Authors: Patrick Abbruzzi
They fell into silence as they drank their coffee and ate their coffee house treats.
Charlie had the rest of the night ahead of him and wanted it to go a
s
quickly as possible. Since there were three sergeants on duty, Lt. A. probably would not have to respond on an
y
jobs other than really serious ones where the Platoon Commander was required.
“Lou, you’ve told me sad stories, funny stories and even stories about great faith. You’ve told me about justice meted out in the stree
t
and how you met your partner. Do you have any stories tha
t
are really evil? You must have handled some cases that were really horrible. If you do, and wouldn’t mind, I’d like to hear one if you are willing to share it with me,” Charlie said.
The lieutenant looked at Charlie skeptically then said, “I know your mind is foggy right now with what is happening in your life.”
“It is, Lou, but I think listening to your experiences wil
l
help take my mind off things; at least, they always have in the past.”
“Okay, Charlie,” said Lt. A. with a nod.
Twenty-Six
Evil takes many forms and wears many faces. Bleeding heart liberals wil
l
say that evil in man is a sickness to be forgiven, while conservatives say it should be exorcized with a noose. Either way, no one ever comes up with a solution for the victim or the victim’s family.
Lt. A. saw evil many time
s
in his career, but nothing compared to the evil he witnessed personified in the body of one man named Wilbur.
Wilbur
Hartmillwas a drifter and an alcoholic and had more addresses and aliases than anyone could ever imagine. He had outstanding warrants fro
m
multiple states when he was arrested by John and hi
s
partner Frank on one fateful Easter Sunday in 1977. When running a check on him they found he had traffic tickets from every state, all part of his journey from Ne
w
Mexico to Staten Island.
Only God knew why Wilbur showed up on Broad Street in sector Eddie on Staten Island.
**
John dreaded Easter Sundays. Some of hi
s
worst experiences as a cop had occurred on Easter Sundays.
Frank and I were on routine patrol in sector Eddie in th
e
Stapleton section of the 120
th
. After we had turned out and gassed up our car, we headed to Raymond’s Bakery on TargeeStreet to get some hot cross buns as only Raymond’s could make them. Raymond’s was one of the last authenti
c
German bakeries and had been on Targee Street for a very long time.
Once our fresh, baked goods were in our hands, we would drive out to our Sunday church crossing and have our coffee while people inside were celebrating Easter Sunday Mas
s
as well as the resurrection of Jesus. This was the same block where, a few years earlier, we had been shot at by a sniper during the Christmas midnight mass.
We had just started our drive up Broad Street towards our final location whe
n
we spotted Hartmill. He was wearing a button down white shirt and blu
e
denim jeans. His hair was long, brown and almost shoulder length. He was unshaven and his face covered with about a week’s growth. On his feet he wore very soiled white sneakers. He dragged his feet as he walked, almost seeming to shuffle.
Frank and I eyed him suspiciously, especially the unidentified object slung over one of his shoulders.
“What the fuck does he have?
”
Frank wondered out loud.
“Not sure. I can’t make it out.”
We made a U turn and pulled alongside Hartmillon the other side of th
e
street, now facing traffic in the wrong direction. We passed him and came t
o
a stop twenty feet away then we both got out of the car and approached him. Seeming not to notice us, Hartmill kept walking in our direction.
Frank saw it first.
“Jesus Christ,” he screamed in disgust.
Hartmillwas holding a newborn baby by its ankles. The infant was only clad in
a
diaper and seemed to be just a month or two old, judging by its size. It was white, which was unusual since Stapleton was mostly populated with blacks and Hispanics.
As he reached us, I grabbed
Hartmillby the throat and ordered hi
m
to release the infant. Surprisingly, he did what he was told and did not resist o
r
try to flee. Frank threw the cuffs on him while I held the baby. Hartmillwas quickly placed in the rear of the RMP then Frank got behind th
e
wheel and headed for Saint Vincent’s hospital. In the passenger seat, I administere
d
mouth to mouth resuscitation on the innocent child.
Who was this monster? Whose baby was this? As I continued mouth t
o
mouth, Frank picked up the radio while driving with lights and sirens.
“120 Eddie to Central,” he said into the receiver.
“Proceed, sector Eddie,” answered the dispatcher.
“Central, be advised that this unit is transporting one infant, not breathin
g
at this time, to Saint Vincent’s Hospital. Have the ER standing by. Th
e
infant is approximately one to two months old. Also have the patrol sergean
t
10-85 us at that location. Notify the 120
th
detective squad that we have the possible perpetrator in the car,” Frank said calmly.
“120
th
Sergeant, read direct,” said Sergeant Knobbe who had overheard the transmission and would meet us at the hospital.
“120 C-Charlie to Central,” said Frankie Catalano.
“Proceed, sector Charlie.”
“Central, sector Charlie will also respond to the hospital to ascertai
n
if we can be of any assistance,” said Frankie.
When we arrived at the hospital, Frank maneuvered the RMP directly int
o
the ambulance loading dock. Doctors as well as nurses were standing ready with portable oxygen canisters and resuscitation equipment. As soon as I opened my door, the baby was in the hands of the doctors and nurses. I followed them in while Frank moved the RMP t
o
the police vehicle parking area.
Frankie and Willie pulled up while Frank was parking the car.
“What do you have, Frank?
”
asked Willie inquisitively.
“I’m not sure yet. This guy was walking down Broad Street carrying
a
baby over his shoulder like it was a fucking chicken,” said Fran
k
incredulously.
“Who is he?” asked Frankie.
“I don’t know. He’s not from around here, that’s for sure. We just gav
e
him a quick toss before we put him in the car but we haven’t searche
d
him yet,” said Frank.
“This is definitely one for the squad. I mean, who the hell does that bab
y
belong to? Is it his? We have to turn this one over to the pinky rings,” said Willie.
The squad and Sgt.
Knobbe, the patrol sergeant, arrived roughly at the same time. Sgt
.
Knobbewas close to retirement and did no
t
want to get involved in anything that might jeopardize his pension.
In actuality, Sergeant
Knobbewas a poor supervisor because he was afrai
d
to make decisions. When he did, they were based on emotions and not the facts at hand.
Frank frowned when he realized
Knobbe was the responding Sergeant.
“Jesus fucking Christ! Why him? Why now?” he yelled.
“What do you have, Brownell,” asked
Knobbe.
Sergeant
Knobbenever used first names and he never backed up anyone on heavy runs. Not surprisingly, he wasn’t well liked. Out of all the sergeants in the entire precinct, he was the only one without a steady driver assigned t
o
him because no one wanted to drive him. It was considered a punishment tour t
o
be assigned to Sergeant Knobbe.
I had been assigned to him onc
e
before I got my steady seat with Frank, and although I had anticipated my tour with Knobbe to be rough, it went better than expected. On my first tour with him I waited in the car for him to get in. When he finally did, Knobbe spoke first.
“Don’t smoke, don’t chew gum and don’t speak until I tell you to or ask you a question, got it?”
“I smoke, I chew gum and I don’t give a damn if I never speak to you,” I said with unhindered sarcasm.
“Get the fuck out of this car, now!” the sergeant screamed.
I lasted all of 45 seconds with the infamous Sergeant Knobbe, which was unheard of. The rest of the guys could not believe how I had gotten out of driving him.
**
Glancing at the man in the back seat of the RMP, Frank told Sergeant Knobbe what he had. As luck would have it, the timid sergeant simply directed Frank to turn him over to the squad.
Detective Bobby Rizzo was the day watch detective that fateful Easter Sunday. He had been a cop in the 1
st
Precinct and worked with me when I was assigned there after my graduation from the police academy. Bobby remained in the 1
st
after my transfer to the 120
th.
He made some great collars and it wasn’t long before he was promoted to detective 3
rd
grade.
Whil
e
a detective in the 1
st
squad, Rizzo was assigned to a task force which wa
s
assigned a job uncovering corruption in the Fulton Fish Market. He had been i
n
the midst of that investigation when he spotted a young female who was locked in a car on one of the deserted streets adjacent to the fis
h
market. He investigated and found that she was a runaway from New Jerse
y
who had been picked up by a pedophile in midtown and was about to be shipped overseas to the Mideast to become a sex slave to the rich and famous. This was a common occurrence and something you never read about but al
l
cops knew it went on. This particular sixteen-year old just happened to be the daughte
r
of a U.S. Congressman from New Jersey. Needless to say, Bobby mad
e
2
nd
grade detective out of that discovery. It was then that he also transferred to the 120
th
squad.
Bobby knew most of the sector teams in the 120
th
, at least the busy ones. Frank and I had given him good tips and leads we got from ou
r
squeals in the street. In turn, Bobby gave us some minor case
s
where the patrol force was allowed to make arrests.
“Hi, Frank. Where’s John?
”
Bobby asked.
“He’s inside with the baby and the doctors,” answered Frank as he filled Bobby in on everything he had.
“We did a preliminary with missing persons when we heard you had a baby with this perpetrator,” said Bobby.
“And?
”
Frank asked back hoping for an answer.
“Zero, zilch, nada,” said Rizzo ruefully.
Nobody had reported a baby missing anywhere in the entire city in the past twenty-four hours. Rizzo had checked all the hospitals to see i
f
a baby had been stolen out of one of the nurseries, but no luck. Where the baby had come from was a total mystery and the only person who could come up with an answer was Hartmill.
“Let me talk to him alone, okay, Frank?
”
asked Bobby.
“You got it.
”
Frank walked over to where he had parked the RMP, opened the door an
d
reached over the visor where he kept his cigarettes. He took one of the Kentsout of his pack and lit it with his Zippo lighter then drew in heavily on the cigarette and repeated th
e
process. Whether it was imaginary or not, it had a calming effect on him.
He finished his cigarette and walked back to the black squad car where Bobby had been speaking to
Hartmill. Frank almost bumped into me as
I
emerged from the emergency room doors. Frank just had to gaze at th
e
expression on my face to realize the baby didn’t make it.