Legacy and Redemption (20 page)

“It has nothing to do with this case,” he tried to explain it away; even if it were only a half truth.

“What then?”

Why does everyone want to keep pressing issues with me today? First Keegan, now Frank.

“I can’t tell even you, Frank. I wish I could…but I just can’t.”

There was a long pause; longer than would have been considered polite had the two men not been such good friends over the course of nearly thirty years. It became uncomfortable as Castillo searched his friend’s eyes for understanding. Finally, Balentine spoke. “Okay Louie, I’ll do it, but please tell me you’re not saying anything, or keeping anything from anyone that could jeopardize this case.”

Castillo manufactured what he hoped would come across as a sincere grin. “Of course not, Frank.”

Castillo notice flurries appear on the shoulders of Balentine’s outer jacket. His eyes, followed by Balentine’s, went up to the street lamp to see a steady snow fall beginning. Balentine offered his hand. “Good luck with whatever you have going on, Louie.”

“Thanks Frank, I appreciate it.” and they parted ways.

Castillo put his head down to avoid the winds as he began a four block walk towards One Police Plaza. The distance was less than a half mile, and even with Castillo’s limp, it would take him less than ten minutes to arrive. His heart beat just a little harder as he imagined what Commissioner Santoro’s reaction might be.

One thing that Castillo had going for him was that Santoro was already expecting both he and Inspector Talbot, so he would have no problem getting an audience with Santoro. Otherwise, showing up to headquarters and asking to speak to the Police Commissioner is unheard of. You probably have a better chance of hitting Lotto…twice, than you do showing up unexpected and actually getting to see New York City’s top cop.

The wind was relentless and Castillo found himself beginning to shiver. Still, considering what he was going to tell the Police Commissioner, the unseasonable temperatures and snow fall would be a warmer reception than he was going to receive at Police Headquarters.

Fourteenth Floor—One Police Plaza, New York City

Office of the Police Commissioner

--------------------------------------------------------------------

Castillo took off his coat and hung it up on the coat rack in the outer waiting room of the Police Commissioner’s office. He helped himself to a cup of coffee from the coffee maker situated on a desk in the corner. He had hoped being more comfortable and perhaps the cup of coffee would help ease his nerves. It did not.

Castillo shifted his weight on the black leather sofa while waiting to be called in. Not only was he anxious about what he had to tell Santoro, but he also feared that Inspector Talbot would be walking in any minute. Castillo realized that a private audience with the Police Commissioner was essential in light of what Castillo needed to tell him. Castillo glanced down to the watch on his left wrist; fifteen minutes had passed since his arrival. He couldn’t get in to see the PC soon enough.

Castillo thought it was ironic that the last time he had been in this very office was about twenty years ago, and the topic then was the same as it is today—Lieutenant James Keegan. After what seemed like an eternity, a uniformed Inspector walked out of the Commissioner’s office. The man had a full head of gray hair and looked worn down. Castillo noted the seven stripes on his lower left sleeve, indicating at least thirty-five years of service. The Inspector escorted Castillo inside.

The office was relatively the same as he remembered it from twenty years earlier. It was a spacious office with a view of lower Manhattan. The number of certificates and documents displayed on the walls reminded Castillo more of a doctor’s office than a supervisor of police. There were two black leather sofas similar to the one in the waiting room, separated by a glass coffee table. In the far corner was a doorway which Castillo figured to lead to either a small locker room or a rest room.

The centerpiece of the room had to be the highly polished cherry wood desk situated in front of the oversized window overlooking lower Manhattan. The desk was easily eight feet long and four feet wide. Police Commissioner Ray Santoro stood up from behind the desk and shook Castillo’s hand. “What happened to Inspector Talbot?”

Castillo could sense the skepticism in the Commissioner’s voice. Although Castillo had never met Santoro before, he had formed his own opinion of the man as cops tend to do with all Police Commissioners. Santoro was well liked by the rank and file. He had rose through the ranks of the department, while remaining on the streets and involved in cases for the majority of his career. He was previously the Chief of Detectives, which to Castillo meant he understood what it took to solve a case and how to run a real investigation—unlike so many of the previous PCs. Castillo liked him. He was polished. He wore custom tailored designer suits and fine Italian dress shoes. He was clean shaven and never had a hair out of place. Castillo figured Santoro to be in his early fifties—a relatively young age to achieve the highest position in the department.

“He’ll be here shortly, Commissioner. The truth is there’s an urgent matter that’s come up as a result of this case. Inspector Talbot is unaware of it, but I did feel it was something that you needed to know.”

“Okay Detective”, a hint of caution in his voice. Santoro motioned to a pair of chairs behind Castillo as he took his seat.

Castillo pulled up a black leather chair and sat. Castillo sat at the forward edge of the chair and kept his back straight. He could feel the sweat forming on his forehead. “Sir, I know that you’re already aware of the reason that Murad Zein wanted to speak to Officer Keegan face to face.”

Santoro nodded his head and smirked. “Yes, I’m aware.” The tone was somewhere in between sarcastic and mocking. “Can you imagine all of the information this guy gave us just to feed Keegan a line of crap? The best part is it looks like his information is good…so far anyway.”

This took Castillo off guard. “What do you mean?”

Santoro would explain, “While you guys were flying back to New York, the FBI had already begun running with the names you guys extracted from the terrorist. They hit the motel in Dallas where they had traced Malik al-Jafri to. They apprehended him, as well as recovered a suicide vest all ready to go.”

“That’s great!”

“Yes, it is. Let’s hope the rest of the takedowns are just as simple.”

Santoro stood up and walked across the room where a small refrigerator, microwave oven, and a station for coffee were in a corner just below where a fifty-two inch television was mounted on the wall. “Can I get you a coffee or water, detective?” as he helped himself to a bottle of water.

Castillo declined. “Here’s the problem, Commissioner.”

Santoro nearly stopped dead in his tracks at the mere mention of the word. Words like ‘problem’ were not words men like Santoro wanted to hear. His eyes were fixed on Castillo’s as he would now be hanging on the detectives every word. “Get on with it,” as he set his water on his desk and sat back down.

Castillo could feel a bead of sweat rolling down his forehead as he began. “The line of crap that Zein was feeding Keegan wasn’t actually a lie. He was telling the truth.”

“What do you mean he was telling the truth…about Lieutenant Keegan’s murderer?” The doubt in his voice was obvious.

“Yes, sir. Keegan wasn’t killed by mid-eastern extremists. He was killed by another terrorist organization—one in which Lieutenant Keegan himself was an active member.”

Santoro rose from his seat, his face becoming instantly red. “You need to explain exactly what you’re talking about, and why I need to know this.”

Just then Santoro’s phone rang. After allowing it to ring four times, he answered it, “Yes, Phil, what is it?” After a short pause, “tell Talbot he’ll have to wait for a little bit. Tell him I’m on an important call or something.” He slammed down the phone. “You have my undivided attention, Detective Castillo.”

“Back in the early 1990’s, I was a detective assigned to the Internal Affairs Bureau. I had a case on James Keegan—it was actually a self initiated case.” Castillo threw that in there in hopes to lend some credibility to his own investigative skills.

“I believed that Keegan was running guns to the Irish Republican Army. By the time I began my investigation, Keegan had already broken up the Federal Courthouse bombing plot and was a nationally recognized hero for a while. He was even a guest of President and Mrs. Clinton at the White House.”

Santoro was clearly impatient. “Spare me the history lesson; I’m well aware of Keegan’s heroics. I think anyone who was on the job back then remembers, and those who weren’t, are taught about it when the go through the academy. Get back to the I.R.A.”

He did. “I began surveilling Keegan and found that he was in fact smuggling guns from New York City to Northern Ireland. His connection over here was a man named Dan O’Brien. O’Brien was a bartender in Manhattan at the time who oversaw the gun running from the stateside. Keegan was involved for many years supplying the Irish Republican Army with guns.”

Castillo could see the look in Santoro’s eyes was incredulous. Santoro slumped back into his chair as Castillo continued. “In 1995, the I.R.A. sent an assassin to execute the Grand Marshall of the Saint Patrick’s Day Parade. Although Keegan initially supplied the hit man with the gun to be used in the assassination, he had a change of heart. During the parade, Lieutenant Keegan shot and killed the man before he had the chance to carry out the hit. The media portrayed Keegan as a national hero, but the truth was he was in over his head with the Irish terrorists.”

After a long hiatus to let Santoro digest what he had been told, Castillo went on. “The I.R.A. was the one to plant the car bomb which killed Keegan. We just blamed it on the Mid-Eastern radicals because it made sense to do it at the time. Keegan was already well known as having broken up a Mid-Eastern terrorist ring, and only a few months before, the Judge in the case had been murdered by the radicals. It was the perfect cover up to avoid any embarrassment for the department. Having a high ranking member of the department doubling as a terrorist would have been disastrous for the NYPD. It would have been a black eye that we may not have been able to recover from.”

Santoro stood up. He removed his light gray pinstriped suit jacket and placed it on the desk in front of him; his nine millimeter service weapon holstered at his hip, now exposed. He roughly ran a hand across his chin then leaned in closely to Castillo; both hands on the desk. Castillo could feel Santoro’s breath against his face as he spoke. “Why are you telling me this, Detective Castillo?”

Castillo could feel his heart begin to beat a bit harder against his chest. “Keegan…uh, Police Office Keegan that is. He’s taking what Murad Zein said to heart. He wouldn’t stop talking about it on the plane home. He’s talking
Freedom of Information Law
petitions. He’s vowed to get to the bottom of what Zein told him. I’m afraid if he turns over too many rocks, he may find something.”

Santoro paced the floor, clearly weighing his options. “This is not my problem Detective. This is something that you did—a cover up—almost twenty years ago, and now you want to drop it on my lap. I don’t think so. Your lies, your problems…”

Castillo tactfully cut him off; his voice soft and reassuring; “But your department, Commissioner. I know it sounds bad, but if the truth were to come out, the press would be all over it. The department would look as bad today as it would’ve twenty years ago. We were only looking out for the best interests of the department back then and I’m doing the same thing now.”

“We? Who exactly are we? How high did this conspiracy go?” Santoro demanded.

“Very high, sir. But there were only a few of us. Other than myself, there was the Chief of Detectives, The Chief of Department and the Police Commissioner. I have to imagine it was run up to Washington after that because years later the government announced that Lieutenant Keegan’s assassin was killed by a drone strike. The man they blamed was Murad Zein’s paraplegic uncle.”

A sarcastic smile came across Santoro’s face. “And now we know Zein’s motive for getting involved with this…this fucking Jihad of theirs! This is some bag of shit detective.” Santoro stood back up and stared out of the window onto lower Manhattan. “I’m getting out ahead of this. I’ve run this department with honesty and integrity since the day I took that oath. I’m not going to get involved in some two decade old conspiracy to save your ass or guys who have been retired for over a decade. If everything you’re saying is true, let Keegan…and the press hear it from me.”

A sinking feeling suddenly overcame Castillo. “Sir…Commissioner, that’s not a good idea.”

Santoro shot back. “You just said that Keegan was going to file
FOIL
requests and keep digging. If the truth is going to come out anyway…”

Castillo held out a hand while shaking his head. “We can stall the
FOIL
petitions stating national security. I can show him my old case folder on his old man. I’ll go through it first to make sure there are no loose ends for him to sniff around. Please. Give it some time. Maybe he’ll even lose interest.”

Santoro didn’t immediately respond which was a good sign to Castillo; at least he was considering what was being suggested. “Who else is still around that knows the truth?”

“Nobody,” Castillo lied. There was no need to bring his wife into this discussion. Castillo was sure that Sharon would never speak a word of it. “It’s just the former top echelon of the department. They haven’t said anything after all of these years, there is no reason to think they would now. It could only be bad for them if the truth came out too.”

“What about the bartender?”

“I tried to build a case on him for the distribution of guns shortly after Keegan’s assassination, but I was never able to get anywhere with the case. I called in a favor and had a friend in the INS pull his visa and had him deported. I checked a few times over the years to make sure that he never came back, but in truth, after the Good Friday peace accord between the I.R.A. and the British government in 1998, there would be no reason for him to return here.”

“Detective, I’ll give you some time to contain it, but if Keegan starts getting too close I’ll have no choice but to cover my own ass and get out ahead of it. I’m sorry if it falls on you, but you’re the last man standing who was part of the scheme.”

“Thank you, sir; I’m sure I can keep the kid at bay. He just needs some sort of distraction.”

Castillo saw Santoro’s eyes lighten; clearly an idea had popped into the Commissioner’s head. “You said he was talking about his dad the entire time on the plane?”

Castillo nodded. “He wouldn’t shut up about him.”

“How do you think he’d like a temporary assignment to the Joint Terrorist Task Force? Do you think that would be a big enough detractor? We can transfer the Sergeant that he was with as well so it won’t look suspicious—Sergeant Galvin.”

Castillo liked the plan. “I think that’s a great idea. After all, they are the ones who got the entire ball rolling on this by stopping and killing the first terrorist—Nazeem al-Haq. It wouldn’t appear outwardly unusual at all.”

Santoro’s enthusiasm for the plan seemed to grow fonder by the moment. “What a great story that would be in the news; a real feel good story. The son of a hero cop who was killed in the line of duty by terrorists gets transferred to the unit charged with taking them down—the same unit his father was assigned to when he was killed in the line of duty.”