The Blue Executions (32 page)

Pelosi had the device at the ready in case it would be needed since prior approval had in fact been granted in the high profile case.  His men fanned out to the left and right as they made their way through the apartment.  He saw his
shield man stumble over some shoes and boxes left in the center of the living room.  One of the men found a light switch and turned it on, allowing the men to have a clear view of the unfamiliar location.

*

At shortly after six am, the quiet Brooklyn neighborhood was mostly still asleep.  Michael Underhill was no different.  He was sound asleep in his bed but he would not be for long.  His alarm clock was set for six thirty as he had an eventful day planned.  His gun, a .38 caliber revolver, lay on his nightstand directly in front of the alarm clock, which displayed the time 6:04 A.M. in large red font.  Underhill was usually a heavy sleeper but he began to stir.

*

The bedroom was in the back of the apartment to the left—the door was closed.  The officer with the shield and Lieutenant Pelosi stood on either side of the door.  A third officer, armed with an assault rifle, stood off to the side awaiting a signal from the Lieutenant.  Pelosi nodded at the door and the officer threw his shoulder into the door, breaking it wide open.  The officers, led by the officer with the ballistic shield quickly entered the room.  The target was still in bed and Pelosi opted not to use the flash grenade.

*

Was that a dog barking?
  He definitely heard a noise.  First a dog and then some sort of commotion. 
Oh my God, a burglar!
He glanced at his clock; it had been ten minutes past six when his bedroom door caved in.  Nearly a dozen men came charging at him.  He reached for his nightstand but before his hand could even reach it, he was stuck over the head with a four foot ballistic shield.  As he began to shake off the blow, another officer struck him square in the face with the butt end of a Ruger Mini-14 assault rifle—blood pouring down from his now broken nose on to his bare chest and bed sheets.

He was dragged out of bed and thrown to the floor.  More blood flowed, staining his beige carpets.  He was kicked and stomped as the cops called him a
‘scumbag’ and ‘a cop killer’.  There was nothing he could do except curl up in a ball and try to wait out the beating.  After about two minutes—although it seemed a lot longer—he heard a voice.

“Enough.  Cuff him up.”

Thank God.
The blood seemed the least of his problems; he was sure he had fractured ribs.  He couldn’t breathe without a substantial amount of pain. 

“Stand him up.”

Two of the cops rolled him on his side and yanked him up by the arms.  He had never experienced so much pain.  He was now on his feet and saw the small army of police officers surrounding him.  He recognized Lieutenant’s bars on the collar of the one officer who was clearly in charge.  Through his swollen eyes, he read the name Pelosi on the Lieutenant’s chest.  Lieutenant Pelosi grabbed him by the throat and pushed him against the wall.

“Somebody give me the picture.”

Staring into the Lieutenant’s eyes was frightening.  He’d never experienced so much hate before.  The Lieutenant released his grip and compared the man’s battered face to a photograph.  “That’s him boys; we got the scumbag.”

Once the apartment was searched for any other people and cleared by the officers, the Lieutenant took his radio from its holder.  “The apartment is clear.  We have one in custody.  It’s the subject of the warrant.  Lieutenant Gaston, you can have your men enter to search the apartment for evidence.”

The pain was bad but the fear of not knowing his future was really concerning.  He looked around his room seeing the anger on the faces of the heavily armed officers.  He mustered up enough strength to speak; his voice shaking.  “Excuse me, Lieutenant…can I please have my glasses?  I can’t see well without them.  They’re on the nightstand by the bed.”

*

Is he kidding me?
  Pelosi couldn’t believe the nerve of this guy.  He glanced at where the night table had been before they entered.  It had been turned over during the struggle and whatever had been on it was now among the mess on the floor.

“Hey Lieu, I see his glasses; they’re over here on the floor.”  It was the officer who had been carrying the shield.  Pelosi watched as the officer bent his knee as high as his flexibility would allow and stomped down on the glasses.

Pelosi shrugged his shoulders and laughed in the man’s face.  “Sorry, it looks like your glasses broke when you tried to assault us.”

The precinct detective squad entered the house and began to look around.  One of the detective’s took control over the bloody prisoner and Gaston thanked Pelosi and his men for a job well done and all of their assistance.  The two men shook hands as the ESU team began to depart.  Pelosi was the last man out.  It had been a particularly gratifying morning.

*

The most dangerous part was now over but Gaston knew this was only the beginning of a long day ahead for them. 
His squad room would be inundated all day with bosses of every rank looking to get their name down on paper as having been present for one of the biggest arrests in the history of the department.  He took his cell phone out from his jacket pocket and called his detective squad.  He ordered one of the two detectives that he left behind, to call the riding ADA in the Homicide Bureau.

It would be imperative for them to find the murder weapon and anything else that would connect their subject to the cop killings. 
They would also seize any computers that the man had just in case he had the killings documented somewhere on the computer.  It was not a very large apartment and Gaston felt it would not take that long to search.  He called for one of the uniformed teams to enter the location.  They did.

“Hey guys, do me a favor and transport this piece of shit back to the
house
.  Bring him directly up to the squad and throw him in the cells upstairs.  Grab him a pair of pants and a shirt.  Oh and also, make sure EMS cleans him up before you leave.”

“No problem, Lieu,” the younger of the two officers responded.

“Thanks guys.”

The officer grabbed the man tightly by the back of the neck as he walked him out.  He whispered into his ear.  “We’re going to take the long way back to the precinct, cop killer.”

Gaston pretended not to hear the comment, but instead gave direction to his detectives.  “Okay, guys.  This is probably the biggest case of all of our careers.  No short cuts.  Let’s find the gun and make sure we take pictures of any evidence we find, where we find it.  Let’s start the search right here in the bedroom.  We almost always find the gun in the perp’s bedroom.”

*

There were butterflies in Santoro’s stomach as he waited back at the precinct.  Although the Apprehension Team was the best at what they did, there was always a multitude of things that could go wrong.  Santoro was monitoring the point to point radio transmissions as he paced the floor of Lieutenant Gaston’s office.  He finally breathed a sigh of relief when he heard Lieutenant Pelosi say they had the perp in custody.

He wanted to call the Police Commissioner himself, but he knew
that he would always follow the chain of command.  He immediately delivered the good news to Chief Edward Courtney, who could use some good fortune for a change.  Courtney could not thank him enough for his catch of the DNA before hanging up.

After hanging up the phone, he waited by the entrance to the detective squad.  He wanted to lay eyes on the man that was responsible for killing three cops.  Rank went out the window where a cop killer was concerned.  They were hated equally by all ranks.  Still, it had been a successful endeavor.  There were no members of the service injured, a cop killer was apprehended, and it was all due to Santoro’s sharp eye finding the DNA evidence.  This would have to be made part of the case file and would be common knowledge to the entire city—including all of the candidates who were running for Mayor.
  While it wouldn’t guarantee his consideration for the Commissioner’s post, it certainly couldn’t hurt his chances.

*

The sound of an incoming text message woke Laurie Bando from her sleep shortly after seven thirty.  She retrieved her phone from the nightstand to review the message; it was the same message every assistant district attorney across the city received.  Laurie was thrilled to learn of the arrest.  She had been worried to death for Tommy’s safety with this mad man running on the loose, killing police officers.  The fact that the police department felt Tommy was at serious risk had made her sick to her stomach.  She shut off her alarm clock, which was set to go off in less than ten minutes.  She scrolled through her recent calls on her phone and called the most recent number on her list. The phone was answered on the seventh ring.

“Hello,” a very raspy-voiced Tommy Galvin answered.

“Did you hear?  They got him; the cop killer.  They caught him this morning.”  Laurie made no effort to mask her excitement.

Galvin seemed to wake instantly.  “No, I didn’t.  That’s great!  Where and when did they get him?
  Did they release his name yet?

“I’m not sure.  I’ll call you with all of the details as soon as I get to work.”

“I have a better idea.  How about I pick you up and take you to work today?  I’d love to see you in action during jury selection.”

Laurie bit her lower lip, considering the offer.  “Okay, you got a deal.  But today,
you
can buy lunch.”  She was excited at the idea of having Tommy see her in the courtroom.  He would be her good luck charm, she assured herself.

Galvin laughed.  “Okay A.D.A. Bando, you got yourself a
lunch date.  I’ll text you when I’m on my way.” 

Laurie laid out a navy blue pants suit and a white blouse on her bed. 
A touch of red would look nice
, she thought as she selected a scarf from her closet.  She walked into the bathroom and turned on the shower.  Her mind raced in a myriad of directions.  Over the course of a ten minute shower, she thought about her relationship with Tommy as well as her career.

Jury selection was nearly complete and she was formulating her opening argument in her head.  The stakes were high for her, but she believed
that she was up to the challenge. 
Bureau Chief Bando; it has a nice ring to it.

She stared at her image in the mirror.  Adjusting the scarf around her neck, she affirmed her decision to wear it.  A bit of hairspray should be enough to keep the tight bun in place.  Once she was satisfied, she brought in the morning newspaper.

THE BLUE EXECUTIONER

She decided the headline was catching, but the paper was a day late and a dollar short since the police had arrested the killer only a couple of hours ago.  She set the newspaper down on the table in favor of getting her case folder together.  Having stayed up late last night trying to tie up
any loose ends, she left the papers from her case folder scattered about the coffee table.  Just as she finished with the case folder the familiar tone of a text message from her purse could be heard.

“
I’m on my way. I’ll be there soon.  Love you.”

A warm sensation ran through her body as she got up to unlock the door for him.  She began to text him back but then decided
that she would wait to tell him in person that she loved him as well.  She couldn’t wait to see him. 

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

Chapter 17

Michael Underhill was not happy.  He sat face down at the table, his arms on the table in front of him.  The side of his face was swollen; the pain aggravating.  He put a hand to his nose. 
At least my nose stopped bleeding
.

He glanced at the blood on the floor
; shocked that there was not more. Underhill reflected on the events which led him to his current situation. 
I shouldn’t be sitting here like this. At least the yelling stopped.
  Underhill didn’t like the yelling; it was a bit unsettling for him.  He hadn’t been yelled at like that for years.
 

Underhill realized
that he was a hero to this city—even if the citizens didn’t yet realize it.  He had set out to do a noble deed and had been doing a very good job at it.  This was certainly a distraction that he didn’t want, but he knew he would have to deal with it.  He picked up the pen left on the table in front of him and began to write what had happened on the legal pad next to it.  People needed to know why he did it.

He finished writing the confession—short and to the point.  He signed it not by his name, but instead as the Blue Executioner.  There was a certain irony that it took Underhill this long to see the newspaper on the table next to him.  It was almost as if the newspaper had been left there on purpose for him to see.  He read the headlines, and although he was pleased, he was also agitated that it took this long for the story to be printed.  He read the bylines—Brian McGregor. 
Finally.

He quickly thumbed through the pages to see copies of his letters printed inside.  He would wait until later to read them but there was a great feeling of satisfaction.

Then he thought back to the yelling again.  It was unsettling; it was so loud.  It reminded him of the way his gym teacher in high school, Mr. Wahl, used to yell at him.  He hated Mr. Wahl.  Mr. Wahl would yell at him on an almost daily basis—calling him lazy, a fat slob and telling him that he would get nowhere in life.  There was even one time Underhill was pretty sure Wahl had been watching the boys as they showered after gym class.  Wahl had always made him feel uncomfortable and Underhill swore to himself that he would one day get even with him.

Underhill’s daydream was broken when he noticed the door had been left ajar. 
Very careless. 
He looked down at the confession which he had just written and picked it up.  He decided that he didn’t want to be there anymore.  He grabbed the newspaper as well—wanting to read it as soon as possible and headed for the open door.

*

Tommy Galvin held a cup of coffee in each hand as he walked toward Laurie’s apartment shortly before eight-thirty.  As there were no closer parking spots, he was forced to park near a playground a few blocks away.  Although he was off-duty, he wore a tan jacket over a light blue shirt and a paisley tie.  Galvin was a complete professional and would show the appropriate respect to the courts that they deserved by dressing in a suitable manner.

The area was beginning to come to life.  Galvin nodded hello to a group of women
who were power walking near the park.  He watched as a man was cleaning up after his dog only a few feet from where a group of children were waiting for their bus to take them to camp.  As he got onto Laurie’s block he watched as more than a few parking spots opened up as people left for work. 
I should’ve waited a few more minutes.
One of Laurie’s other neighbors, a man who looked like he had a rough night, was walking towards him.  Their eyes met and the man seemed to recognize Galvin instantly.

Galvin dropped his eyes, hoping the neighbor would not say anything to him.  Over the last few weeks
, Galvin had experienced a few uncomfortable situations.  With his picture plastered all over the news and in every newspaper, Galvin had become widely recognized.  Some supported him; others made snide comments under their breath.  Either way, Galvin really just wanted to be left alone.  The man slowed down a bit but kept walking toward him, his hands in his pockets—the morning paper folded under his arm.

*

Before leaving through the open door, Underhill knelt down on the floor.  He momentarily placed the newspaper on the floor before withdrawing the knife from Laurie Bando’s dead body.  He reread the statement which he had just written and laid it on top of her chest.  The fluidity of the red blood and scarf made it hard to tell the difference from the scarf and her blood absorbed blouse.  Underhill plunged the knife back into her chest, pinning the note to her.  He picked up the mug from the floor and studied it.  It read The Shamrock House; East Durham, New York—satisfied that there was no blood on it, Underhill set it neatly back on the table.  With a paper towel from the kitchen, he wiped up the few drops of blood that had fallen from his nose and put the paper towel in his pocket.

He picked up her newspaper.  In the upper right corner, he wrote 0809 hours and 04 seconds—the time of the execution.  Underhill confidently strode out of her apartment. 
Why did she have to keep yelling at me? She should have accepted her punishment.  As a prosecutor, she knows better than anyone that crime does not pay.

He began walking down the block in the direction of the park where his car was parked.  His head was throbbing from when the compromised
Assistant District Attorney had struck him with the coffee mug.  It hurt a great deal.

Underhill’s excitement piqued when he recognized detective Tommy Galvin walking up the block.  He felt his knees slightly buckle. 
Keep calm
.  Underhill observed Galvin had both of his hands occupied, giving Underhill a huge tactical advantage.  This was a huge opportunity for him; one that he could not pass up.  Underhill kept his hands firmly in place in his pants pocket, hiding any blood he may have gotten on him; and of course he was still wearing latex gloves which needed to be concealed.  His right hand grabbed the butt of the .38 caliber revolver. The two men were less than ten feet apart and Underhill deliberately slowed down his pace.

*

The two men passed without any comment or acknowledgement, much to Galvin’s delight.  Galvin approached the front door to Laurie’s apartment.  He stacked one coffee on top of the other and knocked on the door with his free hand.  “Laurie, it’s me.”

There was no response.

Galvin knocked a second time.  “Laurie, love.  It’s me, Tommy.”

That’s odd.  I figured she’d be waiting for me
.

He looked down at his wrist watch then h
e set the coffees down on the floor and called her from his cell phone.  When he heard her phone ringing on the other side of the door, he knocked again; this time with more purpose.  Suddenly his body was overrun by a sickening feeling. 
That guy.  He had a fresh bruise on his face!

Galvin glanced down the block to see the man in a full sprint. 
The man looked back over his shoulder at Galvin and that’s when the reality of the situation hit Galvin.  The hairs on the back of his neck stood up.  “Laurie!”

Galvin put his shoulder into the front door; forcing it open.

*

No sooner did Underhill pass Galvin, than did he become infuriated with himself.  He would likely never get an easier chance at executing Galvin.  This could have been his best day by far since he began the blue execution
s.  He could have eliminated a horrific duo that had conned the good citizens of New York City into letting a murderer walk free.

He soon forgave himself however.  In his heart, he knew
that he could not have executed Galvin right there.  He was not prepared.  His gun was loaded with regular .38 caliber ammunition just in case he needed to use the gun on the ADA.  It would not be just to execute the cop with any ammunition other than the cop killer bullets.

Underhill quickened his pace once the two men passed.  He glanced back over his shoulder at Galvin who was now approaching the ADA’s apartment. 
Just keep walking
.

Time was his ally—the longer Galvin stood there knocking, the further the distance between the two men would be.  He looked back at Galvin a second time from over a block away.  Underhill knew that Galvin had figured it out.  Underhill ran as fast as he could to his car.

Within minutes, Underhill realized that he was safe; there were no signs of police cars, helicopters or anything else unusual as he made his way back to Brooklyn.  He turned on the car radio to listen to the news.  He was a bit surprised at the breaking story.  The NYPD announced the arrest of a man wanted in connection with the murder of three police officers.  They referred to the man as The Blue Executioner. 
So they
can
work fast when they really want to.
 

Underhill let the news story sink in.  He had hoped
that the cops would not have the DNA results back until after he had murdered the ADA.  That would have clearly taken the heat off the investigation and made it easier to kill Galvin.  Either way, at least he had finally gotten even with his abusive high school gym teacher.  He hoped the cops would give Mr. Wahl a hard time while he remains in custody.  Of course, he realized that would only be temporary now that he killed the ADA while Wahl was in custody.  Still it felt good.

Underhill’s assertion that he was smarter than the police was validated in his mind by the arrest of Wahl.  He had masterminded the frame job and the cops willingly bought it.  It really hadn’t been hard, thanks to the internet.  A quick search of the
web yielded the former teacher’s home address.  After watching the house for a couple of days, Underhill confirmed that it was the teacher’s residence and that he lived alone.  Once Wahl put his recyclables out to the curb for the sanitation department last week, the plan was set in motion.  Underhill knew he had him. 

The irony was that Underhill had actually gotten pulled over at three in the morning
, just after taking the can of soda from Wahl’s trash.  Of course, they let him go after checking to see that his license was valid—still having been stopped by the police while he was setting up his former teacher was quite a rush.  He felt the excitement knowing that if they knew who he was, they would arrest him on the spot—but only because they didn’t understand the job that he was doing.  Once they let him go, he knew for sure that the NYPD was not yet on to him.