The Blue Executions

  The Blue Executions

  By George P. Norris

  Retired Sergeant

  NYPD

  George Norris retired as one of the most highly decorated police officers in the history of the New York City Police Department.

  Copyright 2014 by George P. Norris

  Published by George P. Norris at Createspace

  Cover Design by Suzala. Zuzala@Yahoo.com

  First Edition published 2014. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted or redistributed by any means without the prior written consent of the publisher and author. This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient.

  The Blue Executions is dedicated to my two children, Erin and Ryan.

  Erin is a phenomenally gifted writer, although I am not quite sure that she realizes this just yet. She has sat with me on many occasions, offering rules of the English language as well as applying her skills in editing for me at times.

  Ryan was the true driving force for me to finish this book and see that it was published. To see the pride in his eyes when he saw that my first novel, Exceptional Merit, had been published gave me the incentive to make sure this book gets published as well, if for no other reason than to be able to dedicate it to him.

  The Blue Executions is the second novel written by George P. Norris. His debut novel Exceptional Merit was published in 2013.

  EXCEPTIONAL MERIT

  Lieutenant James Keegan is a highly decorated police officer assigned to the NYPD’s Joint Terrorist Task Force. Keegan has solved many high profile cases during his eighteen years with the NYPD, including an imminent terrorist attack which earned him a personal thank you from the President of the United States. All is not what it appears, however, with Lieutenant Keegan. James Keegan has a double life in which he has been involved with the Irish Republican Army for almost as long as he has the NYPD.

  Set in 1995, Exceptional Merit will take you from the quiet back streets of Northern Ireland to the gritty streets of New York City, from an I.R.A. training camp, to the most inner workings of the NYPD. Keegan’s two lives come crashing together on New York’s largest stage, in front of a live televised audience, where Keegan must decide where his loyalty lies; to a job that he loves and the people of the city of New York that he has taken an oath to serve and protect, or to the cause of freedom for Northern Ireland which he has believed in his entire life. All of the while, Keegan is unaware his every move is being watched from within his own department.

  “There is no hunting like the hunting of man and those who have hunted armed men long enough and liked it, never really care for anything else thereafter.”

  ERNEST HEMINGWAY, "On the Blue Water," Esquire, Apr. 1936

  Prologue

  The written test had been an absolute joke; nothing more than reading comprehension. To think that I actually bought the study guides to prepare for this test. I should return them and get my money back.

  Michael Underhill walked down the steps leaving Bay Ridge High School, the same high school he’d graduated from over a decade ago. It’d been a weird feeling to be back inside the school taking the NYPD entrance exam. He no longer had the feeling of dread that he used to have when he entered the building. He’d endured four years of teasing and tormenting in that building by his classmates; even his gym teacher would pick on him for being overweight and not very athletic. Underhill had been happy to learn of the teacher’s firing some years back for inappropriate behavior involving a student. He got what he deserved, reasoned Underhill.

  Still, it hadn’t been a totally stress free day for him. Underhill didn’t care for the officer who was proctoring the exam. His name was Hoskins—Underhill had read his nameplate when he went to speak with him after the test. Having admired the officer’s badge-shaped ring, Underhill politely asked where he would be able to get one. Hoskins response was somewhat curt and obnoxious; suggesting Underhill wait until he sees if he passed the test before worrying about a ‘buff ring.’

  It was clear to Underhill that this officer was threatened by his intelligence. Officer Hoskins must have realized that one day Underhill will be his boss. If all of the promotional exams are as easy as the entrance exam was, Underhill knew that he’d make sergeant in no time. He’d probably be a captain within seven to ten years…and he’d be sure to remember Officer Hoskins name.

  He placed the pair of sharpened number two pencils in the inside pocket of his black blazer. The letter had suggested three pencils but Underhill preferred two rather than three. Upon exiting the school, he took a deep breath as he walked toward Third Avenue. The late morning sun felt nice; it was a welcomed relief after a particularly cold winter. The weather was mild, even for late April.

  This was the best Underhill had felt in years—it would only be a matter of time before he was one of New York’s Finest. If all went well, maybe sometime in 2013 or 2014 at the latest, he’d be sworn in. He’d heard people say that being a police officer was not a job you sign up for…it was a calling. Underhill never understood that until the previous September. Having watched the memorial service for the ten year anniversary of the attack on the Twin Towers, Underhill had an epiphany—he was to be a police officer. He would serve the people of New York City. He would be awarded many medals for his heroic acts and earn the praise and thanks of the public. Today had been the first step in fulfilling his destiny.

  He understood the process could take a year or more, depending upon the budget of the city and the competency of his investigator. He had no choice however, but to wait patiently. He knew better than to quit his job just yet. He wanted to since he was destined to be a police officer, but being a computer programmer did pay the rent. Computer programming hadn’t been a bad job for him, he liked the fact that he worked from home and therefore interacted less with those who were not his intellectual equals, but it would not be as rewarding as his career with the NYPD. He was certain of that.

  Underhill turned South on Third Avenue. The streets were filled with pedestrians and vehicular traffic, not uncommon for a warm Saturday afternoon in the springtime. Underhill glanced in the windows of the numerous stores along the avenue as he passed. He even smiled at a young mother, walking hand in hand with her son. Children should look up to the police.

  Underhill heard a commotion from above. He looked above the stores. On the third and top floor of the light red bricked building was an open window. It sounded like a couple arguing in their apartment. Of course this was none of his business; for now anyway.

  Pausing in front of a store front, Underhill studied his reflection in the glass. He brushed his thinning sandy brown hair to one side with his hand and adjusted his tie. He wondered why nobody else taking the test had been dressed appropriately. He was the only one to have worn a jacket and tie. Nobody else took the calling as serious as he did, Underhill reasoned. He even made sure the tie that he wore was blue, to show solidarity to his future profession.

  Underhill entered the police equipment store a few miles away from the high school. He’d never been inside before although he had passed it on an almost daily basis. He’d always felt it wasn’t appropriate since he was not yet a police officer. Today, having taken the test; and undoubtedly passing it with flying colors, Underhill felt it was okay to go inside. Looking around the store, Underhill browsed through the assortment of uniforms, toys and other equipment that the store had fo
r sale. He then noticed a jewelry section. They had a ring for sale, identical to the one that Officer Hoskins was wearing. He walked up to the glass display case to take a closer look.

  After a few moments of contemplation, Underhill looked up at the man behind the counter. “Excuse me, could you tell me how much that ring is?”

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  Chapter 1

  “ATTEN-TION!” was the command shouted through the megaphone. Every police officer in attendance fell silent, standing motionless as the motorcycles crawled forward to lead the procession. A somber drumbeat from the NYPD’s Emerald Society Pipes and Drums band could be heard in the distance. The hearse grew closer, followed closely by a black limousine. They slowly came to a halt along New York’s Fifth Avenue in front of Saint Patrick’s Cathedral.

  It was less than a week ago that Tommy Galvin had marched passed this very spot, along with the rest of the members of the NYPD’s Emerald Society during the St. Patrick’s Day Parade. That had been a much happier day. Today, the sun was shining brightly but the brisk temperatures served as a reminder that it was still March. The streets were crowded with pedestrians as they would be on any typical day in Midtown Manhattan. Except the pedestrian traffic today was confined to the west side of the street, opposite the famous cathedral. Galvin looked around and then up at the skyscrapers. He shielded his eyes from the sun as he observed the hundreds of people watching the funeral from the windows of the nearby skyscrapers.

  Galvin then stared at St. Patrick’s Cathedral, a symbol of New York City. He had passed the cathedral hundreds of times, yet he had never set foot inside. The cathedral took up an entire city block and its steeples reached hundreds of feet into the sky. The highly polished marble it was constructed of and the exquisite stained glass windows set St. Patrick’s apart from any other building in the city, thought Galvin.

  “PRESENT ARMS!”

  Galvin rendered a sharp, white-gloved salute in perfect harmony with the other seven thousand police officers in attendance. His navy blue, woolen dress uniform coat with shining brass buttons rode up on his body as he did. Throughout his ten years in the police department, Galvin had attended dozens of funerals for brother officers; however, this one was different. Up until two nights ago, Tommy Galvin had never personally known any of the slain officers. John Casey had been in the same company as Galvin in the Police Academy and had gone on to the same Field Training Unit afterwards. Although he hadn’t seen Casey recently, they were always texting and occasionally calling each other. They’d remained good friends throughout the years.

  Galvin thought back to the last time that he’d seen his friend. It had been New Year’s Eve three years ago, just before Galvin had been promoted to the Detective Bureau. Both he and Casey had been assigned to a plainclothes Anti-Crime detail in Times Square. They had had a great time that night—the weather had been mild, and not being in uniform had enabled them to have free reign on the area. He remembers how they had eaten dinner at the New York Times building and then snuck into a bar to have a quick beer. They’d celebrated the New Year together.

  After the detail was dismissed, Casey had insisted that his friend stop by his Upper East Side apartment and say hello to his family. Galvin could clearly remember how Karen, Casey’s wife, had been sleeping, but seemed not to mind the unannounced intrusion. The three of them had sat up for most of the night, reminiscing about their academy days. Galvin thought about Casey’s situation at the time. It had been quite enviable—Karen had retired from the Department with a three-quarter, tax-free pension after only six years of service. Her wrist had been broken badly after the car accident, Galvin conceded, but he doubted that it still impeded her day to day activities.

  “It still really does hurt sometimes,” she would protest when teased about it, but it was all in good fun. Galvin knew that between John’s salary and Karen’s pension, they were living comfortably. The pension afforded Karen the opportunity to stay at home and raise John Jr. With their second child due that May, the additional paycheck without her actually having to go to a job was fortunate.

  Galvin couldn’t help but to think about how happy they’d been the last time that he had seen them—he wanted to hold that image in his mind forever. The image was quickly shattered however, the moment he saw Karen and the children emerge from the limousine. Karen looked devastated. She wore a long overcoat to fight the cold March winds. Karen held her daughter in her arms while John Jr. was firmly clutched around her leg. Galvin couldn’t believe John Jr. was six and Lindsay was almost three already. Galvin became slightly sullen that he had never even met Lindsay. Galvin and Casey had often made plans to get together but they always seemed to fall through.

  A sudden gust of wind blew Karen’s dark hair from the front of her face allowing Galvin to see the dark circles under her reddened eyes. He felt helpless as he watched Karen hug an older couple for support—either her parents or John’s, Galvin figured. He felt guilty for not getting together more with his friend; though he knew it was senseless, it bothered him nonetheless. Even if he had seen his friend more often, there was no way he could have prevented him from interrupting the liquor store robbery. Galvin wondered what the last thing that had gone through Casey’s mind before his life had ended was. Had it been Karen…his children…or both? Or had it just been sheer terror, staring down the wrong end of a twelve gauge shotgun?

  The sound of the Pipes and Drum band playing Amazing Grace broke Galvin from his unpleasant thoughts. His eyes refocused on his friend’s casket as it was carried into the church. He watched as Karen, who held her now-orphaned daughter in one arm, and held her son’s hand with the other, entered the church behind the casket. Close friends and family filed in next, followed by New York City’s Mayor, and then the top echelon of the NYPD. The doors closed behind them as the funeral service was set to begin.

  “ORDER ARMS!”

  All of the officers simultaneously broke their salute. The next instruction that was given to them was to fall back in formation at 11:45. Galvin looked down at his watch—it was eleven o’clock. Most of the cops at the funeral would take this opportunity to go to a nearby coffee shop, or look around for old acquaintances they hadn’t seen in a while. Some would even slip into a bar along Fifth Avenue and raise a glass in memory of a fallen brother in blue. It was, of course, strictly against department policy to drink while in uniform, but most of the bosses on the job would not try to stop them after they had just lost a brother officer. Galvin was unsure how he was going to spend the next forty-five minutes. The only thing he knew was that he was sick to his stomach.

  As Galvin began to walk aimlessly up Fifth Avenue, he heard a familiar voice call out to him. “Tommy.”

  Galvin immediately recognized the voice and walked over, giving the man a hug. “Hey Uncle Pat, how are you?”

  Pat Dempsey was a thirty-two year veteran of the New York City Police Department and held the prestigious rank of Detective First Grade. There were less than two hundred first graders in the entire department and Galvin was very proud of his uncle. Although there was no blood relation, Galvin had referred to Pat Dempsey as his uncle for as long as he could remember. Dempsey had been his father’s partner and the two of them had been inseparable. It was a foregone conclusion that when Tommy was born, Pat Dempsey would be named his Godfather.

  “Tommy, you’re a detective now. Why the hell are you still bagging up? Do you need me to buy you a suit for Christ sake?”

  “I like being in the bag, Uncle Pat. I think cops should be proud to wear their uniforms. I don’t understand why so many guys hate wearing it.”

  Galvin smiled and decided it was his turn to break his Godfather’s chops. “Uncle Pat, didn’t anyone ever tell you that you get a pension after twenty years?” He looked him up and down. “You’re a friggin dinosaur on this job. Retire already.”

  While Galvin was kidding, he did notice how Dempsey had aged since he had last seen him. He still had a full head of ha
ir but it was mostly gray now, matching his mustache. He was meticulously groomed; never a hair out of place. In spite of the gray hair, however, Galvin knew that Dempsey was still in decent physical shape for a man in his late fifties and was still as sharp of a cop as there was in the department. As good as Galvin believed he looked in uniform, he felt Dempsey looked just as good, if not better, out of it. Dempsey dressed the part of a detective. He wore a tailor made black suit under his overcoat, which looked good on his six foot, two hundred pound frame. As the two men spoke, the sun caught Dempsey’s NYPD detective ring, just at the right angle to reflect a glint of sunlight in Galvin’s eyes.

  “Don’t you worry about me, Tommy. I’ll retire when I’m damn good and ready. I’m not going to retire and drop dead after five years like your old man did.” He put his hand on Galvin’s shoulder. “How’s your mom doing, Tommy?”

  “She’s alright, Uncle Pat. She moved down to Florida shortly after dad died.”

  “You make sure to tell her I said hello. Is she coming back to New York when they add your dad’s name to the 9-11 memorial?”

  Galvin was angry how there were still so many first responders—like his father—getting sick and dying from various illnesses due to the terrorist attacks from over a decade ago. “You know she will, Uncle Pat. They haven’t told us exactly when it’s going to be though. Probably early September to coincide with the anniversary of the attacks, I bet.”

  Dempsey shook his head in agreement. “That’s a safe bet.”

  The two men shook hands and parted ways, making their way back to their respective positions. There was a bustle among the crowd as they began to fall back into ranks. The forty-five minutes Galvin had been talking to his godfather made the time go by quickly. Galvin’s thoughts were now of his father, remembering the less prestigious Inspector’s funeral that he had been given less than a year ago. He silently prayed to his dad to meet his friend John Casey on the other side. Galvin lined back up with the thousands of other uniformed officers getting ready for the ceremony to start back up. He was careful to look to his left and right and to the person in front of him to make sure he was in perfect formation.