“Was he aware of Margaret Butelli’s concerns?”
“Yes, and he told her to contact Captain Beck. He says Beck told him to move on, because he had other cases to work. He also admitted not seeing any blood in the car, but once the suicide note was found, he just assumed it was a suicide and didn’t think much of it.”
“I don’t like excuses for not doing a thorough job even in extraordinary times, Mike. There should’ve been red flags all over this case.”
“I agree, Chief. I think his captain helped him shut it down.”
“No doubt.” Pat said shaking his head.
Bryan posed a question to the Chief. “How do we handle Margaret Butelli’s phone, Chief?”
“Once the tech guys give us a run down, we’ll take some heat off by my calling her to confirm that her husband’s case was a suicide and that the NYPD is officially closing the case. Hopefully that’ll give us some breathing room.”
“Now that sounds like a great plan! I’ll let you know when we get some word from the tech guys.”
“Thanks, so what do we know about His Honor, Judge Fitzpatrick?”
Karla Adams stood up and said; “Judge Fitzpatrick was killed in a hunting accident near the Canadian Border about four months after Butelli died. A witness saw him crossing a fence and the gun slipped and it went off when the judge grabbed it, taking most of his head off. I have contacted the sheriff up there to get copies of the report.”
“Wow! That sounds convenient. I hope the sheriff did a better job of investigating the judge’s death than we did in the Butelli case.”
“They didn’t remember the case. It’s been almost 10 years.”
“Okay, keep us posted.”
“How about the ADA Donovan?”
“We don’t know for sure, but he left the DA’s office in early 2002 and moved to California.”
“I have a good friend who retired off the job and is an investigator for the state bar association, Karla. He may be able to help you track him down.”
“Okay, Chief, thanks. I’ll get the contact information from you after the briefing.”
Bryan Flannery took the podium and asked for any more developments, but received no takers. He dismissed the group and asked them to meet at the same time the following day.
Pat O’Connor shook his head at the interesting developments and asked Bryan Flannery to follow him to his office.
Chapter 27
Thursday, February 3 - Day 16
Chief of Detectives’ Office - One Police Plaza
Borough of Manhattan, New York
1700 Hours
Bryan Flannery joined Pat in his office and closed the door. Pat poured each of them a cup of coffee and got right to the point.
“I want us to reach out to Inspector Phil Beck in Staten Island. I’d like for him to meet us here to discuss his role in the Butelli case.”
“Yes sir, and you know he’s up for a promotion to Assistant Chief don’t you?”
“I’m aware and really don’t care. I don’t want you to repeat it, but if he handles anything else like he apparently handled the Butelli case, I’m not sure he is Assistant Chief material.”
“I can’t say that I disagree, but he is pretty well-liked by the troops.”
“Well-liked can be a good thing, but well-liked and tolerating sloppy police work is intolerable in our business, Bryan.”
“When do you want him to come in?”
“Let’s do 0900 tomorrow. We can talk with him together.”
“Okay, Chief. I’ll set it up, but he may resent having a measly captain in here.”
“I could care less.” Pat said.
“Thanks, Bryan, and let me know when the tech crew gets in the house across from Margaret Butelli’s place.”
“I’ll let you know. I’m sure it’ll be handled discreetly with a sealed search warrant.”
“Good. Make certain of it. We wouldn’t want to attract any attention. Once we get our arms around this, we’ll throw out some information to whoever is listening to cool their jets a little.”
Bryan left the office, and Pat poured himself a second cup of coffee and called Maggie.
“Maggie Parker.”
“Hello, Gorgeous. Did I catch you at a bad time?”
“Not at all. I’m just reading some travel expense reports.”
“I know it’s late notice, but would you like to go to the Steamboat tonight?”
“That would be fine, Pat. Can I meet you there around 7 pm?”
Looking at his watch, Pat saw it was almost 1800.
“Okay. I’ll see you in an hour.”
He finished some paperwork and penciled in the meeting with Phil Beck for 0900 hours tomorrow. He packed his briefcase and headed for the parking garage. On the way out he saw Angie Wilson still working at her desk.
“Are you burning the midnight oil, Lieutenant?”
“I’ve been looking at all of these cases which have been dismissed. I’ve actually found a case involving a friend of mine who got caught driving drunk. I didn’t even know she had been arrested.”
“Was her case dismissed?”
“Yes. It was dismissed by Judge Fitzpatrick and Daniel Pellegrino was her attorney.”
“Do you think she’d talk to you about it?”
“Probably so, if I was very discreet.”
“Sounds like something we should try. It might help us understand how they were operating.”
“Okay. We have a girls’ lunch on Saturday. I’ll try to have a conversation.”
“Sounds promising. I appreciate your involvement in this case, Angie.”
“Thanks, Chief. It’s been a nice change being involved in a working investigation. It has helped keep my cop skills sharp. Also, Chief, Mike was really upset about the incident last night, and he hopes your relationship with him hasn’t been damaged.”
“We’re cool. I don’t think Mike had any clue what those idiots were doing.”
“He’s assured me he didn’t have a clue. Mike knows this was not your fault and accepts full responsibility.”
“Thanks, Angie, and don’t work too late.”
Chapter 28
Thursday, February 3 - Day 16
Steamboat Cafe
Borough of Manhattan, New York
1900 Hours
Pat and Maggie arrived at exactly the same time. Pat had been driving himself for the last few days, since Dickie Davis had been working on the case. It was against protocol, but he had pulled a car from the motor pool for Dickie to drive. Parking in a loading zone, he put his NYPD placard in the dash which said NYPD Official Business. He opened the trunk and took out his leather trumpet case. Maggie and some of the guys had given Pat a beautifully engraved gold-plated trumpet for his birthday. Maggie immediately noticed.
“That’s a nice looking case there, Pat.”
“Yep. It was given to me by the prettiest girl in New York.”
“That’s sweet, but I still think you need to get your eyes checked.”
“Hardly. I hope you’re hungry.”
“I’m starving. I haven’t had anything since my breakfast energy bar.”
Pat and Maggie walked in and were immediately greeted by Sam Spicer, the owner.
“Chief O’Connor and Miss Parker, I’m so glad you worked us into your busy lives. I’m also glad to see you have that trumpet with you.”
“Sure, Sam, and I’ll play a few tunes with the boys after we eat.”
As always, Sam seated Pat and Maggie near the bandstand. Warren Downing and the rhythm section all waved to Pat and smiled. The Steamboat Café always made him feel at home. It was the closest thing to New Orleans in the city. The Dixieland Jazz was a great atmosphere and reminded Pat of growing up in the Crescent City.
Pat and Maggie both ordered some barbecued shrimp and bowls of gumbo. Maggie credited him with developing her taste for the New Orleans cuisine.
“Have you heard anything else about our shooter in New Jersey?” Ma
ggie asked.
“Not even a phone call. We were going to do a search warrant for his house, but when we went by to get a description, our friends at the Bureau were already searching it.”
“They didn’t let you know that either?”
“No, but Mike Wilson told me they didn’t find anything unusual. However, I still have Karla Adams checking on Harry Pittsford’s phone records and credit card receipts. You never know what you might find.”
“Or what the FBI boys might have missed.” Maggie said.
“Especially that. I’m not trying to be an FBI basher, but they can be arrogant and often aren't the greatest investigators. I blame the attitude on the nature of the organization more so than the character and abilities of the individual agents. I know there are brilliant and dedicated agents, but the organizational culture presumes that local cops are idiots.”
“You’ve said it before, Pat, and I know it’s true. Local cops have more authority than any other law enforcement officers in the country, and in most cases, they’re the most experienced.”
“Of course! A beat cop in Times Square can arrest you for anything from littering to murder and doesn’t have to ask a single person. He can decide to arrest anyone who violates the law and legally deprive that person of their freedom. There are few federal agents who have anywhere near that much discretion. It just doesn’t happen. It’s not totally their fault, but it’s a result of the cherry picking of cases by the US Attorneys. Federal agents are only allowed to arrest people for perfect cases. Big-city cops arrest people all the time for all kinds of things. It’s part of what we do almost every single day.”
The food came, and Pat and Maggie continued their conversations as they dove into the tasty and spicy food. Clarinetist Warren Downing stopped by the table and talked with Pat. “I see you brought the good horn tonight.”
“Yes, Warren, it’s like bringing out the fine China. I love this horn, but I worry about leaving it in the car.”
“I’m sure it’s well-protected.”
“Yes, but there are places I have to go where I worry about it, cop or not.”
“Pat we’re going back on in about five minutes if you want to sit in with us.”
“Thanks, Warren. I need to warm up a little.”
Pat realized he often didn’t practice as much as he would like. He stuck a mute in the horn and walked over in the corner and started playing some scales. He promised himself he would try to get back into his daily practice routine. He’d spent a fortune soundproofing one of his extra bedrooms, and it was a great escape from the NYPD. He walked onto the bandstand, and they kicked off “The Bourbon Street Parade.”
Chapter 29
Friday, February 4 - Day 17
Chief of Detectives’ Office - One Police Plaza
Borough of Manhattan, New York
0845 Hours
Pat O’Connor knew of Inspector Phillip Beck, but had never worked with him. Beck was now a uniformed Inspector, who was being considered for promotion to Assistant Chief. Pat knew Beck would be worried about anything that might hurt his chances for promotion. He also knew he had to ask Beck some tough questions about his handling of the Butelli case.
Beck was about 15 minutes early. Angie Wilson came into Pat’s office at 0845 and told him that Inspector Beck was waiting. Pat told her he would be with him in a few minutes, as he waited for Bryan Flannery to arrive. Bryan arrived in about five minutes and Pat told Angie to send the Inspector back.
Phil Beck was wearing his dress blues and presented a sharp, military-like appearance. He had a long row of commendation ribbons above his inspector’s shield. Pat and Bryan stood up and offered him a seat at the conference table. It was obvious Beck was in good physical shape and looked somewhat younger than his 52 years. Pat did most of the talking.
“Inspector, this is Captain Bryan Flannery from the Manhattan North Homicide Unit currently assigned to this office to look at an old case involving a retiree. His name was Forrest Butelli, and he was found dead in Central Park when you were a captain in Manhattan South Homicide.”
“Yes sir, Chief. It was a suicide, if I remember correctly. He blew his brains out in a car.”
“It was classified as a suicide. Please tell me why you felt it was a suicide, Inspector.”
“I think he left a note, didn’t he?”
“Yes. There was a note, but what part of the investigation led you to conclude this was a suicide?”
“I really didn’t have much to do with it, Chief. It was some gumshoe retired off the job, who couldn’t take it anymore. It’s not like that doesn’t happen after you pull the pin. Some guys just can’t cope with the changes.”
“Allow me to read something to you, Inspector. ‘Dear Mrs. Butelli, I have received your recent letter and numerous phone calls to this office. I am sorry that you are not satisfied with the work of my detectives in the investigation of the death of your husband. We have discussed this case with the office of the Chief Medical Examiner of the City of New York, and the case has been ruled a suicide. After a careful personal review of this case, I have found no issues to support any other logical conclusion.’ It was signed Captain Phillip Beck, Commanding Officer Manhattan South Homicide.”
“Well, you know, Chief, you can’t get these families to accept that the old man whacked himself, and they’re a pain in the ass. You try to do something to shut them up and just get them out of your hair. You know how busy Manhattan South Homicide can be.”
“Yes. I’m sure you know that I was also once the Manhattan South Homicide Commander.” Pat reminded him.
“Yes sir, Chief.”
“So let me ask you this, Inspector. Did you review the case at all?”
“Absolutely. You know I made sure all the key bases were covered.”
“What would you call key bases, Inspector?” Pat asked.
“You know, the suicide note, ME’s report and the usual stuff.”
“Did the case have any ballistics work completed on the alleged suicide weapon?”
“I’m sure that would’ve been done.”
“It was not!” Pat said emphatically.
“This was a retired cop. Was there an autopsy done?”
“I really don’t remember, Chief.”
“There was not!”
“Did the slug recovered from the car match Butelli’s revolver?”
“Tell me it did.” Beck said with obvious frustration.
“It did not!”
“We had lots of cases in the unit and we just couldn’t spend much time on the suicides, because we had real homicide cases to work. Come on, Chief, this was a long time ago. I hate to bring this up, but I’m up for promotion to Assistant Chief, and I really don’t need this right now. I’m sorry I didn’t give Butelli’s old lady more attention, but I’ve heard it so many times before. Can’t we just let this one slide? I promise you, I’m loyal to this department.”
“In all likelihood, Inspector, you let a homicide slip through the cracks. Not only that, you lied to Butelli’s family and told them you had personally reviewed this case. You had them and Butelli’s friends snowed, because they believed in the integrity and abilities of the New York City Police Department. They accepted it, because they’re also loyal to this department. It went away, just like you wanted. However, it has reared its ugly head, and this falls in my lap now. I’m disgusted by the way you handled this case, and I feel it’s nothing short of incompetence, if not out and out dereliction of duty.”
“Please, Chief! It’s been over 10 years.”
“Tell that to Margaret Butelli and her two daughters, who were led to believe by the NYPD that her husband and their father was mentally ill. Forrest Butelli was a fine detective. He was respected by many people in this department. This department, under your command, let him down by the way this investigation was handled.”
“Captain Flannery, please, can you ask the Chief to cut me some slack? This is ridiculous.”
“I’m
just as disappointed as the Chief of Detectives.” Bryan responded.
Pat was silent for a few minutes.
“I’m ordering you not to discuss this investigation with anyone. Don’t try any damage control. I can’t tell you how this will come out, but you should take a look at your options. It’s not my desire or intention to embarrass or humiliate you over this, but I have a job to do. Thank you for your time, Inspector.”
Phil Beck walked out of the office as white as a sheet. He didn’t say a word. Bryan Flannery remained silent and expressionless. Finally after about 30 seconds, he spoke.
“You busted his balls, Chief.”
“He let us down big time on this one, Bryan. I just hope there aren’t more cases out there like this one.”
“Sometimes, guys take shortcuts. It happens every day, Chief.”
“I hope not, at least not in these death cases. The NYPD can’t support that.”
“Oh, don’t get me wrong. I agree 100 percent, but we get numbers-driven and some commanders just don’t always play by the same rules.”
“I’m not about numbers, Bryan. I’m about justice!”
Chapter 30
Friday, February 4 - Day 17
Chief of Detectives’ Office - One Police Plaza
Borough of Manhattan, New York
1030 Hours
Pat completed some of the endless administrative paperwork, signing transfer requests and approving some training requests from senior detective commanders. It was always a challenge to keep up with the paperwork. Along with endless meetings, this was the hardest part of the job. He had delegated many meetings to subordinates and tried to attend only the required meetings or ones he needed to attend. He was interrupted by his desk phone ringing.
“Pat O’Connor.”
“Good morning, Chief. This is Ed Cooper in Washington.”
“Good morning, Doc. How are you?”
“I’m fine, and I’ve completed my analysis of the instruments Detective Davis sent me.”
FORGOTTEN Page 9
