The Blue Executions (33 page)

He carried that excitement with him as he sat at his kitchen table with the empty can of soda in fro
nt of him.  He dipped a cotton swab into distilled water, and then swabbed the edge of the can where he assumed Mr. Wahl would have been drinking from.  Taking the letter he had just written to Brian McGregor, he once again dipped the swab in the distilled water to slightly hydrate it.  He held the cotton swab about three inches from the bottom corner of the paper and waited for a drop to fall.  Once it did, the DNA transplantation was a success.  He had only hoped the detectives would be smart enough to find it.

Underhill’s reflection was broken by the news reporter giving the name of the man arrested;
Charles Wahl, a former high school gym teacher who had been dismissed for inappropriate behavior with a student.  Underhill parked his car with a sense of great satisfaction.  A warm sensation overran his entire body. 

He turned on the television to the morning news and opened his scrapbook as soon as he entered his apartment.  Each and every news channel was covering his accomplishments; they were the top story on each channel.  Most led with the Brian McGregor exclusive; even showing copies of all of his letters.  Then they went on to say what a great job the police had done in closing the case so quickly with the arrest of Charles Wahl.

Underhill opened his journal, entering the time and date of Laurie Bando’s execution.  He followed with entries regarding the arrest of Mr. Wahl.  He couldn’t wait until tomorrow’s paper.  He would cut out the articles regarding the arrest of Mr. Wahl and put it with the other article about Wahl when he was arrested and fired years ago.

A gleam of sunlight through the open shades reflected off the can of soda on his shelf, catching his eye.  He looked at the can; to many it would seem out of place—not to Underhill.  To Underhill it was a trophy, a symbol of redemption, a symbol of how much smarter he was than everybody else.  It was the soda can he had used to frame Mr. Wahl.  As he prepared to read through the newspaper, he realized that it was going to be a great day.

*

The news of ADA Laurie Bando’s murder only an hour after he had released a statement to the press announcing that the police had arrested the Blue Executioner was the start of another bad day for Eddie Courtney.  He couldn’t understand what had happened.  Could the lab techs have made a mistake with the DNA, or was he dealing with a rather intelligent criminal.  Given the lack of physical evidence to date, Courtney felt he had his answer.

There were a f
ew things on Courtney’s side.  The fact that the murderer had left his note at the scene indicated that he would most likely not be contacting McGregor anytime soon.  This meant that nobody would immediately find out that they had the wrong man in custody. Also if the killer’s intention was to frame Wahl as it appears to have been, then he must want the police to believe that they have the killer in custody.  

Lastly, and possibly most importantly, was that during a search of Wahl’s apartment
, they found an assortment of child pornography on his computer.  This was reason enough to not release him.  Courtney decided to allow the charges to be drawn up for three counts of murder based on the DNA evidence and the charges of possessing child pornography.  It could be a couple of weeks before anybody outside of the department realized that they had the wrong man.  That would buy Courtney some much needed time.  He knew the clock was ticking on the case as well as his future with the NYPD. 

*

Brian McGregor was as relieved as almost anyone else in the city when he learned of the arrest.  Having feared that he may have irked the madman, McGregor felt that he may have become the man’s next target.  McGregor sat at his office punching at the keys of the keyboard, trying to find out as much as possible about the killer.  He was surprised to learn that Wahl had been arrested years earlier for statutory rape of a student. According to the article, Wahl had pled guilty to a lesser charge to avoid jail time but was immediately fired from the Department of Education as a teacher.

Other links under the name Charles Wahl’s had a
Youtube video where he publically apologized for his actions.  McGregor clicked on the link and watched.  It wasn’t so much what Wahl said that bothered Mcgregor, but instead his voice.  Having spoken to the Blue Executioner on the phone, McGregor was sure the police had the wrong man in custody.

McGregor dialed the number Courtney had given him.

“Chief Courtney.”

“Good morning Chief, it’s Brian McGregor.  I wanted to let you know I think you have the wrong…”

Courtney quickly interrupted.  “Listen McGregor, I don’t have time for this.  I’m sure you’re aware we have the cop killer in custody and I have a lot of work to do.”

“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.