Bronx Requiem

by John Clarkson

  During the whole time, more information had been filtering in from the other detectives in the 42nd Precinct Levitt had assigned to work on the cases. But finally, by two o’clock Saturday, everybody had been briefed and plans agreed upon.

  A meeting was scheduled for 3:00 P.M. Sunday afternoon to finalize the personnel who would execute the arrest warrants on Beck and his men at locations in Brooklyn, Staten Island, and Manhattan.

  Even though most of the participants had left, Palmer was too tired to gather his things and leave. Ippolito sat next to him. He’d stuck it through with Palmer, mostly keeping in touch with other detectives and organizing information while Palmer presented. But now with the interminable meetings ending, Ippolito knew his final exit had come. Time to get as far away as possible from John Palmer and his plot to assassinate Beck’s men.

  He turned to Palmer and said, “Well, I guess that’s it. However this turns out, you made your mark, John. There’s a hell of a lot of brass who know your name now.”

  “Thanks, Ray.”

  “Listen, I’m not officially out until Friday, but the skipper told me to clean out my stuff and use personal days to take the rest of the week off. So now that all this bullshit with the brass is done, I’m gone, unless you need me for something.”

  Palmer knew what Ippolito was doing, but he didn’t care. Raymond Ippolito had served his purpose.

  “Sure, Ray. No reason for you to hang around. There’s nothing else to do. I’m gonna be sleeping until tomorrow’s meeting and then be on call for Wilson when he needs me. I was you, I’d be on a beach somewhere sipping a margarita this time next week.”

  Palmer pushed himself out of his chair. Ippolito stood and they shook hands.

  “Let me know when you want me to put the word in with my dad.”

  “Will do.”

  Lieutenant Levitt saw them and headed toward them. A moment before he reached them, his cell phone rang. They all stopped and stood in place while he answered his phone.

  He stood listening, brows furrowed.

  “Wait, who called you?” He paused to listen. “And what did he say?”

  Levitt’s expression turned dark.

  He kept nodding, saying, “Uh-huh,” and “Okay.”

  He ended the call and looked at Palmer and Ippolito. He closed his eyes for a moment, shook his head, and muttered the closest thing to a curse they’d ever heard him speak.

  “God almighty.”

  Palmer asked, “What’s the matter?”

  Levitt stared at Palmer and Ippolito with an expression neither of them could interpret. After a moment, he said, “Nothing. It’s just another meeting I have to go to.”

  Palmer said, “You want me to come with you?”

  “No. No, this is on something else. You two are done here.”

  Levitt headed out of the conference room. Ippolito watched Levitt leave. His gut told him Levitt had lied to them. He grabbed Palmer’s shoulder and said, “Hey, don’t forget my send-off. Wednesday night. We’re starting at the Pine. Plan on an all-nighter, kid. I ain’t going out with a whimper.”

  “Yeah, yeah, sure, Ray. Wednesday.”

  Ten seconds later, John Palmer stood alone in the conference room, wondering what the hell had just happened.

  66

  Beck left Queen-Esther Goodwin watching New York Bay with decisions and courses of action spinning in his head.

  Alex had disappeared to grab some sleep.

  As Beck passed Demarco and Amelia, Demarco called out, “James.”

  “What?”

  “I want to get the girl some clothes.”

  Beck stopped, checked his watch. His Saturday morning was disappearing.

  “Two hours max. And please take Queenie, I mean Esther, with you. She needs clothes, too. A few days’ worth.”

  “We’re calling her Esther now?”

  “Yes.”

  Amelia said, “I once heard her square name was Karen.”

  Beck said, “Queen-Esther Karen Goodwin.”

  “I’m not sure it’s a good idea we go together.”

  Beck’s patience for the Amelia/Queenie feud had run out. “You have to change that. At least for the next twenty-four hours. She’s sitting outside by the barge. Go ask her to come with you. Please.”

  Beck headed downstairs. He found Manny sitting at the old wooden table in the downstairs bar kitchen, sipping coffee. He took the seat across from him.

  “It’s coming down.”

  Manny asked, “How soon you figure?”

  “Next twenty-four hours.”

  “Who’s first? The cops, or Jackson’s crew?”

  “I have to stop the cops first. They have to be coming at us with everything this time. But Jackson will be right behind them. Have to deal with that, too.”

  “You got a plan, right?”

  “If you call a suicide mission a plan, yeah.”

  Manny said, “What else is new?”

  “Problem is, it won’t just be us.”

  “Meaning what?”

  Beck avoided answering. “What shape is Edward Remsen in after Ciro took him down?”

  “Ciro got that drunk cabron right after he parked his car. Popped him in the liver, right under the ribs.”

  “From behind?”

  “Yeah.”

  “With his fist?”

  “No. With one of those fish clubs.”

  “Shit.”

  “He just gave him a tap.”

  Beck said, “I hope he doesn’t bleed to death internally. I need him alive.”

  “Too bad. He deserves to die. There’s something foul about that guy, James. Dirty. You know what I mean?”

  “This whole thing is foul. We’re going to have to take down a lot of them, Manny.”

  “How?”

  Beck leaned forward and told the grizzled old gangster his plan. Making it clear what he needed Manny to do. Listening if Manny had any suggestions.

  By the time Beck finished, he had three minutes before Walter Ferguson and Phineas Dunleavy were scheduled to arrive.

  67

  Palmer told himself to forget about Levitt and his damn phone call. It didn’t matter. Nothing was going to stop the machinery that had been unleashed to go after James Beck and his men. Too many heavyweights had signed off. Too many divisions had come on board and a ton of personnel. It would take the commissioner himself to shut it down.

  And then, when Palmer was about to leave the One PP conference room, his own phone rang.

  The caller ID told him it was his father. All his suppressed worry and anxiety flared up again.

  “Dad.”

  “John, there’s something I need to tell you. Get to a pay phone. Call me on the private number.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “It may be nothing. Just call me. I’m waiting.”

  By the time Palmer made it out of police headquarters and found a working pay phone on Broadway and Duane Street, he was grinding his teeth.

  When his father answered, he spoke without even saying hello first.

  “All right, John, here’s the situation. I don’t think this should have anything to do with you, but I want you to be aware about an incident upstate. Four men were found dead outside Ellenville. There is a connection between me and one of those men. Nothing I can’t explain, but nobody wants to be connected to four men who met violent deaths. Fortunately, the initial reports seem to indicate the deaths are the result of a falling out among family members. The state police are investigating.”

  “Who are they?”

  There was a pause on the other end of the line.

  “No need to go into details. It’s been on the local news, and will go national by this evening. The state police are going to release their initial findings sometime later today. If anybody asks you anything, your answer will be you heard something about it on the news, but don’t know anything else about it.”

  “All right. But is anything going to connect to me?”
<
br />   “Very doubtful.”

  “Dad, Ellenville is right near Eastern Correctional.”

  “Yes, but you told me the situation with that man on parole had been covered.”

  “It’s all in the works, Dad. It led to another investigation, but that’s not a problem. It’s covered.”

  “John, I’m aware of what’s going on at One Police Plaza, but listen to me carefully. If anything doesn’t go according to plan, just let it go. Walk away.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “If the district attorney gets cold feet. If the arrests don’t go right. If complications arise, don’t push it. Don’t try to make a case. Let it go.”

  Palmer knew exactly what his father was saying. It would tear his guts out to let it go, but he could do that. What he couldn’t do was stop Juju Jackson. If he double-crossed Jackson now, who knew what he would do? How the hell could he shut down Jackson and his crazy enforcer Whitey Bondurant?”

  His father interrupted Palmer’s thoughts.

  “You understand, right, John?”

  “Yes, yes, I understand.”

  “Okay, son, I’ll call you in a few days.”

  Palmer listened to silence on the other end of the line, replaced the receiver, and stood unmoving in front of the pay phone. Now, what?

  And at that exact moment, the throwaway cell phone he told Juju Jackson to use buzzed in his suit-coat pocket.

  68

  Two hours before Palmer talked to his father, Beck sat with Walter Ferguson and Phineas P. Dunleavy at the table in his large bedroom on the third floor where they wouldn’t be disturbed.

  Although it was a Saturday, Beck had asked both men to wear business attire. Walter, tall and trim in a dark blue suit, white shirt, and tie looked like a university professor. Phineas Dunleavy, shorter, broader, with his unruly head of white hair, wore a bespoke brown glen-plaid suit, blue striped shirt, and yellow tie. He looked like a well-groomed bulldog ready for a fight.

  Beck had printouts of information, the external hard drive, and the ledgers of Derrick and Jerome Watkins. He selected a single piece of paper from the top of his pile and slid it toward Phineas.

  “Phin, Walter and I are ahead of you on what’s going on. Let’s get you up to speed with this list of charges the Bronx District Attorney’s office is going to arrest us for, plus a summary of the evidence they claim to have.”

  Dunleavy quickly scanned the page without showing any reaction.

  “Walter has provided us with that. I expect the cops will try to arrest us tomorrow, or Monday. We can’t let that happen.”

  Phineas looked up and said, “These are serious charges, James. How do we stop them?”

  “You and Walter are going to present evidence to the Bronx ADA and the NYPD captain in charge of the homicide investigation that will show them someone else committed those crimes.”

  “Will they believe it?”

  “Right now, all I need is for them to believe we have enough evidence to undermine their cases against us. But that’s only part of what I want you to present.”

  “Go on.”

  “I also have information about criminals already known to the NYPD and FBI who have been prostituting hundreds of women and girls, and committing a long list of crimes associated with prostitution including money laundering, tax evasion, racketeering, and murders. This is way beyond what they’re charging us with. I want you to get both the NYPD and the FBI to open investigations into those crimes.”

  “How did you obtain this evidence, James?”

  “Through a private citizen who came forth voluntarily with evidence that led to me discovering the rest.”

  “And you can present this citizen?”

  “Yes, with the right protections and immunity. But that’s a negotiation for later.”

  Phineas frowned in concentration. “They’ll be questions about illegal searches and all. I’ll have to go over everything. And interview your source.”

  “I know. But for now, Phin, here’s the order of attack. Stop the arrests. Present the evidence that will point them to the real criminals. Make a deal to keep my witness safe.”

  “Understood. How do we get to these law enforcement people? It has to be done quickly.”

  “As soon as I finish briefing you. Walter can put you in touch with a lieutenant in the Forty-second Precinct. And with the Bronx ADA assigned to prosecute. Right, Walter?”

  “Yes.”

  “As I recall, Walter, you also know people in the FBI who might be able to help us with what’s going on in terms of the women and children being exploited.”

  “I have one contact who might. Her name is Julia Sanders. She’s on the Innocence Lost Task Force.”

  “Good. Can you call all of them now to set up meetings while I go over everything with Phineas?”

  Walter answered, “You want me to tell the cops they’re being set up to make false arrests?”

  “Yes. And tell both the NYPD and the FBI we have evidence of serious crimes they should pursue?”

  “Okay.”

  When Walter stepped out of the room to make his calls, Beck gave his lawyer more explicit information so Phineas would know exactly what he’d be navigating. He was wrapping up when Walter returned.

  “I talked to Levitt’s sergeant. He says Levitt is in a meeting. I told him if Levitt wants to avoid a disaster, he should call me as soon as possible. I spoke to the ADA’s assistant. Gave her enough to convince her Frederick Wilson needs to meet with me. She said he’d call me soon. It took me a few calls, but I got through to Julia Sanders. We have a meeting today at FBI headquarters, two P.M.”

  “Great. Let’s keep going.”

  Beck started with Packy’s release from prison. He carefully presented the evidence proving Detective John Palmer shot Packy Johnson. He explained how Palmer framed Derrick Watkins for the Johnson shooting by planting the murder weapon at the Mount Hope apartment. He explained Palmer’s motive, his father’s connection to Oswald Remsen, Remsen’s prostitution ring, and his connection to Eric Jackson through his third son at Sing Sing.

  Walter interrupted. “James, do you know that Oswald Remsen, two of his sons, and a fourth man were found dead outside Ellenville?”

  “No. I’ve been concentrating on all this.”

  “I got a call this morning from the facility parole officer at Eastern I was working with. He told me.”

  “Walter, whatever happened up there had nothing to do with you.”

  “What about you, James?”

  “What about me? If those men were killed, I’m assuming it had something to do with the criminal enterprise they were running. The world is better off without them.”

  Walter looked down, struggling with Beck’s explanation. He steeled himself, looked up, and asked, “Can you tell me you didn’t shoot them?”

  “Of course I can. Who’s investigating the deaths?”

  “State police.”

  “Wait to see what they find out. It won’t involve you, or me.”

  Phineas looked up from the paperwork and said, “James, what about Palmer’s accusation and his witnesses who say you shot Derrick Watkins in revenge for Packy?”

  “It’s bullshit. The witnesses are lying. I didn’t shoot Derrick Watkins. You shouldn’t have any trouble casting doubt on those witnesses. Ask the police how they came up with four witnesses so quickly in a neighborhood where nobody ever cooperates with the police. I guarantee those stooges were provided by Eric Jackson.”

  Phineas asked, “Of course, but can you prove that?”

  “I will. Let’s keep going. You could drive a truck through evidence they have against Manny and Demarco for the shooting on Hoe Avenue. The security camera photo is a joke. And the description from their eyewitness is so vague it could be anyone. Everything becomes tainted once we show them Palmer is a murderer manipulating evidence.”

  Phineas checked the eyewitness statement and photo.

  Walter asked, “If you didn’t shoo
t Derrick Watkins, and Manny and Demarco didn’t shoot Jerome Watkins or Tyrell Williams, who did?”

  “My guess is Eric Jackson’s enforcer, Floyd Whitey Bondurant. Everything connects back to Eric Jackson. Jackson is cleaning house. He’s eliminating everybody that connects him to Packy Johnson.”

  Phineas asked, “Again, can we get any proof of your theory, James?”

  “I’m working on it. Present my theory to the police, Phin, you’ll be on solid ground. Let’s keep going.”

  Beck slid the ledger books to Phineas and Walter.

  “These ledgers show in detail the profits earned by Derrick and Jerome Watkins from prostitution. They go back years. There are hundreds of women and underage girls involved. A good portion of that income went to Eric Jackson, and many women connected to Jackson and the Watkins’s brothers ended up working in the Remsen prostitution ring.”

  Phineas started to speak, but Beck raised a hand.

  “I know—where’s the proof? My witness will confirm that but, more important, Oswald Remsen had a son who works at Sing Sing. I believe he was the connection between his father and Eric Jackson, who supplied women for their prostitution business. At least some of those women came from the Watkins brothers. I have no doubt Edward Remsen will cooperate with the FBI and testify to these facts when he bargains for a plea.

  “Even without Edward Remsen and my witness, right now I have proof that Eric Jackson violated federal banking laws trying to hide profits from his illegal operations.”

  Beck slid the external hard drive across the table.

  “That hard drive shows that millions of dollars have ended up in bank accounts controlled by Eric Jackson. One of them is out of state. One in New York. One in Canada. All the money was deposited in the form of U.S. postal money orders. All signed by Eric Jackson.”

  Phineas smiled. “You’re right, James, we don’t even have to prove the money came from prostitution right now. The FBI can start with tax evasion and banking-law violations.”