New York Chief of Detectives (10 page)

“I know how hard you’ve been working. I’ve been reading your reports, and I know that we’re looking under the rocks.”

Mary answered with obvious frustration in her voice. “We’ve turned over a lot of rocks without finding anything. It’s very frustrating. We’ve hit up our snitches, and they know nothing, or at least aren’t giving anything up to us. I even did the unthinkable, Chief.”

“What might that be?”

“I even snuggled up nice and cozy with a couple of IAB guys working the case.”

“What did that do for you?”

“It let me know they think the same way about female cops as all the others, trying to get me in the sack. It also let me know that they don’t have squat either. The guys admitted to me, that they have nothing.”

“I refused to go there with the ‘rat squad,’ Chief, but my lovely red-headed partner has no scruples.” Mike Logan added.

“I’ll accept leads from anywhere, as long as we nail the perp.” Mary insisted.

“Have we gotten anywhere looking at the suspects in Tony’s other cases or people he’d sent to the slammer?”

“Alverez and Anderson took a hard look at that. They ran all the names through the RTCC database. We can’t find anyone that had a major beef with Tony. Chief, this guy seems to have been pretty well respected by just about everybody including the perps he’s put away.” Mary explained.

“That doesn’t surprise me at all, knowing how smoothly Tony operated. If there’s anything you need, let me know. We’re going to shake the bushes tomorrow night guys.”

“Mike and I’ll be there with bells on, Chief, and I’ll wear my lucky shamrock.”

“Thanks Mary, I appreciate all the work you and Mike have put into this. We’ll get this guy.”

Mike Logan then made a final comment. “I’m not in the habit of polishing the brass, Chief, but I’m really happy to have you and the Captain running this thing. You’re both stand up guys.”

“Thanks, Mike, I know that you’re tough on us One PP types. It means a lot.”

Mike and Mary left, and Bryan sat down with Pat.

“How much heat are you getting on this case, Chief?” 

“It is about medium now, but the deal with the Queens DA definitely turned up the heat on my rear end, which now is about medium rare. Longstreet was off the scale, but he still did the right thing. You see, Bryan, it isn’t that these are bad guys in the ivory tower; they just need someone to remind them of who and what we are. They are so close to the lousy New York City politics that they let the politics become the standard of whether the NYPD has done a good job. We both know that has no chance of being right. I’ve refused to go there, and it sometimes puts me in an unpleasant place, but I can look in the mirror, and look my detectives and the cops in the eye in good conscience.”

“Well said, Chief, but I’m not sure I could do it as calmly as you can.”

“Bryan, the last thing a detective needs to worry about is if we have their backs. The shit rolling down-hill needs to stop on our shoulders.”

“Agreed!” 

CHAPTER 21

Wednesday, April 7-Day 6

Chief of Detectives’ Office-One Police Plaza

Borough of Manhattan, New York

2015 Hours

Pat’s
phone vibrated at about 2015 hours. He was still in the office, and had sent Dickie home hours ago.

“Pat O’Connor.”

“Hi, its Maggie, I just got into La Guardia. Are you still up for dinner?”

“Of course, I’m the luckiest cop in New York.”

“Where can I meet you?” She asked.

“I was thinking about the Steamboat.”

“Why not? It’s Wednesday night and Judy Carter is playing. I love watching you drool over her.”

“I might be drooling over her stride piano playing maybe, but not anything else. She’s one of the best piano players in New York, or anywhere for that matter! But you, my gorgeous friend, are the prettiest girl in New York.”

“Thanks. Hopefully, I can be there by 9:00; I don’t have any luggage.”

“I look forward to seeing you, Maggie.” 

Pat got to the Steamboat early, and sat at a table near the bandstand where Judy was playing a Fats Waller number. Sam Spicer, the owner sat down with Pat. 

“I see you have your horn with you, Chief.”

“Yep, just in case I get the urge. Maggie Parker will be joining me.”

“That’s good! A man shouldn’t eat alone.”

“A man shouldn’t have to work as hard as I do.”

“I know that’s true; you should play more jazz music.”

“If I don’t get some time to practice, I’ll lose what lip I have left.”

“I doubt that, but you’re always welcome to play here.”

“Thanks, Sam, it always feels like home here.”

“You bet, Pat.”

Maggie was on time sharply at 2100. Pat stood up as she walked over to the table. He kissed her on the cheek, and she sat down and smiled.

“Do you think we can get through dinner without an interruption tonight?”

“Well, gorgeous, I’ll cut my cell phone off, if you’ll cut yours off.”

“You know I can’t do that, Pat.”

“And neither can I. Let’s just enjoy the time we have and not worry about it.”

Sam recommended the Cajun catfish, and they both agreed to try it.

“Maggie, you’d love New Orleans. They have the greatest restaurants in the world, and the music is phenomenal.”

“I’ve been there when I was on the detail after Hurricane Katrina. The whole city smelled like pee to me.”

“That’s just the Bourbon Street tourist traps. The jazz brunch on Sunday at the Café Orleans is to kill for. You can have everything you could imagine to eat, while listening to the classic traditional jazz. It’s like living in a dream back in time.”

“If you liked New Orleans so much, why’d you come to New York?”

“My parents were from New York. My dad did a stint in the Navy and really liked New Orleans. When I was just a toddler, my dad took a job in New Orleans. I grew up in the French Quarter, which was the heart of the jazz world in those days. I used to hang out when I was only ten or eleven, listening to Al Hirt and Pete Fountain, when they had clubs on Bourbon Street. I also got to hear the Dukes of Dixieland and many of the old pioneers of early jazz who were still playing. I’m talking about people who had grown up with Louis Armstrong. It was a wonderful and exciting place. I always thought that one day I’d be one of those guys. I knew that I had a special gift. My parents died pretty early. I don’t have any family left down there, but a lot of friends.”

“So why did you come to New York?”

“New York is the center of the music business, and a jazz scholarship was very rare in those days, let alone to Julliard. I had big dreams. The music career didn’t work out, but then came the NYPD and now I’m hooked on this city. So how did a drop dead, gorgeous woman like you end up as a senior U. S. Secret Service Agent?”

“You know that I grew up in Texas. My folks had a ranch and were quite comfortable. My dad was a gun collector and had all kinds of old western pistols and rifles. We used to shoot at beer bottles on fence posts. I loved it, although I wasn’t really a ‘tomboy.’ I loved dressing up for proms and dances too. We were in town one day when I was a teenager and saw all the streets blocked off, and this motorcade came through. It was Ladybird Johnson and her Secret Service detail. I was shocked when I saw that one of the agents was a woman. From that point on, I knew I wanted to be an agent. While finishing college, I worked a couple of years as a campus police officer, but I knew I wanted to join the Secret Service.”

“I’m very glad you did, and I’m very glad you’re still in New York.”     

“This is my fourth stop. I started in New York, then went to Texas, DC for the President’s detail and then back to New York. I hope this is my last stop.”

“I’d hate to see you leave again.”

Dinner arrived and Pat and Maggie talked about everything but work.

“I must admit that I like this, Pat, although I don’t usually like spicy food. This is perfect.”

“Just like the company, my friend.”

“Back at you!”

Judy Carter pulled the microphone to the piano.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we have with us one of the great trumpet players in the city and I would like to ask my friend, Pat O’Connor, if he would grace us with a tune.”

Maggie smiled. “Go ahead, Pat. Give me a touch of New Orleans.”

Pat took out his trumpet, and walked up on the stage.

“What do you want to play tonight Mr. Trumpet Man?”

“Easy choice, let’s play ‘Do you Know what it Means to Miss New Orleans?’”

Maggie was beaming as Pat played the beautiful ballad about old New Orleans.

Pat played a few more tunes, said his goodbyes, and walked Maggie to her “G-ride.”

“This was just great, Pat. Would you like to stop by my apartment for a little while? It’s still early.”

Pat smiled.

“I’d like that very much.”

Pat pulled into Maggie’s parking garage. He took his tie off and put it around the rear view mirror. He gripped Maggie’s hand as they walked toward the elevator. Before hitting the up button, Pat released Maggie’s hand and grabbed his cell phone.

“Pat O’Connor.”

“Chief, this is Dickie. They have a burned car in Queens near the college. It fits the description of our suspect vehicle, and there’s a stiff in it.”

“Okay, I’ll pick you up in a few minutes.”

Maggie let out a big breath.

“Unbelievable!”

“I’m sorry, Maggie.”

“No, just go do your job.”

As Maggie rode up the elevator alone, she could hear the siren on Pat’s Chrysler bouncing off the buildings.

CHAPTER 22

Wednesday, April 7-Day 6

Campus Drive

Borough of Queens, New York

2300 Hours

Pat
arrived on the scene near Queens College. The car was on a side street and had been burned to a shell. There were red lights everywhere from fire engines, NYPD cruisers and detectives. The FDNY had a Command Post set up, and Pat recognized a familiar face.

“Sparky McGregor!  How long has it been?”

“Oh, my goodness, to what do we owe the presence of the Chief of Detectives? I’d roll out the red carpet, but I’ve somehow misplaced it.”

“It’s good to see you Sparky. Has anyone briefed you?”

“Of course not. I’m only a New York City Fire Marshal.”

Sparky McGregor was dressed in a FDNY turnout coat. His red, weathered, wrinkled face told the story of a lot of fire scenes. He was almost sixty years old. There was always a rivalry between the NYPD and the FDNY. It was somewhat better after nine-eleven, but the tension was still there.

“Can we go somewhere and talk, Sparky?”

“Sure, we can use our command bus.”

They went into the FDNY bus, and Dickie Davis went to round up the task force members and cops. 

“Do you have any fireman’s coffee in here?”

Sparky began to laugh. 

“Yes, but not the kind you’re thinking about.”

Bryan Flannery had stepped inside. Sparky continued to laugh, telling an old story. “When the chief here was a homicide detective in Queens back in the day, we worked several cases together. We had this suicide by gasoline case where this wacko had torched himself. The Chief and I were sitting on the back of a ladder truck. One of New York’s bravest had set his chewing tobacco spit cup right beside the Chief’s cup of coffee. It was like seventeen degrees and the Chief took a big gulp of the spit cup by mistake. He lost his cookies all over his Brooks Brothers’ suit and wool top coat.”

Bryan laughed, and Pat commented, “Oh it’s funny now, but at the time I saw no humor in it and in those days it was probably a J. C. Penny suit.”

“I thought you were going to duke it out with the fireman, until you realized you were out-numbered ten to one. Anyway, here’s some fresh brewed stuff.”

Sparky handed Pat a piping hot mug of coffee with the FDNY logo decorating it.

“Thanks, buddy, those were great days.”

By now the command bus was full of detectives and police officers and a couple of New York City Fire Marshals, who also carried guns and had the power of arrest.

“Bryan, let’s get everyone up to date on what we have.”

“Yes sir, I think most everyone is here.”  

Brian walked to the front of the command bus.

“Chief, I’ll let the first officer on the scene start.”

“Thank you, Captain.  I’m Police Officer David DeBlasio and my partner is Matthew Lewis.”