THE NEXT MORNING, MIKE AND JASON walked into the Internal Affairs office at police headquarters in lower Manhattan. Even the act of walking through the IA doors could result in gossip within the department, but they were both resigned to the necessity of the situation. Agent Gomez personally came out to the cramped entry foyer to meet them and shook hands warmly with both detectives.
“I trust that there are no hard feelings after my role in the investigation into Detective McMillian’s death,” Gomez said, looking up confidently at Jason’s eyes.
“Not at all,” Jason replied graciously. “You were just doing your job. If you had found that I was at fault, I’d have a different attitude.”
“Fair enough,” Gomez said with a slightly forced laugh. “Now, let’s get down to business.” Gomez led Mike and Jason inside the suite of offices and to a long table in the middle of an open space. He sat down and gestured to Mike that he should sit in the adjoining chair.
“We’re going to talk about this out here in the open?” Jason asked.
“Detective, this entire office handles confidential internal investigations. There is no worry about secrecy and discretion.”
Jason sat across from Mike and both detectives stared at Gomez, waiting for him to direct the discussion. They were hesitant to volunteer anything, even in the absence of a pending investigation. Just being inside the IA sanctum made them nervous. The apprehension was based more on the general dread of being under investigation than on any actual sense of guilt or fear. The Inquisitor didn’t need actual evidence of wrongdoing to ruin a cop’s career.
Gomez opened up a very thin laptop and input a password. After navigating to the page he wanted, he looked up at Mike. “Tell me, Detective Stoneman, why you were searching the records of the detainee log-out involving Detective Curran.”
“Since we’re working together on this, can we drop the formality and use first names?”
“Sure. I’m Lucas.”
“Thanks. So, like I told you before, we didn’t know that it was Darren Curran. We just had the name Curran and we were tracking it down.”
“Why was it important?”
Jason cut in. “My partner – my former partner – Ray, was the one who flagged it, Lucas. As part of our investigation into the Christine Barker homicide.”
“Have you concluded that the Barker girl was murdered?”
“We’re working on that assumption,” Jason said tersely. “There’s enough evidence to warrant working under that theory until it’s proven wrong. We were examining the file on one of her arrests and we noticed an unusually long period of detention, and then an interrogation that didn’t make sense and for which there was no record. We wanted to talk to the officer or detective who interrogated her.”
“Why would Detective Curran interrogate this girl?” Lucas asked.
“He didn’t,” Mike responded. “Darren Curran is rehabilitating from major knee surgery and has not been on active duty for eighteen months.”
“I know,” Lucas said calmly. “But he’s still in active status with an active identification card, so it is possible that he did go to the lock-up to talk with this girl.”
“Possible, but it didn’t happen,” Mike said firmly.
“How can you possibly know that?”
“Because Darren was my partner. I know him, and I’ve seen him recently at the gym working on his rehab, and there is simply no possible way that he was involved in any investigation.”
“I know that he was your partner, Detec – Mike. I know that you think you know him, but please put aside your personal relationship with him and focus on the facts. His ID badge was used to access the secure area at the station and his name is in the log-out book. How else would you explain those facts?”
“I can’t explain it,” Mike conceded, “but if someone else had Darren’s ID card, he could have swiped in with it and put Darren’s name in the book.”
“Why would someone do that?” Jason asked, drawing a quick stare-down from Mike as if Jason was not supporting him.
“To hide his identity,” Lucas offered.
“Right,” Mike agreed. “And if someone was hiding their identity inside the station, and if that person is a cop, then we’ve got something very fishy going on.”
“Was there anything unusual about Miss Barker, other than that she was later found dead?”
“There was,” Jason said. “The last time she was arrested, she had an unusually long stay in lock-up. That time, there was no record of anyone speaking to her, which is also odd. Then, she was cut loose with no charges, despite an outstanding warrant. In that case, she gave a false name, but that doesn’t seem to explain what happened.”
“So, now that you have the information about the swipe-in and log entry for Detective Darren Curran, what would be your next line of inquiry?”
“I suppose I would want to check the department’s records to see if there were any other swipe-ins by Darren’s ID, to see if there were any patterns.” Mike looked at Jason, who nodded his agreement.
“I agree,” Lucas said. “I have already asked our IT team to run a report on that ID card. I expect that we’ll have it very soon. In the meantime, can I offer you a donut?”
“You have no idea,” Jason said, smiling.
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An hour later, Mike and Jason had mostly put away their apprehension about Agent Gomez. They talked through the Christine Barker investigation and all the possible angles that they could still investigate. But they always came back to the fact that it was the medical examiner’s observations about the body that originally raised the suspicion of homicide, and the other three similar cases were their best leads. The case files for the women were still somehow lost. Lucas said he had encountered cases before where someone had tampered with files. He had seen dirty cops try to cover their tracks by falsifying records, but he did not recall entire files being spirited away. Three files related to the same case all turning up missing was definitely suspicious.
When the discussion started to peter out, Mike decided to take a few swings at the hard outer shell of Agent Gomez. “You sound like a native New Yorker,” Mike prompted.
“Yeah, that’s right. Born and raised in the Bronx. I practically grew up at Yankee Stadium.”
“I won’t hold that against you,” Mike quipped good-naturedly. “How did you find your way to Internal Affairs?”
Lucas hesitated, as if assessing how much he wanted to share with these two relative strangers. “I was never comfortable in my assignments. I got pushed around for several years after making detective. I always felt like I was held back because I’m Latino. I finally got fed up and when the chief from IA came to see me, I figured that if other cops were going to treat me like shit, I might as well give them a reason.”
“When did you make detective?”
“I was twenty-eight. I got to IA just after my thirtieth birthday, which was five years ago now.”
“Are you looking to get out?” Mike continued to press.
“No. I think I’ve found a good spot here. It’s not just an assignment, it’s more like a calling. Are you a religious man, Detective Stoneman?”
“Not really.”
“I didn’t think so. I remember taking one of your procedure classes when I was studying for the detective exam. You made a comment about a cop needing to be objective and not to let emotion or prejudice or superstition cloud his judgment. You seemed to have little use for faith.”
“I suppose that’s true,” Mike conceded.
“Well, I was raised Catholic and I am still devoted to the faith. We are taught that there is good and evil – right and wrong. The good must fight to overcome evil every day. That’s why I think I’m in the right place. I fight for the right. It reinforces my faith.”
“Don’t you think there are times when right and wrong are ambiguous?” Jason asked. “I mean, there’s a lot of gray out there in the world.”
“Not for me,” Lucas said
confidently. “There is always a line. If you cross the line, you break the code and the oath you took as a police officer. You do that, and I will root you out and make sure that the light of truth shines on you.”
Mike and Jason exchanged an extended glance. Then Mike said, “Well, I will agree to disagree with you on that one, Lucas. In my career, I have experienced moments of moral ambiguity.”
“That is because you lack the clarity of faith, Detective.”
Before they could continue the existential discussion, a small bell tone sounded from Lucas’ computer and he looked down. “Ah, we have the report in.”
Lucas downloaded a spreadsheet as Mike and Jason crowded around the small screen. The top of the sheet said “Curran, D” and had Darren’s badge number and eight-digit NYPD ID. Below were columns of data, which Lucas immediately started sorting and manipulating. He hid several columns and added grid lines. After less than two minutes, Lucas sat back and gazed at his handiwork.
“Here is the log-in at the lockup when Miss Barker was interrogated,” he said, pointing to a line part-way down the page. “I assume you tried to pull the video from the interrogation room for that day?”
“Sure we did,” Jason quickly responded. “There wasn’t any.”
“Another odd fact, eh?” Lucas observed.
“Yes. But we were told that it isn’t uncommon for the officers to use their interrogation rooms for lawyer conferences because of a lack of meeting space. So, they have the video system turned off as a default and they turn it on when they have an interrogation.”
“Makes sense, but it’s very convenient for our mystery cop.”
“So you’re coming around to the notion that someone was using Darren Curran’s ID?” Mike asked.
“Yes, based on this,” Lucas said, motioning to the spreadsheet on the computer screen. “This shows a dozen instances of Detective Curran’s ID. You see these?” Lucas pointed to one of the columns of numbers.
“Are those precinct numbers?” Mike said, only half as a question.
“Indeed. I recognize most of them, and the ones I know are all in Brooklyn and Queens. Look at the dates. Months apart, different precinct houses. Never the same one twice. This is not the pattern of an officer working in any normal way.”
“What does it mean?” Jason asked.
“I don’t know,” Lucas said softly, looking intently at the screen. “But this data will lead us there.”
Over the next three hours, the three detectives poured over the information they could find in the electronic files. Darren Curran’s ID had been recorded on exactly thirteen dates over the past year. In some cases, there were multiple records on the same day in the same place, indicating that the ID card was used to access multiple doors that required sensor swipes. Each swipe had a time stamp and a code corresponding to the specific door. In other cases, there was just a single line of data in the spreadsheet. There was no record of when the person carrying the ID left the buildings.
“We are going to have to get the data to show us which door corresponds to each code, but more importantly, we’ll need to pull the detainee records to see if the person signed anyone out of the lock-up, like we saw with Miss Barker.”
“How long will that take?”
“We’re not going to get it today,” Lucas said, getting up and stretching his back. “I’ll put in a rush request to the four locations with the most separate swipes. Why don’t you two go back uptown tomorrow and we’ll plan to meet back here on Thursday.”
“That’s probably a good idea,” Mike agreed. “There’s one other thing, Lucas, since we’re working together. We have another case we’re working. You’ve probably heard about it – the Raul Rosario murder, the bodega owner in the Bronx.”
“Sure, I know about it. Has some racial overtones.”
“Yeah, and that doesn’t help matters. The thing is, we have a pretty good sketch of the principle suspect, and we’re pretty sure that he’s connected to the Gallata syndicate. But when we sent the sketch down to the task force working on the Gallatas, expecting to get an ID on our suspect, we got nothing. Does that seem strange to you?”
Lucas sat in silence for a minute before responding. He looked at Mike, then at Jason, seemingly pondering how much he wanted to share. “Have you received any word back that the task force guys don’t know who he is, or is it just silence?”
“Silence,” Jason said. “I’ve sent a half-dozen emails down to them and I get no replies. It’s like they’re ignoring us.”
“Well, one thing I would recommend that you not do is go up the chain of command. There’s no point in trying to pressure these guys. In my experience, they are so insulated that they think they can do whatever the Hell they want and that they don’t answer to anyone except the commissioner. Have you tried contacting the feds on this?”
“We sent the sketch to the city task force. They were supposed to share it with the FBI guys. We’re supposed to work through our guys.”
“Sure, that’s the way it’s supposed to work, but sometimes going around the protocol can get you some answers. Do you have any contacts at the Bureau you could use to get a little off-the-record intel?”
Mike looked up at Lucas with a smile on his face. “I just might.”
Chapter 28 – Look What I Found
Wednesday, March 27
THE NEXT DAY, Mike arrived at the precinct house early before heading to his PT session. He had a fax to send. He knew that he could take a picture of the sketch of “Ricky” and then send an email, but he preferred not to leave an electronic record. The night before, Mike had made a call from his home landline to FBI agent Everett Forrest, the FBI field director he had worked with the prior fall during the Ronald Randall investigation. Forrest had been leading a surveillance operation that was monitoring an arm of the Gallata syndicate, which had been smuggling drugs and foreign women into the country. The main operation had been shut down after the key front man, Justin Heilman, was boiled alive in a hot tub, but the underlings were rebuilding the supply lines and Forrest had expanded the scope of the surveillance to include some new targets. Forrest had checked in on Mike during his shoulder rehabilitation. He always said that if Mike ever needed any help from the Feds, he should feel free to call. True to his word, when Mike explained the situation, Forrest said he would try to help if Mike could send him a copy of the sketch.
After sending the fax, Mike generated an activity report from the fax machine, which printed out six pages of data. Nobody had cleared the cache in the old-school communications device in a while. He carried the printout to the shredder and then headed for the door. He would easily be on time for his physical therapy session.
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On Thursday, after a morning of phone calls and paperwork in the bagel-less precinct building, Mike and Jason went back downtown to the IA office. They found a row of boxes lined up on the work table where Agent Gomez was sitting with his laptop computer, a legal pad, and a full box of Krispy Kreme donuts.
“Why so much?” Mike asked, gesturing toward the file boxes.
“Getting the records clerks to dig through boxes to find one particular document is more difficult than getting them to send you the archive box that, presumably, includes the document. So, there we are – we dig ourselves.”
Each man took a box and, by referencing the computer records of the badge swipes, tried to find the particular binder containing the log-out list for the relevant date. The process immediately became a race to see who could find their record first. Lucas won. His sheet was dated September 14, 2018 and showed a detainee named Connie Sykes signed out and then signed back in twenty minutes later. Lucas looked her up in the department’s computer records.
“Arrested three times, all for drug-related misdemeanors. Nineteen years old. Address unknown. No other information. I’ll run her name though the national database and see what I get.”
Jason was next across the finish line. His records were computer printou
ts. Curran, D. signed out a detainee named Donna Shore on December fifth. She was recorded back into the lock-up a little over an hour later. “Our guy spent some time with this one. What do we have in our system about her?”
Lucas put Donna Shore’s name into the NYPD database and waited for the results. “Twenty years old. Four arrests. Two for possession and two for solicitation. Sound familiar?” Mike and Jason both nodded. “Address listed in Minnesota. Another kid from out of town comes to New York, gets in trouble, and gets a visit from our guy. Nothing else in our system on her. No other arrests after this one. I’ll add her to my national search.”
As Lucas was tapping the name into his laptop, Mike held up a sheet of paper he had extracted from the binder he had been reviewing. “You’re last,” Jason said with a smile.
“Good things come to those who wait,” Mike responded. “You don’t have to put this one into the computer.”
“Why not?” Lucas asked.
“Because I know this one.”
Jason raised an eyebrow and asked, “One of our three dead women?”
“Bingo. Yvonne Calderone. She was signed out for fifty-three minutes on September seventh.”
Jason gave Lucas the rundown on the information available on Yvonne Calderone, which he knew well from repeated viewing. “She was from St. Louis. Nineteen years old. Her mother reported her missing but since she was of age, the New York police couldn’t force her to return home, although they sent a report back to St. Louis to let the cops there know that she had been located. She was arrested six times for shoplifting, drug possession, disorderly conduct, and solicitation. Three months after her last arrest, she was found dead in an alley behind a strip club in Queens. The cause of death was listed in her file as a drug overdose. Dr. McNeill identified her as having similar characteristics to Christine Barker – lack of track marks, no physical symptoms consistent with heroin addiction, and bruises indicting physical abuse. That’s all we know, because her physical file is missing.”
“Where was the file?” Lucas asked.
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