by Henry Hack
Or will I say nothing, and tremble in fear as I await my inevitable discovery?
. . .
The years passed by and my list grew to over a thousand names, but I was not yet in a powerful enough position to act upon it. I knew I needed the assistance of many bishops with similar problems who would have the courage to join my crusade someday, but the kindly, aging Cardinal I worked for wanted no part of exposing anyone during his tenure. “I’m getting old, Francis,” he said, “and will retire when I reach the mandatory age. I sympathize with your cause, but let my successor handle it.” Typical of the church and its leaders, always passing the buck, but I was determined the buck would not be passed by me. When the time was right I would confer with Mike Simon on how to proceed against these miscreants, preferably with a criminal arrest.
As I awaited that right time, and as I also awaited the dreaded knock on my door exposing me as a possible murderer, the Cardinal, who had recently come back from a visit to Rome, called me into his office and invited me to sit down. He poured us each an inch of fine scotch into two crystal glasses and handed one to me. He said, “I’ve just come back from a visit with His Holiness in Rome.” He raised his glass and motioned for me to do the same. “To His Excellency, Francis Andrew Manzo, the new Bishop of Brooklyn.”
I was flabbergasted. The present Bishop of Brooklyn had turned 75, the church’s mandatory retirement age, a few months ago and the odds-on choice to be his successor was his current senior Auxiliary Bishop. My selection would come as big a surprise to all the auxiliary bishops in the Archdiocese as it had to me. I swallowed my scotch and said, “Thank you, Your Eminence. I will serve the church with honor, loyalty and dedication, but am somewhat mystified why I was chosen ahead of more senior qualified leaders in the church.”
The Cardinal poured us some more scotch and smiled at me. “I put in a good word for you to the Pope himself.” Then he leaned forward and stared into my eyes adding, “Oh, this appointment will keep you extremely busy. You may want to put those other matters we discussed on the back burner for a while, Francis – a long while.”
I immediately got the message, but even if that message came not from Cardinal Callahan, but from His Holiness the Pope himself, I would not be dissuaded one iota from my mission. I would not be bought off with a promotion.
And, by giving me this promotion, I now had the power to pursue it full steam ahead.
PART FOUR
THE COLD CASE
(SUMMER 2000)
SEVENTEEN
I arrived at IAB’s office at a leased facility in Rego Park, at 8:45 Wednesday morning. It was a foreboding, red-brick, two-story building, and the minions of Internal Affairs were its sole inhabitants. The single sign on the front door said, City of New York, Administrative Offices. Who the hell were they kidding? Every cop in the city knew this location, and no doubt more than one of them dreamed of attacking it with bombs dropped from a helicopter. My invitation said I was to report to a Deputy Inspector Elliott in Room 213. I walked up the stairs and found my delegate, Lieutenant Tony Rafferty, Irish eyes smiling in his smooth, round face, awaiting me. I gave him a rundown on the case and he said, “Sounds righteous to me, Mike, but they’ll try to make something out of nothing. They always do.”
“Let’s go get this over with,” I said, as I opened the office door and walked inside. We were greeted by a female secretary who did not ask us to sit but pressed an intercom button and said into her handset, “Inspector, your nine a.m. appointment is here,” followed by a, “Yes, sir.” She got up, opened the office door and said, “Go right in, please.”
There were two men behind the desk in suits and ties and both stood up as we entered. The man in the middle of the desk extended his hand, smiled and said, “D.I. Ray Elliott, Lieutenant.” I shook his outstretched hand and the other man extended his and said, “Captain Bill Presti.”
They were starting off in friendly mode and so would I. “Mike Simon, Queens Homicide, sirs,” although they already knew that. They offered me a chair in front of the desk and Tony Rafferty walked to a chair at the back of the office, his accustomed spot. He said, “I know my place, Inspector.”
“You should. You’ve been here enough times. I should order up a fold-away bed.”
This was jolly, everyone smiling and joking, but I knew it wouldn’t last long. Ray Elliott was tall and lanky with the faded, splotchy complexion of a reformed alcoholic. His watery hazel eyes were not friendly eyes, despite the smile on his face. Captain Presti was a little on the portly side, but his dark brown eyes seemed more friendly than his boss’s. His brown bald head was fringed with white hair, and I wondered how he got this tan so early in the year. Maybe he was one of those Mediterranean types who browned up in one day. Elliott said, “Please begin by relating the details of the case from its beginning up to the time the defendant was shot and killed by Detective Paul. Take your time and try to leave nothing out. Oh, I should tell you this whole interview is being recorded.”
“On video?” I asked.
“No, just audio. Video is in next year’s budget, though.”
Sure it is. While cops ride around in patrol cars with 150,000 miles on them.
. . .
It took me twenty minutes to relate the story, and they let me do it without interruption. The questions began, exploring my personal relationship with Mort Stern and hammering me on my decision to not utilize ESB for the arrest of Rosario. A voice from behind me said, “Excuse me, Inspector. It’s time for a break.”
“Certainly, Lieutenant Rafferty. Ten minutes.”
We walked to the men’s room where I took a long drink from the water cooler. “What do you think, Tony?”
“I think you are handling it well, but there’s no doubt where they are going. They think you ordered Paul, directly, or implied by the circumstances of the case, to pop Rosario and exact revenge for Stern’s murder.”
“Yeah, I know, but that’s not true. Why would I bother getting an arrest warrant? I had probable cause to make a summary arrest without it.”
“For a cover story, which is what they’ll accuse you of.” He looked at his watch and said, “Let’s get back in there.”
The questioning and re-telling went on until we broke for lunch. They did not play good-cop, bad-cop with me, knowing I was too savvy to fall for that and, so far, they had been respectful and non-accusatory. That all changed when we resumed at 1:15.
It soon became obvious they had discussed the morning’s interview over lunch and had to change their tactics to try to break me down. Captain Presti, his face in a scowl now, got right to the point. “We believe you are a liar, Simon.”
I said nothing. I had not been asked a question.
“He said you’re a liar,” Elliott shouted. “How do you respond to that?”
“I told the truth in every detail this morning, sir.”
“Baloney,” Presti said. “You killed Ismael Rosario to avenge the murder of your friend, Mort Stern, didn’t you?”
“I killed no one,” I reminded them.
“No, Detective Paul pulled the trigger – on your orders.”
And on, and on, it went for the next two hours, and then they took their final shot – a desperation move. It was after the three o’clock break and when we came back into the room, only Captain Presti was present. He had a smug smile on his face and said, “Inspector Elliott will join us shortly.”
Ten minutes later, Elliott strode in and took his seat behind his desk, shuffling some papers he had brought with him. Here it comes, I figured, the acting performance of the day. I wondered if it would be Oscar worthy. “Lieutenant Simon,” he said, “we will give you one opportunity to change your story and come clean
with the truth. We’re listening.”
“I have nothing to change, sir. As I said numerous times before, I told you the truth all the way, all day.”
“Too bad,” he said. “You should have taken advantage of our offer because…”
Here it comes. Which one will they say turned on me? One of the rookies – guaranteed.
“…Officer Ferrand told us during the planning of the arrest of Ismael Rosario you stated you wouldn’t be upset if Rosario weren’t taken alive. Do you dispute that statement?”
“I do. I never said anything like that, or implied anything like that.”
“He further stated Detective Paul told him after he shot Rosario he did so to avenge the death of your friend, Stern, and did so on your orders. Paul’s exact words, according to Ferrand were, ‘We’re not taking him out of here in cuffs, Simon told me. I got the message.’”
Was this asshole serious?
“What do you have to say to that, Simon?” he yelled.
“If that is true, I assume Detective Paul has been placed under arrest for murder, and you intend to also arrest me at this time. I suggest you read me my rights, and then I will call my lawyer. I will not say another word.”
Presti and Elliott looked at each other. I extended my wrists out and said, “Snap the cuffs on me, and I’ll soon be a millionaire.”
I had called their bluff and they sat frozen in place. I stood up and said, “If I’m not under arrest, I’m leaving right now. This interview is over.”
“You sit back down,” spluttered Elliott.
I turned from him and said, “We’re outta here, Tony. Come on, I’ll buy you a cup of coffee.”
As I walked toward the door Elliott screamed, “You be back here at nine a.m. tomorrow, Simon. That’s a direct order.”
I said nothing and walked out the door. In the hallway Rafferty said to me, “Great job, Mike. I liked the way you called their bluff, but they are going to be in some foul mood tomorrow.”
“I’m not coming back here tomorrow, or any other day, concerning this matter. This IAB investigation is over.”
“Mike, you heard Elliott give you a direct order. You don’t show up you will be charged with insubordination.”
“Orders can be countermanded, Tony.”
“You got the juice to do that?”
“I’ll find out soon. I’m going back to the office and make the necessary call.”
“Your rabbi better be a big one, maybe a real rabbi like the head Hassidim in Boro Park.”
I laughed and said, “Maybe a real rabbi voodn’t hoit vunce in a vile, as old man Stern used to tell me.”
. . .
Back in the office the four-to-twelve crew and the night supervisor, Sergeant Charlie Seich, were signing in. I called both the day and night crews to listen up and said, “I’m back from IAB on the Rosario investigation. As the others come back, send them to my office. After we confer, I’ll come out and fill you all in on the status of the case. No questions for now.”
They nodded as I walked into my office and closed the door. I picked up my phone and dialed a number familiar to me. No secretary would intervene on this direct line. “Hello,” the voice said.
“Hello, Frank, it’s your favorite homicide lieutenant.”
“Mike, how the hell are you?”
“I need a favor.”
“If I can. Does your favor concern how you guys, uh…handled the killer of our old friend, Mort?”
“Yes, it does,” I said and proceeded to relate the IAB harassment, and how I wanted it over.
“You know, Mike, I remember our Sunday meetings with Mort Stern fondly. As we already discussed it was a tragic shame what happened to him. And I’m glad his killer had street justice served on him saving the city a trial.”
“Tough words from the Bishop of Brooklyn,” I said, “but remember, Rosario went for a gun. We didn’t assassinate him.”
“Either way, I’m glad he is no longer prowling the streets selling his deadly wares. Now are you telling me straight up the Rosario takedown was on the up and up and done strictly by the book?”
“One hundred percent kosher, Your Excellency.”
“Okay, I’ll get back to you shortly. Stay near the phone.”
Twelve minutes later my phone rang and Frank said, “It’s a done deal, Mike. You should be getting a call from IAB shortly canceling your appearance, and the appearances of all of your men.”
“Thanks, Frank, I owe you big time for this.”
“No, you don’t, you owe me a big lunch. Now when the hell are you coming down to Brooklyn and paying off? We haven’t met in awhile and I need to bounce something off you after we eat.”
“As soon as I wrap up this investigation and go back to a normal routine which should be soon. I’ll call you next week. I promise.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” he said and disconnected the call.
. . .
When Tony Rafferty was kidding me about my rabbi he was using a long-standing reference in the police department that meant a hook, or friend in high places. And Frank was my hook – my rabbi – and he occupied a high place in the church hierarchy. I was extremely fortunate to have met him many years ago, and he had guided my career as I moved up the ranks. How influential was he now? When a decision had to be made on who the new CO of Queens Homicide was to be, I was one among five other equally qualified lieutenants. However, a call from Frank to the detective boro commanders in both Brooklyn and Queens sealed the deal and I got the position.
And that was a favor I hadn’t asked him for, although I was going to do so. He had beat me to the punch and called me and said, “Mike, how would you like a transfer from Brooklyn Narcotics?”
“To where?” I had asked.
“Queens Homicide needs a CO with the retirement of Lieutenant Edwards. Want it?”
“Oh, yeah, Frank. It’s a dream assignment.”
“Consider it done.”
And, three days later, it was done. Just like that.
My reverie was broken by the ringing of the phone on my desk. I picked up and a woman said, “This is Sergeant Berni from Queens Internal Affairs. Inspector Elliott asked me to notify you, and all the officers on your team, that your nine o’clock interviews scheduled for tomorrow are postponed until further notice.”
Postponed until further notice? The bastard wouldn’t use the word canceled. He wanted to put the fear of a possible future interview into all of us. I wasn’t going to play along. “Thank you, Sergeant. I will inform my team as directed. I’ll inform them their appearances have been canceled, and this witch hunt is now over.”
“But –”
“Good-bye, Sergeant Berni,” I said, slamming the phone down and grinning ear to ear.
Yes!
. . .
Tom Catalano and Dan Nitzky arrived back in the office first, followed five minutes later by Jamison and Ferrand, their lips tight in faces drained of color, deathly white above their navy blue uniforms. Finally, Micena and Paul came in and closed my office door. Richie said, “The bastards want us back there tomorrow.”
“No wonder,” I said. “I mean you confessed to murdering Rosario under my direct orders.”
“What? Is that what those bastards laid on you?”
“Wait’ll you hear –”
“Hold on, John,” I said. “We’ll all relate our tales of lies and deceit at IAB, but first I want to make an announcement. Come out to the main squad room.”
Every detective had their eyes fixed on me not knowing what I was going to say or
what had happened to their fellow officers in the dreaded rooms of Internal Affairs. I got right to the point. “This internal investigation is over. The grand jury found no true bill, and I have been informed by IAB all further interviews on this matter have been canceled. Officers Ferrand and Jamison will report back here in civvies for the next two days, as will Detectives Catalano and Nitzky, and we all will wrap up the paperwork on the Rosario case under the supervision of Detectives Micena and Paul.”
“You mean John and Richie will get back in the duty chart on Monday?” Sergeant Seich asked. “My guys think they milked this Rosario caper long enough.”
There were a few chuckles and Richie, a long-time friend of Seich said, “With all due respect, Sergeant, go fuck yourself.”
Everybody broke into laughter at this much-needed tension reliever. Even Ferrand and Jamison managed weak smiles. I said, “I want everyone to listen to what these guys went through over at IAB. It will be good knowledge for you on your next visit.” None of the guys on the day tour made a move to leave, wanting to hear the details. “When you’re all done, let me know, I have a few more words to say to wrap things up. You nine to five guys keep hanging around. I’ll sign OT slips for you.”
I went back into my office to mull things over. I had something important to get into motion and this Rosario case interrupted it. My phone rang and it was Sergeant Lenny Gadjewski from ESB. He said, “Hey, Loot, we got word our appearances at IAB tomorrow were canceled. I guess it went well today?”
“It went well,” I said. “It’s all over. When they finished with us, I guess they figured it wouldn’t be worthwhile to speak to anyone else.”
“That’s great news. Not having to go to IAB is like the doctor telling you it’s not cancer after all.”
“An apt comparison, Lenny. And, again, thanks for your work at the scene in getting us through that door.”
