Vice Cop Ch. 12

"I do my job," Hudson said, "how I do it reflects my personal attitudes about justice. I want fast, total justice and yeah, sometimes I do things that my superiors don't like. I also have seen more action than -"

"Spare us the red badges of courage, Officer Banach," said his inquisitor, "it's been reported that what pisses off other cops the most is that you go outside your jurisdiction, even going into other states, to extract justice. Is this information accurate?"

"Yeah, so. I do what I gotta do. I haven't gone farther than New Jersey. I think of it as being very close by anyhow."

"They have their own Police Department, Mr. Banach. It's not up to you to do other people's jobs. Now then, I had taken a special interest in you for being so well-known in the force, despite your position as just being a vice cop and not a high ranking officer, But it seems that you have never known anyone to do anything suspicious or have done anything remotely criminal yourself. No one else has said a word against you other than their dislike of your behavior and attitudes."

"Well, gosh, I ought to thank them for being so nice, "Hudson joked.

"That is all, Mr. Banach."

SIX

Lexa was not thrilled about having to work on the case that involved the murders of the officers by a NYPD cop. Mason Holmes was a prominent detective and Lexa was his partner, so inevitably, they were bothpulled into the dangerous assignment as were just about every detective in New York. The nights wore on, and there was a feeling of becoming dangerously close to the truth.

Mason Holmes used classic tactics such as interrogation but because Internal Affairs had done a lot of that lately, he was forced to use other methods of investigation. He was acquainted with forensic anthropologists whoworked with F.B.I. and they had always hit the mark. DNA would be quite impossible to trace; the killer left no finger prints, blood marks or piece of nail or flesh. It was as if he did the job as skillfully as a hired hit man, which of course prompted some detectives to theorize that the killer, besides being a cop, alsotook on lucrative jobs like that of a hired assassin. Mason was at New York's F.B.I headquarters, with Lexa O'Neil, talking with F.B.I. and members of the forensic anthropologist group.

On a cold, metallic table lay the body of the first victim, killed about a week ago, identified as Officer Brad Ansom, a patrol officer in the Bronx. He had not been buried yetas examinations were being conducted to see just how he was killed. His body was pale and stiff andhe had a corpulent frame, his legs were severely bruised, as if he had been beaten to death.

On another corner of the room was the second victim, Officer Michael Lowell, a highway patrol officer who rode motorcycles. He was very young and his body was strong looking, even in death. He, too, looked as if he had received several blows. Lexa was disgusted by the bodies but maintained a brave face. Stronger than these feelings were here hatred of the injustice that had been committed, of the anger against whoever did these horrible things to fellow officers. It was very hard to believe that a cop had done this.

"I'm sorry to barge in like this," said Mason to one of the examiners, "but it's been gnawing at me. You said all the bodies indicate that they were beaten and bruised before death?"

"That's correct," said one of the examiners, a dark-haired, gray-eyed man in a white lab coat, "they must have struggled hard against the assailant. There was a definite altercation. It also appears as if the killer had some help. I doubt that no one man could do this, unless endowed with superhuman strength. I know that today men take steroids and bodybuilders look like The Incredible Hulk and probably could do a lot of physical damage; but the way these bodies look it is my theory that there was more than one attacker."

"That's a thought I had," Mason said.

"Yeah but the NYPD doesn't seem to share that theory," said Lexa, "everyone is so convinced it's the work of a single officer. Maybe the cop had extra help, assistants if you will. If that's the case, we should be looking into finding these people. Who would do this? Who would benefit from killing white male cops?"

"It is very interesting that only white males were brutally killed," said the anthropologist, "but not everyone thinks this is an act of racial violence. Black and white officers work together in the NYPD and there havebeen no rivalries or enmities that we know of. The 1960's Civil Rights Movement lead to blacks joining the NYPD in the 1970's. Many blacks even held offices and government jobs, even in the more racist Southern States. I have no idea what these vicious murders are really all about. Detective Holmes, do you know of anyone black officer who may have personally witnessed the transition between all white officers in the NYPD to mixed officers?"

"I can't think of anyone. All the African-American cops on our force are not old enough to have -"

"Lieutenant Isaiah Dante," Lexa replied, interrupting, "he would know. He's old enough. In fact, I think his background is closer to that revolutionary period than any of us. I joined the force in 1984. Dante must have joined around 1974. Before that, he had lived in Oakland, California. I'm sure there is more to his story than we know."

"California, Oakland," Mason repeated, "Yeah. That was a hot spot for racist activity. But of course, if Dante knows something -"

"We really need to talk to him," Lexa said, "unfortunately I don't know where he is right now. He was at the precinct during I.A.'s massive waves of interrogations. But after it was all over, he left. I think he might have gone to visit family or something. I have never been able to have a proper conversation with him so I don't know anything about him. It has always looked as if his only family is the NYPD."

"No wife, no girlfriend, no children, no mother, father. He doesn't go to any Church or is a member of any religion. He can't be put into a distinct profile. He's elusive. It's always been very odd. He doesn't even carry photographs. I think you're right, Lexa. He might know something we don't. As soon as he returns from wherever he is, we'll definitely talk to him."

SEVEN

San Francisco, California, 10am,

Hudson, wearing dark Ray-Bands, a gray blazer, white shirt and gray slacks, was hiding his face behinda "Newsweek" magazine. He was at the airport, having bought plane tickets to California, hot on the trail of Lieutenant Isaiah Dante. He had overheard a conversation between Dante and an anonymous caller from his office.

There had been something incredibly suspicious about the way the conversation had gone. Dante had talked in whispersand clipped, hushed tones, and was breathing heavily. There was something disturbing, evil, about theway he was behaving, as if trying to hide something sinful and criminal. Although Hudson had not heardmuch, he had heard enough to know that the Lieutenant was to take a flight to California, specifically to San Francisco. Now, of course, this could be nothing.

It was not uncommon for certain cops, high-ranking or not, to visit relatives or people they might have previously known for a variety of reasons. The odd thing was that this was not something he had known Dante to do, ever. The whole thing struck him as being very bizarre and suspicious. He spotted Dante as he got off the plane. Dante was not in uniform. He was wearing plainclothes, which Hudson thought was also very unusual.

In all the time he had known Isaiah Dante, he had never seen him off uniform. The cops on the precinct joked that he probably slept with the uniform on. Seeing him in a suitemade him look as if he were an entirely different person; as if he was a high-priced attorney. His face wascalm and cool, as it usually was, but this time, Hudson was certain he could see a little worry and vexationin his face. He was here to do something that was obviously very significant to him, or he wouldn't look soconcerned. The airport was very crowded. Hudson had never seen so many people in one place before, except for Times Square.

Valises, luggage on wheel, backpacks and crates dizzied him as they filled his eyes.People of all backgrounds up and about, whole families even. There was also something strange and a tad frightening in the air. Maybe it was his cop instinct. Something was not right. Why was Dante here? Whatpossible connection did he have in this part of California? He had never left New York, not that Hudsonknew. Was there a family member he came to see? A sweetheart? It was very thrilling to do this kind ofspying, although Hudson remembered Vince's words. If the Lieutenant had not done anything wrong, thenwhat he was doing was wrong, too.

But everyone was spying on everyone else these days in the NYPD.Even Hudson had been the target of I.A. investigations. After his uncomfortable public interrogation, helearned that two other cops were spying on him and had even learned of his address in Bensonhurt, Brooklyn. He didn't like that one bit. But he was almost sure that Dante had something to do with thecops' murders. His instinct now told him that danger lurked in this very airport. It was palpable but unseen.

He followed Dante from behind, from a bit of a distance, but his eyes were on him, glued to him. He followedDante who didn't once look back as he headed out of the airport.

Hudson had never been to San Francisco and he knew that he had really no reason to be here so he didn't bother to tell a single soul back in New York that he had gone to California. Everyone would find it strange as well. He looked around. An airport is an airport, he thought. But just outside was San Francisco and he was sure he'd get a good glimpse of it.The weather was cool, and the skies were gray, cloudless, and the sun was no where in sight.

The dreary climate was not unusual for San Francisco, but Hudson had always expected to find a bright, sunny,warm seaside city, since it was California after all. It looked as if it was about to rain at any moment. He realized he was dressed for warmer weather so he felt ridiculously out of place. Everyone else was in coats andtrench coats as well as warmer clothes. Hudson didn't realize that other pair of eyes were following him, that even as he followed Dante, he was himself being secretly followed and observed.

Before long, Isaiah Dante hailed a taxi cab. Damn, thought Hudson, I wasn't expecting that. Of course itmade sense. He wasn't going to talk all the way to wherever he was headed.

San Francisco had steephills and curvy streets and it was probably best for visitors to take transportation such as the famous trolleys or taxi cabs. But acting quickly, he took another cab which happened to be waiting for him right behind him. Unfortunately, he was not alone.

As he approached the cab, two black men, middle-aged, approached the same cab and looked at him with scrutiny and silently. It made Hudson very uncomfortable.

"Where you off two gentlemen?" said the Asian cab driver, a man with gray hair and thin build.

"Oh, we're not together, I'm following that cab that just left," said Hudson.

"We are doing the same," said one of the black men.

It was then when Hudson felt a strong and startling sensation in his stomach.

This couldn't be good. But it was probably coming to him. He had looked for trouble when he had been advised not to meddle.He got into the cab and the black men as well. They all sat in the back and said nothing. The cab driverfollowed Dante's cab as they left the airport. In view was the streets of San Francisco, sprawled out like a giant spider's web, a little city that could also be big at times, a city that had the most endearing charm about it unlike anything Hudson had seen in New York.

But everything in New York City was vastly spread out. Here everything had the semblance of being crowded and claustrophobic. Victorian houses that overlooked hills, seagulls flying and moaning in the air by the bay, and everywhere traffic of vehicles, trolleys and cabs. Up a hill they went into apparently the downtown area......

* * * * Hudson stepped out of the cab when the cab that Dante had taken made a stop in a street that overlooked the bay. He was nervous and afraid for the first time in his life and he couldn't shake the feeling that something terrible was about to happen. He had begun to regret following Dante. Perhaps this was just an innocent meeting between friends.

After paying the cabbie and approaching the street, he didn't notice that the two black men who had taken the cab with him were directly behind him. Making sure that no one was seeing them; and they were indeed in a somewhat secluded and quiet nook, they suddenly ceased Hudson forcefully. Hudson had no time to react or to struggle. They gagged his mouth with duct tape and put a blindfold over his eyes............

"He's a cop on my precinct," Hudson head Lieutenant Dante's voice in the darkness.

He was still blindfolded and it appeared as if he had been sedated. He was unable to move and was sitting on the seat of a moving vehicle. He heard four distinct male voices, all African-American. A fifth person was driving the car but he wasn't talking. Hudson had never felt more vulnerable in all his life.

"Why don't we just dispose of him?" said one of the black men.

"No; I want him to suffer. He's to be one of three hostages I wish to take from the NYPD."

"Is this for your own vendetta or for the glory of our Party, Dante? You know our leader King Samadi, the future head of the Kingdom, doesn't approve of petty revenge."

"I do this to show that we have strength and we mean business," Dante replied, "the NYPD has never been my true home. My heart has belonged to the Panthers. I can't forget how evil the white man has been to my people. My own mother died of shock when my father was lynched in Mississippi. I can't forget how cruel whites have been to me. Sure the NYPD was different but I relished only in the position of power. Besides, Samadi personally instructed me to do this thing."

"You are no longer a Lieutenant, you are only a soldier of the Kingdom," said another, "but are you sure King Samadi asked you to do this?"

"He did. I have to return to New York. My work is not done. We'll show the NYPD just how powerful we are and the American nation will see that we can create a nation of our own free of racism and violence"......

EIGHT

Lexa was back in Long Island. Her mother had fallen and injured her leg and required medical assistance. Lexa took her to a nearby hospital and saw to it that Katrina received full medical attention and that she recovered fully. It took a series of five days but before long, her mother had taken physical therapy to get her legs moving again.

Lexa was patient and Katrina enjoyed the time she was spending with her daughter, especially in the absence of her husband. They ate together, walked in the garden together and worked on planting flowers and plants, and ate out at some lovely restaurants.

Lexa enjoyed this time, too, but she felt very bad about leaving Mason in Manhattan. It was a very dark time for the NYPD and the killer who had targeted cops had not been found. It was still an open case and Lexa had abandoned her own job as a detective, taking more time off to be with mother which to some looked very irresponsible as far as commitment to the NYPD. Still, she had explained to Mason that her mother was experiencing some marital difficulties and she was now needing her more than ever. Mason, always understanding, allowed her to return to Long Island.

Yes, these were hard times. Lexa felt as if her father Emeric had abandoned them. Whatever issues he had, he kept to himself. Lexa wanted to talk to him seriously about his abandonment was doing to Katrina. But Emeric had also disappeared since he had gone ostensibly on a hunting and fishing trip to Vermont with his buddies.

Also gone was Hudson Banach. He had been missing for a few days. It was very unusual and unlike him to miss work. He had been the most dedicated cop in the precinct as far as anyone knew and now he, too, had disappeared. It was very scary. Banach was a cop and what everyone in the NYPD was whispering was foul play. A missing cop could mean he had become the victim of the cop killer. This made Lexa very worried. Her missing father, Hudson missing, what next?

She was sitting in her mother's armchair by the fireplace, which had not been made since it was now early summer. She sat there pensively but tried not to allow her fears to get the best of her. Katrina came into the parlor, fanning herself with a colorful fan that Lexa recognized as one of the accessories from her opera costume as Violetta in La Traviata. So apparently, even keeping mementos from her opera career was very significant to her. Somewhere in the house she might have some of the costumes themselves and or those gorgeous vintage gowns Lexa remembered her mother had worn in galas and parties where champagne was served and haute cuisine, parties that at the time were forbidden to her for being a child.

"Cecilia will be coming in to serve us some tea in a bit," Katrina said, taking a seat.

"Oh, I could use some tea right now," Lexa said, arousing her mother's attention.

"Why? What's the matter, honey? Are you coming down with something?"

"I'm very worried. I didn't want to tell you, mother. There are big problems with the NYPD."

"What's going on?"

"A murderer is on the loose and he's been after our officers. No one knows who he is. He seems to have some personal vendetta against white officers. He's most likely black, I can feel it in my gut. And I'm very afraid. A fellow officer who works Vice, named Hudson Banach has been missing -"

"Child, I hate to use my Southern mamma voice but I done tol' you and tol' you that it's not good for you to be a cop. When you first came to me telling me "Mamma, I don't want to be a pianist or opera singer. I want to be a cop, it stole the breath out my body! Times are getting dangerous. Please, honey child, why don't you just leave that line of work. I can help you with -"

"I have a loyalty to the Police Department," Lexa remarked, "and I don't want to leave now when they need detectives more than ever. They need all the help they can get. My biggest concern right now is my father."

"I don't think he's in any danger, child. He's just prolonged his damned vacation."

"I don't think he has. I think that his being an ex-cop might endanger him. Suppose he -"

"I am not going to think that way and neither should you, child. He couldn't have returned to working for the NYPD me knowing about it. He would have said something."

"I know that the NYPD is investigating the careers of former cops. I don't know if it's affected Papa. I'm so worried that he can fall victim to -"

"I won't hear anymore. Now let's see, if you're so worried, I think there might be a way I can help. I may not be a hot shot detective like you and your Mr. Holmes from Manhattan but I can sure try to make sense of this."

Lexa's eyes widened in surprise. Katrina got up and left for another room, and from the looks of things the attic. She had never gone up there herself but she knew instinctively that her mother kept valuable things up there, objects, pieces of furniture, clothes and and things that had personal value.

Cecilia the house-keeper and maid came in and set the tea on the table in the parlor by the fireplace. Lexa thanked Cecilia in Spanish and waited for her mother to to return. Cecilia excused herself and returned to her chores in another part of the house. Lexa wondered just what her mother was up to. Could it be that she could actually help her in such a dangerous case as this one? Did she know something that could form leads and clues?