Murder by Contract

By Bill Coles

I wrote this book with the help of my wife Julia without whose help I might have died with it being only half-done. For this I shall be beyond grateful.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trafford Publishing
• Release date: May 29, 2014
• ISBN: 9781490737553

Bill Coles

Bill Coles has been a journalist for 25 years and was the New York Correspondent, Political Correspondent and Royal Reporter on The Sun. He has written for a wide variety of papers and magazines ranging from The Wall Street Journal to The Mail, The Scotsman and Prima Baby Magazine. For the past five years, he has been a tabloid consultant with South Africa’s biggest newspaper group, Media 24, as well as The Herald Group in Glasgow and DC Thomson in Dundee.

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© Copyright 2014 Bill Coles.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written prior permission of the author.

isbn: 978-1-4907-3756-0 (sc)

isbn: 978-1-4907-3755-3 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2014909547

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

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Trafford rev. 05/22/2014

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CONTENTS

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

TO THE READER

CHAPTER 1

A s I recall, it was getting late, and at three or three thirty in the morning there are not all that many people on the streets in New York City. I had worked late on this night and was damn tired and wanted nothing more than to get home and fall into bed. Here I am on July 3 walking home instead of taking a cab, which I should have done if I had any brains. I had taken the subway from work but had decided to get off one station before mine. Thinking I could walk the last four or five blocks would give me a chance to unwind. The night was cool and relaxing, and the moon was in its full stage. I did find it relaxing, and I was at peace with myself.

Walking down Washington Street, I was looking up at all the strange shadows that were being cast onto the buildings. Some people would say, Why do you work so many hours? and the only answer is I love my job as a cop in the city. Eight years ago, I lost my wife in an automobile accident, and since then, the NYPD has become my mistress. Contrary to popular belief, cops sometimes suffer from stress, and we all deal with it in different ways. Well anyway, as the expression goes, Another day, another dollar. As I was walking past an alley, my attention was interrupted by a moan. At first I thought it might be a bum. When I heard the moan again, I drew my gun and entered slowly and purposely, when someone ran past me and almost knocked me to the ground. Stunned for a moment, I regained my senses and tried to see who the person was that had just run over me. Stepping back out onto the street, I was too late to see who the person was, and in my mind I thought, Whoever he is, he is certainly in a hell of a rush. Just what could he be afraid of? After all, he had no way of knowing I was a cop. He certainly had the advantage, and if he were armed, he could have come away the winner.

Being a cop, I am normally suspicious, and over the course of time, this philosophy has certainly been extremely helpful, not only in the performance of my job but also in my own safety. I was about to continue my trip home when I again heard a moan come from the alley. This time I was uncertain as to just how many people were involved, and I started to investigate.

Moving with determination and softness, I reentered the alley and, within two or three steps, kicked something on the ground.

Please don’t hit me again came a cry from the darkness. It was obvious that the cry for help came from someone in need. I dropped to my knees, and my hand went out until I felt what or who was making the sound. Able to touch her, my hand then went up her body until it came to what was to be her face. Touching it ever so lightly, I heard her scared voice call out ouch, and with that, I withdrew my hand. Reaching into my pocket, I retrieved my cigarette lighter and gave the wheel a couple of flicks, watching the sparks bounce around like fireflies before it ignited. The flame produced shadows on the walls of the building that gave off an eerie feeling as they danced in their own space. The flame surrendered its light, and I was able to see that the woman was a beautiful blonde even though her hair was matted with blood as well as her face. I made her as comfortable as possible and whispered in her ear that I was going for help and I wouldn’t be that far from her. As I moved away, I could hear the soft, almost unrecognizable weeping coming from the prone body lying at my feet.

Stepping out onto the sidewalk, I looked in all directions before I was able to spot the beat cop and was able to get his attention. He came running, not knowing what I was making such a fuss about until I pointed into the alley and told him there was an injured woman that needed help. He shined his flashlight into the darkness, and at first, he was unable to see her until I redirected his hand toward the ground. By now I had withdrawn my shield from my pocket and identified myself as Detective Lieutenant Dan O’Hare. Get an ambulance and get it now, I ordered, and without hesitation, he responded, calling it in on his radio. I listened and heard him inform the dispatcher. This is Officer 1-4-7-1. I have a woman down at Washington Street near Thirteenth Street. Lieutenant Dan O’Hare is on the scene. Trying to hear his call and listening to the sobbing of this person was just a little too much, and I couldn’t help but feel compassion for her injured body lying among all the trash that had accumulated over the course of time.

Within a few minutes, I heard the wail of sirens coming from all directions. The first car on the scene was a Sergeant and his chauffeur. Getting out before the car had come to a complete stop, he asked to know who the injured officer was. The beat cop felt a little embarrassed since he had placed the emergency call. As he tried to explain, the Sergeant turned and, flipping his thumb in my direction, asked the beat cop, Who’s that?

That Sergeant is Detective Lieutenant Dan O’Hare. The Sergeant walked over and, as is the custom, introduced himself to me and gave a salute.

Lieutenant, I’m Sergeant Joe Higgins. What’ve we got?

Sergeant, if I knew, I would be a genius, but we have an assault. At least that’s the way we will report it until we get more information. Sergeant, I’m on my way home after a very long day, but for what it’s worth, I would get a detective out here. If they need any more information, they can reach me at the 4-5 precinct. That’s where I work out of.

By now the area was crawling with all kinds of police officers and not just from the local precinct but from all over the city. Apparently when the dispatcher heard the message, he gave it out wrong. He informed everyone that there was an officer down. That message went out citywide, and that was why the heavy response. By now the ambulance had arrived, and they were putting her on the stretcher and into the back for her ride to the hospital. As I watched, I could feel a tear form in the corner of my eye. Before they left, the Sergeant questioned the girl just so he could get something for his report. I stood there and listened until he was finished then reassured her that the police department would do everything in their power to find the person responsible for this. I gave her hand a squeeze and let it go. In reality I was very surprised that he was able to get any information from her. For the most part she was incoherent. Before I continued my trip home, one of the patrolmen came forward.

Lieutenant I think you should take a look at this. We just found her pocketbook and it looks like everything is still intact, nothing has been disturbed, could it have been more than a mugging?

The Sergeant came over to see what was going down when I turned to the patrolman and told him to turn the evidence over to the Sergeant. He was in charge now. Responding to the evidence, I told the Sergeant that maybe he should secure the area until they got a detective on the scene and to be very careful not to destroy any evidence. He looked at me with a quizzical look, and I explained that since this was clearly not robbery, it could be an attempted murder. Upon hearing this, the only thing he could do was to take a deep breath and mutter, Oh shit.

By the way, Sergeant, do you know where they took the young lady?

I believe they went to St. Vincent’s Hospital down on West Twelve Street. Lieutenant, before you go, I would like to thank you for hanging in with us, thanks again. Can I drop you off anywhere? Be happy to take you.

No thanks, Sergeant, I’ll just continue my walk and do a little thinking. I only live at Eleventh and Washington. That’s not that far. But thank you for the offer.

I had just started walking when it dawned on me that I would have to pass St. Vincent’s on the way home, so why not stop in and see what the doctors had to say? And with that, I changed the direction in which I was walking. Seeing the hospital looming in front of me, I aimed for the side entrance where the emergency room was located. Walking through the double doors, I was confronted by the nurse in charge.

Excuse me, may I help you? She was dressed in a white starched uniform without a stain on it, and a cute little hat designating her nursing school told me that she was not part of the working staff.

They just brought in a woman by ambulance that had been assaulted. I wonder if you can give me any information on her.

I’m sorry, but we cannot divulge any information about any of our patients. If you want, I can get the nursing supervisor for you and maybe she can tell you what you want to know. Although I seriously doubt it unless, of course, you are a member of the family.

Good, then let me speak to her and maybe she will be a little more flexible and understanding?

To you, the reader, you and I both know that I am just breaking balls, which I tend to do when there is no reason for a person’s smug attitude. I went to the waiting room and picked up a magazine and started to while away the time reading an article that I had absolutely no interest in when I heard a voice inquire.

Hello, may I help you? I’m Sister Monica. I’m the head supervisor at night. Just how may I be of assistance, Mr.—I don’t seem to have heard your name?

That’s all right, Sister, it’s been a long day, and I’m very tired and short in the temper department. Allow me to practice my manners. My name is Dan O’Hare, and to be more precise, that would be Detective Lieutenant Dan O’Hare of the New York City Police Department. Sister, you’ll have to forgive me for my bad manners, but try to understand. I have had a bad day, and to top it off, I happen to be the guy that stumbles across this poor woman who is the victim of a horrendous assault. And that does not make me a happy camper. All I wanted was just some simple information about a young woman that I had just saved.

Lieutenant, I understand fully. If you will come with me, I will get the information for you from the emergency room records.

Thank you, Sister, I would appreciate all the help you can give.

Speaking to the ER nurse, Sister Monica informed her that she wanted to see the records of the women that had just been brought in. Looking back at Sister Monica, it was obvious that she did not enjoy having her decision overruled until Sister introduced her to me.

If you had told me who you were, then we could have avoided all this mix up.

You’re right, and all you had to do was ask who I was.

Sister Monica injected her objections. Please, enough with the bickering. Can we get on with the job at hand?

She handed me the folder, and before I had a chance to read it, I realized that maybe I should read it in private. I became aware that this may have been an attempt on her life. Why, I didn’t know, but just in case there might be some credence to the officer’s opinion. I decided to take precautions.

Sister Monica, can I see you in private for a minute?

Sure, Lieutenant, would you come with me? She led me to an office and we entered; she pointed to a chair indicating that I should take a seat. Turning, I saw the chair she wanted me to take, and I also noticed the window behind it and was surprised that the darkness of night had given way to the beauty of daybreak as a new day started.

Now, Lieutenant, what was it that you wanted to talk about?

"Well, Sister, not to alarm you, but it is my opinion this woman was not assaulted but, rather, that an attempt to murder her was the intent. We found her pocketbook at the scene and nothing inside had been disturbed. What I am about to suggest is that maybe she should be registered as a Jane Doe and her real name be withheld pending further investigation. I hate to put this burden on your shoulders, but it is only a suggestion since I am not assigned to this case. But I am sure that there will be a detective assigned, if only as a matter of policy. Other than what I have just told you, I don’t want someone to enter the facility and