Keegan 00 Soft Case

by John Misak

  “Get out of the car,” one of them men said through a bullhorn.

  I was dumbfounded. Were they talking to me?

  A uniform walked up to the side of my car, and tapped on the glass.

  “Open your door, throw out your gun, and get out of the car.”

  Well, they were talking to me. I figured they must have gotten me confused with someone else. I opened up the door, took my badge out, and flashed it to him.

  “I think you’ve made a mistake. I am Detective John Keegan, badge number 3467, ID number 124-57-8916.”

  “Throw out your gun, Keegan. This is no mistake,” the uniform said to me.

  Now I was really confused. I knew I hadn’t done anything wrong. But then, I worked on a big case, and such cluster fucks happen on big cases. Add my luck and you have the perfect recipe for disaster.

  In compliance with my brothers in blue, I took my gun from my shoulder holster and placed in on the ground next to the car. I couldn’t believe what happened but tried to keep my wits about me. They were all I had at the moment.

  “Now get out of the car, slowly.”

  I did.

  There were seven uniforms there, and two guys in suits. Four of the uniforms had their guns drawn. Were they fucking kidding me?

  The guy by my car quickly grabbed me, and had me bent over the hood of the car. He went through the entire frisking process and, trust me, it didn’t feel good. My mind swirled in a million different directions, trying to somehow sort out what was going on? Did something happen to the informant that made it look like I did it? That made no sense. There was no way that the suits would have made it to me that quickly. Different scenarios ran through my mind, but couldn’t concentrate on any of them. The fear had gotten a hold of me. Then it hit me. Sondra. She had something to do with it. The informant had hinted that to me, when I thought about it.

  One of the suits walked over when the frisking was done. I recognized him. It was Sergeant Peters.

  “John Keegan,” he said, “You have the right to remain silent.”

  “Wait a fucking minute. What the hell are you charging me with?”

  I hadn’t noticed that while I was being frisked, someone had gone into the car and grabbed the envelope from the front seat of the car. He handed it to Peters.

  Peters showed me the envelope, and opened it. Wrapped in a single sheet of white paper was about twenty grand in cash. How could I not have noticed? Right then, I felt like a rookie, like an idiot.

  “I think this explains it.”

  “What the fuck?” I asked.

  “Open the trunk,” Peters said to the uniform. He went inside the car, took the keys from the ignition, and went toward the trunk. He came back with a bank bag, and gave it to Peters. Inside was another envelope, this one bigger, and it had about twice the money in it.

  “You’re a disgrace, Keegan. A fucking disgrace.”

  “I never saw that bag before.”

  “Sure you haven’t.”

  “This is bullshit, Peters. Complete bullshit.”

  “Cuff him,” Peters said.

  The uniform grabbed his cuffs and slapped them on me. I thought about resisting, but there was nothing I could do. They had me. And, as the story goes, anything I said was certainly going to be used against me.

  They took me down to the station in the back of a squad car. I’d been in a squad car many times, but never in the back. I felt dirty, like all that I had worked for in my life meant nothing. We called criminals perps, and now I was one of them. The guys in front didn’t say anything to me at all. They talked amongst themselves a little, but I couldn’t really make out what they were saying. I was alone back there. Alone to think about what was going to happen. Of course, I knew I wasn’t guilty. I had been framed, a victim of some elaborate scheme that involved people in my own department. The one person who stuck out in my mind was Rick. He had conveniently gotten sick. That didn’t seem right. If Rick was involved, then so was Geiger, in my opinion. Something was rotten, but I really had no way of finding that out.

  I had complained about being a cop many times. It was a stressful job, but one that I identified with. You don’t work as a cop, you become one. You join a brotherhood, in a sense, but it appeared that my brothers were fucking me. I just couldn’t figure out why. Maybe it was Agnelli. To think that, however, I had to accept the fact that everyone was corrupted, from the uniforms, all the way to Agnelli, if not higher. Chapman came to mind as well, though I couldn’t quite fit him into the picture. Schemes like this just didn’t happen, I said to myself. But they did, and I needed to accept that soon.

  They brought me in through the back, and took me to the offices on the main floor. The place was busy with detectives and uniforms running around. I worked the night shift when I was on a beat, and it was an exciting time to work. Criminals usually do their business at night. They sat me down at a table, still cuffed, and I had to wait for about ten minutes before anyone would come and talk to me.

  Finally, a man in a suit came down. I had never met him before. He looked like a Fed. Feds just have a look. They generally try to dress nice, and they carry themselves like they think their shit doesn’t stink.

  “Detective Keegan,” he said, in a voice that had a bit of southern drawl to it, “I am Inspector Graves, Internal Affairs.”

  IA. Fuck. “Good evening,” I said. No cop ever wanted to hear those two words. Ever.

  He looked at me, and noticed the cuffs.

  “I don’t think you need those anymore,” he said. He motioned to a uniform nearby, who removed the cuffs from me. If you’ve never been put in handcuffs, at least not voluntarily, then it’s hard to appreciate the feeling you get when you have them on. You feel smothered, violated. When the uniform took them off, I felt relieved.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “You’re in quite a situation here.”

  Wasn’t I.

  “I see that.”

  “Taking money from suspects to keep them from suspicion is quite a crime. I don’t know what you were thinking.”

  “Give me a fucking break. You know damn well I wasn’t doing that. This is just bullshit.”

  “There’s no use arguing, Detective. We have the evidence, and we have you on tape with both the informant and Harold Chapman.”

  That reminded me. I had taped the conversation with Chapman. My innocence was on my tape. “I taped that conversation.”

  “We know. And we have already checked your tape against his. It’s the same.”

  Of course it wasn’t. But that was the game they were playing with me. They wanted me to fold by thinking they were telling the truth. They work on your mind and you need to anchor yourself or it’s over.

  “It does?” I asked.

  He nodded.

  “So, if only for entertainment purposes, would you mind telling me what you think is going on?”

  “You’ve taken bribes from Mrs. Mullins to cover her involvement with the death of her husband. You have been trying to turn this case into a suicide so that she receives the large amount of money in her husband’s life insurance.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” I said. “It’s so far from the truth.”

  Graves laughed. “Listen Detective, you’re caught. Don’t make this any harder than it has to be.”

  This was my life we were talking about. I was getting set up, and the price I would pay would be my life, pretty much. I was going to make it as hard as possible. “Who put you up to this? Chapman?”

  “Harold Chapman? I work for Internal Affairs, Keegan, and the last time I checked, Harold Chapman had absolutely no involvement with us. Now, would you like to explain how we found you carrying money given to you by Mrs. Mullins?”

  “I never saw that bag,” I insisted.

  “It had a letter in it, written to you, outlining your plans to frame Mr. Chapman for murder.”

  “Come on. You really believe all of this?”

  “What? You’re denying what yo
u’ve done?”

  “Fucking A, I am. I’m innocent. Never did anything you’re accusing me of. It’s setup.”

  “Mrs. Mullins paid you in two installments. She wanted the insurance money, valued at over 5 million dollars, and she wanted full control over the company. You were going to help her by framing Chapman with murder. It’s why you met Mrs. Mullins this afternoon, and why you went to Chapman’s office to threaten him into giving you more. You were playing both sides against the middle.”

  “And how are you planning to prove all of this? I mean, did you even check this out before arresting me?”

  “We knew what you were up to,” Graves said.

  “That’s amazing, considering I didn’t.”

  “We also know that you made a large deposit of cash into your account after visiting Mrs. Mullins. Not a good idea.”

  I hadn’t been to the bank in over a month. This really started to look like a big setup. I just couldn’t understand why. What did they want me for? Whose cage had I rattled?

  “Like Hell. I was at the dentist,” I said.

  “What dentist would that be?”

  “My father.”

  He jotted that down, seeming to take interest in the fact.

  “You know damn well that my father is a dentist,” I said.

  “We do. And we also know that family members are a horrible alibi. We have you caught, Keegan. All we want is for you to tell us that Sondra Mullins killed her husband. We really don’t want you. You can make all of this go away.” Graves looked at me, taking on a serious expression, as if the world teetered over this case.

  So, that was what this was all about. They were going to frame Sondra for her own husband’s murder. Chapman had to be involved with that. I instantly remembered the Lexus I saw out in front of the Techdata building, which meant that Agnelli was probably involved too. What a mess.

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Listen, Keegan, I know she is an attractive woman, and I know that she can sound very convincing. But don’t let that cloud your vision and ruin your life. We know you have a thing for her.

  Calhill even told us that.”

  So, they had gotten to Rick. That’s why he had suddenly become so ill. I wanted to choke the bastard but I couldn’t show anger right then. Had they gotten to Geiger too? He was my only chance at getting out of this, if there was a chance at all.

  “She is very attractive. So are a lot of other women that I come into contact with. You want me to say I plotted with all of them?”

  “This one got to you.” He leaned forward. “Listen, you’re not the offender here. We want her. Just tell us that she killed her husband, and we’ll let you go. We don’t want to press any charges on a fellow officer. We just want the truth.” Graves made it sound so simple, so much the right thing to do. Those IA guys got training in that sort of thing.

  He wanted the truth and so did I.I always believed in getting to the bottom of things, finding out the truth. But truth was elusive. And I had this IA prick preaching to me. Of course he wanted to press charges on a cop. It was his job. And he was a fucking dirt bag for doing it too.

  “I don’t know anything about it. I’m investigating the case, and all I’ve come up with was the fact that Mullins probably killed himself. That, and someone high up wants something else from the investigation.”

  “You think there is a plot against you?”

  I leaned toward him. “Don’t fucking get wise with me. I know your type, and I know the style you use. I’m not going to tell you that Sondra Mullins killed her husband, mainly because I don’t know that to be true. I also know that you have nothing solid on me. I never saw that bag, never touched that envelope. I didn’t say anything to Harold Chapman that you could use. The tape you claim to have is bullshit, and you know it. You’re trying to make something out of nothing.” I felt my heart rate increase and tried to calm down.

  Graves raised his eyebrows. “You think so?”

  “I do.”

  He reached into a file folder and pulled out a tape, which he put into a cassette player that I hadn’t noticed was sitting on the desk.

  “Then listen to this.”

  He pressed the button to start the tape, and then I heard Chapman talking to me.

  “What do you want, Detective Keegan,” Chapman’s voice said on the tape.

  “Money,” my voice said.

  “Detective, I am a businessman.”

  “It’s all about money.”

  “This is the software industry, not the mafia.”

  “What if I said you offed your partner?”

  “You want to consider me a suspect in this?” Chapman asked. I remembered him saying all those words, but at different times.

  “I have to consider every lead.”

  Graves stopped the tape. “See what I mean?”

  “Actually, that is a nice splice job of the conversation we had. You really think I am stupid enough to waltz into Chapman’s office and do something like that? I’ve been a cop for almost ten years, without incident. Without incident!” I yelled, throwing the slower heart rate idea out the window.

  “We know about your history Keegan. We also know about Sondra Mullins, and we know how convincing she can be. Like I said, we think you are also a victim here. We want the truth, that’s all.”

  “I gave you the fucking truth. It’s not my fault if you are too blind to see it,” I said.

  “So you think this is some elaborate scheme to bust you? You think that everyone in the New York City Police Department is out to get you? Come on, that’s ridiculous.”

  “No, this is ridiculous.”

  “Very well.” Graves got up. “I see there is nothing more I can get from you.”

  “You got that right.”

  Graves walked away, and a uniform came and took me to where they book every other criminal. I went through the process of getting fingerprinted, getting booked, and being held in a cell for a few hours. I felt so small. They had taken my dignity from me. Sure, everyone felt similar when arrested for the first time, but I was a cop. It was like ripping out my soul. Luckily, I was alone in that cell.

  I tried to get an idea of what was going on, and who was involved. In that rank, smelly cell, I ran through everyone who could have helped in this. Agnelli for sure, had something to do with it. After that, I came to dead ends. Geiger wouldn’t do something like this, and he certainly wouldn’t be on Agnelli’s side, not for anything. Rick might have set me up, that fit perfectly with his sickness. I didn’t think Rick had the balls, or the brains, to do it, though.

  So I sat on that squeaky cot and stared at the bare toilet bowl, realizing that my life was being flushed down it. My father would say that I let this happen to me, that I didn’t pay enough attention to what was going on around me. He might have been right, too. It didn’t matter.

  Every once in a while a cop or two would walk past my cell and mutter something. It was degrading. The worst part of it was, I hadn’t even done anything to deserve the treatment I was getting. If I had really taken the money, and had spent it on something worthwhile, then maybe, I might have been able to accept what was going on. My identity had been stripped from me, leaving only a bitterness toward the world.

  Like I didn’t already have enough of that.

  Thirteen

  After about two hours, someone came to take me from the cell. People say this all the time, but they really were the longest two hours of my life. Everything had fallen apart. And the worst part was, I had done this to myself. I had no one else to blame for this stupidity.

  I didn’t the guy who came for me, but he was a detective, judging by the clothes he wore. He took me to a desk, sat me down, and told me to wait.

  “Detective Keegan,” a man said. It was Peters.

  “Prick,” I mumbled.

  “Don’t give me your attitude. You’re in deep shit.” Peters certainly appeared satisfied with himself. He always wanted to get me. And, to be honest,
I would have relished if the tables were turned.

  “Yeah, of course I am. Because I really did all of this.”

  “Listen, I fought for them to let you go, so you don’t have to experience the humiliation of someone bailing you out. You’ve been put on suspension, so we’ll take you home, collect your guns and anything else pertaining to your position. You’ll be expected to sign yourself in with Agnelli until the department decides what they are going to do with you.”

  I really didn’t listen to what he said because I still tried to digest what had happened to me that night. On top of that, I was completely exhausted and wanted to get some rest. I hoped that this was all a hallucination, caused by lack of sleep and an overdose of nitrous oxide.

  “Whatever,” was all I could muster.

  “I always figured you to be a hard case, Keegan.”

  “Just get this over with, Peters, so you can go back to losing at golf in the back room. Cocksucker.”

  He shot me a look, one of those “Who the fuck do you think you are” looks that I received so often. I smiled at him, mainly because I didn’t know what else to do.

  Peters finished up some paperwork that I had to sign. It basically said that I was suspended until a complete investigation of what happened occurred. Which meant that I was screwed.

  There would be no such investigation, and they would do whatever they could to get me to sell out Sondra Mullins. I wouldn’t have been surprised if they came up with dummy photographs with her and me in bed together. This was all ridiculous.

  I signed the paperwork, thus ending my tour as a cop, got up, collected my belongings, which consisted of thirty bucks in cash, some small change, and the keys to my apartment. Actually, I think they shorted me five bucks, but I didn’t feel like bringing that up at the moment.