Crime & Punishment: The Prequel Ch. 09

"You should see him in the uniform Jimmy. He looks so like his father..." Sal paused overcome momentarily with emotion from the one great tragedy of his life. Sal junior had been killed in Iraq during the first gulf war.

"I'm sure he does, and Sally would be proud," Jimmy said.

"You know it, but I waste time," Sal said as he pulled a small tape player from the top drawer of his desk.

"In this life, a good man makes many friends," Sal began," Sometimes business opponents are nonetheless friends. You attend weddings together. Play cards with the groom on the bachelor's night. See the christening of his first child. You know each other. You know his heart as he knows yours, and when he has a problem of conscience, you help as one friend helps another. "

With that Sal turned on the player. Two men were conversing. The voices seemed familiar to Jimmy, but he could not place them. They were discussing the traffic on the Thruway between New York and Albany. The first man was sympathizing with the second on the traffic coming out of the city. They talked about nothing of significance for about forty-five seconds, and then Sal shut off the machine.

"You see my friend's problem," Sal said, "he has a warrant to listen for a certain man. Neither of these men is his subject, but one of them has a relationship with a man who is interesting to my friend.

"Now my friend is very good at his job, and he can just tell something is about to be said, but he has listened too long already. The judge will say that rights have been violated. He should shut the listening device down because he is breaking the rules," Sal finished and turned the machine back on.

The first voice: (We have a problem.)

Second voice: (What kind of problem?)

First voice: (Our friend in New York say that your boss hired an attorney by the name of O'Reilly to look into the lost file problem.)

Second voice: (So what Jimmy O'Reilly is a third rate hack whose sleeping with the man's assistant.)

First voice:( When the arrangement was made, we were assured that no real investigation would take place after the unfortunate deaths.)

Second voice: (And there won't be, it's all fixed with the state police.)

First voice: (Yet, O'Reilly is nosing around. If he puts together what the deaths do, he can cause us trouble.)

Second voice: (Why? What is it you think he will discover?)

First voice: (My client needs to be rid of Fitzgerald and Sullivan it's that simple, and that's all you need to know. What we don't need is some sleazeball snooping around.)

Second voice: (So, take care of O'Reilly as well. What's one more killing)

First voice: (for the same two million?)

Second voice: (I'll ask. Maybe you can get a discount for three.)

First voice: (Good, I have the Sullivan hit scheduled tomorrow tonight after the election then we take care of your girlfriend's husband.)

With that, the tape abruptly ended.

"Now you see my friend's problem. He can't disclose his illegal taping, and he can't stand by and let three men get killed," Sal said.

O'Reilly sat silent. He had figured out who the second man was. Tony Greco he knew was romancing Steven Fitzgerald's wife. Greco would want to see Fitzgerald out of the way. But why kill Sullivan? Then the answer hit him.

"I can hear the gears turning in your mind," Sal said.

"Yes, maybe you can. I seemed to have reached a rather interesting conclusion."

"Care to explain what all this is about?"

"It's just one of those silly legal quirks. Your friend being a fed probably missed it since you can convict on conspiracy fairly easily in federal court, but New York State law is different. You can't prove a conspiracy solely on the testimony of a member or members of the alleged conspiracy. In this case, you would need the testimony of one of the victims, Fitzgerald or Sullivan. No victim testimony then no conspiracy charge. Unless, you had other proof. Proof that does exist or did?"

Lefty Bolzano sat back in his chair, "I told my friend you were smart. Now, what do I tell him you are going to do? There is not much he can do to assist without getting in trouble."

"Well, I will need to warn Sullivan and Fitzgerald. More than that I don't know yet. I could use some more information. The second man was Anthony Greco, a high-ranking aide to the governor. He would have contacts in the State Police. It would help to know who they are going to pay off?"

"You sure it's Greco?" Sal asked.

"Fairly sure, he's seduced Fitzgerald's wife, and I've heard his voice before. It sounds like him."

"I'll ask my friend to do what he can, but you know the State Police is a cesspool. It could be one or several."

"Please do what you can and thanks."

"You don't recognize the first man?"

"No, but his voice seems familiar."

"To me, he sounds black or what do they say now African American," Sal said.

"You could be right. I can almost place him, but not quite."

"Jimmy, be careful these guys seem serious."

"Sal I'm a criminal defense lawyer. I represented a serial killer. The game has risks."

Sal just shook his head, young men, he thought the good ones all run toward the fire.

With that, Sal handed Jimmy, the little tape player with its menacing tape. The two men shook hands in farewell. Jimmy's car was waiting outside Jonney's bar. Sal's boys had moved it without the benefit of the keys, so much for his aftermarket security system. He had put on a brave face for his old coach, but the truth was that he was frightened. Greco didn't know what Jimmy's brief was, but someone else knew. Only two other people had known what he was doing for the governor. One of them had let it slip unintentionally or on purpose.

Once in his car, he pulled out his cell phone and made the call. Carrie answered on the second ring, "Jimmy I've been trying to reach you all day—" she began.

"Why have you something to tell me?"

"Yes, ah," she hesitated his voice was accusing, "Assemblyman Martin-Prez seems to know what you are doing for the governor," she blurted out.

A cool chill ran down James O'Reilly's spine. Martin-Prez, Majority Leader and chair of the Black and Hispanic Caucus. Now he recognized the first voice on the tape. Frank Patterson was the counsel to the caucus, and if the rumor had it correct, a man with a grudge against Sullivan and Fitzgerald.

"How did he find out?" Jimmy asked.

"I may have let something slip in front of Ray, or perhaps he deliberately was ease dropping. I can't remember either happening...But oh Jimmy I'm sorry."

O'Reilly's mind was working through the problem quickly. Who had the motive to kill? Someone who had more to lose than the church. A man in high office. The governor had always been the likely suspect, but what if someone else had a big stake? What if that someone had more to fear from Sullivan and Fitzgerald than the contents of the file?

"You still there?" Carrie asked into the silence on the other end of the phone.

"Yes, I'm not in Albany. I'm just on the far side of Utica about an hour and a half away. I will need to warn Patrick Sullivan and Steven Fitzgerald that they are in danger."

"Oh Jimmy, Pat Sullivan was attacked today. We're at the hospital. The governor is very upset. Sullivan is in serious condition, but they expect he will live. They think it was a motorcycle gang."

"No, it wasn't. I've been looking at this all wrong. I've made a big mistake."

"What mistake?" Carrie asked, but he was already gone.

He started his car and began driving to Brooklyn. He needed to reach Maryann McManus and explain their mutual mistake before it was too late.

****

Theresa Hartman was determinedly following Steven Fitzgerald. He seemed at one moment the easiest subject to follow you could imagine, but this was a complete deception. In an instant, he could and did shift direction and do the completely unexpected. Tonight after shaking off most of the team she had been surrounding him with, he had taken the IRT downtown and exited at Clark Street the first Brooklyn stop. By then, it was only Theresa and her righthand man Jake on his tail. Jake was old school and knew the tricks of his trade without the need to think them through. Now the subject was on foot, and Jake was a good ten years older than Theresa's fifty-three. The pair of detectives needed to keep up with the much younger man.

They were hard-pressed to stay with Fitzgerald as he walked briskly down Henry street headed for Atlantic Avenue. Theresa by crossing to the opposite side of the street managed to stay a little head while Jake trailed doggedly behind Fitsgerald. At Atlantic Ave., Fitzgerald stopped for the light and Theresa tried to catch her breath, but suddenly Fitzgerald ran across the street against the light and the oncoming traffic.

Theresa had no choice but to follow and hope he would not notice the small woman running through the traffic on the opposite corner. He didn't seem to notice as she fell into step behind him, but they had lost Jake at the light. Steven moved quickly up Henry then at Amity Street he took a left. She was right behind him, and then she wasn't.

He was gone— vanished.

Had he spotted her?

Was he hiding?

She walked cautiously up Amity looking in the small front gardens of the Victorian row houses. She looked behind the cars lining the narrow street which was originally designed for horse and carriage. There was nothing; he was just gone.

Jake caught up with her halfway up the block.

"Have we lost him?" Jake asked wheezing from having run the last several blocks.

"Yes, but I'll be damned if I know how, " Theresa replied.

They proceeded to retrace their steps trying to determine where Steven Fitzgerald might have disappeared to. They checked the yards and buildings on both sides of Amity and then did the same on Henry. Theresa's only consolation was that wherever Steven had gone no one was following.

O'Reilly pulled his battered Honda Civic into an illegal space on Congress Street. Nothing legal was open, and he prayed the city wasn't towing in this neighborhood at night. His little car was overheating a bit after its long trips that day. Albany to Syracuse, to Oriskany, and then Brooklyn. It was late well past 11:00 p.m. He moved quickly to the front of the McManus home. He paused briefly at the small front garden gate.

The lights in the front parlor where he had met with Maryann McManus were on, but he could see no one inside. He walked quickly to the front door and rang the bell. He heard the electronic chimes of the bell go off inside, but no one came to answer the door. He waited than rang again. When no one came, he began pounding on the door. Suddenly, it opened, and Steven Fitzgerald's arm reached out and pulled him inside.

"For God sake be quiet," Steven whispered.

"What are you doing here?" Jimmy whispered back.

"The same thing as you, arriving too late."

Steven led him passed the brightly lit parlor entrance, and down the townhouse's central hall to a dimly lit back room. It was fitted out as a private office. A wall safe stood open, and the room was in a general disarray. On the floor lay the motionless form of Maryann McManus.

"She's dead," Steven said before Jimmy could ask, "So, I wouldn't touch anything.

Jimmy noticed that Steven was dressed in dark clothing, "I take it you broke in and found her this way."

"Yeah, came in through the roof. These places are fairly secure, but the roof is always a weak point. This is my old neighborhood. One thing we learned as kids was how to get into the backyards and onto the roofs.

"I had a date to meet her tonight, but I couldn't just walk up to her front door with the world following me. She agreed to meet me at the back garden door, but when I got here, I could tell something was wrong. I was delayed by the attack on Sullivan."

Jimmy nodded and took a knee beside the body. "Sorry," he said, "I came to warn you as soon as I realized our mistake."

"Mistake?" Steven asked.

"It's a bit of a story," Jimmy responded.

"Well, maybe you can tell me when we get out of here."

"Not before we find the file."

"I figured that was in the safe."

"No, she would not have left it there."

"Where then?"

Jimmy thought a moment, "She said something about not being a virgin who would meet the bridegroom without a lamp. "

"Matthew 25, The Parable of the Ten Virgins," Steven said, and then "come on but don't touch anything."

Steven led them outside to a small but well-maintained back garden. There was a small water feature at the center surrounded by several statues, the most prominent of these the Virgin Mary lit by a small light in front of it.

"solar powered," Steven said reaching the light, "Saw it on my way in."

The two men began to carefully inspect the statue and the light and then broke their agreement not to touch anything. Together they lifted the statue from its base. It was not as heavy as it looked. Beneath it was a key.

"Safety deposit box," Jimmy said.

"Yes, but which bank and in whose name?" Steven said holding the key to the light.

An hour later having carefully reviewed the papers in the office where Maryann body lay, they concluded the best guess was The Bank of Commerce on Court Street.

"It's close, she recently opened a small checking account there, and there is a one-time bank charge for two-hundred-thirty-seven dollars last month. The fee could be the annual box rent," Steven said.

"As good a guess as any, now how do we get into it?" Jimmy asked.

"We have someone pose as Maryann McManus."

"Anyone in mind?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, but first let's get out of here."

"Ok, but we stay together. I have something to tell you, and it needs to be somewhere we cannot be overheard," Jimmy told Steven.

They exited out the back garden of the McManus house. went down a small alleyway behind the buildings, and slipped back to Congress Street through a narrow gap that was well concealed between two buildings. Jimmy's car was where he left it, and he gave a sigh of relief when he discovered it didn't even have a parking ticket.

They drove making sharp left and right turns until they were sure they were not being followed and then parked in the first space they could find by the river. Jimmy played the tape Lefty Bolzano had given him.

"I think the two men are Frank Paterson and Anthony Greco," Jimmy said when the tape finished.

"Yeah, it sounds like them, but whose pulling their strings," Steven replied.

"Do you know Jose Martin-Prez?" Jimmy asked.

Steven stiffened but replied," Yes, he represented me once, but he was called plain John Martin then."

"Let me guess he was one of the lawyers involved in the Edward Danbury assault case."

"My original legal aid attorney, but he didn't stay around too long."

"Which probably means his name is in the damning file, and he probably got the original true version of what happened," Jimmy said.

Steven only nodded and looked out over the dark East River as it headed into the bay of New York.

They were quiet for a moment. Jimmy didn't want to ask, but he had to know,"You going to tell me what really happened?

Steven never looked away from the river, but he began to talk.

"It wasn't the first time that had been when he cornered me after school and told me he needed to see me in the rectory. The building was eerily silent as he led me into an office. When he closed and locked the door, I didn't know what he was about until it was too late. When it was over, I promised myself it would never happen again, but the next week a neighbor asked me to bring a cake over to a bake sale at the parish hall.

"I figured it was safe. There should be people around. On the way over, I ran into Pat. At the church hall, I went in to deliver the cake. There was a long table with baked goods, but no one was around. It must have been a set up because as soon as I set the cake down on the table, he grabbed me and dragged me through the passway into the robing area behind the altar. But as he passed through to the church, Pat had seen me struggling with him through the windows.

"As he tried to pull my pants down Pat jumped him from behind. The fight was far less than equal Danbury wasn't a big man, but he was a foot taller and forty pounds heavier than an eleven-year-old boy. He had Pat down. I saw the silver processional crucifix on its wooden staff. I grabbed it and swung with all my might against the back of the priest's head. Just before I connected, a scream rang out.

"One of the ladies of the Sacred Heart prayer group had returned early and heard the conflict from the church hall. All she saw was the priest getting struck. Her scream was loud enough it brought others. When the police arrived, it was clear they knew what had really been going on. They isolated us first thing then proceeded to disburse the crowd that had gathered. Danbury was taken to the hospital in an ambulance, and we were taken away in separate squad cars.

"I didn't see Pat again until seven months later. They kept us in separate rooms at the police station. They asked me no questions. They gave me a soda to drink. They wanted to know if I was alright and was I hungry. When I tried to tell them what happened, they told me to relax and wait for my parents to arrive. At some point, they let a pushy, pasty-faced man in to see me. He was tall and fairly young. The officers didn't want to let him in, but apparently, it was required. A female policewoman sat on my side of a small table with her arm protectively around me while he asked me questions.

"The man was John Martin, and he was with legal aid. I saw him three times over the next several days. It was clear from the first that he was after something that had little to do with defending me. I told anyone who would listen that I hit the priest and why, but no one seemed to care. My parents took me home. My father was angry, but my mother was more practical. She told me that I had talked enough, and it was time to forget what happened.

"They prosecuted Pat and got him to say he hit the priest with the crucifix. Danbury apparently suffered a brain injury. He couldn't return to parish work, or so they said. It was kind of a secret scandal everyone knew what had happened, but no one spoke of it. I always figured the reason they didn't prosecute me was because of the way I looked. I was a pedophile's pinup dream, small and pretty.

"They dropped it all on Pat, who was totally innocent. I felt guilty and still do because of what I let Danbury do to me. Maybe it's why I became an attorney. I think I'm pretty smart, but I don't understand what could be so important in that file that a woman was killed.

"Who was the attorney that eventually represented Pat. I know on paper it says the Senior Kincade, but I got the feeling from poor Maryann that it was someone else?" Jimmy said.

"John Martin is the only defense attorney I remember, but Pat would know. I'll ask him."

"And the prosecutor?"

"I recall a young woman, fairly short with a complicated sort of name."

"Complicated?"

"You know like hyphenated or something. One too many last names."

"We need to get that file," Jimmy said.

"No argument, but what happens then. You going to try to give it to the Governor?"

"Trouble is I don't trust the man. I thought he was trying to hide this away. Now I'm fairly certain he intends to expose it all for his own interests, no matter who gets hurt."

"His interest and my clients seem to be the same, but in reality, the victims will just lose again. Unless the statute of limitations is reopened, they will receive no compensation."

Jimmy O'Reilly took a deep breath, "I'm sorry. I didn't get time to warn Pat."

"It's ok. Knowing Pat, he would just have gone about his business as usual. Look, let's just get the file and see what's in it," Steven said.