"Cop Killer - Part 1"
© by John S LES
Introducing The Private iTeam
On an unusually cold night in March 2010, the New York City's police radio channels were eerily quiet. There hadn't been a single call for any jobs for nearly a full 30 minutes. It seemed as if all the criminals and street hoodlums had taken the night off in the nearly zero freezing temperature. However, that silence would be broken by a simple call for officer assistance. At the time no one could even anticipate that what sounded like a simple call for assistance would explode into a crime scene that would rock the entire city through a wide range of emotions for the next two weeks.
"Central, this is 14 Crime. I have a 10-85. I'm in pursuit of a suspect, last name Santiago, first name Victor. He's on foot, possibly armed. I'm at 375 19th Street near the corner of 7th Avenue. Subject is wearing a maroon puffy jacket, blue jeans, blue cap and sneakers and is trying to enter one of the abandoned buildings over here. Going to do a vertical at 375."
Tension from DeLorenzo's silence on radio immediately raised the tension in all the police officers listening and responding. Anti-Crime units usually work in teams or at least in pairs. In this case, this was a lone Anti-Crime police officer on the radio, requesting a casual back up. Then seconds later his voice had gone silent on the radio.
92 seconds later.
"Central to all units responding to 375 19th Street, be advised we have a citizen's report of shots fired at 375 19th Street. I repeat - shots fired at 375 19th Street. We have a plainclothed MOS in area with no response on. Possible 10-13, officer down. Responding units proceed with caution and advise."
An NYPD helicopter is nearby and speeds towards the exact location of the officer.
"Aviation 5 to Central, we are responding to that shots fired call. We are near 19th and 7th, we will update in less than 10 seconds."
"10-4. Aviation 5, this is Central, be advised we have an MOS reported to be at that area of the shots fired, requesting assistance - but we are unable to raise him on his radio."
"Aviation 5 to Central, that's a 10-4 we copy. We will try to raise MOS. Aviation 5 to Anti Crime 7 we are at your location putting the brights on, do you copy? Ahh - Central this is Aviation 5, we are 10-84. We are right over the corner of 19th and 7th Avenue, and we can see a man down. I repeat we have a man down. He's is not moving. Possible MOS. Roll a bus and sector cars - forthwith!"
Within a few more seconds, four patrol cars with their sirens blasting, pull to a screeching halt at the corner of 19th and 7th. The area is illuminated by their emergency lights as well as the helicopter's intensely bright spot light and whirring rotary blades.
"Aviation to the patrol cars on scene, be advised infrared shows no other heat signatures on the rooftops in your area, but do approach with caution. We will keep the area lit up with the high beam."
Under the high intensity beam of the helicopter's spotlight scanning the immediate area, eight police officers exit their patrol car with their guns drawn, looking around as they respond to the body on the ground. It was clear that the victim had been mortally wounded as a glistening pool of blood slowly spread from underneath his head. Two of eight officers immediately begin to inspect him, while the other six officers cover them. They can see the victims gun by his side and his NYPD badge hanging out over his jacket, via his neck chain.
"Central this is 129! Be advised we have a 10-13! Officer down! MOS is mortally wounded! We need a patrol supervisor and a bus here forthwith!"
"129, this is Central, we copy, we have a 10-13 - officer down. EMS is responding. ETA is 4 minutes. Do you copy?"
"Central this is 129 - we do not have 4 minutes! I repeat we do not have 4 minutes! MOS Injuries are life threatening! Requesting permission to take MOS in sector car to hospital forthwith! We need an escort set up from 19th and 7th forthwith!"
129, this is Central, you are authorized to transport MOS forthwith. Central to all responding units, 129 is requesting escort to hospital using 7th Avenue. MOS in transport."
Five police officers picked up the mortally wounded officer, placed him in a patrol car and rushed him to the nearby hospital, but it was of no use. Plain clothed Police Officer Anthony DeLorenzo was pronounced dead on arrival. All efforts to revive him failed. He was shot five times. Three times in his chest and twice in his head, execution style.
A massive police manhunt commenced for Victor Santiago shortly after the shooting. Up until that night, Santiago was only known as a petty thief and low, street level member of a west side drug dealing gang. Ironically, Santiago had lodged numerous complaints against the New York City police department for harassment. Now he was the number one suspect in the murder of a police officer. The whole city was abuzz for this Cop Killer...
That's how it all started. That was the match that lit the fuse that placed my little private investigation agency on a collision course with three powerful forces in New York City. The police, the west side drug gangs and a small band of dirty cops. That same night I was on the Upper Eastside of the city sitting in a mini-van, turned surveillance vehicle with my cantankerous uncle Xavier Bennit, or uncle "X" for short. He was African American and my deceased mother's youngest brother who was in his early 50's. Although you couldn't tell from his portly build, he was an accomplished martial artist in his younger years and was still an active teacher at the school he co-owned in Queens. He and his buddies taught me and my siblings how to fight when we were growing up in Queens.
As for me, I was the product of a biracial marriage. My father, Niccolo or Nick. Sr was born and raised in Brooklyn and my mother Gloria grew up in Manhattan. My name was Giovanni Jamaal Ferrari, or just Gio to most people, the middle child of three...an older brother Niccolo Jr. and our younger sister, Bianca.
Our "surveillance" vehicle was actually a souped up mini van that was parked on York Avenue. We were taking digital pictures of Robert Walters, a late 40's, wealthy, Wall Street hedge fund manager, who was kissing and groping his mistress, Heidi Sherman, in her Mercedes. Heidi was an attractive, mid 20's, cooperate tax attorney. My client for this surveillance job was Mrs. Linda Walters. Mrs. Walters had grown tired of her husband's dalliances and wanted to put an end to their marriage. The Walters home residence was the luxurious condominium building, 15 Central Park West, which was clear across the other side of town. Mrs. Walters had money to burn. She was born into money and married a successful man. The payday that she was going to give my agency's services was badly needed. I had to pay off a lot of bills for my high-technological upkeep, as I constantly needed funds to expand the amount of electronic gadgets that my agency could have at it's disposal.
My agency was the Private iTeam. I had taken the agency over from my father when it had a different name. Back then my father did a lot of insurance fraud investigation on the side after he retired from the police department with a highly decorated 25 year career and a gold detective's shield. He had a couple of brothers and extended relatives who also worked in the police department, including my cousin, Alex Valentine, who had recently been promoted to Chief of Detectives. After the death of my mother in a car accident, he just couldn't take working anymore. He wanted to stay retired and concentrate on the thing that mattered most to him, his children.
I followed my father and his brothers into the police department. I graduated from the academy in 2000 but, my life took a different turn after 9/11 when I signed up for Special Forces. After I came back from the Gulf War as a retired US Army Ranger, my father handed over to me his private investigation business. He felt that I could do more with the agency to help people where the police department couldn't. After the lessons I learned overseas, I agreed with his thoughts. I spruced up the agency by changing the name and used my military intelligence background to bring a more sophisticated electronic surveillance approach to the job. I also expanded the agency to be able to do personal bodyguard security on the side to supplement the slow periods.
I set out to get my rejuvenated private investigation agency out of the dark ages of atypical private investigation jobs like cheating spouses, runaway teens and stolen identities. I was looking to develop a more affluent clientele for the company and get us some more "sexier" assignments. If I could get a steady stream of clients who didn't mind paying upfront or in the high five digits, I would be more than satisfied.
So what were we doing in that bitter cold night of winter in January in New York City? Gathering incriminating evidence of an affair for the wife of a wealthy man. I guess I did improve our clientele base? But we were still working the same old type of case...a cheating spouse.
Our customized surveillance van had enough equipment in it to revile some small town police undercover units. But there was room for improvement. We just had the basics. A two person desk set up with 2 monitors, boom mics that looked like antennas that could be mounted on the outside and radio scanners to catch not only police, fire and ambulance radio transmissions, but we could also pick up unsecured police radio transmissions and some cellular phone transmissions. We also unofficially had wireless computer hacking abilities. I had an onsite mainframe at my office in Bayside, Queens. My backup site was located elsewhere.
"Gio, how much longer do we need to sit here photographing this Casanova getting his hump on with his mistress? I could be home right now drinking a cup of hot chocolate getting my own hump on."
"Oh, I say we stay here for just a few minutes more. If we can get a picture of him getting picked up by his private car and to the airport that would be the cherry on top of the sundae."
"In another minute we're going to be taking pictures of him dry humping Ms. Sundae. Aren't we good already?"
"Yeah, I guess between this and the text messages we have from the phone cloning, the videos, the audio from the hotel room - yeah I guess we can wrap this one up. So you'll get your $120 on Friday for the 4 hours of work today. I would never cheat my favorite uncle out of a nice paycheck."
"See now, that's why I always say good things about you, Gio. I don't believe a word when I hear people calling my nephew cheap."
We packed up the equipment and uploaded all information back to my office for review the next day. However, we couldn't help but have some concern over the alarming police radio transmissions that our scanner had picked up. It didn't sound good at all. But it was time to head back to Queens.
The next morning the police manhunt was all over the news. As I drove from my little bachelor pad, my Playboy like four bedroom house, to my office on Bell Boulevard, all of radio stations and TV news stations were abuzz over the shooting of Officer DeLorenzo. There were interviews with witness and comments from the Mayor, the Commissioner and DeLorenzo's wife, Christina, who was also a uniform police officer on the Upper Westside. His fellow anti-crime police officers and his wife were all grief stricken in their interviews. Even more importantly, it was announced in the news that DeLorenzo was the nephew of a Deputy Commissioner. Whoever this Victor Santiago was, he wasn't going to be able to hide out for too long. It felt like the whole city was being pressured to turn him in just to make the police happy to get their vengeance.
My secretary Martina "Marti" is half Italian, half Puerto Rican and 100% brains. She is one of the most mentally organized, strategic people I have ever met, a byproduct of her upbringing being the only girl and middle child of 2 older and 2 younger brothers. She gave me her normal rundown on the list of messages the agency received overnight. Out of the 20 messages I received for possible jobs only one of them stood out. I had received several phone calls from a friend of mine who had joined the priesthood while I was overseas fighting. Father Manuel Cabron had called me and asked me to get back in touch with him as soon as possible. I made a quick call to Mrs. Walters to let her know that the printouts for everything we had would be available for her and her attorneys as soon as she wanted them. She wanted to meet with me at her apartment at 15 Central Park West and bring her the folder on everything we had at 10:30.
My next call was to Father Manuel. He answered and asked for me to meet him at his parish, St. Emeric church over on east 12th street. He would not be specific, but he insisted that I come immediately. That he had information on something that would be worth investigating. When I asked him what could possibly be so important, he told me he had information concerning last nights murder of a police officer. I had advised him that he should turn over that information to the police, not me. "Gio, we've known each other for a long time...since high school. I could really use your help and unique insight to this situation."
At that point I had no choice but to make my appointment with him at 1:30pm.
It wasn't even 8:55am and now I had to be ready to cross into two completely different worlds. The rest of my team hadn't come into the office yet. When we weren't on assignments, or closing a case, we always showed up the next morning at 9am for a quick recap and briefing on the next assignment. But since I was in so early, I just took the time to go into my back office and pick out one of the four Armani suits I had hanging inside for such surprise occasions when I would be meeting with wealthy clientele on the fly. I changed out of my casual dress. By the time I came out of my office 30 minutes later, the rest of my team was in.
First in was Darren "Big" Briggs. Darren was slightly taller than me at 6'4, muscular, athletic and a retired Marine from Iraqi Freedom. Darren had a little bit of a past life of being a young street thug before going to a karate school in Harlem and getting his life together. He got his college degree and joined the Marines. His unit and mine actually did some work together overseas in Fallujah and that's how our relationship started. He was looking for some work to use his skills back at home, and I had an open door.
Next was the attractive, medium but muscular built, blond haired, Noelle Dobbs. She was also a retired soldier, but had been living the civilian life a couple years longer than Darren and I. She was originally from Texas, could operate and handle any handgun in the world and could speak five languages. The end result of being the daughter of a military husband and wife overseas. Noelle looked natural in a workout outfit or a pair of jeans and work boots. However, when pressed, she could dress up very nice.
Then there was the youngest member of our team, Chris Graham. Chris was in his late 20's and athletic but could still pass for a college kid. He was the son of an Irish police officer and was a Boston cop himself before he left the force due to political issues in the department. Chris was a complete chameleon of a person and could blend in with just about any population. He was also a master at disguises and accents.
Working at a location in Brooklyn was our part time team member, Dr. Grace Chong. She was an MIT graduate, former NYU professor, who had earned her PhD in the field of computer technology and artificial intelligence. When I came back to the civilian life and took a computer class at NYU, she was my professor. Our conversations after class lead to her helping set up and build the technological infrastructure of the agency.
Lastly, but not least was Walter "The Edge" Edgefield. He was a retired army intelligence cryptologist and master NSA code breaker. He was also my former counter intelligence instructor during my Special Forces training. Although he was not in the office and was too cryptic of a person to ever even step foot into our office, he was an important, unofficial part of my team. He just stayed on the outside and only stepped in when we needed big help. Whenever I ran into an informational problem...I could always depend on Edge to help bail me out. Just in his mid-fifties, Edge, had a lot of powerful protectors in his own life. He knew where a lot of important people's skeletons were buried because he helped bury them. His secret friends included the military, politicians, celebrities and law enforcement. He never stepped out of line, and he was never bothered either.
Our company attorney on retainer was the ever so beautiful, Ms. Aliyah Mitchell. She was tall, black and extremely attractive. When you looked at her, you figured she was a model, who just liked walking around town in power suits carrying a briefcase. That was a mistake a lot of people made. Aliyah was not just a pretty face. She was a court room shark and an indefatigable, litigious nightmare underneath that gorgeous smile. Because she was so pretty, you initially didn't figure her to be a Harvard and Yale educated attorney, who came from a family of attorneys down in Virginia. That is until your crossed her path. She made junior partner at a big time criminal defense law firm in New York and was every ready to kick a dimwitted district attorney's ass in court. Aliyah and I had the hots for each other, but we figured that if we got into a relationship it would destroy the business end of both of our jobs. So we played it as cool as we could.
"Okay everyone. Looks like the Walters' case has come to a close. Everyone, including my uncle X last night, did a great job. We're going to be receiving a nice paycheck from Mrs. Walters, so everyone is going to get a decent bump in their paycheck. I'm about to go into the city, hand Mrs. Walters what she wants and pick up her check. But this was really a great job on short notice. Thanks."
Chris walked up, "Hey boss, I think I should get a bonus for getting that video of Walters throwing a hump into that stewardess on his way from the airport last week? It wasn't easy getting those nails in his regular driver's car and then showing up with my limo like a Knight in shining armor all at the same time."
"Yeah, Chris, you're right, except your bonus is going to be offset by the cost of me renting that limo for ten hours instead of the four?"
"Uh, yeah, well...I did need to make an impression on my girl after work..."
"Denied." I deadpanned. "Equal splits for everyone."
Everyone had a good chuckle. I also announced that everyone could take the rest of the day off. It had been an intense 10 days covering Walters. We could look into some fresh assignments first thing in the morning as there were some cases pending that had additional big paydays. Then I mentioned about stopping off on the Lower East Side later and speaking with an old friend who was a priest there. Darren offered to come in with me just in case something might jump off, but I assured him that it wasn't necessary. But just before I left I did mention that I had a bad feeling about what Father Manuel was getting me involved with.
I got into my sparkling blue, Corvette convertible and took off to Manhattan.
As I was driving into the city, I told Marti that I wanted to go "On Radar", which meant for her to keep track of me via the three GPS devices that I had on my body. That was my cell phone, my watch and my belt buckle. All of my team members were outfitted with the same device combination. Our watches were two fold. Not only did they help track us, but they also acted as emergency microphones that could record and broadcast conversations from up to a 20 foot radius and wirelessly download to our servers.
Only Marti, Grace, Darren or myself all had the ability to remotely control these devices as long as they were turned on. When we didn't want to be traced, all we had to say was "Off Radar" and no GPS tracking would be done unless we initiated an SOS signal with our phone, watch or belt buckle at the slide of a switch. There were of course limitations on exact signal strength and work arounds for these limitation. But, the most important reason to have these devices was to be able to either locate and record iTeam members in case they were abducted or their would be killers attempted a sudden attack.
Since Mrs Walters wanted to hand me a check instead of paying electronically, I decided to go On Radar. Darren insisted upon heading into the Lower Eastside first and taking the temperature of what was going on in the streets with the police and the media before I got down there. Several hours later, his intuition would prove to be correct.
Little did I know that what seemed like a trip into two completely different worlds in New York City would eventually collide into one.
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