The Blue Executions (31 page)

*

It wasn’t unusual for Chief Courtney to get phone calls anytime day or night when he was off-duty in his Westchester home.  Most of the time, it wasn’t good news. 

This was one of those rare times that it was.

“We got ‘em, Eddie!  We got the son of a bitch identified!” 

Courtney quickly grabbed the remote control, muting the Mets-Dodgers game on the 52 inch LED television in front of him.  He kicked the black leather ottoman forward, sitting up in his matching chair. 
Goosebumps flushed over his entire body.  Courtney had known Santoro for more than two decades, and had never heard him so excited.  He nervously stood up and began to pace the floor of his family room.  He needed to be sure so that there was no mistake.  “Who are you talking about, Ray?”

“The Blue Executioner, Eddie.  Remember the letter—that tiny circle?
  I was right.  The forensics team was able to build a DNA profile and we got a match.” 

“That’s great, Ray!”  Courtney couldn’t be happier.  He walked up the stairs to his bedroom to get dressed.  “Tell me more.”

“He lives in Brooklyn.  He was fired from the Department of Education a few years back for having a sexual relationship with a student.”  Santoro paused for a moment.  “Here’s the best part.  He was actually a Police Officer Candidate for our job.  Looks like somebody at Applicant Investigations did their job and had him disqualified.”  

Courtney stopped in his tracks to consider this.  “Thank God he was disqualified.  Jesus Christ, could you imagine the egg we
’d have on our faces if he was still a candidate and the press found out?!  They’d have a field day making us look incompetent.”

“It looks like he did appeal the disqualification, but that
’s out of our control right now.  Our guys did what they were supposed to,” Santoro quickly said, reassuring Courtney.

“Okay, great job, Ray.  Meet me at
1PP
as soon as you can get there.”

Courtney’s first priority was to call the Police Commissioner
, and then he would head to Police Headquarters at One Police Plaza.  If all went smoothly, over the next few hours, they would be executing an arrest warrant and a search warrant for the Blue Executioner at six a.m.  It was going to be a long night.

#########################

Chapter 16

The 68 precinct Detective Squad was more crowded than it had ever been.  At 5:15 a.m., there were both uniformed and plainclothes officers overcrowding the room.  Every chair in the office was taken. Every desk became another chair.  There were still dozens of officers standing and waiting for the meeting to begin, talking amongst themselves as they waited.  The tactical meeting was to be run by Chief of Detectives Ray Santoro himself—a highly unusual move for the highest ranking member of the Detective Bureau to actually be taking part in the meeting.

Leading the meeting was a calculated play for Santoro.  Although he and Ed Courtney had been friends for decades, the truth of the matter was that in a few short months, New York City was going to elect a new Mayor.  The current Police Commissioner had already announced his intentions to retire at the end of the Mayor’s term.  Santoro, as did most everyone else on the inner circle of the police department, knew the Chief of Department was almost always highly considered when naming a new P.C.  Santoro also knew
that he, himself, was both respected and liked by the top candidates in the upcoming election and if he could attach his name to having led the investigation in such a high profile arrest, it could possibly be the feather in his cap that would allow a new Mayor to bypass the obvious choice and select Santoro as the new P.C. instead.

Santoro and the precinct squad commander, Lieutenant Charlie Gaston, walked out of Gaston’s office.  The officers seemed to quiet down all at once, giving their undivided attention to their boss.  Santoro stood in front of a large dry erase white board on wheels; he was flanked on either side by Lieutenant
Gaston and Lieutenant Jim Pelosi.  Pelosi, being the supervisor of the highly trained Emergency Service Unit, was the only one of the three in uniform.  Santoro wore a navy blue suit with a white shirt and light blue tie—an NYPD pin attached to his left lapel.  Gaston wore a light brown suit which was not quite as crisp or sharp looking as Santoro’s—his tan shirt wrinkled from having been at work for well over twenty-four hours.

Santoro liked Lieutenant Gaston.  He always had a good grip on the crime occurring within his command.  He could see from the
bags bellow Gaston’s already pale, light brown complexion that Gaston was tired.  Santoro knew from the reports which he had received earlier in the day that Gaston and his men were working a homicide from the previous day and Gaston had not been home for two days.  He also knew that Gaston would never complain—especially if it meant being part of the take down of a cop killer.  Gaston was a cop’s cop and a consummate professional.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Santoro began.  “We have identified the man who is responsible for killing three of our own.”

Santoro flipped the white board over, revealing a photo of the wanted man, his arrest history and his address.  Next to that information were photos of Police Officer’s Daniel Long, Christopher Tatum and Frank Garret.  The intensity in the room seemed to ratchet up instantly.

“I don’t have to remind anyone here that they need to be extremely careful.  I want no mistakes and I want this man in front of me within the hour to answer for his crimes.  To the best of our knowledge, the subject lives alone and we are to obviously consider him armed and dangerous.  Lieutenant Gaston informs me that there are unmarked cars
sitting on his house
right now and that he is definitely at home.  His car is parked down the street and they have reported seeing lights go on and off about a half hour ago.  I’m going to turn the meeting over to Lieutenant Pelosi, who will go over the tactical points with you.  Stay safe and go get this guy.”

He looked over to Pelosi, who stood six feet tall and had the body of a linebacker.  “All yours, Lieutenant.”

“Thank you Chief.”  Santoro examined Pelosi as he spoke.  Santoro had never met the man before but Santoro felt the man commanded a presence.  He was clean shaven with dark brown hair and intense light brown eyes.  He was soft spoken, yet there was seriousness to the way he carried himself to let one know that he meant business.  The heavy duty flak jacket he wore and the war-like helmet held in his left hand made it seem like he was ready for battle—and quite possibly he was.

“As Chief Santoro explained, this guy has already murdered three of our brother officers.  I know
that you guys are all seasoned police officers but I want to make sure that there is no confusion so bear with me while I go over everything to assure there are no mistakes.  Where are my fronts and rear security?”

Two teams of uniformed officers in the rear raised their hands.  “Good,” Pelosi continued.  It’s very important that you guys understand that you do not enter the location for any reason, unless we call you in.  If you hear shots fired from inside…stay out!  We
’ll take care of it.  If the guy flees as we make entry, then he’s yours.  If he runs back inside, he’s ours.  You do
not
come inside.  Is that clear?”  They acknowledged it was.

Pelosi moved on.  “Where is my hospital auto?  Where are we going if God forbid one of us gets shot?” 

“Right here boss,” said a seventeen year veteran of the department.  “The hospital is Maimonides Medical Center on Tenth Avenue.  The route will be Bay Ridge Parkway up to Fort Hamilton Parkway; left on Fort Hamilton Parkway to the hospital.”

Pelosi nodded, happy to see how prepared the officer was.  He glanced over to the EMS Lieutenant present at the
Tac meeting.  “Does that work for your men, Lieu?”

After receiving confirmation, Pelosi continued.  “Okay we are going to line up outside the precinct in front of the Seven Eleven on the corner.  Lieutenant Gaston will be riding with us in the
unmarked bread truck
to point out the house.  Remember no cars or pedestrians on the block once we get there.  Give us ten minutes to
suit up
and we will meet you outside.  Be careful.”

Santoro was satisfied
that the meeting had gone well and that every officer involved knew exactly what their specific assignment was.  He watched as the men and women in blue filed out of the office to apprehend the most dangerous criminal the NYPD has known in decades—maybe ever.  There was a big part of him that wanted to be
suiting up
and personally leading the warrant.  Santoro was too smart to give in to his baser needs, however.  He had been in the NYPD at too high of a rank for too long not to be concerned about the politics.

The smartest thing for him to do was to stay behind and hope for the best possible outcome—the arrest of the cop killer without any incident.  Over his time on the job however
, he had seen too many well laid plans go sideways once put into motion.  If the perp were to shoot it out with his men, or if shots were fired and (God forbid) a civilian was struck, the highest ranking officer on the scene was usually the one left holding the bag.  Santoro had come too far and could sense a legitimate shot at the Police Commissioner’s chair to take any unnecessary chances.  As much as he would love to slap his cuffs on the cop killer, his best play was to stay behind and hope for the best.  “Stay safe, guys.  Be careful!”

*

Lieutenant Gaston stood outside the large silver bread truck, talking over last minute strategy with his men.  “I want one man in each car to stay on division radio and the other to switch to point to point.  I’ll talk to you guys on point to point.  If there are no questions, let’s line up.”

The detectives and uniformed officers got into their cars and pulled out of the precinct lot onto 65th Street.  Gaston walked to the back of the bread truck where the members of the Emergency Service team were busy with last minute preparations of their own.  They had secured handcuffs from precinct
personnel in case there were more people inside the apartment then they had anticipated.  They were loading and inspecting the various weapons, including Mini-14 assault rifles that they would be using.  Every member of the team wore heavy duty bullet proof vests and helmets.  Once they were all ready, the men sat patiently on the benches on either side of the truck.  There were ten members of the entry team seated in the back of the truck among the assortment of weapons and tools hung on the truck’s walls that these men used on a daily basis.

Gaston got into the front passenger seat of the truck.  He raised each member of the caravan, one by one, making sure they were all on the correct frequency.  The truck pulled onto 65th Street, falling into the third position in the caravan; behind the auto assigned to traffic control on the far end of the target block and the hospital auto.  The light on Third Avenue was red.  Once Gaston was satisfied everybody was in place, he held the radio to his mouth, “We’re
gonna go on green.”

The light changed and the first car in the caravan proceeded.

*

Less than five minutes later, the head of the procession turned onto 74th Street.  Gaston’s
mouth began to go dry and he could sense his own breathing.  The adrenaline was flowing—he was feeling none of the ill effects of having been awake for nearly two days.  There was an apartment building on one side of the street and detached, two story brick houses on the other.  Their subject lived in the first floor of one of the houses.  As the bread truck slowed to a halt, Gaston quickly exited the truck, pointing out the target location.  He watched as uniformed officers and detectives ran past him.  Some hoped the chain link fence, allowing them entry to the back yard; others taking cover behind parked cars and trees in the front.  Gaston took cover behind a minivan parked in front of the house.  The predawn hours gave them a bit of an advantage as they had the cover of darkness and hopefully the element of surprise on their side.  The subject of the warrant has no problem killing cops if he sees them coming.  A dog in a neighboring yard began to bark.

I wish that dog would shut up.
    

The house was completely surrounded by both uniformed and plainclothes officers.  The members of the Emergency Service Apprehension Team quickly, yet as quietly as they could make their way to the front door of the house which Gaston had pointed out.  The first officer was equipped with a large battering ram.  The door gave way on the second strike; splintering at the frame.  The officer discarded the battering ram to the right side of the door frame and pulled what remained of the door from its hinges; clearing a path for the rest of the entry team.

The second officer on the line carried a four foot tall clear, ballistic shield.  He led the way inside the house just in front of officers armed with assault rifles and their service weapons.  Lieutenant Pelosi was the fourth officer to enter the house.

*

Pelosi had safely supervised hundreds, if not thousands, of entries and while there was never a guarantee, he felt this one would be no different.  He was armed with a
flash-bang grenade
.  The device, which true to its name, creates a distraction when officers enter a potentially dangerous location by creating a large flash of orange light accompanied by a very loud explosion when detonated.  The device needed prior approval by the top echelon of the department in order to be used.  It became somewhat controversial after it was used years ago during a search warrant and it was blamed for causing a heart attack to an elderly person in the location.