by Hack, Henry
“Oh? Do tell me.”
“I certainly will tell you, but I need a few more minutes to complete my notes and I can probably synopsize it in about ten minutes. If you would get us our afternoon coffee fix, I should be ready to roll when you return.”
“My pleasure and it’s my treat for helping me out here. Do you want anything to go with the coffee? A donut or something?”
Rita looked up at Susan with a funny smile and said, “Yeah, you can get me something. How about a man? Preferably one just like Officer Harold T. Cassidy.”
“Pardon me?”
“Just get the coffee. I’ll explain then.”
Susan set the coffee containers on a clear space on Rita’s desk. She took the lids off and handed her a container, saying, “I’m all ears.”
“Harold T. Cassidy was born in Woodhaven, Queens. He’ll turn thirty-three in a couple of weeks. His Father, Timothy, died at age forty-nine of cancer when Harry was seventeen. Harry’s mother, Greta, nee Schmitt, is now 66 years old and lives in North Carolina. He has one sister, Ellen, four years older.
“Harry was raised a Roman Catholic, but attended public grammar schools in Queens and went to John Adams High School in Ozone Park, graduating with a Regent’s diploma. He was a jock, earning letters in three sports – football, basketball and baseball. He hurt his knee in his senior year in a football game which effectively ended his competitive sports career and killed any chance of going to a big-time college on an athletic scholarship. His file shows the police and civil service doctors put him through the mill on that knee to make sure he would be fit for the Force.”
“So,” Susan said, “his dreams of athletic glory and going to Ohio State, or some other big school, got shattered, and two months later his father dies. Tough breaks for a seventeen year old.”
“Sure were,” Rita said. “His only job was at Major’s Supermarket where his father had been a long time employee. He went to Queens College, all the time working part-time at Major’s. He graduated with a Bachelor’s Degree in Business Administration and a minor in Psychology.”
“This dumb Irisher is a college graduate?”
“Not only that, he attended night school at Adelphi University on a police scholarship and earned a Master’s Degree in Public Administration a few years ago.”
“What were his grades like?”
“An A minus, graduating magna cum laude for both degrees.”
“Very impressive, but I’m wondering…”
“I know what you’re wondering. What the hell is a guy this bright still doing pounding a beat after more than ten years on the Force? Why isn’t he a detective, or a sergeant, or in a specialized unit?”
“Precisely,” Susan said.
“I’m coming to that soon. Let me finish up the background section first. Harry joined the Nassau County Police Department at the age of twenty-two. This was the last class for the NCPD prior to the merge with the NYPD to form the NYMPD. He married Margaret O’Rourke and they moved to an apartment in Bayside. After the birth of two daughters they bought a house in Farmingdale, Long Island.”
“Sounds like the perfect suburban couple living the American dream – a house, a couple of kids – just like Steve and I wanted.”
“Unfortunately, the American dream came crashing down around Harry’s ears. His wife filed for divorce after eight years of marriage. It was final about a year ago.”
“I guess the wounds are still fresh.”
“He’s still bleeding all right. She got the house and the kids and the newer of the two cars. Right after Christmas last year she sold the house, packed up the kids, and moved to Pennsylvania near where her parents live.”
“And Harry?”
“Harry ended up in a third floor walk-up in New Hyde Park where he still lives. Out of his $78,000 gross salary he pays the mandated 25% support for the two kids, which comes to $19,500, and he pays $12,000 maintenance for Margaret for three years. Figuring he nets about $48,000 after taxes and deductions, and figuring his rent is about $1,100 a month that leaves Officer Cassidy with about $400 a month for everything else in his life. An American dream? More like an American nightmare, if you ask me.”
“Why does he have to pay maintenance to his ex-wife?”
“She was an elementary school teacher, but quit when she had the kids. The maintenance is to give her time to get certified in Pennsylvania and get back into the job market;”
“How about his pension?”
“Margaret waived all claims to the pension. He’s only thirty-two and can stay on the Job for thirty-one more years. She took the birds in the bush – the house, the car, and the maintenance.”
“His financial situation sure makes him an easy target for corruption.”
“Do you think he’s corrupt, Susan?”
“No, I don’t think that at all.”
“You don’t think that because you don’t believe it, or because you don’t want to believe it?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Now for his Force records,” continued Rita. “Harry was assigned to the Fifth Precinct after graduating number one in his rookie class. He is still there although the precinct was renumbered as the Nine-Five after the merge. After one year of foot patrol he was assigned to a sector car. One year later he was chosen for rotation into Nassau Narcotics where he spent eleven months. His supervisor wrote, ‘I would welcome Officer Cassidy back for another rotation as soon as possible. He was an outstanding performer and made over fifty street arrests. He also demonstrated superior investigative techniques and would be an asset to any detective unit in the Department.”
“Did he ever go back?”
“He was asked back in on two separate occasions and refused both times.”
“Why?”
“No reason specified in the file. Guess you’re going to have to ask him yourself someday. He then asked out of the sector car for a return to foot patrol and was assigned the beat he still walks today. A couple years later he was chosen for detective’s training. He spent nine months in the Fifth Squad and at the conclusion was offered a promotion to Detective Third Grade. He refused the promotion and went back to his beat. The reason he gave was he felt he could better serve the public and the Department in the uniform force.”
“He turns down a $4,000 raise, the gold shield, and a chance to get off the street? I don’t get it. He’s got a family, a mortgage, and car payments. What gives?”
“Beats me. Guess you’re going to have to ask him that, too.”
“No wonder he was hostile in the interview,” Susan said. “No wife, no kids, no house, and now IAD is after him like the hounds of hell.”
“He may have been hostile, but I’m sure he doesn’t think of you as a hell-hound. Not the way he looked at you.”
“You think so?”
“Yes, and if you’re smart, you could use that to your advantage to crack him, and this case, wide open, or…”
“Or what?”
“Or you could forget you’re a sergeant in IAD and take handsome Officer Cassidy home and make wild, passionate love to him, and live happily ever after.”
They both laughed and Susan gathered up the files. “I’m going to take these home and go through them again tonight. I’m seeing Cassidy on his beat tomorrow to look at the crime scene. Let’s see what I can arm myself with before then.”
●
After a quick dinner of vegetable soup and chicken Caesar salad, Susan Goldman cleared the kitchen table and stacked the dishes in the dishwasher. She refreshed her glass of chardonnay and spread the files out neatly on the table. A lot of facts are crammed in these files Officer Cassidy, but nothing in here about what makes you tick, what makes your life worth living, what makes you do what you do, is there?
She went to the applicant file first. Under the question, “Do you have any relatives in law enforcement? If so, please list name, relationship and affiliation,” Cassidy had answered “Yes” and wrote down, “Michael Cassidy, unc
le (father’s brother), a deputy chief in the New York City Police Department.” She made a note to find out more about Uncle Mike.
Harry’s file contained several letters of commendation from civilians. A common thread of their praise was Cassidy’s kindness and compassion in going out of his way for them in such disparate situations as help with immigration status, help in obtaining food stamps, help in finding a place to sleep for a few nights, help in passing the U.S. citizenship test; and more than a few for bandaging wounds, helping babies to breathe and calling ambulances promptly.
He had several Departmental Commendations including two Life Saving awards, two Excellent Police Duty awards, one Meritorious Service award and one Medal of Commendation, the second highest award given by the Department. As Susan probed deeper into the files she found the folders she hoped would be the most revealing – Harry’s “Letters of Complaint” and his “Departmental Record of Disciplinary Actions.” All good police supervisors and administrators knew an empty complaint file almost always meant the officer was the “do-nothing” type. Their folders for letters of commendation and for police activity were equally lacking in content. They knew active, aggressive police actions generated heat, and most letters of complaint were an attempt to put some heat back on the officer in an effort to get even for their arrest, or speeding ticket. These complaints were looked into on the local command level and rarely escalated into a full-blown Internal Affairs investigation.
Cassidy’s folder contained seven letters of complaint. Six of the seven had resulted in no disciplinary action. One had resulted in the issuance of a precinct level form 59, “Command Discipline” to Cassidy for unprofessional behavior for using profanity and demeaning language to a person he had arrested for misdemeanor possession of stolen property. The letter of complaint was from Richard Winston for an arrest that had occurred about six months ago.
Cassidy’s Disciplinary Actions Folder was thin. He had once been the target of an Internal Affairs investigation when he was a rookie. Interestingly, he had been accused by a Linda Wills of smacking her around and grabbing her boyfriend by the throat and choking him. Harry had denied the charges, but the case wasn’t officially closed in his favor until a few years later when Wills had threatened to make a similar false brutality complaint against a patrol sergeant which was found to be without merit. In another case, where Harry was not the target of the IAD investigation, he said he had witnessed the entire incident and the targeted officer had not engaged in the brutal behavior, a smack in the face with a blackjack, alleged in the complaint. The interviewing sergeant labeled Harry’s statement as truthful and the officer was eventually cleared of the charge. That was all in the file for ten years, but now Cassidy had allegedly choked someone once again. Was he prone to this type of violent behavior? Or were they just two long separated incidents totally unrelated to each other? From her initial interview she knew he was hiding something, not telling her the complete truth. But a murderer? She had no doubts he had choked out Winston, but how could she prove it? And why, why, why was he so damned good-looking? And why did she still feel this way over a street cop she had met just hours ago?
The rest of Cassidy’s files revealed nothing more than Rita had summarized earlier. She reviewed her notes of today’s interview. Something had been nagging at her, a feeling she missed something, and that feeling was reinforced as she went through Cassidy’s files. Why had he given up the fact of his return to the Nest so readily? It was almost as if he knew the existence of the letter and its contents before the interview. But how would he have known? Who could have told him? She searched his files once again and there it was – his rookie class roster – and the answer to her question became painfully clear. Bound by the age old police bonds among those who “came on the Job” together, it was none other than Detective Charles E. Hunter.
She began to feel tired and yawned a couple of times. She packed up the files into her briefcase, turned out the lights and went into the bedroom. It had been a tiring day and tomorrow might be just as tiring. A good night’s rest was needed. Susan set the clock a few minutes earlier than the normal 7:15 a.m. — she did not want to be late for her nine o’clock meeting with ADA Brimlow. She got into bed and lay on her back, eyes open, thinking about Harry – the handsome, intelligent and devious old-time beat cop.
Chapter Eight
The clock radio woke the soundly sleeping Susan after a full three minutes of blaring rock and roll. She showered and breakfasted on a small bowl of cereal and an English muffin with two cups of strong coffee. She selected a dark green pantsuit, and figuring she might be out in the cold weather with Cassidy for awhile, she put on dark green woolen socks and a sturdy, comfortable pair of low-heeled brown boots. At 8:15 she left for the drive over to the Nassau County Courthouse in Mineola.
Assistant District Attorney Mark Brimlow greeted Susan warmly. “Good Morning, Sergeant Goldman. How’s school going?”
“I can’t believe it’s almost done. Four years at night will be over in May. I thought it would get easier near the end, but they keep piling it on.”
“Yeah, they’re a sadistic workaholic bunch over at Hofstra Law. And what brings you here to brighten my day? Need some paper on some miscreant cops?”
“Yes, I do, if you can so oblige.”
“Okay, lawyer in the making. Let’s hear your fact pattern first. Then tell me what you want.”
Susan ran through the case and the results of the interview and then said, “That’s the story, Mark. I’d like a wiretap order for thirty days for his home phone and a search warrant for his apartment and personal belongings, for any form of physical evidence, blood in particular.”
Brimlow looked at her with narrowed eyes and said, “No and no.”
“But, Mark…”
“I’m surprised you are trying to get paper on this flimsy case. You’re too sharp to believe you have sufficient probable cause. Did the Mad Russian send you over?”
Susan blushed and said, “Mark, I thought you might at least have gone for the phone tap.”
“You were close, but what can you spell out in your affidavit you hope to overhear? It seems pretty clear Cassidy did not commit the crime. All you have is some vague notion he isn’t telling all he knows. Give me some relevant facts, something specific you think he may say to connect him with the crime.”
“I can’t think of any, but you know I had to try. I had to come over, if you know what I mean.”
“I know. That boss of yours pushes hard. If he breaks your chops when you go back empty-handed, tell him to call me and I’ll give him the facts of life.”
“Thanks, Mark, but I somehow have the feeling he knew this was a long shot. Thanks for your time.”
“My pleasure,” he said, extending his hand. “Now go out there and hunt down some real corrupt cops. Forget about this Cassidy. Nothing’s there.”
She smiled and shook Mark’s hand and said “Good-bye, Mark.” Forget about Cassidy? If only she could.
●
It was after ten by the time Susan got back to her car, a departmental issue, two-year old black Ford. She locked the Cassidy file in the trunk and settled into the front seat, turning the ignition on and allowing the car to warm up. She reached into her large shoulder bag, searching for her cell phone amidst the usual clutter, the nine-millimeter Glock and the IAD issued voice-activated tape recorder. She dialed her office.
“Internal Affairs, Miss Livermore speaking. How may I direct your call?”
She was amazed Marie was at her desk and not puffing away somewhere. “It’s Sergeant Goldman. Please put me in to Sergeant Becker.”
“Sure thing, Sarge. Hold on.”
A moment later, Rita came on the line. “Hi, Sue. How did it go with the DA?”
“Not good. He wouldn’t give me paper on the phone or the apartment. Do me a favor and let the inspector know, would you?”
“Sure, send me into the lion’s den with the bad news. Oh, he dropped somethi
ng on your desk. He said if you called in I should make you aware of it.”
“Thanks. Would you get it and check for anything else? I’ll hold on.”
Rita came back in a few moments and said, “You got a fax last night from Detective Hunter. It’s a statement from another witness in the bar. Want me to read it?”
“Please.”
After Rita finished, Susan said, “Now we have four guys who swear Cassidy choked Winston, and the other two are in sunny Florida. That leaves only number seven who may be named ‘Skronski,’ and is no doubt our letter writer.”
“That’s about it.”
“What did Gregorovich leave for me?”
“Wait a sec, I’ll open it up. It’s in a sealed envelope….and it’s another letter from Mr. Seven, the mysterious Skronski.”
“Don’t keep me in suspense. Read it to me.”
“It says, ‘Dear Mr. DA, What’s with your office? I sent a letter a few days ago telling you Cassidy was your guy who stabbed Richie Winston and you done nothing about it. I still see him walking his beat. I’m telling you, you better arrest him soon or I’m going to the papers with this. He better be off the street before the New Year starts, or you’ll see your name in the Post and on TV real soon.’”
“No signature, I guess,” Susan said.
“No, nothing to identify this guy at all except it’s postmarked in Queens, like the first one.”
“I need another favor, Rita.”
“Sure.”
“Get a hold of Hunter and fax him a copy of the letter and the envelope. Tell him to be standing by the machine when you send it. Tell him I asked if he and Faliani would double their efforts in trying to find this guy. And if they locate him, they are to do nothing until they call me first. Give them my cell number, okay?”
“You got it. Aren’t you coming in to the office?”
“No, I’m going to go see Officer Cassidy. I’m leaving the courthouse now.”
“Be careful. Be very careful. Remember, your career comes first.”
