The Blue Executions (35 page)

Courtney gazed at the picture of his daughter on his desk—it was a picture of her on her graduation day from the Police Academy.  A flood of emotions that he hadn’t felt in years suddenly stirred within his body.  He hadn’t thought about Dempsey or the incident which led to his daughter’s resignation from the department in years.  Courtney picked up his chair and sat back down at the desk, suddenly sullen.

Now it was Santoro who stood up.  He walked around the desk and put a hand on his friend’s shoulder, sitting on the edge of the desk.  “Eddie, I know this is painful, but you know it would have come out even if Dempsey had done what you asked of him and testified around Kristen’s actions that day.  Could you imagine if he had denied it?  When the defense attorney played the video tape that none of us knew he even had, Dempsey and Kristen’s partner’s entire testimony would have been called into question.  A man who shot a uniformed New York City police officer could have walked.  Dempsey brought it out before the defense attorney could.  It actually worked in the prosecution’s favor to get out in front of it.”

Courtney felt calmer but had to stand his ground.  “It’s not just the humiliation that Dempsey put my entire family through, Ray.  It’s more than that.  I was a two star Chief, the Commanding Officer of Brooklyn North at the time.  I was
his
boss
.  Where does this guy,
seven
ranks below me, get off telling me what he will and won’t do?  You were the Chief of Brooklyn North detectives at the time.  You sat in the meeting; you saw his arrogance.”

“Yes I did.  I also saw your vengeful side, didn’t I?”  Santoro let out a chuckle.  “I’d heard of the
map and ruler method
but I never saw anyone actually use it before.”

Courtney couldn’t help but to also laugh.  “I’d forgotten all about that.  As soon as Dempsey
had left the office I found out his home address and then with a map and a ruler, I determined which detective squad was the furthest from his house.  I really did have every intention of transferring him there too—I wasn’t bluffing.  The best part is that the furthest squad away was in Staten Island; two tolls a day.”  He laughed a second time.

“Thank God the Police Commissioner at the time
refused to allow the transfer.  I remember how you were so pissed off at him too.”

Courtney reflected.  “I was, but at least I was smart enough not to let him know,” forcing a smile.

“When you really think about it, everything worked out for the best.  The perp was convicted, the P.C. still transferred Dempsey to Applicant Investigations—you know that’s the last place in the world a first grade detective who worked homicides for over a decade would want to be. You got your third star at the next promotion ceremony for not making waves and openly protesting the way the P.C. handled Dempsey, and most importantly, Kristen is now a partner in a top law firm. I’m sure the incident is nothing more than a distant memory to her.”

Courtney shook his head.  “But not for me Ray.”

Courtney stood up and walked to the other side of the office.  There was complete silence in the room.  He stared at the pin maps which tracked the seven major crimes around the different boroughs in the city, but he saw nothing.  He thought only of Kristen.

No, I can’
t do it.

“If I were to allow Dempsey to be a part of the task force, it would be like betraying Kr
isten.  Don’t you see that?”

As soon as the words came out of his mouth, Courtney become conscious of the fact that he used the word if.  He gave Santoro a window to convince him.

“No.  I don’t see that at all.  I’m pretty sure Kristen has made her peace a long time ago.  A rather large six figure salary does have a way of making people forget.”

Santoro paused before continuing, “I think
that it’s you that needs to make peace with what happened.  Kristen wanted to please you, but maybe she wasn’t cut out to be a cop.  There’s no shame in that; we both know what a tough and demanding job this is.  Once she resigned, she found her true calling.  It was a blessing in disguise.”

“I’m just not sure, Ray.  I want to do what is best but…”

This time it was Santoro who interrupted, “Eddie, trust me, Kristen couldn’t care less.  I’m going to be blunt with you here.  You’re the Chief of Department.  There’s going to be a new Mayor in less than six months.  If you want to have any shot at the Police Commissioner’s chair, you need to put the Blue Executioner case to bed…and fast.  Pat Dempsey is a great detective, regardless of your personal hatred of the man.  He’s your best shot at putting this case down quickly.  A quick win could make the Mayoral candidates forget about all of the shortcomings that the department has had over the past few months.  You want to be seen as the Chief of Department who closed the case, not the one who botched it by arresting the wrong man, not the one whose department was enthralled in a race riot at the 113 Precinct, not the one who was painted as incompetent by the media.  You need to swallow your pride here, Eddie.”

The implication of Brian McGr
egor had angered Courtney once again, but he knew Santoro was right.  Courtney had risen to the top uniformed position in the department; something few men who had ever raised their right hand for this city had accomplished.  His tenure as such however, was quite unremarkable, he conceded.  Courtney realized Dempsey may be his best chance at advancing his career.

I can’t believe I’m doing this
.

“Okay, Ray.  You win.  One question though, Dempsey probably hates me for railroading his career nearly as much as I hate him.  What makes you think that he
’d agree to work the case?”

Santoro looked down at the picture of Kr
isten in uniform.  Courtney’s eyes followed his.  “You love your daughter Ray.  You have a picture of her on your desk.  Do you know how I found out that Dempsey was related to Galvin?”

The question had been rhetorical as Santoro continued, “a good friend of mine is Dempsey’s boss at Applicant Investigations.  Guess what Dempsey has on his desk; a picture of Detective Tommy Galvin on his graduation day from the Academy standing in between Galvin’s old man and Dempsey, himself.  He loves Galvin the same way you love Kr
isten; and Galvin’s life may be in imminent danger.  I have no doubt that he would jump at the opportunity to work the case if you only would give him the chance; it’s also a shot at salvation for him too you know.”

The feeling of anger towards Dempsey seemed to subside from within.  “I’ll call the Personnel Section and have him transferred immediately.”

“You’re doing the right thing here, Eddie; trust me.  And if he does put this case down and you’re the next PC, I expect a promotion,” joked Santoro.  “I’ll call Applicant Investigations and have then give Dempsey a heads up about the transfer.”

“No you won’t Ray.”

Courtney picked up the telephone.  “Connect me to Applicant Investigations in Lefrak City.”  Courtney looked up at Santoro, “I’ll call Dempsey myself…I probably owe him at least that much.”

##########################

Chapter 19

Michael Underhill had barely slept since the day of Laurie Bando’s funeral.  It had nothing to do with her death, however.  Coincidentally, that was the same day that he received the letter in the mail informing him of the status of his appeal.  While it had taken over six months, his day of redemption was finally here.  The anticipation leading to this morning’s retake of the psychological exam had been draining on him.  He was so happy that it was finally over.

The walk from the subway station back to his apartment was invigorating.  It was much cooler out than it would normally be at this time of the year
.  He walked alone with his thoughts, reflecting on how well the tests had gone.  He was sure the psychiatrist had recognized his greatness—they gave him a male psychiatrist this time; obviously realizing the first psychiatrist had been incompetent, as Underhill had known that she was.

He had read in the newspapers that a new class would be sworn into the Police Academy in less than a month.  The article said it
’s going to be the biggest academy class in almost two decades.  Underhill was excited; everything was going great for him today.  His only disappointment was that his investigator was not in the office when he stopped by after the psychological exams.  It had been convenient that his investigator worked in the same building as the department’s Health Services Division.  Any time Underhill had to report to Lefrak Plaza for any sort of test, he would be sure to stop in to see his investigator.

Underhill unlocked his door and removed his suit jacket; the police department required Police Officer Candidates to wear suits anytime they went
to a department facility regarding their candidacy.  Some didn’t comply, but they were the ones who would not make good cops, reasoned Underhill.  He neatly placed the jacket on a hanger. He was happy that he wore the navy blue suit today with a powder blue shirt. 
NYPD blue, it sent a good message to the psychiatrist
.

Underhill retrieved his scrapbook and journal and sat at his kitchen table.  He thumbed through the journal.  His last entry was the murder of Laurie Bando.  Killing her had complicated things a bit.  It made it harder to get to Galvin, who had been his next target.  He thumbed through the scrapbook and realized
that he only had Galvin and one other police officer who fell on the wrong side of the law still on his list.  He could forego killing the other officer, but he wanted Galvin dead.  It was personal because he’d had his opportunity, yet missed it.

Underhill read each article
that Brian McGregor had written about him.  As usual they were both fair and accurate—except for the one where he said the grand Jury was right not to indict Galvin. 
His editor must have put that in there,
Underhill assured himself.  He read his own letters in print, just as he had asked McGregor to print them.  There was a connection between him and McGregor.

Underhill walked to his bathroom
, glancing at the empty soda can on his shelf once again.  He smiled to himself as he contemplated on his own brilliance. 
Mr. Wahl must be having fun in jail
.  He removed a pair of latex gloves and proceeded back to the kitchen.  Opening the drawer, he looked down to see everything in perfect order as he liked it; the legal pad on the right and the pens, sorted by color—blue, black or red—in a box to the left.  He selected a blue pen—
NYPD blue
—and removed the legal pad.  He sat back down and put pen to paper.

Mr. McGregor,

I would like to take this opportunity to thank you for assisting me in getting the word out that those murderous police officers will not be tolerated.  It has become clear to me that you have printed these articles even as you have met resistance from your editors at the newspaper.  Right shall always prevail over wrong.  That is why you and I are alike.  We stand up for what is right.  That is why I feel you, and only you, deserve an explanation. 

Together, you and I have spread the word, warning those who enforce the laws, not to overstep their boundaries and cross to the wrong side of the law.  I would like to point out that since our campaign of awareness has begun
, there has not been a single incident of a police officer murdering a civilian.  The last one to do so was Detective Galvin.  His accomplice has already paid the price.

As our message has now been made clear
, I would like to take this time to inform you; and the rest of New York City that my services will no longer be available.  That is not to say that if the men and women in blue once again murder innocents, that I will not deal with them…because I will.

I also want to thank the supporters that I have out there, who understood the job that I have been doing to make our city a safer place.  It is at this time that I would like to announce my resignation to the people of the City of New York as the Blue Executioner.

I only have one piece of unfinished business to attend to.

The Blue Executioner

Underhill carefully reread the letter, making sure it met his approval.  It had been cathartic for him to write.  He now had a sense of closure.  He hadn
’t forgotten about Tommy Galvin—he needed to be killed—but he would wait for the story to die down in the news and for Galvin to let his guard down.  Maybe after he gets sworn in as a member of the NYPD, he will have more information at his fingertips to help him get to Galvin.

The letter met his satisfaction.  He suddenly felt very tired.  Not having slept for the better part of a week was catching up to him.  He took his suit jacket into the bedroom with him and got undressed.  Reaching under his bed, he retrieved an ironing board and plugged in the iron.  He knew
that he would not be able to fall asleep if his suit was not pressed before he hung it up in the closet.

Once the task was complete, Underhill looked around the room.  Everything was in order; he could now get some long overdue sleep.  As his head hit the pillow, he once again thought back to the missed opportunity to execute Tommy Galvin.  He realized
that he should have kept at least a few cop killer bullets in the gun at all times.  He sat up and reached into the top dresser drawer.  After unloading the five standard .38 caliber rounds, he inserted the cop killers. 
It would have made things so much easier if the gun was loaded with those bullets the day I saw Galvin outside the ADA’s apartment.