The repercussions of taking a swing at someone in front
of several witness's and in the view of TV
Camera's, was the last thing on his mind.
"If anyone deserves to be popped in public,
it's him," Lennie Briscoe told Ed Green.
The two detectives were standing near the
entrance of the Criminal Courts Building. Lennie was
pointing above, where Judge Hiram Sullivan
was holding a news conference. He was going to chair
another commission to investigate police
corruption. The targets were several as-yet nameless
precinct houses in Harlem and East Harlem.
The 27th was very likely on his list, as it was
headquartered in East Harlem, one block
from Marcus Garvey Park.
Lennie remembered all too well the results
of Sullivan's last investigation. It had disgraced a good
friend--Betty Abrams--and driven his former
partner John Flynn to eat a gun.
Yes, Flynn had gone bad. He'd even accused
Lennie of stealing evidence. Without extraordinary
support from Jack McCoy, Lennie would have
been sacked and likely imprisoned.
Still, Flynn had once been a friend. Years
ago, he'd broken some rules to save the career of Lennie
the Lush.
And Betty Abrams had been a happily married
friend and family woman until Judge Sullivan publicly
exposed her affair with Lennie. Her husband
won a divorce soon after and she lost everything.
*You sick little bastard,* Lennie thought.
If Judge Sullivan had his way there would be more victims.
Judge Sullivan had just finished answering
a question at his news conference, when he looked down
and saw Detective Lennie Brisco looking
in his direction. His eyes fixated on the seasoned Detective.
*Now there is one cop I would dearly love
to bring down.* The judge thought to himself.
"Excuse me, Judge Sullivan, when will we
know which precinct's the commission will focus on?"
Asked one curious reporter. Turning back
to the crowd of media reporters and placing a smile on his
face he replied.
"The announcement will be made very soon,
very soon."
"Yes sir, I understand bu-", Lieutenant Van
Buren was cut short by the person on the other end of
the phone line.
"It was crystal clear that the allegations
had no basis. I will not autho-". She was cut short again. She
couldn't seem to put an edge in word wise
to the Borough Commander. Each time she would begin
to speak, he would cut her off. It seemed
to her that the Commander was more concerned in getting
on the good side of Sullivan than the integrity
of his officers.
Finally, she ran out of patience with her
superior. "I run a clean precinct, Commander. Judge Sullivan
can come in and comb through each arrest
my detectives made. He will not find a single questionable
transaction from any of them, Especially
Det. Briscoe. I will not let him drag one of my best
detectives name through the mud so he can
climb his way to the Supreme Court."
She was steamed. "Don't worry, we will cooperate
with this ridiculous investigation. But I assure you
I will do my best to keep this commission
from turning into a witch hunt."
*Witch hunt,* thought Borough Detective Commander
James Deitz. *Spoken like the true witch you
are.* Anita Van Buren's failed lawsuit against
the NYPD was still a sore point with Deitz and his
superiors.
But letting Judge Sullivan hang her and her
detective squad out to dry was not entirely to Deitz's
liking. There was something faintly unwholesome
about Hiram Modesto Sullivan. That prim little man
was presenting himself as the Bad Apple-cleansing
White Knight, but Deitz had learned long ago that
people who got cops sacked for things like
taking 'free' apples often did so more for personal gain
than for the sake of the Department. This
was certainly true of Sullivan--Deitz had sensed his egoism
from minute one.
Deitz carried his mug of black coffee to
the office window and looked north. No snow was visible,
but the temperature was well below freezing
and a strong wind was whipping the flags and the
plumes of steam.
*Watch yourselves, people, * Deitz thought
as if he had telepathy with all of Sullivan's potential
targets. He would protect as many as he
could... but Van Buren and her crew were on their own.
Deitz's stomach churned sourly as he thought
of coming events. He knew that coffee wasn't good for
his condition, but he drank the black bitter
brew anyway.
"Did you hear Sullivan?" Special Agent
Kelson Ransome asked, pausing in the office doorway, eyes
surveying his partner's carefully impassive
face.
"I did," Caitlin Falconetti answered evenly, not moving her eyes from her laptop screen.
"You know he's going to target the two-seven."
"Looks that way." Caitlin lifted inscrutable
emerald eyes to her partner's intense blue gaze and smiled
coolly. "Not that it affects us in any way."
She grimaced as though a particularly nasty insect had
crawled across her desk. "I'd say any involvement
I had with the twenty-seventh precinct, personal
or otherwise, ended when the divorce papers
were signed and he got his ass sent to Staten Island."
Kelson shook his head sympathetically. "I'm
not so sure about that," he said, dropping the file folder
he held on her desk.
Caitlin stared at the report on top, breath
freezing in her chest. "Holy shit."
"Where did you get this?" Caitlin whispered,
lifting the two evidence lists from the folder. It couldn't
be . . .
The two lists were identical except for one
item. An entry for a blood-stained handkerchief was
missing from the second evidence list. Caitlin's
gaze shot to Kelson's. "This is from the Hill case."
Kelson nodded. "It is."
"But . . . there was no handkerchief. If there had been, then-"
"Then we might have put Hill away," Kelson
finished for her. "But without the blood evidence, we
couldn't tie him to the shootings."
"Dear Lord," Caitlin groaned, looking at
the familiar signature on both lists. "Dammit, Mike," she
whispered. "What the hell have you done?"
"Sullivan, will pick apart the 27th precinct.
He will do everything in his power to bring down as many
cop as he can that work there, past and
present, Mike Logan will be among them. Catilin, that
means you too, will be a target in his investigation."
Uttered Ransome. Catilin stared into Kelson's
eyes.
"So, what are you saying to me then?"
"Catilin I think I'll let you figure it
out. Considering..." Cutting Ransome off in mid sentence, Catilin
raised her voice because she wasn't sure
she like where this conversation was going.
"Considering what, Kelson? Just spit it
out."
"Well this divorce thing, you know, you
say your over him." Again Catilin cut in.
"Look, Ransome, I'm over Mike Logan. Okay,
you got that." Kelson nodded his head even though
he had the feeling he knew better.
"Okay, Catilin. I'm just concerned that's
all. I just don't want you to get caught in the middle of this
investigation and do what you always do."
Catilin really started to dislike this conversation they were
having, so with sarcastic tone, she got
into Ransome's face and asked.
"And just what is it, that I always do anyway.
Come on Ransome, spit it out."
"You Know, you always end up protecting
the one's you care about." Furious at Kelson's
insinuations about her and Mike Logan. She
tossed the file down on the desk and walked out of the
office.
On January 20, one day after Caitlin was
told of the discrepancy in Logan's evidence sheets, the City
honored its heroes of the previous year.
Among the people receiving medals were Detective
Lennie Briscoe, his former partner Rey Curtis,
and college student Atlanta Willow. The
three had performed CPR on a pair of rape victims, saving
the younger girl.
Judge Sullivan was in the audience. He thought:
*That piece of tin won't save you, Detective Briscoe.
You and your partners, past and present,
have much to explain.*
Copies of Logan's evidence sheets were in
a locked drawer of Sullivan's desk. At a minimum, the
man would get prolonged and rigorous interrogation,
and even at this early stage criminal charges
seemed likely.
For Curtis there was no evidence to support
any charges, but he would be subpoenaed anyway.
He'd spent a lot of money due to his wife's
illness, and certainly had motive for illegal gains. He could
always hire someone to look after his bedridden
wife during the lengthy hearings to come.
Green, with his gambling habit, was a potential
treasure trove. It was remarkable and regrettable that
the man had never undergone a forensic audit.
Sullivan had already taken steps to remedy that
situation and his most aggressive investigators
would start on Mister Green the day after tomorrow.
Force Sullivan was presently in Briscoe's
old precinct--the 31st--a genuinely corrupt house.
Sullivan's people had found so much evidence
of wrongdoing that their move on the 27th had been
delayed. No matter. Starting tonight, Sullivan's
allegations and discoveries would dominate the news.
Headlines would explode. The NYPD would
become a pariah among police departments.
Sullivan smiled as he watched 18-year-old
Atlanta Willow leave the stage. She would become a
member of the NYPD once she had enough college
credits. She deserved to begin and complete her
career in a spanking-clean Department.
"I need to talk to you."
Mike Logan turned from the coffee cart, his
impassive expression hiding the surprise that hurtled
through him. "Good morning, Cait," he said,
unsmiling.
"Not so good," she said coldly, arms crossed
tightly over her midriff. She didn't want to be here,
didn't want to deal with him, with the hurtful
memories just being in his presence provoked.
Mike sighed at the disdain in her voice.
"What do you want, Cait?" he asked wearily. "You're going
to make me late."
"You never worried about that before," she
retorted snidely, and immediately wished she hadn't. She
shoved two photocopies at him. "I want you
to explain this."
Frowning, Mike examined the evidence lists. "What the hell-"
"Tell me the truth, Mike," Caitlin said intensely,
her eyes locked on his face. "Did you really help keep
a cop killer out of jail?"