomas Galvin from 113 PDU to Sergeant 67 Precinct
Galvin could do no more than laugh. Chief of Department Edward Courtney had promised to make a notation on his folder that upon promotion he would go to the 103 precinct...not the 67. But Courtney has since retired. He shook his head. He could probably appeal to Santoro to honor Courtney’s promise but decided against it. If fate had wanted him to go to the 67, then so be it. He would go. The irony of the job. A hero one day and they promise you the world. A few months later…totally forgotten.
Galvin was still curious as to what happened and he scanned through the rest of the promotions.
Police Officer Paul Heider Jr. from 111 Precinct to Sergeant 103 Precinct
Outhooked! Galvin laughed…out loud this time. The Chief of Patrol’s kid.
There was something about going to the 67 that was appealing to Galvin. Earlier in the week, Galvin had read a story in the newspaper of an NYPD legacy that was going to the 67 precinct upon completion of the Academy. Timothy Keegan, the son of NYPD legend, Lieutenant James Keegan had requested the command as well as his late father’s shield number. The elder Keegan had started his career in the same command.
The Blue Executions Page 30