Fury kac-17 Page 18

  Karp chuckled, too. "How about after the children are grown?" he replied. "Anyway, we need each other to achieve a common goal, which is to serve and protect the people of New York City. But it's obvious this relationship is not going to get better until we clear the air."

  "The air will clear when you leave," the guy with the Bronx accent shouted. Some laughed, but a few also demanded that their fellow officers "pipe down, let him speak."

  Karp used the break to launch into what Murrow called-and not always very happily-his "one bad apple only spoils the bunch if they let it" speech. Essentially, it boiled down to: It's not enough to be an honest cop if you know that the guy next to you is corrupt, not unless you do something about it.

  "I believe that the New York City Police Department is the best in the world and that the press concentrates on the few bad apples."

  "So do you, Karp." The Bronx guy again.

  "But at the same time, those of you who hate that kind of press, if you tolerate the bad apples just because they wear the same badge, you're no better."

  The last comment brought a fresh chorus of boos but he noticed there was also some applause. Karp looked over to the wings and saw Murrow with his hand clamped over his mouth as if he was about to throw up. "I KNOW most of you have never taken a bribe in your lives, not so much as a free coffee on a cold morning. I KNOW most of you have done your job day in and day out without stepping over the line. But that's not enough…"

  "Take a hike, Karp," the guy from the Bronx yelled again.

  "Shaddup, Archie, I think he's talking about you," someone else shouted, which stirred more laughter.

  "I don't care if you're pissed at me for convicting scumbags who happen to also wear that uniform," Karp said. "But who you should really be pissed at are the guys who sully their badges and yours with their greed or their laziness or their corruption. If you have a stain on your house, you're the ones who need to clean it up."

  "Yeah, what about your house?" the female heckler said.

  Karp knew what she was driving at. Everybody in the law enforcement business in New York knew that Marlene had a reputation for working in some pretty gray areas of the law. In general, the cops liked her even better than him; they understood her vigilante sense of justice. But it certainly made it difficult to point fingers.

  "What about the DA's office?" one of the union officials yelled from his seat in the front. "It seems to me that for all this talk about the so-called Irish Gang, which as an Irish-American I find personally offensive, there was some complicity in the DA's office. But I don't see anybody there in jail."

  The audience liked that one and cheered. It took a minute before they quieted down enough for Karp to speak. The question was a good one, but not one he knew the answer to yet. He suspected that the No Prosecution files forwarded by Kane and others to the DA's office had been ignored because Bloom, and certainly Keegan, had trusted their opinion and because it was easier. So far there was no indication, as in evidence of bribes or kickbacks, that would establish that a crime of malfeasance had been committed.

  "All I can say in that regard," Karp replied, "is that the investigation begun this past summer is continuing. We are following all leads, up to and including any that would point to wrongdoing by anyone in my office past or present."

  "Yeah, whaddya bet only cops will take the heat on this," the union official grumbled.

  "If a cop commits a crime that we can prove, he or she will be prosecuted," Karp said. "And if someone in my office commits a crime that we can prove, he or she will be prosecuted. You'll just have to take it-or not-on faith."

  "Not," shouted several. Another added, "We have faith in our own."

  Karp nodded. "Which is how it should be. I have always admired your loyalty to one another. But I think you have to ask yourself, what if a thief or rapist or murderer is one of your own, does he deserve to wear that uniform? I don't hire or fire anyone at the New York Police Department. My job is to prosecute criminals who commit crimes in New York County and that's what I do whether they're doctors or truck drivers or lawyers or police officers. Justice is blind, and justice can be slow. But anybody who tells you I'm anticop is not serving you, they're serving their own interests…you'll have to decide why that is."

  The crowd was silent after that last comment. "Thank you for your time," Karp said. "I hope there's a next time when you and I can talk about the stuff that matters, like working together toward a common goal."

  Karp turned to go and found himself almost face-to-face with Clay Fulton, who had walked out and stood with his hand extended. Fulton was well respected in the PBA, one of the guys who'd worked his way up through the ranks. Karp knew that his appearance onstage was his way of making a statement to the members.

  "More of them heard you than you think," Fulton said as they shook hands. "It's just tough for them to break ranks."

  Karp patted him on the shoulder. "Thanks. I understand."

  At that moment, one of the union flunkies walked up to Karp. "Mr. Ewen would like to speak to you, if you have a minute."

  Karp and his entourage followed the young man off the stage and through a door leading to a hallway. At the end of the hallway, Karp paused in front of a car-size photograph of the burning World Trade Center buildings in a frame, and around its edges were the names of the police officers who'd died that morning trying to save others.

  "Quite a list, eh, Mr. Karp," said a voice from the office to the left.

  Karp turned, and in the near dark of the room he saw the union president, Edward Ewen, a large, florid man, sitting behind a desk. With his bulging cheeks and bulging eyes, Ewen reminded him of a bullfrog. It would not have surprised him to see a long, pink tongue dart out from between the thin purple lips to snatch an insect, which was how he was looking at Karp.

  Karp glanced again at the photograph and names. "Yes, quite a list," he said. "I can't imagine the courage it took to go back into those buildings."

  "Ya know, Karp," Ewen said. "Sometimes ya sound like you was on our side. Then others, it's like ya got a hard-on for cops and think that the boys are a bunch of crooks."

  "I don't think of it as taking sides," Karp said. "I get paid by the people to prosecute criminals; it doesn't matter if they're wearing blue jeans or blue uniforms. If the NYPD doesn't like the black eyes from these cases, maybe the membership and the union ought to work harder to ferret the bad ones out."

  "None of the boys want to work with bad cops," Ewen said. "But it seems that every time one of you guys runs for office, you feel like you need to make a big splash in the newspapers by bustin' cops for ticky-tacky stuff."

  "Murder, criminal conspiracy, extortion…a little more than ticky-tacky," Karp noted.

  "No doubt. No doubt," Ewen agreed. "It's just that the boys don't see no one in the DA's office going down on this one, and you can't tell me…them…that Keegan and that other idiot, what was his name, Bloom, were squeaky clean and didn't know what was going on."

  "As I told 'the boys,' this investigation isn't over," Karp said. "If crimes were committed by anyone in the district attorney's office, we will pursue those charges as vigorously as we do the others. Now, was there something in particular that you wanted to talk to me about?"

  "I just wanted a little face time, Karp," Ewen said. "Personally, I think you're a good guy…heart in the right place and all that. I just thought that as one old campaigner to another I'd let you know that there's a perception out there that you're anticop. You need to do something about it, or even a supporter like me won't be able to persuade the membership to back you in the election."

  Karp rankled at the implied threat: play ball with the union or jump to the back of the unemployment line. "I guess I'll just have to trust that most of the membership can think for themselves and don't need to be persuaded by someone else," he replied.

  "Careful, Karp," the union boss said, narrowing his frog eyes into slits, "I'm not someone you want as an enemy."

 
"Neither am I, Ewen," Karp shot back.

  Murrow, who'd started to feel nauseated as the situation deteriorated, jumped in. "Hey, hey, in the immortal words of Rodney King, 'Can't we all just get along?'"

  Ewen looked at Murrow as if he were a fly he was about to snap up, but then he laughed. "Yeah, yeah, young man…sometimes a coupla bull-headed guys like your boss here and me, we gotta butt heads. But we all want the same thing, a safe city. Them guys out there, they pay me to look after 'em. I'm just trying to give your boss a friendly reminder that sometimes you get more with honey than a stick."

  "And we certainly appreciate that, Mr. Ewen," Murrow said before Karp could reply. He looked at his watch. "Oops, we got to go, Butch. You're supposed to pick up your sons in less than an hour."

  Karp had locked eyes with Ewen, but neither of them flinched. A tough old bastard, he thought, been around since Garrahy's days. "Yes, I believe Mr. Ewen and I have said what needs to be said."

  Most of the members had left by the time they were escorted back out to the auditorium. A few stragglers gave them dark looks, but there was one reasonably friendly face, that of Richard Torrisi.

  "Hi, Butch, good speech," Torrisi said, holding out his hand.

  "Yeah, I really wowed them," Karp replied, shaking it.

  Torrisi laughed. "Yeah, well, tough crowd but they're not as sheeplike as some people might want you to believe. I think most of them are waiting and watching. They won't be afraid to break from the leadership if there's a good reason."

  "Aren't you talking ill of your bosses?"

  Torrisi grimaced. "I suppose I am, technically. But to be honest, I think of the rank and file as my real bosses. I was hired by the leadership but to represent the members' interests."

  "I think a lot of us have been in the same boat," Karp said.

  "Yeah…hey, if you have a minute, there's someone else I'd like you to meet," Torrisi said.

  Murrow answered. "Sorry, but not really. He has to be somewhere in…," he looked at his watch, "forty-seven-and-a-half minutes."

  "That's okay," Karp said, "we've got time." He'd caught some sense of urgency in the union lawyer's voice and was curious as to what it might be about.

  Torrisi led the way to the back of the auditorium and an exit door that opened into yet another hallway. "This place has more secret passages than a Scottish castle," Murrow muttered. "If these walls could talk."

  "Just an old building with lots of cheap remodeling," Torrisi replied. "But you're right about the walls." He reached a door and grabbed the knob, but before opening it he said, "I'm sorry but Clay and Mr. Murrow will have to stay here."

  Clay started to protest. He was responsible for Karp's safety and his boss had a way of ending up in more jams than ants at a picnic, as his grandmother used to say. Murrow, worried about some unknown political ramification of all the secrecy, began to voice his concern, too. But Karp waved them both to silence.

  "Clay, I'm sure I'm quite safe. Even if the PBA wanted to shoot me, I think they'd plan it better than to do it in their own building," he said. "If you guys wouldn't mind getting the car and pulling it up to the curb, I'll just be a few minutes."

  Clay Fulton and Murrow stalked off, muttering under their collective breath. Torrisi turned the knob and led the way into a room. Again the lights were low, leading Karp to wonder, What's with these union types. Is it for mood or are they too cheap to buy more lightbulbs? It took a moment for his eyes to adjust; only then did he notice the dark figure of a woman sitting in a chair on the far side of the room. He glanced sideways at Torrisi, who spoke as the woman stood up.

  "Butch Karp, I'd like you to meet Liz Tyler. Liz, this is the district attorney of Manhattan."

  The woman said hello but, Karp noticed, made no attempt to shake his hand or approach too closely. It was Torrisi who spoke again. "Sorry about the surprise, Butch; I wasn't sure Liz wanted to do this until just before the meeting. But I think it would be good for you two to talk." He stepped back through the door and said, "I'll wait in the hallway."

  When the door closed, Karp was thinking how he would have liked to shoot Torrisi. What was he supposed to say to a woman who'd been through what she'd been through? No, I can't help you. He'd met thousands of victims, seen all sorts of injustices perpetrated on them not just by the criminals but also the system. If what Torrisi had told him at the meeting a week ago with mayor-elect Denton was true, she had been raped by both and was still being assaulted.

  "Sorry…about what happened," he said, immediately regretting it as insufficient. But she seemed to appreciate the sentiment.

  "Thank you, Mr. Karp," she replied. "Would you mind if we sat? I'm not real steady on my feet and, well, to be honest, looking up at you hurts my neck." She tried a half-smile at the joke, and he smiled broadly back.

  "Of course not," he said, taking a seat on the couch while she sat back down in the chair.

  As she adjusted herself, Karp used the time to observe. He knew she was in her forties, but she looked haggard and much older because of the dull gray hair and dowdy clothing. However, when she looked up and fixed him with eyes as green as a cat's, even in the dark, he realized that she had once been a beautiful young woman. But there was a slightly crushed look to the right side of her face, and the eye on that side wandered in its orbit sightless. She quickly lowered her head so he couldn't see her face.

  "So Mr. Torrisi tells me you might represent the city in the lawsuit," she said, "brought by those…those men," Tyler said, still looking down.

  "I…well, I don't know," Karp replied. "Ms. Tyler, please, there's no need to be ashamed. My wife lost her eye in an accident, and I haven't believed for one day that it ever detracted from her beauty. Like you, she is still beautiful."

  Liz Tyler looked up, her eyes wet with tears. She didn't say anything, but the way her lip was trembling in a smile, she didn't have to.

  Karp pushed on so as not to embarrass her. "I'm not sure it's the right thing to do…the district attorney representing the city in a civil lawsuit. It does sound to me like the city has an excellent chance of winning without my help."

  "Do you think so?" Tyler asked. Her voice held hope but fear ruled her face.

  "Well, yes, the truth is a pretty powerful defense…um, forgive me, but is it still Mrs. Tyler?"

  The question appeared to slam into the woman like a wrecking ball. She blinked several times and seemed to take several deep breaths before she could answer. "No. Just Miss Tyler, or better yet, Liz. I'm…I'm divorced."

  Karp blasted himself for not thinking quickly enough to have maneuvered around the question. He smiled and said, "Liz it is. And I'd appreciate you calling me Butch. Mr. Karp was my dad." It was an old joke, but it did seem to take some of the embarrassment out of the air.

  "Have you read the files?" Tyler asked.

  Now it was Karp's turn to be embarrassed. The boxes remained sealed in his office. In fact, he'd about decided to call Denton and tell him to have them picked up…that he just didn't feel he should get involved. "No," he said. "I haven't. To be honest, Liz, my forte is not civil law. The city would be wise to use someone else."

  Karp's answer seemed to deflate Tyler. "Oh."

  "What would you recommend that I do in this situation, Liz?"

  His question seemed to take her by surprise. She looked up and this time held his gaze. "Since we're being honest, I don't know. After the first trial, I tried to put it all behind me…and failed miserably. It cost me my family. But over the past four or five years, I've found a place where sometimes I can pretend that I don't even have a past. None of it. Not the good things, not the bad things. I have no memory of that…that day, except random snapshots in my head…"

  "You remember faces?" Karp asked.

  Again, fear on Tyler's face. She shook her head. "No, no…not like that. I meant the beach. Waking up in the hospital. That sort of thing." She moved quickly on. "My point is that I don't know that I really want to go through all of this again."
>
  Karp looked puzzled. "I don't understand," he said. "Why are you here then?"

  "I guess because Mr. Torrisi asked me," she replied. "He and his partner were so good to me following my…my…problem. So were the two assistant district attorneys, Robin and Pam. I would never have gotten through the trial without them going above and beyond to protect and support me as best they could. Do you know that Robin let me sleep on her sofa when I couldn't go home? They took some of the defense attorney attacks on me personally…like friends would."

  Tyler looked down at her hands and he saw the tears fall and splash on her fingers. "I wasn't a perfect person before my problem, Mr. Karp. I had an affair outside of my marriage. It was meaningless and short-lived; nonetheless, the defense attorneys found out about it and tried to introduce it at my trial. They tried to say that it showed that I was promiscuous and that explained why I was running by myself on a beach in the morning and maybe didn't try as hard as I could have to avoid being gang-raped."

  Karp noted the flash of anger. Good, he thought, she isn't completely beaten and will make a good witness…for somebody else.

  "Pam and Robin stopped them with the shield laws, so at least I didn't have to put my husband through that twice, a second time in front of a jury and a full courtroom. But, of course, the motion hearing where the defense lawyers brought it up was open, and so the press had all sorts of fun with it anyway. Between the defense lawyers and the press, they wouldn't let the wounds close and heal. They just kept tearing and tearing until I didn't want to go forward with it. I wanted to drop the charges so that I could run away-find some hole, crawl in it, and pull the dirt back in over the top of me. But Robin and Pam wouldn't let me give up. I needed them to be strong for me. Now they need me."

  Karp decided to play a little devil's advocate. "You told me that you don't remember the attack. What if the wrong men were convicted? What if the only one involved was Enrique Villalobos? Wouldn't you want those other men exonerated?"

  Tyler leaned forward so that her face moved back into the light. She touched the side that had been crushed. "There was no mistake, Mr. Karp," she said. "The men who did this have now made a mockery of everything those police officers and detectives, and Robin and Pam, stand for. If you knew these people like I came to know them, you'd know that I'm telling you the truth. Mr. Villalobos might have been there, too, I truly do not know. But the right men were sent to prison."