Robert Tanenbaum: Enemy within

Four hours later, when Flatow tapped on the door and stuck his head in, Catafalco was just getting ready to leave, for the special investigations bureau typically kept judge's hours, and he had a number of errands to run, including, in just twenty-three minutes, an appointment for a massage.

"You're back already," said the bureau chief. "How did it go?"

"No problems," said Flatow. "The cops' stories were all the same, so we won't have any conflict problems or like that. Cooley, the guy, the shooter, was pretty impressive. He'll be a good witness. He's some kind of hero, too, is what I understand."

"Yeah, he is," said Catafalco shortly. "What about the homicide report?"

"I got a copy. The guy, Amalfi, wasn't that forthcoming. He said anything he had to say was in the report."

"You read it yet?"

"I haven't read it in detail," said Flatow, who had, in fact, hardly looked at it before shoving it into his briefcase. The notion of reading the report before interviewing Amalfi and his partner, Oscar Rivera, had not occurred to him. "Basically, captain gave me a summary report that has all the major facts."

"Yeah, that's good; major facts is what we want. The main thing is not to confuse the grand jury with a lot of ifs and maybes. You'll probably want to play down the homicide report itself, concentrate on the testimony. Follow their summary. That should be enough. In fact, why don't you give the homicide report to me; I'll read it and have a copy run off for you."

After Flatow left, Catafalco checked his watch and flipped through the homicide report. It was a good one, complete and detailed, although he did not study the details. He did not have to. If a chief inspector called to tell special investigations that nothing was amiss, then something was very much amiss, indeed. A major favor would be owed the DA's office and him personally should this one slide by as planned. He checked the part of the report that described the dead man. As Battle had said, not a citizen, not a fellow to be much missed. It was unlikely to draw significant heat. Now the only issue remaining was to acquire merit in the eyes of the powers, and to derive some sweet personal juice from the affair. He checked his watch again. He just had time to make the call.

Lou Catafalco was part of the last generation of catholic new Yorkers to have spent his elementary-school years entirely in the hands of nuns, and to this he attributed his difficulty in speaking extempore before a group. He hated any meetings at which he might be called upon to speak. He feared the slashing ruler still; and of all meetings, he hated most the one that took place every Wednesday morning in the office of the chief assistant DA. It was the meeting of all the bureau chiefs-homicide, narcotics, fraud, rackets, special investigations, complaint, appeals, and the six trial bureaus, which handled the people's cases in all criminal matters that did not fall under the rubric of the specialized bureaus. Here the chief assistant DA, the operating boss of the DA's office, in other words, heard about any problems likely to arise, and any complaints, and a description of what the particular bureau had been doing for the past week and would be doing for the week to come. Simple, routine, but…

The chief assistant DA did not much resemble Sister Mary Angelica (a woman who still made appearances in Catafalco's nightmares, slashing her eighteen-inch maple measuring device like a cossack's saber), being much taller, six five at least, and with a flat, hard, vaguely Eastern face. Jewish, too, rather than Irish, like Sister, and the eyes were gray with yellow flecks, not ice-chip blue. No, it was something about the look in the eyes, a look impossible to prevaricate against, an intelligence impatient with fumfering, with incompetence. His name was Roger Karp, universally called Butch. Catafalco had known Butches before, and they were all genial, overweight, happily stupid men. Why did he call himself Butch? To disarm probably. You didn't expect a Butch to embarrass you in public; a Butch told you to forgedaboudit and invited you for a brewski.

The meeting was starting, as it always did, with homicide. Catafalco thought this a little unfair. The position ought to be rotated so that everyone got a chance to be first. Special investigations was always last, except for complaint, which was a bunch of clerks and kids. Favoritism, and homicide always took up the most time. That was because Karp and the homicide bureau chief were buddies from way back. Karp never came down hard on Roland Hrcany, the way he did on some of the others. Catafalco didn't care for Hrcany either. The guy looked like an ape, for one thing, like a pro wrestler-huge shoulders, a jagged Neanderthal face, that white-blond hair, which he probably dyed, hanging down over his collar like some hippie. And he was mean, too. When Karp was on someone, Roland often put the needle in, too, sarcastic, contemptuous…

Hrcany finished talking about a case, People v. Benson. Karp raised a point about a possible violation of the confrontation clause. Hrcany said it was a Green exception. Catafalco tried to recall what Green was, as if he ever knew, and gave it up. Some Supreme Court decision. They seemed to enjoy this kind of argument, all the precedents vital to trial work seemed to be in their heads. He couldn't follow much of it himself. Instead he looked at his notes for his turn at show-and-tell. Neighborhood school-board corruption, a hardy perennial. Indictments were almost ready in two cases. A scatter of inspector bribes now in the system and being negotiated. All, he thought, would settle, no trials there. A continuing investigation into the taxi and limousine bureau, clerks taking bribes for licenses. He was fairly sure that would yield a sheaf of indictments. A bad cop in Inwood, Patrolman Martino. And the Cooley case, the Lomax shooting. Just starting on that one, but clearly routine. In and out.

He waited, mind drifting, while the trial bureaus and the other specialty bureaus had their five or ten minutes each. Then Karp nodded to him. He cleared his throat and began. During his presentation several of the chiefs excused themselves and left, pleading more pressing engagements. That was fine with Catafalco, although also unfair. It would be nice to slip out early himself for a change, were he not ever the next to last. As he spoke, Karp made notes in one of those pale green ledgers he used. Catafalco thought it unlikely that the notes were about special investigations. Fine again; he was almost done.

"… and we're getting full cooperation from the taxi people on this, a lot of good data. We should get at least twenty-one indictments, and I expect the whole thing to wrap up before the first week in April. Finally, a couple of police cases. We have Patrolman Vincent Marino, in that drug-ring business up in Inwood, we'll be bringing an indictment there day after tomorrow, the police are fine with that, a clear-cut bad boy, and Brendan Cooley, a self-defense shooting, no problems foreseen."

Karp raised his eyes and looked directly at Catafalco. "The Cooley? You've investigated this already? I thought it just happened Sunday night."

"Well, yeah, Butch, it was a very straightforward case."

"Really? That would make it unique in the annals of cop shootings." Chuckles around the table.

Catafalco made himself grin, too, and said, "Hey, sometimes it goes easy. We should be thankful and not make trouble for ourselves. The deceased's a known felon, a known thief. The officer involved spotted him in a stolen car and gave chase. A high-speed pursuit then ensued, during which the actor, in his vehicle, attempted to ram the police vehicle. Shots were fired and the man died. Straightforward. I fought the law, and the law won."

Catafalco smiled again with the small joke, but Karp's face was neutral as he asked, "He stopped the high-speed chase and then tried to ram?"