The 1st Deadly Sin (66 page)

Thorsen:“Anything for the DA?”

Delaney: “Not a thing.”

Thorsen:“Will he sweat in the slammer?”

Delaney: “No.”

Thorsen:“Break-in?”

Delaney: “What do you think?”

Thorsen:“You left it?”

Delaney: “What else could I do?”

Thorsen:“But it was there?”

Delaney: “Three hours ago. It may be gone by now.”

Thorsen:“Witnesses to the break-in?”

Delaney: “Presumption only.”

Thorsen:“Then we’ve got nothing?”

Delaney: “Not right now.”

“But you can nail him?”

Delaney (astonished): “Of course. Eventually.”

Deputy Mayor Herman Alinski had followed this fast exchange without interrupting. Now he held up a hand. They fell silent. He carefully relighted a cold cigar he had brought into the room with him.

“Gentlemen,” he said quietly, “I realize I am just a poor pole, one generation removed from the Warsaw ghetto, but I did think I had mastered the English language and the American idiom. But I would be much obliged, gentlemen, if you could inform me just what the fuck you are talking about.”

They laughed then. The ice was broken—which was, Delaney realized, exactly what Alinski had intended. The Captain turned to Thorsen.

“Let me tell it my way?”

Thorsen nodded.

“Sir,” the Captain said, addressing the Deputy Mayor directly, “I will tell you what I can. Some things I will not tell you. Not to protect myself. I don’t give a damn. But I don’t think it wise that you and these other men should have guilty knowledge. You understand?”

Alinski, smoking his cigar, nodded. His dark eyes deepened even more; he stared at Delaney with curious interest.

“I know the man who committed these homicides,” the Captain continued. “I have seen the evidence. Conclusive, incontrovertible evidence. You’ll have to take my word for that. The evidence exists, or did exist three hours ago, in this man’s apartment. But the evidence is of such a nature that it doesn’t justify a collar—an arrest. Why not? Because it exists in his apartment, his home. How could I swear to what I have seen? Legally, I have seen nothing. And if, by any chance, a sympathetic judge issued a search warrant, what then? Served on the man while he was home, he could stall long enough to destroy the evidence. Somehow. Then what? Arrest him on a charge—any charge? And run the risk of a false arrest suit? What for? Run him around the horn? That’s probably some of our cop talk you didn’t understand. It means collaring a suspect, keeping him in a precinct house detention cell, trying to sweat him—getting him to talk. He calls his lawyer. We’re required to let him do that. His lawyer gets a release. By the time the lawyer shows up with the paper, we’ve moved him to another precinct house tank. No one knows where. By the time the lawyer finds out, we’ve moved him again. We waltz him ‘around the horn.’ It’s an old routine, not used much these days, originally used when cops needed to keep an important witness in the slammer, or needed another day or two days or three days to nail the guy good. It wouldn’t work here. Sweating him wouldn’t work either. Don’t ask me how I know—I just know. He won’t talk. Why should he? He makes fifty-five thousand a year. He’s an important business executive with a big corporation in the city. He’s no street police with a snoot full of shit. We can’t lean on him. He’s got no record. He’s got a good lawyer. He’s got friends. He carries weight. Got it now?”

“Yes…” Alinski said slowly. “I’ve got it now. Thank you, Captain.”

“Fifty-five thousand a year?” Inspector Johnson said incredulously. “Jesus H. Christ!”

“One thing,” the Deputy Mayor said. “Inspector Johnson asked if you could nail him, and you said yes. How do you propose to do that?”

“I don’t know,” Delaney admitted. “I haven’t thought it through yet. That’s not why I came here tonight.”

“Why did you come?”

“This crazy’s coming up to another kill. I figure it should be in the week between Christmas and New Year’s. But it may be sooner. I can’t take the chance.”

Strangely, no one asked him how he had estimated the killer’s schedule. They simply believed him.

“So,” Delaney went on, “I came here tonight for three men, plainclothes, on foot, and one unmarked car, with two men, to cover this guy tonight. I either get this cover or I’ll have to dump what I have in Broughton’s lap, let him own it, and take my lumps. Before, I just had a lead to offer him. Now I’ve got the guy he’s bleeding for.”

His demand came so suddenly, so abruptly, that the other three were startled. They looked at each other; the noise and smells from outside, men talking, arguing, smoking in the living room, seemed to invade this quiet place and envelop them all.

“Now,” Thorsen said bitterly. “It would have to be tonight.”

“You can do it,” Delaney said stonily, staring at the Deputy Inspector. “I don’t give a fuck where you get them. Bring them in from Staten Island. This guy has got to be covered. Tonight and every night until I can figure out how to take him.” Silence then, in the dining room, the four men standing. Only Delaney looked at Thorsen; the other men’s eyes were turned downward, unseeing.

Was it a minute, or five, or ten? The Captain never knew. Finally Deputy Mayor Alinski sighed deeply, raised his head to look at Thorsen and Johnson.

“Would you excuse us?” he asked gently. “I would like to speak to Captain Delaney privately. For just a few moments. Would you wait outside, please?”

Wordlessly, they filed out, Johnson closing the door behind them.

Alinski looked at Delaney and smiled. “Could we sit down?” he asked. “It seems to me we have been standing much too long.”

Delaney nodded. They took padded armchairs on opposite sides of the oak table.

“You don’t smoke cigars?” Alinski asked.

“No more. Oh, occasionally. But not very often.”

“Filthy habit,” Alinski nodded. “But all enjoyable habits are filthy. I looked up your record. ‘Iron Balls.’ Am I right?”

“Yes.”

“In my younger days I was called ‘Bubble Head.’” Delaney smiled.

“Good record,” Alinski said. “How many commendations?”

“I don’t know.”

“You’ve lost count. Many. You were in the Army in World War Two. Military Police.”

“That’s correct.”

“Yes. Tell me something, Captain: Do you feel that the military—the Army, Navy, Air Force—should be, at the top, under control of civilian authority—President, Secretary of Defense, and so forth?”

“Of course.”

“And do you also believe that the Police Department of the City of New York should also, essentially, be under civilian control? That is, that the Commissioner, the highest ranking police officer, should be appointed by the Mayor, a civilian politician?”

“Yes…I guess I believe that,” Delaney said slowly. “I don’t like civilian interference in Department affairs anymore than any other cop. But I agree the Department should be subject to some civilian control authority, not be a totally autonomous body. Some form of civilian control is the lesser of two evils.”

Alinski smiled wryly. “So many decisions in this world come down to that,” he nodded. “The lesser of two evils. Thorsen and Johnson tell me you are an apolitical man. That is, you have very little interest in Department politics, in feuds, cliques, personality conflicts. Is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“You just want to be left alone to do your job?”

“That’s right.”

The Deputy Mayor nodded again. “We owe you an explanation,” he said. “It won’t be a complete explanation because there are some things you have no need to know. Also, time is growing short. We must all be at the Mansion by seven. Well then…

“About three years ago it became apparent that there was a serious breach of security in the Mayor’s ‘Inner Circle.’ This is an informal group, about a dozen men—the Mayor’s closest personal friends, advisors, various media experts, campaign contributors, labor leaders, and so forth—on whom he depends for advice and ideas. Meetings are held once a month, or more often when needed. Well, someone in that group was leaking. Newspapers were getting rumors they shouldn’t get, and some individuals were profiting from plans still in the discussion stage, before the public announcement was made. The problem was dumped in my lap; one of my responsibilities is internal security. It wasn’t hard to discover who was leaking—his name’s of no importance to you.”

“How did you do it?” Delaney asked. “I’m just interested in the technique you used.”

“The most obvious,” Alinski shrugged. “Various fictitious documents planted with every man in the Inner Circle. Only one was leaked. It was that easy. But before we kicked this bastard downstairs to a job inspecting monuments or potholes—you don’t fire a man like that; the public scandal helps no one—I put him under twenty-four hour surveillance and discovered something interesting. Once a week he was having dinner with five men, always the same five men. They were meeting at one of their homes or in a hotel room or renting a private dining room in a restaurant. It was a curious group. Chairman of the Board of a downtown bank, real estate speculator, editor of a news magazine, a corporation VP, our squealer, and Deputy Commissioner Broughton. I didn’t like the smell of it. What did those men have in common? They didn’t even all belong to the same political party. So I kept an eye on them. A few months later, the six had grown to twelve, then to twenty. And they were entertaining occasional guests from Albany, and once a man from the Attorney-General’s office in Washington. By this time there were almost thirty members, dining together every week.”

“Including the man you infiltrated,” Delaney said.

Alinski smiled distantly but didn’t answer. “It took me a while to catch on,” he continued. “As far as I could determine, they had no name, no address, no letterhead, no formal organization, no officers. Just an informal group who met for dinner. That’s what I called them in my verbal reports to the Mayor—the ‘Group.’ I kept watching. It was fascinating to see how they grew. They split into three divisions; three separate dinners every week: one of the money men; one of editors, writers, publishers, TV producers; one of cops—local, state, a few federal. Then they began recruiting. Nothing obvious, but a solid cadre. Still no name, no address, no program—nothing. But odd things began happening: certain editorials, hefty campaign contributions to minor league pols, pressure for or against certain bills, some obviously planned and extremely well organized demonstrations, heavy clout that got a certain man off on probation of a tax evasion rap that should have netted him five years. The Group was growing, fast. And the members were Democrats, Republicans, Liberals, Conservatives—you name it, they had them. Still no public announcements, no formal program, no statement of principles—nothing like that. But it came increasingly clear what they were after: an authoritarian city government, ‘law and order,’ let the cops use their sticks, guns for everyone. Except the blacks. More muscle in government. Tell people, don’t ask them. Because people really want to be told, don’t they? All they need or want is a cold six-pack and a fourth rerun of ‘I Love Lucy.’”

Alinski glanced at his watch. “I’ve got to cut this short,” he said. “Time’s running out. But I get carried away. Half my family got made into soup at Treblinka. Anyway, Deputy Commissioner Broughton began to throw his weight around. The man is good; I don’t deny it. Shrewd, strong, active. And loud. Above all, loud. So when Frank Lombard was killed, the Group’s agit-prop division went to work. It was a natural. After all, Frank Lombard was a member of the Group.”

Delaney looked at him, astounded. “You mean these four victims had something in common after all—a political angle? Were the other three members of the Group, too?”

“No, no,” Alinski shook his head. “Don’t get me wrong. Detective Kope couldn’t have been a member because the Group doesn’t recruit cops under the rank of lieutenant. And Bernard Gilbert and Albert Feinberg couldn’t have been members because there are no Jews in the Group. No, Lombard’s death was just a coincidence, a chance killing, and I guess the man you’ve found has never even heard of the Group. Not many people have. But Lombard’s murder was a marvelous opportunity for the Group. First of all, he was a very vocal advocate of law and order.’ ‘Let us crush completely crime in our city streets.’ Broughton saw his opportunity. He got command of Operation Lombard. With the political pressures the Group organized, he got everything he wanted—men, equipment, unlimited funds. You’ve met Broughton?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t underestimate him. He has the confidence of the devil. He thought he’d wrap up the Lombard murder in record time. Score one for his side, and an important step toward becoming the next Commissioner. But in case he didn’t find Lombard’s killer, the Group would be left with their thumbs up their assholes. So I asked Thorsen and Johnson who were the best detectives in New York. They named you and Chief Pauley. Broughton took Pauley. Thorsen and Johnson asked for you, and we went along with them.”

“Who is ‘we’?”

“Our Group,” Alinski smiled. “Or call it our ‘Anti-Group.’ Anyway, here is the situation of this moment. At the meeting tonight, we think we can get Broughton dumped from Operation Lombard. No guarantee, but we think we can do it. But not if you go to him now and give him the killer.”

“Fuck Broughton,” Delaney said roughly. “I couldn’t care less about his ambitions, political or otherwise. I won’t go to him if you’ll just give me my three plainclothesmen on foot and two in an unmarked car.”

“But you see,” Alinski explained patiently, “we cannot possibly do that. How could we? From where? You don’t realize how big the Group has grown, how powerful. They are everywhere, in every precinct, in every special unit in the Department. Not the men; the officers. How can we risk alerting Broughton that we have the killer and want to put a watch on him? You know exactly what would happen. He would come galloping with sirens screaming, flashing lights, a hundred men and, when all the TV cameras were in place, he’d pull your man out of his apartment in chains.”

“And lose him in the courts,” Delaney said bitterly. “I’m telling you, at this moment you couldn’t even indict this man, let alone convict him.”