The Blue Executions (13 page)

Kuhn thought about Jason
Luongo, as he exited the building onto Queens Boulevard.  The gray skies and light rain dampened his mood a bit.  He figured, aside from the slain officer’s family, he was one of the few to remember the cop’s name.  It was sad how over time, even other cops forgot the names of their brothers and sisters in blue who made the ultimate sacrifice.  Kuhn knew that he would never be able to bring a prosecution against Peter Groff for Luongo’s murder, but if he could at least see him convicted on the charges of this case he would do significant jail time.

*

Laurie Bando was elated with the Judge’s decision.  She had silently worried about the hearing.  After all, she had only taken over the case last week and didn’t have a whole lot of time to familiarize herself with its facts. 
Thank God that’s over with
.

Her mind began to
drift to her meeting this morning with the District Attorney of Queens County.  She kept replaying his words over and over in her head.  “Laurie, I promise you, if you win the case, I will be appointing you to the position of Bureau Chief of the Integrity Bureau.  I do have to tell you though; you have to understand, if Groff is acquitted I can’t make that appointment.  This is going to be one of the most highly publicized trials in New York City in recent memory.  It’s not every day that a New York City cop is accused of running a large scale drug ring involving numerous homicides.  I’m confident that I have chosen the best Assistant to prosecute the case and what better incentive than the promise of a career changing promotion if you win.”

Bando had been lost in thought but quickly snapped out of it as Judge Bolton spoke.  “Ms. Bando, is the prosecution ready for trial?”

She glanced over to the defense table at her adversary.  “Yes, Your Honor.  The people are ready.”

“Is the defense ready?”

Schilling stood up.  “No we are not Judge.  The defense would ask that the prosecution turn over the name of the Confidential Informant at this time, so that we may have ample to conduct a proper investigation into the informant.  I figure we will need at least a month your Honor.”

Bando was caught off guard by Schilling’s request but felt she was on a roll.  “Your Honor, in view of the charges
in which the defendant is facing, I would ask that we either move directly to trial or give me time to inform the C.I. that we are going to turn his name over to the defense team.  I fear that his safety may be in jeopardy and he should be properly forewarned.”

The judge carefully weighed each argument to himself before rendering his decision publicly.  “Ms. Bando, you have until May 15 to turn the name of the confidential informant over to the defense council.  Mr. Schilling, I am putting the trial on the calendar for June first.  That will give you about two weeks to prepare regarding the informant.”

Schilling didn’t appear to be happy.  He quickly rose from his seat to voice his concerns.  “Your Honor, two weeks is hardly enough time for me to conduct a proper background check on the informant.  I would ask for a trial date of July 15, if it pleases the court.”

Judge Bolton responded without even looking up from his calendar.  “Once again, Mr. Schilling, your objections are noted.  If you and Ms. Bando come to some sort of agreement about a postponement, I will take that under consideration but as of right now this case is on for trial on the first of June at 9:30 a.m.”

This is great! 
Laurie Bando had a momentous day in court.  She went up against and
beat
a high profiled private attorney and then had the Judge side with her on the date of the trial. 
The less time Schilling has to investigate my C.I, the better for the case.  Who knows what kind of dirt Schilling could dig up given enough time?

She picked up the yellow jacketed case folder which was nearly six inches thick.  She tucked it under her arm and headed back to her office.
  She couldn’t remember a time in her life when both her personal and professional lives were both on such highs. She couldn’t wait to tell Tommy all about how she had cut the famous Joseph Schilling down to size in the courtroom.

Holding her head up high, she walked out of the courthouse onto Queens Boulevard.  Not even the gloomy skies or rain could dampen her mood.  During the two block walk back to her office she had been day dreaming about the possibilities of being a Bureau Chief.  She would probably be the youngest Bureau in the office by quite a few years.

Bando got off the elevator on the second floor and turned right.  The large glass doors in front of her had the words
Office of the District Attorney
etched in white with the seal of the City of New York below.  As she approached she felt a pride she hadn’t felt since the first time she passed through the doors.  She studied the seal; having seen it perhaps thousands of times, this was the first time she took a good look.  It depicted a Native American and a Pilgrim separated by what looked like wind mill blades, wheat and beavers; on the top—a bald eagle.  The seal is dated 1625 and has the Latin term,
SIGILLUM CIVITATIS NOVI EBORACI, encircling the bottom.  Bando was pretty certain the term literally meant the seal of the City of New York.

She was proud to be part of this office
—
an important part.  She let her mind begin to wander even a bit more.  She thought that maybe one day, she could even become the first female District Attorney in the history of Queens County.  She swiped her pass key through the reader on the right of the doors and pushed open the heavy glass door.  She nodded hello to the secretary manning the reception area, where numerous police officers and complainants waited for the assistant district attorneys handling their respective cases.

In her excitement
, she had forgotten all about her lunch plans with Tommy.  “A.D.A. Bando?”  She turned to see that among the three police officers seated on the tan couch was Detective Tommy Galvin.

Oh shit, we had a lunch date.  How could I forget?
She did her best not to seem surprised.  The truth was she was very excited to see him.  She wanted to share the details of her morning with him in the worst way.

“Hi
, Detective Galvin. It’s nice to see you.”  She really wanted to throw her arms around him and give him a tight hug but she knew that she couldn’t.  They had decided to keep their relationship a secret and she knew that it was best that way.  “Thank you for coming in today.  I’ll be with you in a few minutes.”

She felt excitement in the pit of her stomach as she quickly walked to her office.  She discarded the case folder onto her desk and sat down in her chair.  She reached into the top right drawer; retrieving a compact mirror and a make-up bag.  She studied her reflection in the mirror, touching up her lipstick in the process.  She applied a thin coat of base make-up to cover up a small pimple on her forehead.  It was barely noticeable to anyone other than her.

Galvin and Bando got on the elevator together—barely saying a word to each other.  At one o’clock, the customary time for the entire court system to take their lunch break in Queens County, the elevator was overly crowded.  Neither said a word until they walked out of the building. 
At least the rain stopped.

They walked along Queens Boulevard—the crowd dissipated as they split into different directions.  Sensing they were a safe distance from her co-workers,”
so A.D.A. Bando, what can I buy you for lunch?”

She bit her lower lip and gave him a playful smile.  “How about, wherever
you
want…and I’m buying!”

Galvin
measured this for a moment.  “Hmm, does this mean the hearing went well this morning?”

“Better than I could have possibly imagined.”

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

Chapter 8

Brian McGregor took a bite of his bagel, promptly washing it down with a sip of soda.  He examined the front page of the Daily News.  It depicted the I.D. card photos of the three police officers who had been murdered over the past six weeks.  Superimposed over their faces was the crosshairs of a sniper’s scope.  A chill ran down McGregor’s spine as he read the headline;

HUNTED MEN!

McGregor slid the state of the art computer screen over to the left on his desk, allowing for room to open the newspaper.  He nervously tapped the fingernail of his index finger against the grey desktop, the noise, not heard by anyone other than himself in the spacious newsroom.  He glanced around the newsroom where dozens of reporters sat at their own desk either typing or reading.  There was nobody interested in what he was doing, yet he had a guilty feeling sitting on the story.  He watched as his editor walked up the stairs to next level, adding to his self conflict.  McGregor watched as Mr. Pantangelo emerged on the next floor from behind the red guardrail of the staircase.  The architecture reminded McGregor of a modern mall with the open ceilings allowing for a balcony view from the floor above.  With Pantangelo fading from his view, McGregor got back to the newspaper.   

He took another bite of the bagel before he
began to read the article.  He brushed the poppy seeds to the ground which had gathered on the newspaper.  The hypothesis of the article was that the officers had been assassinated by an unknown person, or group of people.  McGregor shook his head. 
If they only knew how close to the truth they really were.

McGregor was slightly annoyed that his competition was running a story in which he had
firsthand information, but a promise he had made to the Chief of Department kept him from reporting it.  He was told that sitting on the article for a short time was in the interest of justice and could help to apprehend the killer.  It was the morally correct thing to do he convinced himself.  On the business end, he reminded himself that Courtney promised him an exclusive once the case was closed.  He could live with that arrangement…at least for now.

As he neared the end of the article, he read about the unwavering denial by Chief Courtney to there being any factual basis to the theory.  He read the words carefully.  “Chief of Department Edward Courtney was quick to point out that Police Officer John Casey had interrupted an armed robbery and he was shot to death in the commission of that crime.  As for the last two officers, we are considering every possibility but there does not seem to be any connection at this time.  The two murders do not appear to be linked.”

What a crock of shit
. 
He knows damn well they’re related.

McGregor thought how coy the Chief was being by focusing on the one case that was
truly not related.  He wondered if this was a special set of circumstances or if the police lied to the press routinely—he was pretty sure that he knew the answer. 

McGregor threw the paper down of the desk with a purpose.  He was angry.  He drained the rest of his soda
thinking about his promise. 
Clearly, Courtney was not being honest with the other members of the press, so why should I trust him.

He didn’t know how much longer he should keep the story to himself.  As it is, he knew
that his editor would be furious with him if he knew about the letters.  Other reporters were speculating—McGregor had facts.  His scoop was slipping away from him…yet, he did give his word.

A voice from the newsroom broke his train of thought.  “Morning mail is in.”

McGregor looked up to see one of the college interns place a small pile of mail on his desk.  “Thanks Jimmy.”

“No problem, Mr. McGregor.”

McGregor discarded the empty bottle of soda into the trash can and brushed the mess that the bagel had left behind into the wastepaper basket.  He rummaged through what he was sure would be the usual assortment of fan mail, hate mail, editorials and everything in between.  One of the letters caught his eye; it was much thicker than the rest, heavier too.  Lifting it up, he could tell that there was more than just a letter in there. 
Something’s not right
.

The thought that it could be a mail bomb, briefly crossed his mind
.  After all, if a sociopath could go around executing on-duty, uniformed police officers then it wasn’t that far of a stretch for someone to start a letter bombing campaign against the press.  Then he realized that he was just being paranoid.

Nevertheless, he was extremely careful while opening the letter.  The hairs on the back of his neck stood up and there was anxiety in the pit of his stomach—he just sensed something was amiss.  There was an immediate sense of relief when the letter was opened without incident.  The relief, however, quickly
dissipated as he dumped the contents of the envelope onto his desk—along with a letter, was the memo book of Police Officer Christopher P. Tatum.

Uneasiness quickly took over his body; his mouth went instantly dry and he became sick to his stomach.  He
pushed his chair back from his desk and had to fight the urge to lose his breakfast.  There was something eerie about having the slain officer’s property on his desk.  Not wanting to see it, he shoved it into his drawer and closed it.  He stood up from his desk, trying to decide what to do.  He nervously ran his hands through his hair as he paced the floor of the office.