The Squad Room (34 page)

“We’re right behind you,” O’Dell said. “We’ll pull over and stay in the car, to make sure he doesn’t spook.”

“What’s happening?” Morrison asked.

“He’s going around to the trunk,” O’Dell said. “He’s opening the trunk—he’s got the gym bag. He’s opening the passenger door. He’s got Tina; looks like he’s got to carry her.”

“Okay, bitch,” came Galipoli’s voice over the kel, eerily quiet. “Let’s get going.”

“The Coke boys are outside their car, across the street,” O’Dell said. “Galipoli’s got Tina—he’s pulling her down the street towards her place.”

“Waiting on your signal, Cap,” Kasak whispered. “We’ll be there in fifteen seconds,” Morrison said. “Cap, he’s almost to the steps,” Rivera’s voice came through suddenly. Morrison’s patience broke. “Take him down!” he shouted into the radio.
“Do not let them get inside!”

It was all the Coke brothers needed to hear. Neither of them had all-out sprinted in fifteen years, but nobody would have known it who’d seen them bolt from cover and race across the street. At the same time the doors to Rivera and O’Dell’s car exploded open as they too flashed down the block, leaving the doors open behind them.

Galipoli, just pulling Koreski up the first steps to her building, was just reaching in his pocket for the keys he’d taken from her purse when he was startled by a ferocious yell from behind him.

“Police! Don’t move, motherfucker!”

He spun in alarm, one hand reaching instinctively for the gun in his waistband. Before he knew what was happening, a mass like a thick sack of bricks slammed into him, knocking him off-balance. Powerful arms wrapped around him in an inexorable bear hug and Kasak had him off his feet, twisting him away from Koreski’s limp body as Marchioni
bolted in to catch her. Struggling one arm free, Galipoli tried to swing an elbow at Kasak’s head. Kasak ducked under the blow, swung Galipoli around and dragged him to the ground, where in another instant Rivera and O’Dell had his arms pinned and had secured handcuffs on him.

Galipoli’s gun had fallen to the ground in the scuffle, and Rivera kicked it into the grass before reaching down to pull a second from Galipoli’s waistband as Morrison and Simmons ran up.

“I imagine this one’s Tina’s,” he said, holding up the gun. “And neither one of them in a holster, huh? Just like the petty street thug you are, Lou—it’s too bad you didn’t blow off your balls with one of them.”

“Hey, hey,” Galipoli was gasping. “What the fuck are you guys doing?”

“You know exactly what we’re doing, asshole,” Marchioni said, looking down at him in disgust, “and you’re damn lucky we’re not doing worse.”

“Bullshit,” Galipoli managed. “You’re making a mistake. We’re on the same job—we were—we were on a fucking date!”

“Yeah, well, that may be true,” Morrison said, “but we happen to know very well what type of shit counts as a date to you. The woman’s unconscious!”

“She—we were drinking—”

“Save it for your statement, Lou. You already know your rights, so we’re not going to bother. Frankie,” he said, “Simmons and I are going to get Detective Koreski to the hospital. You and O’Dell, get this piece of trash back to the stationhouse. Mike, Leo, call up the local precinct for a patrol car to sit by his car until department tow shows up, then head back to the house. I’ll have McNamara and Garriga follow us for the time being, and we’ll all meet back there.” He looked down at Galipoli, who’d been sent into a sullen silence, and shook his head. Galipoli’s face registered little, but Morrison had seen his hands tense up when he’d mentioned his rights.
Typical bully,
he thought—
a big bad tough guy as long as he’s in control; but the second he’s backed into a corner, the real coward comes out.

Now to see what Alex Medveded would make of him.

39

It was convenient that Morrison and Simmons were already in the Bronx. Cops always knew the best hospitals in the city, and the borough’s Montefiore Hospital was right at the top of the list. Still, Morrison found himself as concerned as ever. Koreski was still very much out of it, and despite their interruption of Galipoli’s plans, there was no telling what effects his assault might already have had on her. Drugged victims, especially those with a prior history of trauma, had died under similar circumstances before.

They entered the hospital through the area usually reserved for ambulances, to cut their wait. The initial admissions process could wait—there’d be plenty of time for that later, once Koreski was being taken care of. A security officer approached them as they passed through the first set of automatic doors, then nodded in understanding when he saw their badges, still hanging around their necks from the takedown. He pushed a wheelchair under Koreski to receive her as Simmons set her down.

Luckily for them, it was an unusually slow night in Emergency. Seeing them approach with Koreski in the wheelchair, a nurse walked right over.

“What’s happened to her?” she asked, looking Koreski over for wounds. Usually when cops were rushed in like this, it was because
they’d been shot or stabbed.

“Not the usual, but maybe as bad,” Morrison said. “She’s been drugged—we don’t know what with. Seems like a tranquilizer cocktail, but we believe her assailant had planned to kill her, so it could really be anything.”

“All right,” the nurse said, gesturing over an orderly to wheel Koreski into a room. “I’ll have a doctor in to see her immediately.”

Morrison watched her go with a sinking feeling of helplessness. Simmons put a hand on his shoulder.

“Best hospital care in the city, Cap,” he said softly. “Come on. Let’s leave them to their work.”

Morrison nodded wearily. He had to make a call to Stan Rosenthal anyway; they’d need the ADA’s help to secure search warrants for Galipoli’s car and residence, and it would take a minute to bring him up to speed with their investigation.

“All right,” he sighed. “If you need me, I’ll be out on my phone—it’s high time we make this thing official.”

Louis Galipoli sat in the back of Rivera’s car, trying to ignore the cuffs biting into his wrists.

“You’re sure we can’t take these off, guys?” he asked. “It’s not like I’m going to run on you—
I
know I didn’t do anything, so I have nothing to run from.”

“That may be,” Rivera said, “but it’s not for us to make that call. You know—Cap’s orders. I’m sorry.”

“Of course,” Galipoli said with an understanding smile. “I get it. Just thought I’d ask.”

Yeah, keep smiling, motherfucker
, Rivera thought. Before the arrest had gone down, Morrison had arranged beforehand with him and O’Dell to go soft on Galipoli on the way home, so they might have a shot at getting something out of him later. Predictably, Galipoli had switched on his oily charm almost immediately, and had been pestering them the whole way home to take his cuffs off, open the window for
him, and so forth. That was the way with guys like him: never quite believing they were in the wrong, they always felt they could talk their way out of whatever shit they’d gotten themselves into. When they couldn’t, delusion was usually sufficient to fill the gap; this one was just willing to carry those delusions to other, extremer lengths.

When they arrived at the station, Kasak and Marchioni were right behind them. In accordance with another prearranged plan, Rivera pretended to take a call from Morrison so he and O’Dell could hang back, handing Galipoli off awkwardly to the Coke brothers to bring inside. He saw Galipoli snicker at their apparent lack of cohesion; Rivera could practically hear him congratulating himself on being the center of so much attention. With any luck, the ego boost would loosen up his tongue.

Kasak and Marchioni brought Galipoli to the rear door. Marchioni draped his jacket over his shoulders to hide the cuffs.

“Might as well preserve your dignity while we can,” Marchioni muttered.

Galipoli said nothing, but grinned inwardly in surprise. He couldn’t recall a single time either of the Coke brothers had spoken to him before tonight, especially with that kind of consideration. And the rear door, too—! Perhaps his charm
was
breaking through.

“You know, I appreciate that,” he said, as they marched him up the stairs. “But you know, you
could
just take the cuffs off of me—I’m not going anywhere.”

Kasak and Marchioni kept quiet. As they brought him into the squad room, he decided to try again.

“Come on, guys,” he persisted. “Take them off—or could you at least loosen them a bit? They’re on really tight.” He faltered on the shorter detective’s first name. “Kasak?”

Kasak looked over at his partner in mock deliberation.

“I don’t know, Mike,” he said. “Should we take ’em off?”

“Fuck him,” Marchioni said sternly.

On cue, Medveded emerged from the kitchen. On seeing Galipoli
in cuffs, he feigned shock.

“What the fuck’s going on here?” he asked the Coke boys. “Why’s Lou in cuffs?”

Galipoli looked quickly from Kasak to Marchioni.

“He’s under arrest,” Kasak said. “You know that.”

“Yeah, but he’s still one of us,” Medveded said, as though explaining something to a small child. “Surely you don’t think he’s going to run off?” He moved toward Galipoli. “Here, let me get those off,” he said quietly.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Marchioni said, putting out a hand to stop him. “You aren’t taking those off—this guy’s a fucking animal.”

Medveded pushed his hand away slowly, his face an impassive mask. “He’s
one of us,”
he insisted again. “And you know as well as I do that those cuffs aren’t doing anyone any good. These old-fashioned ideas of yours”—without taking his eyes from Marchioni’s, he removed Galipoli’s cuffs and tossed them on the nearest desk—“aren’t always the right solution. Now we’re going to wait in the kitchen—aren’t we, Lou?—until the Captain returns.”

Galipoli smirked at Marchioni.

“That sounds fine to me,
Alex,”
he said. “You see that I’m cooperative; lead the way.”

“We don’t know how long the Captain’s going to be,” Marchioni objected gruffly.

“It’s all right, Detective,” Medveded said, waving him off. “I’ll take responsibility for him.”

Having set the scene, Medveded walked ahead into the kitchen, placing one hand casually in his pocket and turning his back to Galipoli as he went. There would be no interrogation room or notepad handy for this one—that’d set off red lights even for someone as dense as Galipoli—and having already established a bond with his opponent, he wanted to reinforce it at every opportunity. Besides, Kasak and Marchioni were right outside, and if Galipoli attacked him, the small
blackjack in his pocket was more than ready.

But Medveded was sure he wouldn’t. Galipoli was a coward, and at this point, likely eager for any inside indulgence he could get. And Medveded planned to indulge him as much as possible. Since the operation had begun he’d been reviewing his notes, listening in on the radio and communicating with Sergeant McNamara about everything Galipoli said to Tina while they were alone, committing the salient details to memory in case he had opportunity to use any of them during their “casual” conversation.

Now the chessboard was set, and the real game could begin.

Once they were in the kitchen together, Medveded shut the door behind him, giving Galipoli a “just between us boys”–style wink as he busied himself with fixing a coffee.

“If you think I’m going to talk to you, you can think again,” Galipoli said, the smile still on his face.

Medveded looked at him sideways. “Did I say anything about talking? Relax. You want any coffee?”

Galipoli nodded, rubbing his wrists. “Yeah, sure.”

“How do you take it?”

“Light and sweet—like my women,” Galipoli scoffed.

Medveded chuckled lightly as he slid the cup across the table.

“You know, it’s funny you’re so suspicious of me, Lou,” he said. “If anyone here could understand you, it’s me.”

Galipoli snickered. “How do you figure that?”

“A few reasons,” Medveded said vaguely, “but mainly because nobody else would try. I don’t know if you know it, but I’ve been the one to speak up for you on a few occasions—the other guys pretty much all think you’re an asshole.”

It was the second time Galipoli had been reminded of this fact, and it nettled him deeply. Medveded watched him stare at the table, his indignation overpowering his sense.
It doesn’t even occur to him that the two people who’ve told him that tonight might be the people who hate him the most,
he thought.

“I mean,
I
don’t,” Medveded said. “But then, I haven’t always gotten along with all of them either.”

“Fuck them,” Galipoli sniffed. “They’re morons. I don’t care what anyone thinks of me; I know who I am.”

“That’s good,” Medveded said approvingly. “It’s not a common quality, especially among people in this line of work.” He leaned in over his coffee. “You know, Lou, I don’t miss much,” he said.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Galipoli demanded.

Time to take a chance. Medveded glanced at the door ever so quickly—just long enough to let Galipoli see he was doing it. “Only that I’ve seen your work,” he said, “and I’m impressed with what you’ve done since you got here.”

Galipoli eyed him warily. “Thanks,” he said.

Medveded smiled knowingly at him. There it was—the weak point. In that moment, Medveded saw how Galipoli would crack. It would take a long time and a lot of statements as vague as that one to bring him around, but Medveded was going to get a statement out of him.

Some games, you just had to play right up to the clock.

Back at Montefiore, Morrison was hanging up from speaking to Sergeant Rivera, who’d called him for an update on Koreski as soon as the Coke boys had gotten inside with Galipoli. He was happy to have had good news to give him.

Tina was going to be all right. They still didn’t know what Galipoli had given her, but a few final tests were being administered to figure it out. In the meantime she’d been given fluids to flush out her system, and the drug’s effects seemed already to be lessening. Simmons was waiting outside her room, along with McNamara and Garriga, who’d arrived not long after they had.