Dublin Odyssey Read online

  “Any way I can get it, Boss.”

  “I hear that. Anything hot?”

  “Not much, Cap. But it’s early. And I hear we got a full moon out there tonight. So things could get ugly.”

  “A full moon does seem to bring out the worst in humankind.”

  “I heard it has something to do with the moon changing the way our blood flows to our brain.”

  “That’s a new one for me.”

  “I believe it, Boss. I read it a couple of years ago in Cosmology. The article was written by that fellow in a wheelchair with ALS, who wrote about the big bang and black holes.”

  “Oh, right. I know who you’re talking about. Stephen something. Smart guy! I always wanted to ask him about his theory.”

  “Like what, Boss?”

  “Well, what if no one is around to hear that big bang. Can it really be called a ‘bang’?”

  “Never thought ‘bout that, Boss. It’s kinda like that whole ‘if a tree falls in the forest’ thing, right?”

  “Exactly! Just a thought, Ton.”

  “Guess we’ll never know, Boss.”

  “We’re probably better off not knowing.”

  “True story, Cap.”

  “Guess now that we settled that I’ll take my leave, Ton.”

  “See ya later, Boss.”

  Mickey waves and walks through the second set of double doors and down the hall past the bail clerk’s window to the CIB room. Sitting at a small steel desk in the corner, with his back to Mick, is Captain Tommy Bennett. Tommy is the “early captain.” Meaning he starts an hour early to get his squad’s administrative duties up and running before the rest of the guys arrive. Bennett is preparing CIB’s last out Sending and Receiving Sheet, while holding the phone in the crook of his neck. On the other end of the line is Police Radio. Tom is giving the desk supervisor in Radio the rundown on the status, which CIB commanders are working and who’s not working.

  Mickey and Tommy Bennett were promoted to captain at the same time. Mickey placed number 13 and Bennett was 20 on the published Civil Service list. When promoted just before Christmas in 1993, Mickey, to no one’s surprise, was transferred from his most recent “slap on the wrist” assignment at the Police Impound Lot to another dead-end captain’s job in the Command Inspections Bureau, CIB. Command Inspections is actually a tiny six-by-twelve-foot room on the ground floor of Headquarters. It’s part of the Patrol Bureau and falls under the control of a newly appointed Deputy Commissioner—a young, fifteen-year veteran who was elevated to Deputy for what one unnamed “passed over” chief inspector called his “special attributes.”

  The room is furnished with hand-me-down office equipment. There’s one tattered steel desk and a couple of matching steel chairs. Three of the five high school-sized lockers lining one wall are shared by nine captains. The other two are reserved for the occasional “bad boy” chief inspector or inspector on the commissioner’s “shit list.” All the CIBers are serving out their time for sins against the men of “West Wing.” Real and perceived.

  Every commander assigned to CIB has his own tale of woe to tell. “I’m here because of….” Captain Tommy Bennett is the only captain assigned who says he volunteered for CIB. A notion not fully embraced by his CIB brethren. To them Tommy is a “gink.” A spy sent by the PC to “Observe and Report” the activity of the “sinners.” To limit Captain Bennett’s gink activities, the lowly CIB chief, being whacked for “talking to the media,” has assigned Bennett to “permanent desk duty.” Meaning he never works the street and thus reduces his contact with “real cops.”

  Some of the commanders are on their second and third tour in CIB. From the street cop’s view of the world, CIB Commanders only fall into two categories: “Royal Fuckups” or “A Few Good Men.” Mickey although only on his first tour in CIB most definitely falls into the latter group. Like every other assignment Mickey’s had, he’ll suck it up and make the best of it. CIBers, like their unauthorized wall plaque proclaims, “Rule the Night.” Working nights only is not very conducive for a good family life. But as the commissioner often likes to say, “Isn’t that the point? If I can’t screw with people, what’s the use of being the Boss?”

  The city’s civil service Captain’s Promotional Exam is comprised of a written portion that tests candidates’ knowledge of policies, procedures, and the most recent leadership and managerial practices publications. If candidates score high enough, a line that has varied from time to time based again on “diversity” of the unpublished placement list, they get invited to “the orals.” It is during “the orals” where the “playing field gets leveled.”

  At some point, the city convinced the police bargaining unit, the FOP, that bringing in three-person oral boards from outside departments would be the best mechanism for evaluating future PPD leaders. “It will be fairer than having in-house commanders judging candidates who over the years may have developed friendships or animosities toward a candidate.”

  It has been shown that certain candidates are steered into selected exam rooms where the three raters have either “bought in to the city’s hiring agenda” or are of the same persuasion as the candidate assigned to their room. These oral boards can quickly become places where miracles happen on a regular basis.

  Some members of these outside departments have admitted, in court, to being “sensitized” to the city’s need to promote minorities and women. Some have even testified that if they can steer a “twofer,” two for one, meaning a minority and a female, it would go a long way to “moving the department in the right direction.” This “sensitivity” is accomplished at the city’s one-day training seminar held just prior to the start of the scheduled oral boards. The boards are also given “the kid glove treatment” by the commissioner and his deputies. According to many of these men and women, their “treatment helped them to better understand the PPD philosophy for the future.”

  As one attorney hired by a “non-minority” group of male lieutenants who filed a class action suit against the city put it, “It’s like a miracle. Some candidates who testified they never prepared for the oral exam or that they sat in silence after running out of things to say in the first few minutes of questioning end up very high on the final eligibility list. Sometimes, they even end up number one.” One result of a recent lawsuit will be that all candidates’ responses will be audio taped in the future.

  The latest lawsuit was brought by a group of chief inspector hopefuls contending that their oral exam questions were written by two deputies who had never been chiefs. Both were selected as deputies from lower management, as one media outlet put it, “It’s evident the men are not deputies because of the content of their character. It’s an affront to the King ‘I Had a Dream’ speech.”

  Bottom line—outside boards have proven to be a bad idea and have led to animosity at all ranks. It seems to be working great for some but not as good for others. So at this point in the PPD’s history, the “equal opportunity orals” aren’t going away.

  CHAPTER 2

  “Let every man break a window for himself, as the fool said.”

  Irish Proverb

  Mickey finds a place in one of the lockers to hang his uniform hat and starts to peruse the S and R sheet from the night before. He notices a “pinch” was made by a 6th District cop at 7:15 PM, of “one white male” who was using a sledgehammer on the thick protective glass that surrounds Philadelphia’s famous Liberty Bell at 5th and Chestnut streets.

  “The Bell” originally cost the city just over £150 in 1752. In 1976, the 2,080-pound bell made of mostly copper with a twelve-foot circumference was moved to its own glass pavilion on Independence Mall. The third-generation bell is one of the leading tourist attractions in Old City Philadelphia.

  The 6th District sector officer transported the man and his hammer to Central Detective Division to be questioned. According to the arresting officer, the man had a thick Irish brogue and between rants of profanity was yelling, “It’s time for the pe
ople to take back our country.” And, “This fucking country is being run into the ground by a bunch of socialist bastards. A bullet to the head is too good for these shitheads.”

  The S and R also noted that the nameless man was also shouting, “The Greek is coming. He’ll level their fucking playing field. No doubt about that.” For Mickey, the trained investigator, the man used a rather curious mix of outbursts.

  Mickey began his investigative experience working at Central. It’s the detective division that has the initial responsibility for investigating all Part I and Part II crimes occurring in Center City Philadelphia. On any given shift a detective assigned to Central could investigate the burglary and rape of a “high profile” victim living in Rittenhouse Square’s Society Hill Towers, or the reported theft of a trash bag full of the worldly possessions of a homeless man living in a cardboard box under the cross-town expressway.

  Central may not be the most active detective division in the city, meaning total number of investigations yearly, but it certainly has the reputation of having the most unique jobs in the Detective Bureau. In fact, there are so many Central jobs that make the TV news that the commanding officer has assigned one and only one lieutenant to handle the media, give interviews, and provide updates on Central Division investigations. That’s his only job, managing the press.

  Captain Bennett swivels his lopsided, padding-challenged gray chair around and greets Mickey.

  “Hey, Mick. It’s me and you against the world tonight. The chief and inspector dropped back to day work to attend the command meeting at the Academy, so they won’t be in. Jerry and Frank called in sick. And the new guy pulled some strings and got transferred to South Detectives.”

  “There were transfers?”

  “That’s right. You were off yesterday.”

  “It was my wife’s birthday. Me and the bride had dinner plans.”

  “That’s nice. Tell your wife happy birthday for me.”

  “Will do.”

  Bennett hands Mickey a copy of the transfers.

  “Here ya go, Mick.”

  Mickey peruses the three pages of transfers to see if he knows anybody on the list.

  “I see mister ‘I won the Fencl Award’ got himself moved to Northeast Division. That’s how South Detectives opened up. Doesn’t look like we got a replacement. Just lost Art to South. I do see a couple of cops who used to work for me in the 14th District got moved. Detective Cox went to Homicide and Coolly went to Central Division. Good for them. They’ll do well.”

  “Hey did you notice Captain Gloria ‘I like girls’ Neily got fired? It’s at the bottom of page three.”

  “Again? That’s got to be at least three times she’s been whacked.”

  “Second time. It just seems like three.”

  “What was it this time? Another falsifying official reports charge?”

  “Nope. She shot the bartender at an after-hours club down the street from her house in Parkwood.”

  “Did he die?”

  “No! The poor woman survived but will need a couple of surgeries to put her knee back together.”

  “Even with all that, I predict Gloria will get her job back. And live to screw up another day.”

  “For a whole lot of reasons, I agree.”

  “So with you working desk duty that makes me the SAC tonight.”

  “Special Agent in Charge?”

  “No! Supreme Allied Commander.”

  Tommy laughs. “Roger that, General.”

  “Well, maybe we’ll get lucky and all hell won’t break loose on our watch.”

  “With your luck, I doubt it, General, sir.”

  “You’re probably right, Tom.”

  “Well, let me grab a cup of that marvelous CIB coffee first, then I’ll hit the streets. Think I’ll wander over to Central first to check on the status of Mr. I-got-a-hammer.”

  Mickey gulps the last of his coffee and heads for the door. “See ya, Tom.”

  “Okay, Mick. Be safe. There’s a full moon tonight, ya know.”

  “Riiight. I just had this same conversation with Tony. Good thing I’m not superstitious, Tom.”

  “Sure you’re not. I never met an Irishman who wasn’t superstitious.”

  “Got me there, brudder.”

  Mickey grabs his hat, closes the locker door, and heads out the squeaky steel door of CIB. He walks down the hall through the double doors and out to his unmarked car, C-Charlie 32, waving to Tony the security cop on the way.

  “See ya, Tony.”

  “Okay, Boss.”

  Tony points toward the night sky and says, “Remember. Full moon tonight.”

  Mickey just laughs and waves again.

  CHAPTER 3

  “A soft answer turns away anger.”

  Irish Proverb

  Mickey gets behind the wheel of C-32, adjusts his gun belt and drives off Headquarters rear lot, turns south on 8th Street and west on Arch Street. It’s 1:10 AM and Captain Devlin starts what will be a very memorable tour of duty. He makes himself available for assignment by going over J Band. J John Band is one of two Police Radio frequencies that can transmit citywide. M Mary Band is the other.

  “Charlie 32 to Radio.”

  “32.”

  “Put me in service. I’ll be covering the whole city tonight.”

  “Got you in-service, 32. Be safe. KGF 5-87. The time is now 01:12 hours.”

  Mickey crosses Broad Street, a divided four-lane route, north and south, through the heart of the city and on to Central Detectives at 20th and Callowhill. Three squad, a steady graveyard squad, is made up of mostly volunteers and a handful of so-called “Commissioner Picks.” During the many years Mickey was assigned to Central as a detective he spent twelve months in three squad. Even though he was one of the “Commissioner’s Picks,” he welcomed the opportunity to work with several great investigators.

  It just so happens that his old lieutenant, “Big Jack” Darson, is still the three squad commander. If anyone would have a handle on the Liberty Bell Pavilion incident it’s “Big Jack.” Mickey pulls into the 9th District Captain’s parking spot, vacant since the he called it a day seven hours ago.

  “C-32 to Radio.”

  “32?”

  “Hold me out at Central Detectives. Checking paperwork. You can contact me at 30-93 if you need me.”

  “32. Central Detectives. Yes, sir.”

  The 9th District occupies the first floor of the 20th Street police facility. Central Detective Division along with the Divisional Inspector’s office and his staff are on the second floor.

  Mickey scales the dimly lit rear concrete steps to the rear hall of Central. When he swings open the tan steel door, he’s immediately met by Hazel Butler and the strong stench of ammonia.

  “Hi, Hazel. What happened?”

  “Hey, Cap. Nice to see ya. And congratulations on the second gold bar.”

  “Thanks, Haz.”

  Hazel, the “last out” building custodian, explains how a wagon crew from the 9th District brought in a fifty-something homeless man “in need of an attitude adjustment” on his way down the hall. In cop talk, “an attitude adjustment” translates into the guy got a well-deserved thumping. Rule number one in the PPD is “Cops never lose a brawl.” Especially, on home turf.

  Mickey points to what are obviously the remnants of a variety of bodily fluids. “Any injuries?”

  “Just to John Doe citizen. One of the cops opened up the guy with her baton. The old guy was being a real shit. I saw the whole thing. The cop did what she had to.”

  “You okay, Haz?”

  “I am.”

  “Glad to hear it.”

  “This is routine stuff around here. But thanks for asking, Cap. I got to finish up here before someone slips and hurts themselves.”

  “Good to see you, Haz.”

  “It’s always good to be seen, Boss.”

  Mickey walks around the mess and down the hall and through the door to an empty Central Detective squad
room.

  “Anybody home?”

  From down the small corridor sandwiched between a wall of windows overlooking a dark 20th Street and the three interview rooms a single voice yells, “Be right with you.” A few seconds later, veteran Detective Don Ford comes around the corner carrying his hat and coat.

  Through a big smile Ford announces, “Attention on deck. The supreme allied commander has arrived.”

  Mickey smiles back. “That sounds familiar. Bennett gave you guys a heads-up the mean old CIB captain was coming? Right? Come on, fess up.”

  Ford avoids Mickey’s question and smiles even bigger. “Captain who?”

  “Some things never change. And you’re still nuts, Don.”

  “It’s great, ain’t it? It’s really good to see Mr. Night Commander. How the hell ya doing?”

  “Good to see you too, Don. I was just talking to your old partner last week at the FOP meeting. He seems to be happy with his new home at North Detectives.”

  “He is. But we miss him around here. We miss you too, Boss. We had some good times. Didn’t we?”

  “We certainly did.”

  “Oh, well. Things do change, Cap.”

  “Yep. And sometimes change is good.”

  “I guess. So what brings you to Central? We in somebody’s crosshairs?”

  “Not that I know of, Don. Where’s Big Jack anyway?”

  “He’s over at headquarters filling in at the Fish Bowl. Sergeant Ritchey’s in the back with Howard and Nick. Need something in particular, Cap?”

  “Just following up on a notation I saw on CIB’s S and R.”

  “Which one?”

  “A 6th District job. An arrest at Five and Chestnut.”

  “Yeah. Around seven last night the sector cop scooped up a guy taking out his frustrations on the Liberty Bell Pavilion with a hammer.”

  “Is the guy still on campus?”

  Ford laughs out loud. “On campus. I’ll have to borrow that one.”

  “Be my guest.”

  “We gave Mr. Peter Paul the penthouse suite. He’s in room 2.” Ford points to the hall behind him.