I said, “Go! Don’t worry, go!”
“We’re not leaving you!”
Turned out somebody had left a truck on the bridge and just walked off. The uniforms assumed it was a truck filled with explosives. Nobody was gonna get close enough to it to try and figure it out.
We got to the temporary headquarters. At that point, all the cops there were in uniform. Except us, of course. We looked like we’d walked straight outta hell.
They said, “Listen, there’s a decontamination unit set up behind the Pathmark.” So we went, and they literally hosed us down from head to toe with our suits still on. They washed out our eyes with solution and our eyes looked like demons’ eyes, they were so red.
But we finally relaxed and were able to get something to drink. And we finally got hold of one of our supervisors, who told us that everybody was gonna muster at Church Street. So we start to walk, now from the East Side back over to the West Side.
We walked right through Chinatown, sopping wet in our soaked suits. And Chinatown was going about its business as if nothing happened, selling fish heads and fucking rice. You could look into the backdrop of the skyline, and all you saw was this plume of smoke. But in Chinatown, it was like being in a different world where nobody cared.
Me and the guys looked at each other like, what the fuck is going on here? Are we in a different city? I mean, not to degrade the Chinese. But I was a little offended. I Was a little Pissed, to be honest with you. I said, “What the fuck is wrong with you people? Do you realize what’s going on?”
We didn’t realize that the three of us were among the officers reported missing from the NYPD. Our partners thought we were dead. But we all reunited at Church Street and when they saw us, everybody hugged. “Are you all right?”
“Huh? Yeah, we’re all right.”
Meanwhile, they’d all gone through the same type of deal over on the north side of the Towers. For instance, one of the sergeants from the detective bureau got his leg run over by a van. He dove beneath the van when the Towers fell and I guess somebody got into it, started it up, and ran him over. He ended up spending about a month in a Jersey hospital. They took him there with a harbor launch and he’s doing real good now, thank God.
All that stuff that happened afterwards? Maybe that was the worst. At my daughter’s school, they lost six parents. Three firemen, plus a woman and two men who worked in the Trade Center. That’s a big nut when you consider it’s a small school, only two grades per class.
That night, going home … I remember it being so eerie going across the Verrazzano Bridge. Everything was quiet. All the toll-booths were up. No lights—it was all black. We’d gone to the hospital to get treated, and I had to be back at work by four the next morning.
I got home at twelve midnight. When I walked in, both my wife and my daughter were up. They gave me a big hug and a kiss. It was good to be home, but I wanted to get back to work.
My daughter actually understands what’s going on. Not because she’s my daughter do I say this, but she’s very intelligent. Her attitude is, “What do they want, these people? Why don’t we just give them what they want so they’ll leave us alone?”
I asked her, “What do you think they want?”
And she says, “It can’t be that important for us not to give it to them.”
She doesn’t have a mean streak in her.
I broke down one night later on. We had a party at my house and I’d been drinking. Nobody there was a cop, but everybody was talking about the World Trade Center, whether the information we receive is accurate, and I didn’t want to hear it.
I was like, “You people don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about. I’m in the middle of this shit. I know what’s being found, I know what’s not being found. I’m at the morgue every day, I see what’s going on.”
I drank myself into oblivion. After everybody left, I went upstairs.
A good friend of mine was killed in the Towers. We were partners in Narcotics from ’92 to ’96. He’d been in the Marine Corps the same time I was in, we just didn’t know each other at the time. We were very close. I found out he was missing that second day, September 12, and I knew that anyone missing by that point was dead. Every day I’ve checked the morgue to see if they’ve found him. Not yet.
So I broke down. My wife came upstairs because she heard me sobbing. My daughter started to come in the room but I turned over and my wife said, “No, it’s okay, honey. Daddy doesn’t feel good.”
My little girl knew something was up. You think kids don’t know. But they do.
My daughter didn’t really see me too much and that’s good, because I never want her to see me upset. To me, it shows weakness. And I never want her to see weakness in me. I don’t want her to ever worry that I’m not there to protect her. She always says she wants her mother, but when something big happens, who does she call for? Daddy.
I never want her to see me vulnerable and think that Daddy won’t be there.
Like I said, the attack on the Towers is technically a homicide, and right away our office started working on tips coming in. Stuff like, “I know this Arab who said he wasn’t going to work on September 11 and he wouldn’t tell me why.”
We didn’t have a homicide in the city for a week following the eleventh. We didn’t have a homicide in Manhattan South for almost a month after the attack. I guess people had other things on their minds. So our job was to track down these leads.
Now this is where my problem with the FBI comes in. We’d go out on a tip and find out that two FBI agents had already been there. It’s like, “Let me ask you a question, what the fuck’s going on here? Either we’re gonna work together or not work together. But don’t waste my fucking time.”
The leads coming in were being filtered into a command center, then they were being filtered back out again. If a lead had something to do with Manhattan South, we went out on it. If it was something that took place in Brooklyn, the Brooklyn detectives went out. But all these leads went through the command center, see, where the FBI analyzed them and, if they felt like doing it, took first dibs.
On one tip, there was this Egyptian pilot staying in a Midtown hotel. Someone called in to say he’d overheard this guy saying, “The skyline’s gonna change,” or words to that effect. The fact that he’s Egyptian and a pilot made someone suspicious, so we paid him a visit. That’s when we found out the FBI had already been there.
I said, “Lemme call this FBI agent.” I had his number. I got him on the phone and said, “Did you talk to this guy?”
He says, “Yeah.”
“Well, what did he tell you?”
“Not much.”
“Well, how’d you talk to him? What’d you say to him? How’d you question him?”
This guy starts to get an attitude with me. He says, “Well … you know …”
“No,” I said. “I guess maybe I don’t.”
I went back upstairs to question the pilot myself. He didn’t understand the point to our investigation. “Why are you bothering me?” he says. “Leave me alone. I don’t bother nobody and I really don’t have time for this, I’m going to brunch with my friends.”
That’s when I got a little hefty with him. Apparently the FBI guy hadn’t gone that way with him, ’cause as soon as I got a little heated, this pilot kinda understood that we weren’t fucking around. I said, “I’m gonna throw you out the fuckin’ window in about two seconds if you don’t shut the fuck up and answer my questions. You think I’m playing? You try me. I’m in no fuckin’ mood for your shit today, okay?” At that point, we thought there were 5,000 people dead from the Towers. So I said, “You think I’m gonna listen to your bullshit today? I’ll throw you out that fuckin’ window so fast, your head’ll spin.”
What can I say? He came around. He sat down, shut the fuck up, and answered my questions.
But you know, the FBI didn’t do that. It’s not in their playbook, what I did. That’s a street thing. I don’t mean to
be mean. But you gotta show people you’re not playing games.
Turns out that the whole lead was a joke, a get-even thing.
See, the Egyptian went through it all, where he was and what he’d been doing on the eleventh. And during all that, I could tell by looking at him that he might have been homosexual. So I says, “Are you gay? Were you with any lovers recently? What’s the story?”
I’m not shocked by anything like that. You gotta be an asshole if you’re shocked by that sort of thing, especially if you’re a detective in New York City. I mean, if the guy thought he was gonna shock me by telling me he was gay, well … you’d better get yourself some Rice Krispies and have a good breakfast, ’cause it’s not gonna bother me. I seen it all. I told him that.
He told me he’d gone out to a few clubs and been with a few different lovers in one night. I said, “All right, fine, no problem, no big deal. I just need to know all this.” Then I said, “Do you know all these guys’ names?”
He says, “No, I don’t.” And I knew he didn’t. In that community, that’s a lifestyle that happens a lot. We’ve worked plenty of homicides with gay individuals that sleep with three, four men a night and don’t even know their names. You know what? If I could do that with women, I’d do it. I mean, that’s a great lifestyle if you can do it.
So when the guy told me he didn’t know the guys’ names, I believed him. But I don’t think the FBI would have believed him. They never even got to that fuckin’ point! Again, I don’t mean to throw a blanket over all FBI agents. But the majority of these guys couldn’t find their asses if they had a map in their back pockets, know what I mean?
As it turns out, the Egyptian was homosexual and a jilted lover of his was trying to get even with him by giving us a bogus tip. We wound up getting a lot of those early on. And the fact that the feds were going out on these leads before we got them meant that they were trying to upstage us. It’s frustrating. The right hand don’t know what the left hand’s doing. And when we ended up telling our bosses what was going on, they pulled us from the cases. They said, “Well, if this is what’s going on, there’s no reason for us to waste our manpower.”
Now look: I know nothin’ about al-Qaeda cells.27 I’m no expert on terrorism. But you know what? I learn pretty quick. I know how to get information. That’s my job. I’m good at what I do, and everybody I work with is good at what they do. You don’t want to tell me what’s going on? Fine. Then tell me who to interview and tell me what you want to know, and I’ll talk to them. I can contribute.
But the feds took everything over. And we went back to work on the active homicides we had prior to the attack.
We also pulled duty at the Fresh Kills Landfill, sifting through the debris from the Trade Center, hoping to find body parts, identification, and the black boxes, which are actually orange.28 In the beginning, we found lots of body parts.
The area was set up like a military camp. We had tents set up with designations—Body Parts, Bones, Identification, Papers—all of them in separate spots so you could drop off whatever you found and it could be analyzed. Some of the stuff we found that we thought was human flesh wound up being meat from a refrigerator. And some stuff that we thought was meat from a refrigerator wound up being human flesh. They had scientists up there who could tell the difference.
We’d bring the stuff over in buckets. We were dressed up in the Tyvek suits with the gas masks. You can’t appreciate that type of work until you do it.
And then we were assigned to the morgue, on 1st Avenue and 30th Street. As the bodies and body parts came in, each thing had to go to a different area. If you had an arm, it went to the area where the arms were. If you had a leg, it went to the leg area. Torsos went into refrigerated trailer trucks. They had teams of detectives escorting body parts to wherever they had to go, just to make sure everything was done in a proficient manner. It’s a pretty good system.
If a fireman or a cop’s remains came in, there’d be a ceremony. We’d all line up. A flag would be draped over whatever was found, then somebody would fold the flag in the right manner. The remains would be saluted, and then the body would be taken in. Most of the time, there really wasn’t much of a body, but it’s something for the family, at any rate.
To describe the way the bodies are? You can’t. When you see some of the homicides I’ve seen, you see accidents, all kinds of different deaths, horrible things being done to people’s persons. None of it prepared me for the destruction of the bodies I saw coming from the World Trade Center. What happened with those people … it lives with me every day. We homicide detectives don’t leave it. We’re always around it. Cops and firemen are still right in the middle of this shit.
When you walk into that morgue, the smell hits you. If you’ve ever smelled bad meat? Multiply that by a hundred—that’s the only way I can really describe it. If you’ve never smelled it before, once you do, you’ll never forget. And once you know it, if you walk into a room and you get hit with that smell, you know there’s a body in the room.
Every dead body is different; it depends on the temperature, the time of year, ventilation. But it’s essentially the same goddamned smell, just at different levels. When you get a guy that’s been dead for two weeks in an apartment that’s a hundred degrees in August … that’s got a certain smell to it, let me tell you. It’s hard to explain.
I don’t think I have much of a story. A lot of people went through a lot more, people who got injured, hit with glass, people who got cut.
When we went back the next day to get our car, it was destroyed. What would have happened if we’d still been in it? Or standing next to it? We’d be dead, that’s what. We escaped narrowly with our lives. All because I had to go to the bathroom.
I believe that if your time’s up, your time’s up. I was always kind of a believer in that. But after the attack, I knew it. And knowing that? Personally, it makes life a little easier.
I used to think that I had a destiny when I went into a firefight or knocked on a door. But I have an attitude now where I’m always careful. I always do my tactics. When my time’s up, it’s up, and there’s nothing gonna change that. But there’s no need to hurry it along, either.
You say to yourself, what if I didn’t have to go to the bathroom? What if I hadn’t had somewhere to go downtown? What if I didn’t go to the Towers that day? A lot of what-ifs.
We laugh about it. Things happen for a reason.
As far as the way people treated the cops after the attack? In my eighteen years, I’ve never seen that kind of admiration. The hellos on the street. People coming up to us—kids coming up with pictures they’d drawn, pictures of the Trade Center with captions that read, “We love you, New York City Police” and “Thank you so much for what you’re doing.” They’re handing these to us. Heartbreaking. It was just heartbreaking.
See, everybody loves firemen and everybody hates cops, that’s what it boils down to. Firemen don’t give you a summons. Firemen don’t lock you up. But I seen this guy on an interview who was down at the Trade Center that day, working in one of the firms. He said, “I used to walk by the police all the time and I took them for granted. I don’t do that no more.”
What this city turned into after the attack happened was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. I was shocked. For a while, everybody was, “Hey, how are ya?” Concerned about each other—what we used to call esprit de corps in the Marines. A camaraderie.
But things are back to normal now. People are back to being assholes. Now everybody’s back to, “Fuck you, get out of my way, I got business to attend to.”
I’m offended by that viewing ramp they built.29 Handing tickets out to people, whatever the fuck it is. I’m offended seeing tourists down there snapping pictures. Maybe I’m being a little sensitive, but to me, that’s a giant tomb. A gravesite. I take offense to these fucking European scumbags coming here taking photos like it’s a fucking circus attraction. A carnival. How would a family member feel knowing people
are taking pictures of a loved one who’s not home yet?
I want to say to them: “What are you folks taking a picture of? Do you have any idea what you’re looking at?”
But what are you gonna do? People are gonna be people. That’s human nature. The asshole factor’s always out there.
21 The USS Cole was docked in Aden, Yemen, for a scheduled refueling on October 12, 2000, when a terrorist bomb ripped a huge hole in the hull of this Arleigh-Burke class destroyer, killing seventeen crewmen and seriously injuring thirty-nine others. As part of the official judge advocate general’s investigation of the event, Secretary of the Navy Richard Danzig was quoted as saying: “We must account for why seventeen people under our charge died, and why many other people, material, and interests within our responsibility were lost. In the process, we cannot avoid our own responsibility for what the terrorists achieved. We owe it to those who suffer to provide the comfort of explanation, to the best of our abilities.”
22 He thumped his gut with an open palm, indicating—I suppose—a reliance on instinct.
23 Precinct bunks.
24 The Franklin Delano Roosevelt Drive runs along the east side of Manhattan.
25 Badges.
26 He gestured to the pressed white handkerchief in the breast pocket of his suit jacket.
27 Early reporting from various sources suggested that the al-Qaeda organization was not a set body, but a clandestine cell system. By this level of management, various groups of people, known as cells, function with little or no directive from a centralized structure or leadership. This is done to ensure each cell’s secrecy, autonomy, and security. Cells can be difficult to penetrate by outside influencers, such as opposing intelligence services. The nineteen hijackers of the planes used as weapons on 9/11 were all considered members of an al-Qaeda cell with the dedicated purpose of causing mayhem on that day.
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