FORGOTTEN

by Hastings, Gary

  “Yes sir, Chief. I’ll be there. Want to give me a hint on what this is about?”

  “I need you to take a close look at an old case.”

  “Sounds interesting. I’ll see you at 1600.”

  Pat sorted through his mound of paperwork and then walked to a nearby deli to grab a sandwich. As he ate alone, the Butelli case just kept going through his head as he considered the possibility that Mrs. Butelli might be right about her husband’s death. There were several strange things to consider.

  When Pat got back to his office, Angie Wilson came in, carrying several large thick folders.

  “I have the case files on the Butelli case, Chief. I’m still working on the personnel files. They wanted to give me some grief about privacy, but I explained to them that a dead man had no privacy.”

  “Thanks, Angie. I also have another assignment for you.”

  Angie Wilson was also an attorney, who taught night classes at the John Jay School of Criminal Justice. After passing the bar she just couldn’t let go of police work. Pat wanted to take advantage of her legal skills. He pulled out a copy of the remaining cases on Butelli’s list.

  “I want you to research these cases and find out dispositions, charges, presiding judge, assistant district attorney, and defense attorney. While you’re doing that, also think about how we might look for more cases.”

  “Thanks. It’s nice to work on an actual case.”

  “I figured you might enjoy it. Let’s keep this strictly confidential, Angie.”

  “I understand, Chief.”

  Chapter 4

  Thursday, January 20 - Day 2

  Chief of Detectives’ Office - One Police Plaza

  Borough of Manhattan, New York

  1600 Hours

  Bryan Flannery was a striking man and an impressive cop. He was an African-American who always had his 6’ 2,” and impeccably in-shape body, well-dressed. Today, he was wearing a charcoal grey pin-striped suit, with a black shirt and a black and grey regimental striped tie. Bryan was about two inches taller than Pat and was in a lot better physical shape, but Pat was over 10 years older. Bryan had most recently led the Rodriguez Task Force, who successfully investigated the murder of Detective Tony Rodriguez, with tremendous help from Chief of Detectives Patrick O’Connor, who had actually made the arrest.

  Bryan and Pat shook hands, and Bryan sat down in front of Pat’s desk. They exchanged pleasantries and caught up for a few minutes before getting down to the business at hand.

  “I’m sure you’ve got something cooking with a case, Chief.”

  “An old case actually, but it may not be a case at all.”

  “I’m not sure I understand this. It sounds a little cryptic.”

  “The case was worked as a suicide in 2001. The victim, Forrest Butelli, retired off the job as a Mid-Town South Detective in ‘98. He had his own private investigation business called Manhattan Investigations, and according to his wife, was doing quite well. However, on Saturday, September 8, 2001, he was found in his car in Central Park with a bullet in his head and a suicide note. His wife is convinced it was a murder.”

  “Okay, here we go again with the old, my husband wouldn’t have done this to me story.”

  “I must admit it crossed my mind also, but I think this deserves a fresh, unbiased look. After all, he died just before 9/11 and I just can’t imagine that a lot of time was spent on the follow-up. His wife says his funeral was not attended by anyone from the department, due to the attacks, and I’m sure that would have been the case.”

  “Okay. I’ll smoke it over, Chief.”

  Pat O’Connor intentionally didn’t tell Captain Flannery about the files. He wanted an unbiased appraisal based on the evidence and the facts. If the evidence supported a suicide, then the files would be taken in that context, but still considered. On the other hand, if the evidence left any doubt as to the suicide, then the files would quickly ramp up the investigation. Either way, Pat felt that Margaret Butelli and her daughters deserved an answer.

  Pat made coffee and sat at his desk with Forrest Butelli’s personnel file. He wanted to get a feel for what old Forrest was really like.

  Forrest Butelli had joined the NYPD in 1968. He was third in his class and received the top marksmanship award. His first assignment was in Manhattan, working a foot post. There were several commendations in the file for significant arrests.

  In 1971, Forrest was assigned to an RMP (patrol car) in Brooklyn. He had several commendations for felony arrests and significant contributions to major cases.

  Forrest’s outstanding work was recognized and he was transferred to plain clothes at Mid-Town North Detectives in 1974. In 1975, he was promoted to Detective, got his gold shield, and was assigned to Mid-Town South.

  During his career, he worked several high profile cases and every other crime imaginable. When he retired in 1998, he was a Detective-First-Grade, the highest non-supervisory detective rank in the NYPD.

  Pat made some notes as he looked through the file. He had noticed that in several of the commendations, a Sergeant Ray Capese was mentioned. Ray was a trusted friend of Pat’s and was now the Chief of the Organized Crime Control Bureau (OCCB). He decided to give Ray a call.

  “Ray Capese.”

  “Hi Ray. It’s Pat O’Connor.”

  “Good morning, Pat. What can I do you out of?”

  “Not much really, but I do have a question for you.”

  “Sure, what’s up?”

  “What can you tell me about Forrest Butelli?”

  “Wow, that’s a name from the past!”

  “I saw in his file you guys had worked together.”

  “He was quite the cop in his day and was a hell of a good detective. Damn shame he went wacko and turned out his lights.”

  “Sounds like you knew him well, Ray. Did you see this coming?”

  “It knocked me for a loop. Forrest was a strong Catholic. He was always doing something good for someone else. I guess he just lost his marbles.”

  “Do you have any idea why he would’ve killed himself?” I don’t have a clue, Pat. It was a shock to all of us. How did Butelli’s name come up?”

  “I actually had a visit from his wife, Margaret. She’s still struggling with accepting it.”

  “I bet she is. They were so close. I had a hard time believing it myself, Pat. It just didn’t add up.”

  “Do you know who Forrest’s closest friends on the job were?”

  “I know a few, but I have a meeting I’m already late for. I’ll email you some names when I get out.”

  “Thanks, Ray. You’re the man.”

  Chapter 5

  Thursday, January 20 - Day 2

  Steamboat Cafe

  Borough of Manhattan, New York

  1900 Hours

  Patrick O’Connor was a dedicated man. His life was focused on his career as Chief of Detectives of the New York City Police Department. He was good at it and couldn’t imagine doing anything else. He was recently offered the top uniformed cop job as Chief of Department, but turned it down to remain in the job he loved.

  Pat was single and lived alone. However, there was a special romance in his life in the form of a tall, slim, and attractive brunette by the name of Maggie Parker. Maggie was the Special Agent in Charge of the New York Field Office of the United States Secret Service. Their paths had crossed professionally and they had been seeing each other for several years. Maggie was fond of saying the real love of Pat’s life was the NYPD and that he was married to the gold shield in his pocket.

  Pat and Maggie had agreed to meet at the Steamboat Café for dinner. The Steamboat was one of the restaurants where Pat played jazz for several years before joining the NYPD. He still sometimes sat in and played with the band. Pat dropped Dickie off and parked the black NYPD Chrysler in front of the restaurant. Maggie had promised to meet him there.

  Pat arrived a few minutes early and was quickly seated by Sam Spicer, owner of the club. He let Sam know Maggie wo
uld be joining him. Pat was there only a few minutes before Maggie arrived. Sam took her by the arm and escorted her to Pat’s table. Sam always seemed to love having them there. Pat enjoyed the atmosphere of this restaurant. It was extensively decorated in a New Orleans theme, with lots of band instruments and photographs of famous jazz musicians on almost every wall. There were also a lot of pictures and models of paddlewheel steamboats from a bygone era.

  “Everyone better be on their best behavior tonight. We have New York’s finest in the joint.” Sam announced.

  Pat responded. “I’ve been coming here for almost 30 years, Sam, and I’ve never seen a problem. Anyways, I’m a customer tonight and have the prettiest gal in New York with me.”

  “I won’t argue about that, Patrick.”

  Sam handed them menus and walked away. Maggie looked at Pat and smiled.

  “It used to irritate me when you’d say that, but the older I get, the better it sounds to me.”

  “Yep, you’re really old now. What are you 43?”

  “Almost 44.” Maggie said.

  “I’m still convinced.”

  Pat and Maggie had spent a week in New Orleans earlier in the year. Pat was there playing trumpet at a jazz festival with the house band from the Steamboat Cafe. It had been a wonderful week, and Pat had enjoyed showing Maggie the old stomping ground from his youth. The trip had strengthened their love of New Orleans food, culture, and music.

  They ordered Shrimp Creole off the menu and reminisced about the trip.

  “This brings back some good memories, Pat.”

  “Indeed it does.”

  “I understand why you love it so much. There’s just an ambience about the city.”

  “I know. I sometimes wonder what would have happened if I had just stayed in New Orleans, instead of taking the Julliard scholarship.”

  “I’m sure you will always wonder, but I’m glad you’re here with me.”

  “So am I.”

  “How’s your week been, Sweetheart?” Maggie asked.

  “Pretty routine, but I’ve been dabbling in an interesting case. I don’t want to talk shop, but I think you’ll find this interesting.”

  “When do we ever not talk shop, Pat?”

  “Good point. The widow of a retired detective came in to see me this week. Her husband allegedly killed himself the weekend before 9/11. She never believed it was a suicide, but the investigating detectives assured her it was. Now, almost 10 years later, she has found some hidden files which revealed that her husband, a PI, was working on a pretty sensitive case. I’ve read his reports, and my suspicions have been aroused. I have people reviewing the original investigation, but the people who knew this guy were all surprised he killed himself.”

  “What are you going to do with this?”

  “If I have enough unanswered questions, I’ll have the case re-opened.”

  “Won’t that be difficult, after all these years?”

  “Difficult? Yes. Impossible? No.”

  “Is there anything we can do to help?”

  “Well, I don’t think he was into funny money or threatening the President, but you never know.”

  “Don’t be sarcastic. What we do is important.” Maggie reacted.

  “Of course it is, and I was only joking.”

  The waitress delivered the Shrimp Creole and the aroma of the spices brought both Pat and Maggie back to their days in New Orleans. After taking a bite, Maggie smiled and said; “You have converted me into a New Orleans gourmet connoisseur. This is absolutely delicious, Pat.”

  “I agree. We should get some pecan pralines on the way home.”

  “I bet you can’t find New Orleans pralines in this city.”

  “Probably not, but it sure sounds good.”

  Pat made a mental note to order Maggie some pralines on-line for the next special occasion. He had saved a brochure from a candy company in the French Quarter that made them.

  As Pat and Maggie were finishing dinner, the clarinetist, Warren Downing, and the band started playing “Way Down Yonder in New Orleans.” Pat ordered coffee for the two of them and hoped Maggie would stay for a little while. Pat was inspired and went out and retrieved his trumpet from the trunk of the Chrysler. He always kept an old horn available in case he got a chance to play.

  When Pat returned with his trumpet, Warren Downing wasted no time in getting him up on the bandstand to play.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, we have a celebrity in our midst tonight. You know this man from his day gig, but right now I want to introduce you to one of New York’s finest trumpet men, Pat O’Connor.”

  Everyone applauded, including Maggie. Pat walked onto the stage and started playing an old Louis Armstrong composition, “Struttin’ With Some Barbecue.” The old horn sounded good, and Maggie seemed to enjoy it as much as Pat did. Pat finished out the set and was in a state of mind only music could create for him. It was a brief escape from his world in the NYPD.

  Pat walked Maggie to her car. They had a brief kiss, and Maggie sat down in her gold Lexus. She looked up at Pat with her dark and beautiful eyes.

  “Thank you for a wonderful evening, Pat.”

  “You’re welcome, Gorgeous. I had a great time too.”

  “Be safe going home.”

  “I will, don’t worry.”

  As Pat walked toward the Chrysler, he then saw Maggie’s back-up lights come on, and she was backing down the street. She stopped in front of his car and rolled down the window.

  “Did you forget something, Maggie?”

  “No, but I was just thinking about your case. You know the Service has forensic psychologists who study the nut cases who threaten our protectees. I may be able to find someone to help with the psychological side of your case. If you like, I can make a call in the morning.”

  “That would be helpful. Thanks, Maggie. I love you!”

  “You’re welcome, and I love you too, Pat.”

  Chapter 6

  Friday, January 21 - Day 3

  Chief of Detectives’ Office - One Police Plaza

  Borough of Manhattan, New York

  0800 Hours

  Pat O’Connor had enjoyed an uneventful week and was glad it was Friday. Of course, as Chief of Detectives, he was often called regarding the various crimes in the “Big Apple” 24 hours a day, seven days a week. It came with the job and he was accustomed to it. This week there had been a double homicide in the Bronx, but it was quickly solved with an arrest made by precinct detectives. When cases got more complicated, they often ended up in his lap.

  Pat received the email from OCCB Chief, Ray Capese, containing a list of some close friends of Forrest Butelli. There were six names on the list, and Ray had taken the time to list their current phone numbers and addresses. At this stage, the case was only an inquiry because they were simply responding to the concerns of Margaret Butelli. Officially, the case had been exceptionally cleared as a suicide.

  Pat had briefed his driver on the case and asked him to contact the people on the list to get a general feel for how people close to Forrest Butelli felt about his death. Pat hoped someone could shed light on a possible reason why he may have taken his own life.

  At 0900 hours Dickie met in Pat’s spacious office to discuss his findings.

  “I appreciate you giving me a chance to do a little real work, Boss.”

  “No problem, Dickie. It’s good for us to keep our skills sharp. I also know how boring your job can be driving me around.”

  “It’s not boring, Chief, but I do spend a lot of time waiting in the car.”

  “That’s what I mean. Anyway, what did you find out about Butelli?”

  “I’ve talked to all six of these guys, and it was interesting. You have no idea how these guys love to talk about their days on the job.”

  “All cops love that, Dickie. They may leave the job, but the job never leaves them.”

  “None of these guys had anything bad to say bad about Forrest Butelli. They were all surprised he end
ed his life the way he did. They were clueless as to what would have provoked it. Probably the closest guy to him was Curtis Young, who also retired out of Mid-Town Detectives. Curtis had lunch with Forrest on the Thursday before he died. Curtis said they talked about old times, and he even asked Curtis if he was interested in going to work for Manhattan Investigations. Curtis was of the impression Forrest was doing well financially and didn’t know of any health issues. He said Forrest adored his wife, Margaret, and mentioned her often. Margaret actually acted as the secretary for the PI business. Curtis did mention that Forrest told him he had an interesting case and he wished he could tell him about it, but he told him it was very sensitive.”

  “Did he mention anything about the nature of the case?”

  “No, but Forrest told him it was a real cloak and dagger kind of case and even the client insisted on remaining anonymous. He said Forrest was really excited about having a case which wasn’t a domestic squabble or divorce case.”

  “Did he have any clue who the client might have been?”

  “No. He was certain Forrest never mentioned it.”

  “No speculation as to why he may have whacked himself?”

  “No and honestly, Chief, they don’t think he killed himself, but they don’t have a clue who would’ve killed him. Most of these guys were still on the job when Forrest died, but became so tied up in the events of 9/11 and afterwards, that they all accepted it. They were so consumed by their work that they didn’t really have time to think about it. It’s sad, but they just put Forrest out of their minds after 9/11.”

  “I need you to write these statements up with as much detail as possible, Dickie. Forrest Butelli’s wife thinks he was murdered, but she has no evidence.”

  “Suicide is often an act of rebellion against the family.”

  “I know it’s difficult. It’ll be even more difficult if he was murdered.”

  “Do you think that’s possible?” Dickie asked.

  “Anything is possible, but I have Bryan Flannery reviewing the case file to see if we missed anything. He’s supposed to meet with me at 1500 on Monday to fill me in. You should come to the meeting also.”