Exceptional Merit (3 page)

“Would you like me to fix you something for lunch?” Kate asked as she brought Keegan his coffee.  The couple sat in the kitchen of their suburban home.  The kitchen had been recently remodeled.  With light oak cabinets and a charcoal grey countertop and backsplash, the kitchen looked pristine.  It had cost over six thousand dollars to get redone, including the all new stainless steel appliances, but Kate was thrilled with how it turned out and that was all that mattered to Keegan.

“No thanks, sweetheart. I'm not hungry.  Just a bit tired.  It’s been quite some time since I've slept past noon,” he replied as he rubbed his bloodshot eyes.

"Well whose fault is that?  Get in before the sun is up and you won’t sleep so late.”  She opened the blinds allowing the sun into the kitchen.  She set the coffee down in front of Keegan, on the kitchen side of the island that separated it from the dining room.  Kate was slightly annoyed.  Not so much at her husband, but more at ‘
the job
’ and how he let it run their lives.  Kate had never told him how close she had come to leaving him throughout the years when he had always put the job ahead of his family.  The three a.m. wake up calls, the forty hours of overtime every month and the unpredictable hours had almost ruined their marriage.  Kate was so happy when Jim was transferred to the Terrorist Task Force.  He had finally begun to live a semi normal life, working normal hours.  Her heart had dropped when she heard the phone ring the in the middle of the night.  Her worst fear was that one day; the job would once again steal her husband away from her.

“Don't worry, Kate,” he assured her.  “This was a very isolated incident; the Task Force doesn't involve itself in routine homicides.”  Keegan could sense the concern in his wife's voice.  He had also noticed a bit of fire in her eyes—the very same fire that he hadn't seen in quite some time.  Being the wife of a police officer was certainly not easy, but Kate just didn't understand the job and the calling that came with it.

He stared at his wife, taking in her beauty.  She was as beautiful today as she’d been on the day they’d met over sixteen years ago.  The sun caught her long auburn hair and it seemed to gleam even brighter.  It flowed down past her shoulders and nicely complemented her fair complexion.  He looked into her hazel eyes which he was sure could hypnotize anyone who gazed long enough.  And—looking at her figure—one would never guess she was the mother of three.  Keegan realized he was a very lucky man.  Nevertheless, he knew right now she was not happy with him.  “Do you have any idea who got killed last night?”

She snapped back at him, “How should I know?”

“Judge Boden.”

She was confused.  “Who?”

“Judge Boden.  The judge who sat on the
Fed Courthouse Caper
trial.”  
The media always came up with such catchy titles for even the most heinous crimes
.  “He was scheduled to sentence the mutts this morning to life sentences to deter any further terrorist activity.  I guess they wanted to send the government a message of their own.”

Kate gasped.  “Oh my god!”  She shook her head in disbelief and a sudden feeling of anxiety came over her.  “You were on the front page of every newspaper in America as the cop who broke up the largest terrorist ring to ever operate in this country.  What if they come after you next?   What about the kids?  Are they in danger?”

“Relax, Kate.  Nobody is coming after me,” he assured her.  Keegan knew the terrorists had already made their point.  The possibility of them coming after him was extremely unlikely.

“I just worry about you, hon.
  I love you.”  Kate seemed to be soothed by his reassurance. 

“I love you too, sweetie.” 

He opened the morning paper, glancing at the date.  He couldn’t believe that next month, February 1995, would mark the second anniversary of the bombing of the twin towers in which six people were killed and a thousand injured.  After briefly reflecting, he got back to his newspaper.   The headlines read of a fire in the Bronx killing a two year-old.  It was obvious that word of the assassination had not gotten out in time for the morning edition.  Kate began telling him how much it would cost for the family to take a trip to Ireland this summer to visit her family.  Keegan pretended to listen as he thumbed through the paper.

There was a small article on page twenty five that caught his attention.  Martin Devine, a native of County Armagh, Northern Ireland and now a prominent civil rights lawyer in New York had been named as the Grand Marshall for this year’s St. Patrick's Day Parade.  The article continued to say that Devine was to be the first Protestant Grand Marshall of the often political parade. 
They name a Protestant as Grand Marshall and then they wonder why there is always so much controversy
, he thought to himself.  The parade in the past has dealt with such political hot potatoes as gay and lesbian marchers, the imprisonment of Joe Dogherty in a U.S. prison, the hunger strike, and former members of the I.R.A. marching, but how could they have a Protestant lead the march in celebration of a Catholic saint.  It didn't make any sense, he thought.  This is a tiny article buried in the middle of the paper during the middle of January, but he guaranteed that it would be front page news by March.  He shook his head in disbelief and anger.  Before closing the paper, he noticed another article on the same page about a British soldier in Northern Ireland being assassinated by the I.R.A.  It was no coincidence that both articles appeared on the same page.

“You'll be home on time tonight?”  There was a touch of concern in her voice.

“Yeah, I'll be home by twelve-thirty.”

“You know I hate when you work the four to midnight shift.  I get so lonely.”

“And that's exactly why I do so few of them.”

Keegan arrived at 26 Federal Plaza promptly at three o'clock.  He approached a set of double glass doors which bore the insignia of the F.B.I.  He stared at the scales of justice within the shield and the words
fidelity, bravery, integrity
on a ribbon flowing below it.  He scanned his identification card through the card reader, allowing him access past the doors which warned, Authorized personnel only.  He got off the elevator and walked down the hall to the last office on the left.  He stared at the signs on the big wooden door as he approached:

N.Y.P.D. Joint Terrorist Task Force

Commanding Officer—Captain Ronald Anderson

Executive Officer---Lieutenant James Keegan

The F.B.I.’s offices were in sharp contrast to police precincts.  It wouldn’t be uncommon to have mice or even roaches in precincts.  This was not the case with the F.B.I. offices.  They were cleaned and well maintained on a regular basis.  The office had short gray carpet and off-white walls.  It was a fairly large space broken up into smaller cubicles, where each individual detective worked.  Each of the cubicles had a modern white top desk with its own computer, a luxury precinct detectives did not have.  Even the chairs were of a better quality and more comfortable than one would find in a precinct detective squad.  On the walls were some wanted posters as well as television sets tuned into a variety of news stations.  There was even a small kitchen in the back of the office with a refrigerator and most importantly a coffee machine.  Across the hall from Keegan’s office were a large conference room and command center furnished with a large wooden desk, leather chairs all around, and giant screen televisions mounted to the wall.  Certainly no precinct in the city had either those amenities.

Keegan opened the door and was promptly greeted by one of his detectives.  “Hey Jimmy, did you see Judge Boden got murdered last night?”

Although he was designated the X.O., or second-in-command of the unit, his men, as well as the department's top brass knew he ran the show on the police department’s end of the task force.  He worked very closely with his men and most of them called him by his first name at his own request.  He always believed any cop would risk his own life for another cop.  The police department was a sort of brotherhood.  It didn't make any sense to him to have someone calling him sir or boss when that guy could be the one to save his life.

“Yeah, Mike. I did, as a matter of fact.  They called me in from home.  I was on the scene.”

“That's some scary shit to just take a judge out like that, huh?”  The detective glanced at the calendar.  “By the way, what are you doing here?  I thought you took the day off.”

“Well, it is payday, isn't it?”  Keegan made his excuse as he walked in the office he shared with Captain Anderson.  Their office was quite spacious and more impressive than the detective’s office.  Both men were afforded a five foot long, cherry wood finished desk, accompanied by a high back leather chair.  Anderson’s desk was in front of the six foot long window overlooking Worth Street in lower Manhattan.  To the right of Anderson’s desk was the American flag, to the left, a dark blue flag with the emblem of the F.B.I.  That wasn’t the only difference between the desks, Keegan noted.  It seemed his desk was always full of case folders and both his in and out baskets generally had three times the amount of papers Anderson’s did.  That didn’t bother him as he didn’t mind the workload.  On the beige walls behind each of the men were various pictures of family, promotion ceremonies, and awards they have received.  Although Anderson outranked Keegan by one rank, there was no comparison regarding the prestige of the personal attributes hung on the walls.

“Good afternoon, Cap.”  Captain Ronald Anderson was a thirty year veteran of the police department.  He was a stout man in his late fifties with gray hair atop a round face to match his gray mustache.  He was very well liked throughout the department, but even he knew the star of this unit was his Lieutenant.  Anderson let Keegan run the investigations and the unit the way Keegan saw fit with very little interjection of his own.  Anderson was sifting through the arrest reports regarding Judge Boden’s homicide when Keegan entered the office.

Anderson looked up at Keegan as he entered the office.  “That rookie made one hell of a collar.  He probably had no idea what he had stumbled on to.”

“You're right about that,” Keegan agreed.

“I was just looking through the paperwork.  They never sent over a copy of the
forty-nine
.  Do you know who prepared it?”

“Yeah, it was a Sergeant named Gentry back in the precinct of occurrence.”  Keegan wondered why the department always called a form by number rather than name.  After all, an unusual occurrence report sounds more official than calling it a
U.F. forty nine
.

“Jimmy, do me a favor.  See if you can reach out to this Gentry and have him fax a copy over.  Also, ask the Desk Officer over there to have the gun transported to the lab forthwith.  If we could trace where the murder weapon came from, it could be a big help.  Maybe we can find some co-conspirators after learning where and when the gun was purchased.” 

Keegan knew it was a long shot, but nevertheless, it was a lead that needed to be followed up on.  Keegan walked over to his desk, made a phone call and had the desk officer at the precinct fax the unusual occurrence form over.  He opened up the desk drawer, took out a pad and pen and wrote himself a reminder to put Esposito and his partner in for departmental recognition.  He walked over to the desk separating two sets of file cabinets and waited briefly by the fax machine for the report to come through.  Once it did, he perused it before handing it over to Anderson.   He collected his paycheck and started towards the door.  “Do me a favor, Cap.  If Kate calls, just tell her I'm in the field.”

“You got it Jimmy,” Anderson said through a devilish smile
.  “Enjoy your night off.”

As Keegan got in the elevator, he thought to himself how easy it was for a cop to cheat on his wife.  You just take the day off and tell
whoever answers the phone to tell her you're in the field or on a stakeout.  You could even call her yourself and tell her that you’re at central booking with an arrest.  Cops get lost for days at a time down there and nobody can track you down.  He never had cheated on Kate and he knew that he never would.  It used to bother him that all the guys in the office thought he was having an affair, but he realized it was better they believed that than knew the truth.

******************************

Keegan parked unmarked Department Auto Number 8567 on Forty Third Street, just off Third Avenue, partially blocking the crosswalk.  He reached over the sun visor and took down the auto's unrestricted parking permit.  He placed the permit, which read
N. Y. C. Police Department Auto 8567 on official business
, in the windshield of the auto.  Now, he didn't have to worry about an overzealous meter maid having the car summonsed and towed away.  From his jacket, he removed a pair of black leather gloves and put them on.  He walked as quickly as he could along Third Avenue, fighting the seventeen degree temperature and the twenty mile per-hour winds.  No matter how bundled up you are, when the wind is that strong, you're still going to feel the cold.

Keegan entered McBride's Bar and Grill at twenty minutes past eight.  It was a welcome relief to get out of the cold.  He walked straight across the bar, nodding hello to a few of the regulars he had come to recognize.  He stopped when he reached the last stool at the bar.  He took of his coat, draped it over the back of the stool and sat down.  He made sure to face the door.  It was something every cop learned in the academy.  Whether you were in a bar, a diner, or any other public place, always take the seat facing the door and try not to let anyone stay behind you whenever possible.