The Blue Executions (37 page)

Dempsey pushed the letters directly in front of Galvin.  “Study them while I sign us out a car.”

“A car? Where are we going?”

“There’s an academy class starting in three weeks; I have to stop by my old office at Applicant Investigations and square a few things away. 
I got a call from Medical Division this morning; a few of my candidates that had been disqualified, won their appeals.  The department is pushing for every qualified candidate to make the class.  They want to have as big a class as possible going into the academy.  I have to let the candidates know that they’re going to be in the class after all.  I don’t like leaving other people to finish my job.  It won’t take long.  Besides, it will give us a chance to talk about the case and bounce ideas off of each other.”

Galvin nodded in agreement as he perused the letters just as Dempsey had suggested.

Dempsey walked into the supervisor’s office and grabbed a set of guys off a hook on the wall.  “Hey Lieu, Galvin and I are taking a ride into Queens; we need to pick up some things at our permanent commands.”

After gaining his bosses approval he added, “If you want to have one of the guys get a lunch order together, we can pick it up on the way back
.  I know a great little deli in Brooklyn…unless of course we have the case closed by then.”  Dempsey let out a chuckle as he signed him and Galvin out of the
movement log
.

Detectives Dempsey/Galvin Unmarked auto 329 to Lefrak Plaza and 113 Precinct.

He could hear the Lieutenant and Sergeant join in his laughter as he left.  “Forget lunch,” the Lieutenant added, “I’d prefer the collar.  Lunch will be on me.”

Walking over to Galvin, who was still deeply enthralled in the case folder; “
Are you ready, Tommy?” as he placed a hand on Galvin’s shoulder.

“Ready,” announced Galvin as he stood up to face Dempsey who was donning his bullet proof vest under his
suit jacket.  Dempsey could see the slight look of surprise on Galvin’s face.  “Expecting trouble Uncle Pat?”

“I certainly hope not.”  He shot Galvin an accusing glance.  “I sure hope with everything that
’s going on, you’re
vesting up
every time you walk out that door Tommy.  I don’t care if you’re going out to get a cup of coffee.  This guy is after you and you know that”, he lectured.

“I know Uncle Pat.  Don’t worry; I always wear
my vest when I go out on the streets.”

Given Galvin’s reaction to his wearing the vest, Dempsey wasn’t convinced but decided not to press the issue.  He tossed the
keys to Galvin.  “Okay, then go and put your vest on and I’ll meet you downstairs in the parking garage.  You can drive.”

*

Tommy Galvin parked the unmarked auto at a parking meter along Junction Boulevard in Queens.  He reached above the sun visor, retrieving the unrestricted parking permit and placed it in the window, clearly visible to the multitude of traffic agents in the area.  As they exited the auto, Galvin decided that there was something odd about Dempsey’s behavior today.  He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but he knew his Godfather well enough to know when something was not right.

Maybe he’s just worried about me?

Galvin looked up at the sign above the double glass doors leading to the building’s entrance.  The large white letters, NYC, set against the tan bricked building let anyone entering know that they were entering a city owned building.  The two men walked past the American flags displayed on both sides of the lobby and made their way to the elevator.  Dempsey pressed the button for the fourth floor as the men stood in complete silence.

Making their way to Dempsey’s office, Galvin was amused in the fact that nothing had changed in over a decade since he was a Police Officer
Candidate himself.  The walkway leading to the office still had the dull yellow walls decorated with poorly aligned pictures on the wall and gray tiled floors.  Galvin could see three Police Officer Candidates sitting in the blue chairs of the reception area; he guessed that they were literally the same exact chairs that he had sat in so many years before.

There was nothing fancy about Dempsey’s office either.  It was typical of what you would find at any number of office jobs throughout the city, Galvin believed.  There were a large number of cubicles separated by gray patricians
. The carpets were a dark gray but not dark enough to hide the years of wear and dirt.  Galvin walked around a stack of boxes, four feet high, against the wall behind Dempsey’s cubicle. 
Old cases
, thought Galvin.

“Have a seat at my desk Tommy.  I have to grab a few folders from the file cabinet.”

As Dempsey went through the black file cabinet in the corner of the cubicle, Galvin felt a sudden chill.  He looked up to the ceiling.  Among the white drop ceiling panels and florescent light fixtures, was an air condition vent aimed right down on him.  Looking back down to Dempsey’s desk, a photo jumped out at him.  It was one of his favorite pictures—obviously his Uncle Pat felt the same way about it.  The picture was of Galvin on his graduation day from the Police Academy.  He was standing in between his late father and his Uncle Pat.  They were all in their dress uniforms.  Galvin picked it up to give it a closer look.

“I miss your old man, Tommy.  He was one hell of a cop…just like you.”

“Thanks Uncle Pat.  I miss him too.”

“Do you still carry his handcuffs around…the ones that I engraved a shamrock into years ago?

Galvin shook his head.  “No, I keep them in my locker.  I’m afraid of losing them; they mean a lot to me.”

“Once we leave here, we’re heading straight to the 113
th precinct.  You need to carry them with you to bring you some good luck.”

Galvin
snickered, rolling his eyes as he did.  “Okay, Uncle Pat.”

Dempsey set six case folders in front of Galvin.  Galvin didn’t immediately realize the significance of the number.  “Tommy, I need you to do me a favor.  With the Academy class about to start, these are my last few candidates that I need to either recommend be hired or recommend be disqualified.  One of the guys I’m not sure about. 
These are the ones that I got the phone call about who initially failed for one reason or another but then passed on appeal.  The department is pushing me to put them all through but there is something about one of them that bothers me.  I’d like you to take a look and see if you can pick out the one I have an issue with.”

Galvin was confused. 
Is this why he wanted me to come with him…to look through his Applicant case folders?

He didn’t want to insult
Dempsey, but this was the last thing Galvin felt they should be doing.  He gently shook his head.  “Uncle Pat, I don’t know anything about this…”

Dempsey cut him off.  “Tommy, look at these folders.  There are six of them.  Pay attention to detail.  This is no different than working a homicide investigation; the answer is in the small details.
”

Galvin, not wanting to upset Dempsey, began to look through the folders.  He did his best to mask his annoyance.  The folders were all similar
—NYSID and NCIC checks on all candidates, pictures, character references, interviews with family and neighbors and an assortment of other forms and papers signed by each officer candidate and notarized.  Galvin was growing frustrated.  He pushed the case folders aside.  Looking up at Dempsey, he shrugged his shoulders.  “I have no idea.”

Dempsey placed a reassuring hand on Galvin’s shoulder.  “Keep looking Tommy.  Which one of these guys concerns me?
  Look carefully.”

Galvin drew a breath, just slightly larger than normal, and once again examined the folders.
What the hell does he want me to see
?

Suddenly it hit him.  Galvin stared at the folder, shaking his head.  “This is the guy you don’t think should be on the job,” Galvin said confidently.

“I told you that you’d figure it out.  One day when you are done playing cop, maybe you will have a career in Applicant Investigations.”

“God forbid!” Galvin commented along with a sarcastic laugh.  “I’ll bet you are the only cop on the entire job that would catch such a small detail.  No wonder you’re a first grader.”

“I wouldn’t go that far, Tommy.  You saw it as well.”  He slapped him on the back as they walked out of the office.

“Now let’s head to the 113 and get your old man’s cuffs.  Then we have to stop off in Brooklyn.  I promised the Lieutenant something special for lunch.”

*

The knocking at the door had woken Michael Underhill with a start.  His heart was pounding against his chest as he sought his glasses on the nightstand.  He put them on to see that it was twelve
-thirty.  He was disoriented and it took him a moment to figure out if it was half past noon, or midnight.  The lack of sleep over the past week had taken its toll.  His eyes were burning as he peeked out of his bedroom window. 
Daylight, I only slept for an hour and a half.  This better be good.

It was.

Underhill peeked through the front door’s peephole to see Detective Dempsey—his investigator.  He noted that Dempsey was holding his case folder in his hand.  That could only mean one thing; he had won his appeal.  When he failed the first time, Dempsey had called him on the phone; he didn’t show up at his home.  Dempsey had also told him just last week that if he did win his appeal, he stood a good chance of making the next class.  He had told him that he would need to come in as soon as possible to sign some paperwork before he could be hired. 
The paperwork—that must be why he’s here; he wants me to sign off on it right away.

As Underhill unlocked the door, he thought of what a good investigator Dempsey is.  It was nice of him to come to his home and have him sign off on the paperwork rather than make him go back to Queens. 
Clearly Dempsey recognizes the great police officer that I will become.

H
e decided that as soon as Dempsey left, he would add Dempsey’s name to the list of NYPD heroes in his journal.  Underhill swung the door open.  “Hello, Detective Dempsey.  I’m guessing my appeal went well?”

“It did,” Dempsey responded as Galvin stepped from
the side of the door, where he had not been seen through the peephole.

It took a second before it registered with Underhill that Detective Tommy Galvin stood before him—in his own home.  Galvin had a look of fury on his face, but his appearance only triggered in Underhill’s mind that the revolver, now loaded with cop killer bullets, was in his pajamas pocket.  Underhill backed up as the two officers approached.

“We need to talk, Michael,” Dempsey began.

“Why is he here!?” Underhill demanded as he back peddled until he ran out of room.
  He bent over, reaching his hand into his pajama pocket.  He placed a firm grip on the .38 caliber revolver.

*

Tommy Galvin dreamed of this moment every day for nearly two weeks.  His heart pounded heavy against his chest as he stood against the wall outside Underhill’s apartment.  Galvin was positioned in a blind spot to the peep hole, as well as out of sight if Underhill glanced out of the window.  He had prayed that Underhill was at home as Dempsey continued to pound on the door.

When the door opened,
Galvin stepped inside behind Dempsey.  The look on Underhill’s face left no doubt in Galvin’s mind that Underhill had been caught off guard.  Galvin reflected back to the last time their eyes had met—moments after he had murdered Laurie.  Galvin could feel the rage building inside of him as he closed the distance between the two of them.

He ignored the madman’s query, “Why is he here!?” as he saw Underhill run out of room.  Underhill bent over at the waist.  He was clearly falling into a fetal position, like so many other cowards, Galvin decided.

“Tommy!”

*

It had been many years since Patrick Dempsey was on the streets making collars but his instincts had never left him.  Taking Underhill off guard was all part of the plan, but he was concerned the way Tommy was acting.  Letting emotions get the better of you could be a fatal mistake.  Tommy needed to stay focused and realize that this was a cop killer who stood before them.  Dempsey sensed something was going awry as Galvin was too quick to rush in.

The second it had become clear to Dempsey that Underhill
had recognized Galvin, Dempsey drew his service weapon.  Galvin however did not; instead he charged Underhill.  The hairs on Dempsey’s neck immediately stood up as Underhill doubled over.  He observed that Underhill’s right hand went not to his stomach or the floor, but rather to his pocket.

Dempsey tried to warn Galvin but it was too late. “Tommy!”

Dempsey pointed his weapon at Underhill just as Galvin reached him.  He could see the revolver in Underhill’s hand but couldn’t fire, for fear of striking Galvin.  “GUN!”

Dempsey holstered his gun as he charged.  With both hands, he lunged for Underhill’s right hand.  A shot rang out.