The Squad Room (24 page)

He swiped the photos off the table in fury. Instinctively her eyes went after them as they flew aside. Another error. As quick as lightning, his hands shot across the table. His right caught hold of her wrist as it came up; his left wrapped tight around her throat.

“You little bitch—you nasty little lying
bitch!”
he shouted through gritted teeth, bearing down hard on her windpipe.

The door flew open with a crash. But before Morrison and the Coke Brothers could get through the doorway, Koreski had gripped Rutherford’s left wrist with her free hand, and twisting her body suddenly to the side, she pulled him bodily over the table. As he straightened his legs to get them under him, she moved in close and brought her knee up squarely into his balls.

Rutherford gave a choking noise and doubled up, his hands flying open. Koreski slipped backward, out of his grasp, and in an instant Kasak had slammed him face-down over the table, and held him down while Marchioni cuffed him.

“You can’t—you can’t fucking arrest me,” Rutherford was gasping.

“You bet we can, motherfucker,” Marchioni said, straightening him up.

“You dumb pieces of shit,” Rutherford said. His face glowed a horrible red. “You’re fucked, totally fucked. My family will have me out of here before you finish your paperwork. And you”—he glared at Koreski—“you’re going to see me again, you fucking cunt!”

“Yeah, well, don’t hold your breath for that, asshole,” she said, her voice ragged. “When you finish your time in New York, there’s some folks in La Jolla who’ll want to talk to you.”

Rutherford stared at her, a look of dawning horror coming over him. It obviously hadn’t occurred to him that his lifelong friend could have given him up.

“It’s all right, pal,” Kasak said, moving him along. “Lady-killer like you? You’ll be real popular in prison, I have no doubt about it. You try your tough-guy tactics on the guys you meet there—I bet they’ll be real impressed.”

Marchioni shut the door after them. Morrison helped Koreski into a chair.

“Tina, are you okay?” he asked. “Did he get you bad? Christ, the little shit moved quick.”

“I’ll be fine, boss,” she said hoarsely, rubbing her throat. “I
am
fine. I’m sorry I fucked up—I didn’t—”

“Fucked up?”
Morrison repeated, incredulous. “What the hell could possibly make you think you just fucked up?”

“I just—I didn’t get into detail about any of the murders with him. I meant to, I did—it just—it got out of hand too quick.”

Morrison had to laugh. “Tina, you’ve got to be kidding me. You got the guy to admit to three murders, and he tried to choke you right in front of us! You did a fantastic job. There was a point where I didn’t think he’d break, but you kept on him, and he did. And when he started—classic bragging bullshit—you just gave him enough rope to hang himself. It was very well done, Detective. Very well done.”

Kasak poked his head in the door.

“Cap, we’ve got ADA Rosenthal on the phone,” he said.

“All right, thanks. Let’s get out of here, Koreski—I’d say you’ve been in this room long enough.”

He walked out. As Koreski followed after him, she passed the Coke Brothers in the hallway. To her astonishment, Kasak gave her a smile and a wink, and Marchioni nodded respectfully.

Tina Koreski beamed inwardly. It was probably the closest thing to a pat on the back a young detective had ever gotten out of the two of them.

26

Bill Morrison picked up the phone in elation. “Stan, great news,” he said. “After a whole goddamn day in interviews, we just got statements out of both of these animals!”

Stan Rosenthal laughed. “Well, congratulations, Bill—but I knew you had them ten minutes ago.”

Morrison’s blood suddenly ran cold. “Come again?” he asked. “I got a call from Chief of Detectives Arndt about ten minutes ago. He said you had statements from both suspects, and told me to drop the arrest warrants.” When Morrison didn’t say anything, Rosenthal went on. “He made it sound like you’d called him, Bill—are you saying you haven’t?”

“No, Stan, I haven’t,” Morrison said, screwing his eyes shut in rage, “but I have a feeling I know who did.”

“Hmm,” Rosenthal said, his voice uncomfortable. “Then I guess you didn’t give him the name of the arresting officer either, for the warrant application?”

“No, I didn’t. Let me guess—Detective Lou Galipoli?”

Stan was silent on the other end for a moment. “Yes,” he said finally, “that’s the name I have.”

“That’s bullshit, Stan—you’ve got to change that, right now.”

“I’m sorry, Bill, it’s too late. I already submitted it to the court. I thought you wanted it right away, to make sure these guys didn’t get any wiggle room.”

“No, I understand,” Morrison said, holding down his frustration. “It’s not your fault. Listen, Stan, I need to try and sort this out, all right? I’ll talk to you later.”

Morrison hung up the phone, having just gone in seconds from total jubilation to total dejection and anger. At just this moment, Sergeant McNamara walked into the office.

“Cap—you okay?” he asked. “You look like someone just pissed in your cereal.”

“Pat, can you believe the balls on this fucking guy?” Morrison said. “Not sure what you’re talking about.”

“Galipoli had Arndt put his name on the arrest warrants.”

“You mean he took the collar?”

“Yeah. Christ!” Morrison slammed his fist on the desk. “The guy’s a piece of shit, but I can’t believe that even he would do something so selfish. This is a goddamn task force, with a lot of people on it who broke their asses, yourself included. You guys deserve this arrest, not him—the guy did next to nothing on the case! All he did was force us to juggle people around, because no one could work with him. This is really bullshit.”

“Jesus, that’s really lousy. Sorry, boss.”

“Not as goddamn sorry as he’s going to be when he walks in here.”

As if he’d been awaiting the word, Louis Galipoli strutted back into the Boston squad room, proud as a peacock.

“Galipoli, get in this office!”
Morrison shouted.

All the heads in the squad room turned as the Captain’s voice boomed down the hallway. Even Galipoli’s smirk faltered for an instant, before returning with a vengeance. He brushed past Tina Koreski, giving her a slimy wink as he passed that made a disgusted chill run down her spine.

When he’d gone into the office, Morrison slammed the door with
such force that the whole wall shook. Everyone in the outer office started to look for the exit. Even the Bostonians got up to take a walk.

“How dare you,” Morrison said through his teeth.

Galipoli said nothing, but kept on smirking at him.

“You think this is funny? You—who have done absolutely nothing of significance throughout this entire case—you call your buddy Arndt and steal the collar from the detectives who worked their asses off for it, and you think it’s fucking
funny?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Galipoli said. “You can’t prove I did anything.”

“Can’t prove—! Arndt called in the goddamn warrants with
your
name on them before I’d even talked to the fucking ADA!”

Galipoli snickered. “Hey, it’s not my fault the Chief recognizes talent.”

“You motherfucker,” Morrison seethed. “I should suspend you on the spot.”

“For what?” Galipoli laughed maddeningly. “You have nothing on me. I didn’t call the Chief—if you have evidence that I did, show me. Otherwise, quit yelling and let me do my job.”

Morrison was beside himself. “Your fucking
job?
Let’s get something clear, Galipoli: you have
never
done your job around here. You aren’t cop enough to shine the fucking
shoes
of anyone in this taskforce. Understand me?
Barney fucking Fife
made a better cop than you! You’ve made a whole career out of your supposed military heroics, but listen up, punk: nobody other than Arndt and a handful of sycophants like yourself believe they’re even true. The rest of us see through the act. You’re a phony—we all know it, just like I
know
you called Arndt. Do you know how I know that, Galipoli? Because he’s your
only
goddamn friend around here. No one else can stand working with you, because outside of kissing political ass, you’re an insufferable fucking prick.” Galipoli’s smirk remained, but his face immediately reddened at the insult. Morrison went on. “But you know what else? You’re a special kind of prick, the worst kind—you’re an
incompetent
prick, who still
thinks he deserves all the accolades. That’s you in a fucking nutshell, Galipoli: incompetent and stuck-up. The fact that you think you deserve to make this arrest tells me everything I need to know about you. Well, the bullshit stops now: I’m taking you off this task force, effective immediately.”

Galipoli fixed him with one of his trademark blank stares.

“Are you finished, Captain?” he asked after a long silence. “Because I have two prisoners who need to be brought down to Boston Supreme Court for processing.”

He turned and walked out, leaving Morrison alone in his fury.

Morrison caught himself back from shouting after him, and instead picked up the phone and dialed Commissioner Harrington.

“Commissioner,” he said when he got hold of him, “I’m sorry to bother you in the evening.”

“No problem, Bill, I’m up,” Harrington said. “I just spoke with Chief Arndt, actually, and was going to call to congratulate you on the great job your people did up there.”

Morrison’s heart sank. Like the little weasel he was, Arndt had already called the Commissioner before Bill had had a chance to derail his and Galipoli’s little scam. “Commissioner,” he said, “did Arndt tell you who was making the arrest?”

“Yes, he did—Lou Galipoli, isn’t it? He said the detective did a great job, and really deserved it.”

“He’s a liar,” Bill blurted out. “The guy’s a piece of garbage who’s done nothing but cause me heartache since he was assigned here. I can’t—”

“All right, now, Bill—calm down, you’re going to give yourself a heart attack.”

“I’m sorry, Commissioner. It just isn’t fair to the men and women who broke this case. They deserve this arrest, not him.”

“Well, I get your frustration,” Harrington said, “but from what I understand, the arrest warrants are already dropped, and this guy Galipoli’s name’s on them. I’ll make sure your people get the proper
recognition from the department, though—for now, just let it go.”

“Bob, this isn’t right,” Morrison said. His emotion surprised even him; he never called the Commissioner by his first name. “Can’t you do anything to stop it?”

Harrington’s voice was apologetic, but firm. “I know what it means to you, Bill, but it’s too late. I’m sorry, really I am. Believe me, this won’t go unnoticed—nor does the outstanding work your people have done. Listen, when you get back to the city, come to my office. We need to talk.”

“All right, Commissioner, I will.”

“Speak soon, Bill.”

The Commissioner hung up, leaving Bill Morrison with the dial tone.

Sergeants Simmons and McNamara were standing on the steps of District D-14 when the first news truck pulled up. In seconds, another truck arrived, followed by two more. The two detectives watched as, like piranha in a feeding frenzy, their crews jumped out and vied for the best spot to get the money shot of the two suspects being led out.

“Oh, boy,” McNamara said quietly. “The circus is in town.”

“How the hell did they find out so fast?” Simmons asked.

“Galipoli,” McNamara said simply. In a few words, he explained what the Captain had told him a few minutes earlier.

“Jesus,” Simmons said, hanging his head in disgust. “Well, we’d probably better go tell the Cap they’re here, huh?”

“Yeah, let’s go,” McNamara said.

When they walked into the squad room, Morrison and several others were already looking out the window. In the time it had taken Simmons and McNamara to climb the flight of stairs, another five news trucks had arrived, and were putting up their transmission towers for the live feed.

Morrison turned from the window and called in all of his people—or rather, all but one, who was busy primping for the cameras. His heart was heavy as he spoke.

“Listen,” he told them, “I want you all to know how grateful I am for all of your hard work. Everyone in this room did a fantastic job, and I’m proud to know you all.” He took a breath, then went on. “Unfortunately, none of you will be taking this arrest. Detective Galipoli has been credited as the arresting officer, per Chief Arndt.”

The room hung in a stunned silence for a moment. It was clear this was none of Morrison’s doing, but the egregiousness of Arndt’s decision shocked everyone. The Boston officers shook their heads in sympathy for their New York comrades, feeling the full sting of the unfairness at hand.

Alex Medveded was the first to speak.

“Well, I’m glad,” he said, his Russian accent just barely showing through his weariness. “I’m too tired to have to deal with these two piece of shits anymore.”

There was a ripple of laughter as one by one, the rest of the room echoed his sentiment. Tina Koreski got up with a smile, walked over, and wrapped her arms around Morrison in a huge hug.

“We all love you, Cap,” she said. “Making the arrest on a case like this doesn’t mean anything. We all know who did the work, and you’re the one who gave us the opportunity to do it.”

Morrison felt his apprehension replaced with an overwhelming gratitude. “You guys are incredible,” he said. “I should’ve known your incredible work ethic would show through even in this ridiculous situation. You’re a remarkable team—a remarkable
family
—and I really appreciate it.” He turned to where Lieutenant Polk was standing. “I particularly want to thank you, Lieutenant Polk, and all the men and women of the Boston Detectives, for your help, your hospitality, and your friendship. Know that you’re all officially members of our extended family, and if you ever need anything in New York City, we’ll be there for you.”

There was a light hubbub of
Hear, hear
s and handshakes around the room, interspersed with a few good-natured Red Sox/Yankees jabs. When they quieted, Morrison spoke up again.