by Fred Galvin
But how was I supposed to pin it on Papalini? There certainly was no physical evidence on the body beyond the fatal head trauma. I couldn’t just bring him in on suspicion merely because the word on the street was that Frankie had committed a major sin and the mob had him whacked as a result. I could play the mistress card but I wanted to hold that in reserve.
So I imagined the interrogation of Papalini would go something like this …
Me: (to put him off guard) Mr. Papalini, can you account for your actions four to five days ago?
Papalini: (returning the favor) No I can’t. Can you account for yours?
He’d have a point. I’d be hard-pressed to reconstruct my actions in any detail without consulting my calendar, our case notes, and our precinct logs. I’d have to stop and think about what I did just yesterday.
Me: Mr. Papalini, isn’t it true that Frankie Finacci, your protégé in the Mariucci Family, had become persona non grata in the Family to such a degree that he had to be eliminated? And that you were responsible for the elimination?
Papalini: (laughing) Where did you get that information, Detective? From one of your ‘confidential informants’? Now there’s a real reliable source whose testimony would surely hold up in court. Whoever it was may just change his tune. CIs have been known to do that. Their loyalties and testimonies usually go to the highest bidder. We have sources of information too, you know.
Me: (posturing to maintain the alpha position) Please, Mr. Papalini, just answer the question. Had Finacci committed an intolerable act that was punishable by death and you, as his original sponsor and mentor, were the executioner?
Papalini: (smirking) You know so much, how about you tell me, eh? How did I do it? When did I do it? Where did I do it? Shit, it’s not even certain he’s dead. Where’s the body?
Actually, we hadn’t yet publicized the fact that we had Frankie’s body and the few facts that we knew about his death. I would then use an age-old interrogation technique of dramatically revealing unknown and hopefully shocking case facts to a suspect. The technique was designed to take the suspect by surprise and hopefully evoke a reaction that would lead to cracks in his defense into which we could drive a wedge and start hammering.
Me: (sliding a folder in front of Papalini and eyeing his reaction closely as I opened it) Oh, he’s dead, Mr. Papalini. His body’s in the morgue. Been there for a few days now. Here’s a picture. (pregnant pause) So, tell me, Paulo, when and how did you kill him?
I was quite certain that the most likely reaction from this seasoned mobster would be to look down at the picture, stiffen in demeanor, then lean back in his chair, smirk, and utter one word.
“Lawyer.”
End of interrogation.
Another approach would be to gather as much information as possible from my CIs in the Mariucci operating territory. This was a bit of a tightrope walk because the CIs are a strange breed. They want to help out the cops in order to get the perks that come with information-based cooperation. Such perks include cash and, more importantly to them, our providing a little leeway when it came to tolerating their antics. But at the same time, the CIs had to be careful about blatantly dissing the mobsters, who could get very rough with anyone they considered rats and liabilities to their operations. Some of our CIs would also moonlight as mob CIs, providing mobsters information about cop activities and investigations. All parties involved knew how the game was played. Loyalties were very fluid. Any information I received from a CI had to be filtered through my experience and common sense and verified, if possible.
I could gather information about Frankie Finacci’s movements prior to his sudden disappearance by trying to corroborate Mistress Tina’s story. But my gut told me that would lead to narrowing paths of opportunity to pin it on Papalini.
With Ronnie home sick, I was on my own for at least the rest of the day. So I sat at my desk trying to determine the most efficient way to spend my time in an attempt to pin Finacci’s death on Paulo Papalini. I poked my way through the file and came upon a picture of the Delancey Social Club and paused to look closely at it. The club was known as a popular hangout for the Mariucci Wiseguys, similar to John Gotti’s Ravenite Club in Little Italy back in the 1990s. It was considered to be the unofficial headquarters where strategy sessions were conducted and decisions were made alongside card games and various forms of “adult entertainment.”
Since I was in the office I decided to submit a request for any CCTV surveillance of the immediate area around Delancey Club that may exist for the day Mistress Tina said Master Frankie had received the morning call that made him leave her bed so abruptly.
I had to go through Billy Smart to submit the request because I was just a consultant and not a “real boy” in the NYPD’s eyes. Consultants had to have a ranking officer’s approval to check out such assets. I found it amusing listening to Billy’s half of the phone conversation to the data center …
“This is Captain Smart at the 7th Precinct, Shield Number 714. I’m calling to authorize Daniel Deckler’s request for the CCTV tapes he wishes to review.”
Pause …
“Okay, right. I really don’t give a shit that they’re digital now and not on tape anymore. They could be on Kodak film for all I care.”
Pause …
“Yes, Deckler. D-E-C-K-L-E-R.”
Pause …
“Of course I know he’s just a consultant, and you can drop the word just. He has more experience as an NYPD homicide detective than most of my staff combined. What’s your name again?”
Pause …
“Dunn? Is that spelled D-U-N-N?”
Pause …
“Right. Officer Dunn, you will grant him access under my authority or your name tag will be changed to read D-O-N-E. Get me?”
Longer pause …
“Good. And from now on, he’ll be calling you directly with any future needs he may have for digital surveillance and you are to assume that he has my blanket authorization. Understood?”
Pause …
“I don’t give a shit about protocol. I give more of a shit about solving homicide cases efficiently. And right now you are directly in the way of my efficiency. What I am saying to you right now is the new protocol when it comes to his requests. Understood?”
Short pause …
“Good. Now grant him the access he has requested and call him directly when it’s available and that better be soon. Understood?”
Shorter pause …
“Good.”
No pause …
Slam!
Billy looked at me and smiled. “You should have your CCTV as soon as he changes his underwear, which I suspect may be a bit soiled.”
Back at my desk four minutes later my cell rang. It was Officer Dunn. I was tempted to tell him that Captain Smart’s bark was worse than his bite but decided it was better not to. A little fear of one’s superiors was healthy.
Dunn gave me the ID and passcode I’d need for my request. Then he said, “You’re next in the queue.”
It took a moment for me to understand what he meant. Then I remembered from previous inquiries that CCTV access from a specific camera for a specific time frame was single streamed, that is, only one user could access the images at a time. If one detective was looking at a specific segment, it was locked to other inquirers who were then queued until the current viewer logged off. To expedite investigations and keep a clean evidence trail, the current viewer’s last name, first initial, and shield number were displayed.
I keyed in the ID and passcode Dunn had given me. The response that flashed on my screen surprised me. To my surprise my screen read:
Queued behind:
DEVEAUX, R.
Shield No. 1249
I had to blink a couple of times to be sure. Ronnie was looking at the same CCTV surveillance I wanted to see? At first I was confused. I thought she was sick at home but then, why not? She could work from home and maybe she was feeling better and decided to do some diggi
ng on her own. She must have looked up the date of my discussion with Mistress Tina in the file, but hold on, I had the file in front of me. Could she have remembered the date? Possibly. But what were the odds that we’d both have the same idea to look up the same CCTV footage at the same time?
I picked up my phone to call her but something inside told me to wait, wait until she was done and I could go in and take a look too. So I went for a cup of 7th Precinct Mud, a.k.a. coffee, came back to my desk, and watched the screen.
Chapter 33: Epiphany
Ronnie had no doubt about DD eventually submitting a request to review the very CCTV coverage she was currently perusing. She also had no doubt that his request would come sooner rather than later. Finally—and this caused her the most angst—she had no doubt that he would eventually identify her car and determine it was a day she had taken off from work. He would then connect her with Finacci when he emerged from the club, and perhaps even piece together other CCTV coverages tracing her from the Delancey Social Club across the WB to the EATS 24-7 Diner in Brooklyn and eventually to the dock where she and Finacci met Roje and the Sea Nymph.
DD was a seasoned detective. That would be all that he would need to complete the “three-legged stool” necessary to make her a suspect in Fast Frankie Finacci’s death: motive, means, and opportunity. The motive was payback for the murder of Louie Calzone, the means a boat to transport Finacci’s body out to sea, and the opportunity was of course that she was off work, with CCTV evidence showing her pick up Finacci at the club and stopping at a dock in Brooklyn.
Yes, Ronnie knew the voices in her ears were right. It was decision time and she had to choose between the Bad Demon or the Good Fairy.
Then Ronnie did something she had not done since she was a young girl. She cried. Not just quiet sniffling tears, but heaving sobs and wails of hopelessness and despair. It went on for ten minutes until she was totally spent, tissues strewn on the floor at her feet.
She sat looking at her laptop, staring through blurry tearful eyes at the black and white image of the Delancey Social Club with her car discernible on the street. She didn’t even bother advancing the images to show Papalini and Lucci emerging and disappearing in the Town Car and finally she and Finacci driving away in her car.
She realized that as long as she was accessing this CCTV, anyone else attempting to access it would be queued behind her. So, in a sense, she controlled DD’s ability to look at this particular coverage. But, of course, she couldn’t stay logged on forever.
Then it hit her and she panicked even more. She remembered that her name and shield number would be displayed as the person currently accessing the coverage. She could only imagine DD’s reaction when he saw that.
She got up and walked around her small apartment, leaving her laptop still logged on to the CCTV image. She looked down four stories at the people walking on the sidewalk going about their daily lives. She envied them. None of them were facing the potentially life-altering decision she had to make.
She saw a woman walking a small black dog that lifted its leg and marked a fireplug. She saw a boy, probably skipping school, ride by on a bike. She equated that to her calling in sick to work. She saw two men sitting on the stoop of the building across the street, both smoking cigarettes. She recognized one of them as a long-time across-the-street neighbor. He just happened to look up and waved at her. Embarrassed, she quickly ducked back away from the window. She brewed some tea and sat down at her laptop staring at the screen wondering what she should do.
Then, in what could only be described as an epiphany moment, her course of action suddenly became very clear to her. It was like a curtain went up revealing the answer. She immediately became very calm. She had heard that people contemplating suicide suddenly achieve peace of mind and a deep calm when they made their decision with finality. While she certainly wasn’t going to take that extreme step, she now understood.
Yes, she knew what her decision would be. She had entered the combination and the tumblers in the safe lock had fallen into place. She tugged open the heavy safe door, revealing her answer. Her heartbeat slowed back down to normal. She stopped perspiring. She walked to the window and opened it to take in the early summer air. The two men were still sitting on the stoop across the street and her neighbor looked up again. This time she waved to him and he waved and smiled back.
She logged out of the CCTV access understanding that at the same time DD may be starting his perusal of the incriminating images. No matter now. Like the jumper at the rail of the center span of the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge, she was at peace, ready for whatever was coming next.
She picked up her cell phone and made a call.
Chapter 34: Connecting the dots
I sat at my desk staring dumbly at my computer screen, somehow expecting it to magically show the CCTV image. Then, that was exactly what happened! Ronnie’s name and shield number disappeared and a black and white image displayed. I blinked and shook my head in amazement at my mental powers and briefly wondered what else I could do with them—maybe will a home run at a crucial point in a Yankees game? Right.
I came to my senses. The more rational explanation was that Ronnie had just logged out. Again I resisted the temptation to call her. Something told me she needed some space. Rather, I began to closely examine the images in front of me.
I could clearly see the sign indicating the building to which it was attached was the Delancey Social Club. I could also see three parked cars. One was large and dark and looked like a Lincoln Town Car, a typical mob-mobile. There was another one parked behind. it was also dark and was a new model, maybe an Audi or Lexus. I zoomed in and saw the distinctive L logo indicating it was a Lexus. Zooming back out I turned my attention to the third car across and down the street. It looked somehow familiar. I zoomed in on it as much as the display would allow. Then my eyes went wide. I was quite sure recognized the car. It was Ronnie’s.
Okay. I forced myself to think. Why would she be parked in front of the Delancey Social Club that morning, the same morning that Mistress Tina had said Frankie Finacci had received the phone call that had yanked him from between her sheets and out the door? It was obvious that Ronnie was staking out the club, but why? To my knowledge, we did not have an open case that would have caused her to be there at that time and date. The two dark cars parked in front indicated something was going on inside the club at that early hour and Ronnie knew about it to the point where she staked it out. I knew I had to advance the footage and watch the scene play out.
Slowly forwarding a few minutes, I watched as Ronnie’s car moved toward a passageway and stop. Then the door opened and I thought I saw her emerge from the driver’s door and go into the alley. I zoomed in as much as I could. Even though the image became grainier as I zoomed closer, there was no mistake. It was Ronnie and, with a smile, I thought I understood what she was doing. Let’s just call it prolonged stakeout relief. She never did like the use-the-empty-coffee-container method that was so convenient for men.
A moment later she emerged from the passageway with, I imagined, a much-relieved expression. It must have grossed her out but I understood the urgency. She got back into her car to resume her stakeout. I continued to advance the footage.
After a few minutes of inactivity, I saw a man step out of the Town Car. I hadn’t noticed him in it before since all the windows were darkly tinted. He stood next to the driver’s side door and appeared to be watching the entrance to the club. The CCTV footage did not have sound but it seemed clear that he had heard something that had gotten his attention. I zoomed in on Ronnie’s car but she remained in it. I know from experience that she was watching the man by the Town Car closely, anticipating something to happen.
Here I was, staked out at my desk watching Ronnie on CCTV video staked out in front of the Delancey Social Club. I felt as if I was there with her.
After a few more minutes I saw two men emerge from the club’s entrance. Zooming in I could see neither one was Finacc
i. I believed one was Paulo Papalini but couldn’t immediately place the other man. Both men were moving toward the Town Car, Papalini in the lead. Something about his gait and demeanor indicated to my experienced eye that he wasn’t going willingly. The driver hurriedly ran around to open the rear door and they both got in. The driver then ran to his door, stepped in, and the car hurriedly drove off past Ronnie’s car. She still did not emerge, probably waiting to see if anyone else emerged from the club. I’ve known and worked with Ronnie Deveaux a long time and I can say without hesitation that her instincts were usually spot on. This time was no exception.
Since the Lexus was still there she was most likely expecting its owner to emerge. I advanced the footage. The timer showed that six minutes had passed when a black SUV pulled up and four men who can only be described as mob goons emerged. They lifted the rear hatch and unpacked what looked like cleaning supplies and rushed into the club. Interesting. This time my own instincts kicked in telling me there was some mess that needed immediate cleansing. In the mob world, such a mess wasn’t just a “cleanup on aisle five” but rather a cleanup of a body and the all the associated muck that accompanied it.
