"To what?" Finn responded, "The thought of work.?"
Kevin laughed sarcastically. "You really are a clever boy, aren't you?"
"It doesn't take a genius to figure this caper out."
"What do you mean?"
Finn delayed his response temporarily until he was safely in the right lane of the northbound Hutchinson River Parkway.
"Point 1 - Rory was the only security guard working in the depot overnight, correct?"
"Correct."
"Point 2 - Rory signed the log that 1.2 million dollars cash was in the vault when he took over the shift at midnight, correct?"
"Correct."
"Point 3- There were no perimeter intrusion alarms activated during the night and the DVRs recording the CCTV cameras inside the depot were deactivated for thirty minutes. Am I still correct?"
"You are."
"Point 4 - When the relief guard arrived at 8AM all the money was gone from the vault. There was no sign of forced entry or anyone else being in the depot that night. So, you tell me, genius. If Rory didn't take that money - who did?" Kevin didn't answer the question so Finn continued. "Have you ever heard of Occam’s Razor?"
Kevin's eyes lit up. "That's a wrestling finishing move, isn't it - something like the five- knuckle shuffle, right?"
Finn shook his head. "Just when I think you've reached the limits of buffoonery, you break new ground. Occam’s Razor dictates that lacking evidence, the simplest explanation is likely the correct explanation, and the simplest explanation here is that your buddy, Rory Burns stole that money."
Kevin was anxious to change the subject. "Get over to the right. The exit for the Sprain Brook is coming up." There was a break in the conversation while Finn negotiated several ramps before emerging northbound on the Sprain Brook Parkway. Finn moved into the center lane as Kevin attempted to change the subject and switch the discomfort to Finn. "So, what's going on with you and Meg?"
"Like I told you, I'm taking it slow."
Kevin snickered. "Hey, the New York City speed limit is 25-miles per hour. You're working at about 5-miles per hour. Take my advice and pick up the pace a bit."
Finn grimaced and glanced quickly at Kevin. "What do you care?"
"First of all, I've known Meg as long as I've known you, and second, she's a co-worker. A happy hostess makes my job easier."
"How so?" Finn questioned.
Kevin shook his head. "I don't know. I just made that up. The point is that you are getting a second chance that you don't really deserve. You wasted years with that bitch Jennifer, totally ignoring and disrespecting our little Meg. And what happens? Jennifer dumps your ass for a fireman and Meg is still willing to be friends with you, or something more than friendship."
"I know what I'm doing," Finn assured.
"I hope so," Kevin responded, "because that razor thing you were talking about would say that you were lucky enough to get a second shot with Meg. You ain't getting a third."
"This is the exit, right?" Finn asked.
"Yup, that's it," Kevin confirmed.
The light turned green and Finn turned the Camry west. He was immediately struck by the breathtaking view. In the distance, the cold, unforgiving walls and towers of the Sing Sing Correctional Facility served as contrast to the beautiful background provided by the Hudson River. As Finn viewed the austere façade for the first time, he was confronted with multiple contrasts. The gorgeous panorama to the west furnished the illusion that he had entered a fancy resort town. But nothing was further from the truth.
“Which way is the parking lot?” Finn asked Kevin
“Your guess is as good as mine,” Kevin shrugged.
“What are you talking about?” Finn shot back. “Where did you go the last time you were here?”
“I’ve never been here,” Kevin corrected
“What?” Finn’s voice was rising in tone and tension. “You said you had visited Rory on a regular basis. You lying bastard!”
“Get a grip on your accusations, Finbar,” Kevin cautioned. “I have been visiting regularly. They just transferred Rory from Greenhaven two weeks ago, so this is the first time I’m coming to Sing Sing. Satisfied, smart guy?”
Finn offered no apologies and instead concentrated on the problem at hand. “There’s a parking lot over there.” Finn pointed to the right to a three- level parking garage. “That must be it.”
Kevin shook his head. “I don’t know. That looks more like a mall parking lot than a prison visitor lot.”
“Well, it’s the only lot around. It must be for the prison,” Finn stated as he pulled into the garage entrance. He reached out his driver’s window and pushed the large green button, resulting in the dispensing of a ticket. The first empty space was on the second parking level. He pulled his car head into a space next to an attractive middle age woman who had just exited her car in the adjacent space.
Kevin rolled down his window. “Excuse me, ma’am, are we in the right parking lot for prison visitors?” The woman smiled and nodded, prompting Kevin’s follow-up. “Do you know the way to the main entrance?”
“I’m going to the main entrance,” she responded. “You’re welcome to walk with me.”
The woman was well dressed and professional looking, akin to a teacher or librarian. As they waited for the parking lot elevator, Finn decided to engage in some small talk by asking a question he was sure he already knew the answer to. “So, I guess you work in the prison.” Finn stated.
The elevator door opened and the pleasant smile on the woman’s face was replaced by a look of great sadness. She explained that she was making her bimonthly visit from Albany to visit her 22-year-old son who was incarcerated here for life without any chance for parole. Finn’s heart sank, not only in sympathy for this nice woman, but for the realization that there were likely hundreds of other stories like her son’s behind the prison’s stark concrete walls and barbed wire.
The woman led them down a small road that seemed barely large enough for vehicular traffic. Off in the distance, Finn could see the shiny silver chain link fence and gates, followed by the concrete walls and towers that sat in front of the picturesque Hudson River. A pleasant and friendly security officer manned the exterior gate by himself. He ushered the trio into the administration building’s lobby that was a no-frills affair. Finn and Kevin said their goodbyes to the woman when they separated at the search room for male and female visitors.
While waiting for his search, Finn was ushered into a different waiting area. On the wall to the left was a plaque commemorating the date, April 14, 1941, when a prison guard was shot to death by three inmates involved in an escape attempt. To the right was a rectangular iron gate with locks and vertical steel grids. Above it was the words, “Line Up Room.”
After a ten to fifteen-minute wait, Finn was searched first A correction officer far less friendly than the fellow at the exterior gate told Finn that if he was caught smuggling anything he’s be arrested. The officers were meticulous and unhurried, and everything was double checked. The officer took a photo of Finn and had him walk through a metal detector. When he was cleared by the officer, Finn returned to the waiting area while Kevin was searched. After several minutes, Kevin joined Finn in the waiting room. They were told to stand in front of the heavy steel entrance door to the visiting room. At the sound of a buzzer, Finn pushed through the heavy door.
The visiting area had a couple of vending machines, and Finn’s first impression was that it looked like a corporate break room, but not as nice. Finn estimated the room could fit about 25 people at the tables and chairs spread out in the center of the room. There also appeared to be a commissary next to the vending machines where food and authorized personal items could be purchased.
Finn followed Kevin to an empty round table. Rory had not arrived. Kevin settled into a chair, but raised his hand to stop Finn before he took a seat. “Rory loves Peanut M&Ms. Can you go over to the commissary window and get a couple of bags?"
Finn star
ed a Kevin. "Sure, you have any money?"
Kevin shook his head. "I don't think they will break a hundred."
"Of course not," Finn commented as he departed for the candy.
On his return trip across the room, Finn observed activity at the table. A correction officer was cautioning Kevin to break his hug with Rory Burns. Finn shook his head. Kevin just couldn't get anything right. No more than five minutes earlier during the search, they had been cautioned that the physical contact permitted with an inmate could be no more than a short embrace at the beginning and end of the visit. Rory was dressed in the prisoner uniform called "Greens" because of their color. There are various shades of green, but Finn believed a new shade was appropriate in describing Rory's attire, that bore a striking resemblance to medical scrubs - depressing green.
Finn eyed Rory as he approached. The guy he grew up with and didn't like very much always had a larger than life quality, both is physical size and personality. Facing him, however, was not the stocky, gregarious loudmouth of years past. Finn shook hands with a pale, gaunt, reserved inmate in an ugly green uniform.
"Hey Finn," Rory said in a low tone, "It's good to see you. Thanks for coming."
"That's OK, Rory," Finn responded as he adjusted his chair.
The visit was limited to a maximum of thirty minutes. For twenty-five of them Kevin kept the table entertained with tales of the old neighborhood. Finn was conscious that their visiting time was coming to an end. He looked to Kevin, "We better get going."
Kevin didn't protest, "You're right."
As he stood, Kevin asked Rory, "Anyone else coming today?"
Rory shrugged, "I don't know - maybe Nicky."
“Who's Nicky?" Kevin inquired.
"A friend who used to work at the depot." Rory's eyes were moist. "He's really the only other visitor I get."
"What?" Kevin seemed genuinely surprised. "What about your mom and sister?"
Rory shrugged again. "My sister has basically disowned me, and mom can't travel too far. Maybe she'll be able to get up here now that I'm closer to home."
"Break it up!" Thirty minutes earlier, a warning from the correction officer seemed like an impossibility, but now Finn held his embrace of Rory until the officer's hand grasped his shoulder. Finn arrived at Sing Sing a reluctant visitor to a loudmouth bully from his past. He was departing after a long hug with a frightened, humbled man who had been destroyed by two years inside. Finn began to feel ashamed. He no longer cared very much about a gossiping cop spreading rumors about him.
Once outside the visiting room, Finn turned to Kevin. "For once in your life you were right. I am glad I came today."
Kevin nodded and smiled, "I told you Rory would be happy to see you."
"You guys were visiting Rory Burns?"
Finn and Kevin turned to the sound of the voice. A tall, stocky male was walking toward the visiting room entrance. The male had long, greasy black hair, a goatee, and both arms visible under his Harley Davidson t-shirt were heavily tattooed.
Finn responded to the inquiry. "Yeah, we were visiting Rory."
The visiting room door buzzed open, but the male hesitated before entering. "Next time, why don't you show a little consideration for people waiting to visit."
The door closed and the male was gone. Finn and Kevin stood silently looking at the door and then at each other.
"I guess that's Nicky," Kevin theorized.
"Wonderful," Finn said. "I just change my opinion of Rory and a brand-new asshole enters the scene."
While waiting to be cleared out of the visitor reception area, Finn’s attention was drawn to the visiting room door. More specifically, to the commotion coming through the door. Two correction officers were struggling with a handcuffed woman who was fighting every step of the way and cursing like a sailor. From the conversation Finn could hear between the correction officers, the woman had been caught attempting to smuggle drugs to an inmate. Attempts to smuggle contraband to prisoners were probably a regular occurrence. What had both Finn and Kevin standing with mouths and eyes wide open was the detainee. The fighting, cursing woman being dragged across the room was none other than the sweet, professional-looking mother who had so courteously guided them from the parking garage to the prison gate. Finn shook his head and sighed. This had been one helluva visit.
Chapter 4: Moving Up
April 23rd
Finn smiled at the view from the driver’s seat. Though the newspapers and debris blew about the street he paid them no mind, they were no more bother than the leaves in the fall, just ugly. He passed the graffiti and the scarred lampposts near the railroad crossing on Metropolitan Avenue, barely noticing the beat up old cars outside the junk yard. This avenue might be falling apart just as much as it ever was, but it didn’t bother him this morning. The cars that cut him off and honked their horns didn't irritate him either. Perhaps one day they would see the error of their ways. Finn realized his upbeat outlook on life was temporary. He was excited about this morning because he might actually be turning the corner in his investigation career. For the first time, he was not hired by an oddball, kook, or some poor soul with no alternative but to reach out to an amateur like him. For today’s case, Finn had been hired by Presidio Claims, the company handling insurance claims for the New York City School Construction Authority. Right in the middle of this ugly urban landscape near the Brooklyn/Queens border, New York City was erecting a new public school. Finn pulled off Metropolitan Avenue onto an uneven dirt road. Finn’s good mood faced its first challenge in the form of the debris strewn road that was sure to be great on his tires. The demolition phase of the project had just been completed, so Finn was looking at nothing that resembled a new school. In fact, it resembled nothing. Two ancient factories had been demolished leaving a vacant lot with a few construction trailers positioned around the perimeter.
Finn parked next to the Turnbull Construction trailer. Turnbull was the general contractor on the project and Finn had an appointment to meet with Mike Barnes, Turnbull’s Safety Engineer on the project.
The adjuster from Presidio Claims had assigned Finn to obtain a written statement from Barnes regarding an accident that took place on the site. A security guard had allegedly fallen on a makeshift cinder block stairway used to access a trailer and had broken his ankle. Written statements had not been a part of any of his previous oddball cases, but when he was originally stocking his office with supplies he had purchased a ream of three-part carbon-less statement paper for the day when he would finally perform real investigations.
Finn checked his briefcase to make sure he had his pens and statement paper before entering the trailer. His only problem now was the fact that he had never taken a written statement before, and he realized that claims adjusters wanted statements in a precise format. When he received the assignment, Finn had two alternatives. First, he could call the adjuster and say that he was ready for the assignment, but he just needed to know how to take a written statement. Realizing that a call of that nature would bring a swift return to exclusively working his screwball cases, Finn chose option two – he read his books. Finn had a book devoted entirely to written statements. It actually seemed pretty easy. The toughest part was going to be writing it. Even though the statement was written in the first person of the subject providing the statement, the book vigorously warned against the investigator handing the subject pen and paper and then directing him to write. To the contrary, the book recommended that the investigator control the statement by writing it himself in the subject’s first person. Writing out the statement was sure to be the biggest challenge for Finn. Despite frequent rapping on the knuckles with a nun’s ruler, his abysmal handwriting would be the envy of any doctor or pharmacist. To assist with clarity of writing and to shorten the duration of the interview, the book suggested creating statement templates. This made sense to Finn. Since all statements began the same way, he could already have the opening preamble written beforehand. Finn made sure he had a couple of hi
s pre-written statements in his bag with the following information already written:
My name is (BLANK). Today’s date is (BLANK) and the time is (Blank). I am present at (BLANK) and I am providing this statement voluntarily to Finbar Devine.
The date of the accident was three weeks earlier, but the steps were still constructed of the makeshift cinder blocks. Finn could feel them wobble as he carefully made his way up the four steps. Finn slightly chuckled as he grabbed the door and glanced down at the blocks. No wonder this guy fell off these steps.
Mike Barnes didn’t seem troubled by the accident or the state of the stairs. It seemed that in the construction world, using quickly constructed temporary cinder block stairs was a common practice. Mike Barnes readily admitted the steps wobbled and had no handrails. He just felt that people needed to be careful on them., and Mike Barnes , with his stocky build, unshaven face and hard hat, fit Finn’s vision of a construction worker perfectly. Finn found something refreshing about Mike’s simplistic view of the situation, but he knew to an insurance adjuster, telling people to be careful would probably not be the end of the case.
Finn examined the security log book maintained in the trailer. Security Officer Peter Johnson signed the log on duty at 7AM on the date of the accident and signed off duty at 11PM.
“Wow!,” Finn exclaimed. “This guy worked sixteen hours that day.”
“Yeah,” Mike agreed. “It was a Sunday and the site was closed all day and night.”
“How did you find out about the accident?” Finn asked
“I got a call from the security contractor – Patriot Security.”
“What time?” Finn continued.
Mike rubbed his chin. “Hmm, I’d say I got the call at about 10:30PM.”
“What did you do?”
“I live in Queens,” Mike replied, “So I was at the site at about 10:55PM”
“What happened then?”
“A security supervisor was pulling into the site just in front of me. We both went to the trailer and found a couple of cinder blocks from the stairs askew.”
The Demon Within Page 4
