CHAPTER 01 / New Investigation
“The Greenbelt murder victims, Dennis Stewart, Benjamin Dalby, Tony McGuire, Aidan Dalby, and Boyd Rankin, they are all interconnected somehow. There is something going on here.”
FBI Agent Michael Janssen’s earnest declaration gave Assistant Director George Talbot cause to stop and consider what he was hearing. In the past, he was sure that Michael Janssen’s investigation into the mysterious markings found on these victims was not going to produce anything, but the connections by association that he highlighted were now just salient enough to make him reconsider that belief. Despite their separations by time and distance, they all appeared to have interacted with someone within a chain of victims and acquaintances who touched upon each other’s lives in varying ways. In Director Talbot’s mind, that was a strange coincidence that he could not dismiss.
Michael was sitting in one of two vinyl covered box arm guest chairs in front of Assistant Director Talbot’s cherry brown wood laminate desk. Assistant Director Talbot was seated in his modest leather office chair behind the desk. His certificate of accomplishments adorned the wall behind him. In square footage, the office correlated with the modest features customary with a civil servant job. Much of the wall to the right of the desk was a window with a view of New York City forty floors below. The carpeted floor, mineral fiber tiled ceiling and the paneled walls to the left, front and around the window gave the office an air of muffled insulation.
“And you think that Detective Tremaine has something to do with it?” Director Talbot asked after the pause.
“There’s something that she’s not telling us,” Michael returned somberly. “She worked the Greenbelt murders, Benjamin Dalby was working as muscle for Tony McGuire who was manufacturing ecstasy, they found a large stash of it in Albert Haynes’ apartment; the man that local authorities have identified as the Greenbelt Nine killer, and Aidan Dalby, the brother of Benjamin Dalby, tried to kill Detective Tremaine in Clove Lakes Park this past Sunday, and he was living just outside of Philadelphia where Boyd Rankin was killed,” he added enthusiastically.
The tangle of clues that Agent Janssen was laying out still did not add up to anything specific in Director Talbot’s mind, and he pondered that for a moment before responding.
“I don’t know what you’ve got, Agent Janssen, but I will open an investigation. And I will put in a request to Director Bailey to let you stay here and lead it. You can have Special Agent Mackie’s team when the okay comes in from Philadelphia.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
Michael turned and left Director Talbot’s office with an eagerness to get started. This new revelation had him feeling as if he was finally moving forward in his search for understanding how and/or why these murders were committed. Not knowing for so long had turned his solo investigation into an obsession, and he was eager to direct the full investigative resources of the FBI to the task of unraveling this mystery. The fact that he now believed that Detective Cassidy Tremaine had used his infatuation with her to spy on his investigation and possibly mislead him added an extra layer of intensity to his determination to find answers.
The FBI Assistant Director of the Philadelphia Field Office, Hugh Bailey, gave his okay to Michael Janssen’s temporary transfer to New York an hour later. The time was a little past ten o’clock Wednesday morning. As soon as the order came in, Michael went to work educating his newly acquired team about the situation. Special Agent Brian Mackie, the team leader under normal circumstances, accepted the premise of the investigation when the group was together, but in private he challenged Michael’s supposition that there was a hidden connection beneath these scattered killings.
“We could be looking at a fluke. Most of these victims are violent criminals themselves and half of them have been resolved.”
“We don’t have one living witness to these murders,” Michael rifled back. “And they all have unexplained markings that suggest they have something in common. Our job is to find out what that something is.”
Brian said nothing in response to Michael’s assertion. It was clear to him that the investigation was going forward no matter what he said or thought. He set his mind to the task in front of him with all the enthusiasm of an assembly line worker who was determined to complete the day by going through the usual motions.
When Michael came into work the next day, his focus was on collecting the information and testimonies he needed to formally interrogate Cassidy for the first time. He knew from experience that suspects frequently confessed when they felt trapped. Because of Cassidy’s experience as a detective, he knew that convincing her that telling the truth was her only way out would require overwhelming evidence on his part. The problem he saw with that strategy was the absence of a specific crime that he could attach to her. Michael was convinced that Cassidy was not telling him all she knew about these murders, but he could not rationalize a way for her to have been an active participant. Even with the McGuire and company murders, he could not construe how or why Cassidy could have or would have participated in that crime. The one offense he was planning to threaten her with was the crime of knowingly giving false statements to a federal agent. Up until shortly after 3 p.m. that day, Michael saw that threatening her as his only route into the heart of this mystery he was trying to unravel.
Initially, Micheal expected his meeting with DEA Officer Scott Harmon to be an inconvenience. Past experiences with visiting officers taught him to expect an hour-long discussion about an old case that touched upon an investigation that he or she was conducting now. Mentally, Michael was fully invested in investigating Cassidy, and anything that turned his attention away from that was an unwanted distraction. He was ready to be short and abrupt with Officer Harmon up until the moment he mentioned Anthony McGuire.
In the hour-long meeting with DEA Officer Harmon, Michael learned that the DEA was on the verge of rolling up a cocaine pipeline out of Mexico that went into multiple large cities in the United States. He was also told that a deep cover operative sent a report up the DEA chain of command saying a new buyer in New York City was being vetted by the cartel. That, in itself, meant nothing to Michael, but when Officer Harmon told him the middleman for this buyer was an associate of Tony McGuire, he became very interested.
DEA Officer Harmon reported that when they pulled McGuire’s file out of the NCIC database they were directed to Michael’s investigation. Officer Harmon reported that they did not know the name of this middleman, but that they might be able to get that information with some difficulty.
The prospect of getting his hands on a living associate of Anthony McGuire had Michael thrilled with anticipation. He knew that an inside man in McGuire’s operation could tell him who his enemies were, who killed him and why. That was information that Michael knew could blow his investigation wide open. There was also the prospect of getting information on Cassidy’s involvement with all of it. He knew if he could indict Cassidy with a specific crime that would likely force her to negotiate to lower the charges.
Michael could see that Officer Harmon did not want to go down the route necessary to acquire the middleman’s name, and that he was just following protocol and reporting a cross-connecting investigation to a companion law enforcement agency. Despite Officer Harmon’s reluctance, Michael pushed him to delay the DEA’s roll up of the pipeline just long enough to get that name. It took another few minutes of verbal wrangling to convince Officer Harmon to put in the effort necessary to get that name, but no promises were made.
“The pipeline comes first,” Officer Harmon insisted. “If we don’t have the name when the raid is ready to go, we go without it.”
Michael agreed to the terms and the timeframe he was given.
“The sting operation will happen in about a week and no later than two.”
Other than his hour-long meeting with DEA Officer Harmon Thursday afternoon, Michael spent the day setting up an inquisition with Cassidy. He believed this event had a good chance of producing a positive result. He had always been intrigued with Mrs. Ellen Richardson’s claim that she had spoken to a female NYPD detective several hours before Jeremiah Kingston’s body was found inside his burnt-out house. He read the NYPD case file on Jeremiah’s murder and found that the investigating detectives were dubious about Mrs. Richardson’s claims. The elderly lady was unable to recall any specific details about the woman she spoke to, and she frequently detoured into irrelevant babble. Michael’s plan today was to cut through the talk and get a definitive answer to his questions: Did Mrs. Richardson actually speak to a woman claiming to be an NYPD detective prior to the fire? And was that woman Detective Cassidy Tremaine?
When Cassidy arrived inside the Jacob K. Javits Federal Office Building late Friday morning, she had no idea why Michael had summoned her. What made that summons suspicious was the fact that it came down through her superiors inside the NYPD, and she was given no recourse for dismissing it. Her work assignments were put on hold, and she was excused for the meeting with Agent Janssen for as long as he required.
“What’s this about Michael?” Cassidy asked as she walked out of the elevator.
When Cassidy arrived at the ground floor reception desk, the officer at the desk called Michael and announced her arrival. He went to the elevator bank to escort her in.
“Detective Tremaine,” Michael acknowledged in response. “You have been summonsed here to participate in a lineup.”
Michael’s erect bearing in connection with his formal speech in this bare environment alerted Cassidy that this was a serious event. She hesitated to acknowledge this reality.
“Am I being charged with a crime?”
“Not so far,” Michael returned, impassively.
Cassidy took a moment to examine the man in front of her and the situation she now found herself in. She could tell by Michael’s demeanor that the familiarity between them was a thing of the past, but she did not know what was fueling this new temperament. Even if he did have cause to believe that she had committed a crime, it did not make sense to her for him to be so formal in his behavior. She quickly concluded that the answer to that question changed nothing and to get on with this event.
“Do I need a lawyer?”
“That’s up to you,” Michael returned.
“Fine, let’s do this,” Cassidy countered with temper.
Michael accepted Cassidy’s acquiescence without hesitation and led her into the lineup waiting room. Five women with distant similarities to her in age and appearance were already situated in the room along with a supervising agent. After Cassidy took a seat inside the room, Michael left the room and went back to his office to collect Mrs. Ellen Richardson. After leading her into the lineup observation room, Michael gave her a brief explanation of what was about to happen and what was expected of her. Mrs. Richardson acknowledged her understanding of the situation with as much enthusiasm as an eight-year-old let loose in a toy store.
Michael took a couple of steps back to avoid crowding Mrs. Richardson, and to position himself alongside NYPD Internal Affairs officers Ralph Unger and Joel Novak. Michael invited them there on the chance that Mrs. Richardson identified Cassidy as the detective she spoke to two hours before the fire that engulfed Jeremiah Kingston’s home.
When the lineup of young women filed into the room on the other side of the two-way mirror, Mrs. Richardson adjusted her glasses and began examining the six women with wide eyed excitement. She looked back and forth across the group several times with quick glances. After a fifth glance across the group, Michael moved alongside Mrs. Richardson and softly encouraged her to take her time. She accepted the instruction with a smile and continued to scan the faces of the six women at a slower pace. A couple of minutes later, she turned around, apologized and confessed that she did not remember what the young woman looked like.
“How about her voice,” Michael quickly suggested. “If you heard them speak, would that help?”
Mrs. Richardson acknowledged with a smile that hearing them speak might help her to remember. After hearing that, Michael told the agent supervising the lineup to instruct the participants to step forward one at a time and say the words, ‘hi, can I speak with you for a moment?’ After hearing that instruction from the supervising agent, the participants, sequentially from left to right, said those words, but it had no effect on Mrs. Richardson’s memory.
“I’m sorry, it was so long ago, and my memory is not what it used to be.”
Michael accepted Mrs. Richardson’s report and her apology, then he thanked her for her effort and excused her to go home. He then went into the lineup waiting room, collected Cassidy and ushered her into an interrogation room.
“Where were you when Jeremiah Kingston was being killed?” Michael asked after sitting across from Cassidy.
Michael was never sure that Cassidy was the person that Mrs. Richardson had described to the NYPD, but he always saw her as a good fit. Her location on that day and at that time was unconfirmed, but that was only because Cassidy was not a suspect back then. Now that he suspected Cassidy of knowing more than what she was saying, Michael was eager to assess that possibility. It was his belief that Cassidy was Mrs. Richardson’s phantom female police officer, and if she were, Michael knew he could use the threat of police misconduct charges to pry her secrets out. Now that he had nothing, he decided to adjust his tactics.
“Are you accusing me with something, Agent Janssen?” Cassidy sneered.
“I don’t know. Should I be?” Michael returned tactfully.
Cassidy took offense to what she perceived to be a smugness in Michael’s tone and rifled back her response with temper.
“I was nowhere near Kingston when he was being killed.”
“Where were you?” Michael asked flatly.
“I was working that day,” Cassidy glibly answered.
“You left early,” Michael returned sharply.
“As I recall,” Cassidy began as though she was having trouble remembering details. “CSI concluded that Kingston was murdered at a time when I was still at work.”
“It’s interesting that you remember that detail about an investigation that you were not working,” Michael countered suspiciously.
Cassidy paused to restrain her visible display of anger with Michael’s insinuation that she had an unnatural awareness of the details of the crime.
“Is this why you brought me here?” Cassidy asked with temper. “You’re trying to pin the Kingston murder on me?” she asked testily.
“I’m trying to learn the truth,” Michael fired back. “You’ve been lying to me from the moment we met.”
“How is that?” Cassidy asked dubiously.
“You knew about the puncture wounds,” Michael continued to assert. “You investigated those wounds, and you acted like you had never seen them before.”
“Those wounds were insignificant,” Cassidy returned.
“Don’t even go there, Cassidy,” Michael quickly retorted. “Dr. McCullough told me that you wanted to exhume Albert Haynes’ body because of those punctures. You lied to me when I first asked you about those wounds and you’re lying to me now.”
“You believe what you want,” Cassidy countered angrily.
“Is that why you were asking so many questions about my investigation?” Michael asked forcefully. “It was all a charade. You wanted to know how much I knew,” he argued.
“Is that what this is all about?” Cassidy countered with dismay. “I wouldn’t let you hold my hand in the hospital?”
Michael was caught off guard and stared with a seething response.
“Who is Evan and Christine’s friend?”
Cassidy was shocked to hear Michael speak those names and paused to consider how he knew them. It only took her a moment to land on the name Vera Washington.
“I give up,” Cassidy returned with feigned bewilderment. “Who are Evan and Christine?”
Michael was not put off by that response. He saw that Cassidy was unnerved to hear him speak those names, and that motivated him to inflict more fear.
“You talked to a friend of Evan and Christine through a burner phone that you fished out of a public trash can outside of the Met.”
Cassidy continued to feign bewilderment with a shrug and a shake of her head.
“I would think an event like that would be hard to forget,” Michael asserted.
“So would I,” Cassidy growled back.
Michael could hear in that response that he was not going to get anything from Cassidy on this matter and turned his attention to a new tact.
“I know you know something about these murders that you’re not telling me,” Michael accused. “If I find evidence later that you’re lying to me, I will charge you with making a false statement to a federal agent. You need to talk to me now, Cassidy.”
“I think we’ve talked enough,” Cassidy spat back.
“I want you to sit for a polygraph test,” Michael said quickly.
“In your dreams,” Cassidy growled in response.
Michael was taken aback by the ferocity in Cassidy’s voice and hesitated to consider it.
“Are we done here?” Cassidy spat angrily.
Michael paused to consider the question before answering, “Yeah, we’re done.”
Cassidy got up from her chair and stormed out of the interrogation room without delay. Michael trailed behind her just long enough to see Cassidy step into an elevator, he then went back to his office where Detectives Unger and Novak were waiting.
“Were you and Tremaine in a relationship?” Detective Novak asked just as Michael sat down behind his desk.
Michael was not surprised by the question. He knew that Detectives Unger and Novak were watching his interrogation of Cassidy through the closed-circuit video connection that the office desktop was linked into.
“No!” Michael sharply responded to Detective Novak’s question. “We . . . I was invited to a mixer at Gracie Mansion. Cassidy was my plus one.”
Detective Novak gave Detective Unger a dubious look.
“This is not personal,” Michael asserted in reaction to the two detectives’ unspoken concerns about his motivation. “I was working this case two weeks before I met Detective Tremaine.”
“But she wasn’t a suspect back then,” Detective Unger countered.
“She is now,” Michael insisted.
“I’m not sure she is,” Unger disputed with a dubious shrug. “You don’t have proof of a crime that encompasses all of these events.”
“We don’t know who killed McGuire or Grasso, and we don’t know why,” Michael quickly countered. “And Mrs. Richardson has never changed her story about a female detective questioning her about Jeremiah Kingston a few hours before his body was found inside his house.”
“And you think that detective was Detective Tremaine even though Kingston, McGuire, Grasso, this guy in Philadelphia, Boyd Rankin, have no connection to the Greenbelt Nine murders?” Detective Unger asked doubtfully.
“We have the puncture wounds, we have the drugs—the ecstasy, we have Aidan Dalby going after Tremaine to avenge the death of his brother,” Michael railed at the two NYPD detectives in front of him. “There is something going on beneath the surface here.”
Detective Unger shook his head in disbelief before responding to that recitation.
“It’s your investigation, Agent Janssen, and we’ll support it to the limit that we can, but we’ll need evidence that Detective Tremaine participated in a crime or an unethical act by NYPD standards to open an internal investigation on her.”
Michael accepted that answer as the best he could get. Without a statement from Mrs. Richardson’s identifying Cassidy as the detective who visited her three hours before Jeremiah Kingston was found dead, Cassidy was unimpeachable .
