Justice Will Be Served

By Thomas D. Williams

Violent crime in New York City had grown too much for the state’s criminal justice system to follow through with death penalties bogged down by the appeals process. Often, prisoners convicted of first-degree murder were given cushiony jobs while waiting for their cases to be heard. Lower-court judges were especially frustrated when they noted that several repeated offenders were “back on the street.” And it was primarily out of frustration that a secret organization was formed.

The Concerned Citizens Group (CCG) was composed of twelve New Yorkers whose prime purpose was to decrease the percentage of violent crimes. And the method that the CCG chose caused it to be targeted by the NYPD, the FBI, and the mafia. Over just eighteen months, the organization publicly announced—and carried out—the execution of prisoners convicted of murder in the first degree. However, when a crime boss was also executed, a $2.5 million reward was offered for the identity of CCG members. Does the reward work, or does it solidify the membership even more?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Feb 25, 2021
• ISBN: 9781664160613

Book preview

Chapter One

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The cold December rain had changed to snow flurries in New York City when Judge Hinton pulled out of the heavily secured parking garage beneath the courthouse. Even though he was only forty-eight years old, Roland Hinton could easily be mistaken for a man of fifty-five. Undoubtedly, the once-energized assistant prosecutor had been drained of the great enthusiasm he consistently demonstrated before his being appointed to the bench seven years earlier.

Merry Christmas, mister, said the African American woman who approached the judge’s new Lincoln Town Car as it idled at the traffic light. While holding a little girl of three on her hip, the woman held out her right hand and asked, Got any spare change? We sure could use it.

This was not an unusual scene to Judge Hinton. Homeless people often roamed around outside the courthouse on weekdays between the hours of four and seven to put the beg on going-home workers. Security personnel and street patrolmen had all but given up trying to keep these undesirables out of the area because the numbers had become overwhelming. Ordinarily, Hinton would have ignored the woman, but something was magnetizing about her deep dark eyes. He lowered the window and replied, Never mind the spare change. Both of you look as though you could use a good hot meal. The light turned green, and the impatient cabbie behind him sat on the horn. However, as Hinton pulled away, he yelled to the woman, If you’re interested, meet me at the Midtown Diner! While driving the five blocks for his usual cup of coffee, Hinton mused over his having actually invited derelicts to share his precious winding-down time.

Merry Christmas, Judge, came the waitress’s greeting as one of her favorite customers unfolded the New York Times on the booth table and perused the sports pages.

Oh, Merry Christmas, Blanche. The same, please.

A half hour later, Hinton braved the horrendous cross-town traffic because the snow was sticking. Plus, he didn’t want to get hung up at the tunnel entrance for the third time that week. As soon as the judge stepped outside, he saw the same woman and child huddled over a subway grating.

Hearing sob stories while dealing with criminal issues daily had taken quite a toll on Judge Hinton’s no-nonsense personality. He reluctantly recognized that his courtroom, like those of many of his colleagues, had become a temporary inconvenience for most of the convicted who stood before him upon being sentenced. Overcrowded conditions in the jails were mounting tremendously, and they resulted in having even killers being given ridiculously light sentences that were further abbreviated as conditions worsened.

Mister, were you serious when you promised us some food? asked the woman. Hinton scanned her with an air of contempt. Then he gave a reply definitely surprising to himself, Ay, what the heck. It’s almost Christmas. Come on inside. When the waitress approached the booth, Hinton stood up and took a $20 bill from his wallet and said while turning to leave, Blanche, give them whatever this will cover.

But when the woman saw that her benefactor was not planning to remain, she said, I’m sorry. We can’t accept your generosity after all.

What? ejected the judge with surprise, sliding into the booth. By that time, Gus, the owner-cook, had been signaled by the waitress and was peering through the order-shelf opening. For someone who’s begging, lady, Hinton continued, you certainly send out mixed messages! Then, stroking his chin slowly, he leaned back; and with squinting eyes, he said, I’ve seen you before, but I can’t pinpoint the where.

The woman smiled and said to the child, Kyesha, say hello to Judge Hinton. He’s a very nice man who’s going to help us make New York City a much safer place.

Beautiful thirty-seven-year-old Elaine Davis told her puzzled listener that, for the past three months, she had been observing various proceedings in his courtroom because he seemed interested in trying to make effective moves toward meting out sentences. She praised him for being tough on repeated offenders even though his hands were tied by the ineffectiveness of the criminal justice system. The more Davis talked, the more her listener felt mesmerized. However, little Kyesha fell soundly asleep during the almost two hours that her mother and the judge were busily critiquing the many facets of crime and punishment.

You should’ve gone back to law school anyhow, Elaine, and it’s not too late if—

I hear what you’re saying, she interrupted with a weak smile, but I have too big a load to carry around now, Judge, and I’m not referring to my baby but my monkey.

Your what?

Yeah, well, don’t act so surprised. I’m sure you come in contact with plenty of drug addicts in your courtroom. Look, I’ve been on cocaine for twelve years now. And up to five years ago, I was definitely in control. Even my study-group partners in law school never ceased to be amazed at how well I did on exams. Aha, I mean I used to write forever, Judge! It was nothing for me to fill nearly two blue books. Humph, I’ll never forget the mixed reactions coming from some people when they found out that I pulled As in contracts and torts. Yes, indeed, I breezed through those two years at Fordham. And there’s no doubt in my mind I could’ve graduated in the top 25 percent if I had completed that third year. So close—so damn close. Elaine’s voice trailed off to practically a whisper as she shook her head and took another sip of coffee. The guy I lived with lost his six-digit job on Wall Street because of inside trading. From that point, everything went downhill. We had to cut back on our lifestyle, including the high-quality coke that was costing plenty. You can imagine how long that lasted. So . . . we both, pardon the pun, fell through the crack.

Ah, excuse me, Elaine, but . . . uh . . . is your daughter . . . uh . . .

A crack baby? Illegitimate? Do you think she’d be less of a person if she were?

I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.

That’s all right, Judge. I’m happy to say the answer is no to both of your questions. Now, I think it’s about time for me to get to the real reason for my wanting to talk to you. Elaine leaned forward and softly asked, "Have you seen the movie Star Chamber?"

With a serious look on his face, Hinton replied, Excellent story! Too bad we real judges couldn’t do—ay, but that’s fiction. Why do you ask?

Because you, sir, are the ideal jurist we need to turn this city around. Maybe what’s necessary is a revolution.

Judge Hinton, looking quizzically at the woman, cleared his throat and said, Ms. Davis, I’ve enjoyed our little talk, but I really must be going now. Perhaps I’ll see you the next time you sit in—

Murderers reign supreme in this city, Your Honor, and the system is powerless! Yes, we need a revolution—I mean a real violent overthrow of violent crime! I saw the look on your face last April when, even after you sentenced Frank Crenshaw to death for killing those two people in Central Park, he smiled because he knew it would never be carried out. And the psychiatric bleeding hearts will have him cooling his heels in some nice country-club hospital where the sonofabitch will milk the taxpayers until he’s back on the street in less than twenty years. I’m telling you, Judge, those convicted murderers must be executed in a timely manner! And not only that . . .

Something seemed to hold Hinton riveted to his seat while the articulate woman graphically commented on the impotency and frustration that had covered New York’s criminal justice system like so much slime. When the speaker took a sip of water, Hinton seized the opportunity to inject, No doubt about it, Elaine, you’re smart, and I’ve really enjoyed our conversation. Maybe we’ll talk again sometime, but right now, I have to go. Perhaps—

Perfection, I’m afraid, is not for this world! That’s why we need the power of prayer!

Oh my gosh, thought the man of law, street religion.

Elaine remarked with a slight smile, I can tell by the look on your face that you don’t place much stock in prayer, even though your grandfather was a Presbyterian minister.

Shock registered across Hinton’s countenance. He wondered how this black woman could know about his grandfather who was the pastor of a small church in Springfield, Oregon, and who died without ever having traveled east of the Mississippi. Then he thought: stalker. That’s when anger replaced the shock. Okay, lady, just who are you, and what do you want?

The woman took a moment to lean back and casually push a couple of green peas around on the barely touched plate of food. Looking straight into the judge’s eyes, she replied, I can well understand why you’re upset. However, I’m not at liberty to explain everything. But I will tell you this much, Roland Hinton. If you really want to make an enormous contribution toward saving this city, you have to pray to God to show you the way. We were told almost a year ago that you are the chosen one, and I was directed to observe how you handled cases.

Judge Hinton was not only disgusted that he allowed his precious downtime to be wasted by this woman obviously trying to set him up for some scam but also embarrassed by the queer glances he was getting from others in the diner. As he drove through the Holland Tunnel on his way home to Jersey City, Hinton thought about the mysterious woman who interrupted his routine. More importantly, he wondered how and why she knew so much about his grandfather.

Good evening, Judge, came the security clerk’s greeting when Hinton strode to the express elevator that would take him up to his lavishly furnished penthouse apartment overlooking the Hudson River.

Good evening, Bill. Hey, how did you like the way the Knicks ambushed the Nets last night?

I didn’t. But the season’s young. Let’s see what happens around the middle of February!

Entering an empty apartment was nothing new to Hinton since his wife died of cancer twelve years before. Lights of the New York skyline partially illuminated the huge living room. The first stop was the kitchen where he opened the refrigerator and found, much to his delight, a bowl of lobster salad that Mrs. Cassidy, the cleaning lady-cook, had made for him. The next stop was the master’s bedroom where he touched the play button of the answering machine on his way to the bathroom.

Message: Hi, Dad, Grace and I want you to come over for Christmas dinner. I just discovered this afternoon that I’m not scheduled to be on duty, so we think that alone is a great reason to celebrate. I know this is short notice, Dad, but please come anyhow, okay? Call me when you get in. I’ll be here at the hospital ’til eleven.

Twenty-six-year-old Craig Hinton, Roland and Laurie’s only child and a second-year intern at Columbia Presbyterian Hospital, had recently married his girlfriend who was already three months pregnant. Since Craig and his father had always enjoyed a close relationship, it wasn’t at all difficult for the three to reach an accord. Judge Hinton performed the marriage ceremony in his chambers.

Trying to extract some semblance of enjoyment outside of the seemingly meaningless procedures that went on in court was considerably limited for Roland. That was why, for the past five years, he had purchased season tickets to the Giants, Knicks, and Mets home games for himself and his son.

Nah, Dad, that’s not necessary, Craig said, bracing the telephone receiver with his left shoulder while signing forms placed on the counter by a nurse. Believe me, Grace has improved a heckuva lot since then! Hold a sec, Dad. Graig then turned to the nurse and said,

Add five cc’s to this one, Maria. He needs it. Oh, and tell Mrs. Elkinson I’ll be in to see her shortly.

A broad smile radiated across the petite Filipino’s face while replying, Dr. Hinton, you’ve just made my night, because she is definitely hard to please.

The young intern picked up the receiver again and said, Okay, Dad, I was about to say Grace is really interested in showing you how much she’s learned since the Thanksgiving dinner. Uh-huh . . . and guess what’s on the menu. No . . . nope . . . eh, you’d never get it. Are you ready for this? Goose—a twelve pounder! Well, believe it! Oh, and, Dad, please bring Pamela. When Roland hung up, he felt a wave of rejuvenation flow through his body. Nowhere in the galaxy was there a happier or prouder father.

Following the untimely death of his mother, Craig picked up the pieces of his fourteen-year-old life and moved on with unusual stamina and greater dedication of purpose. Not that he had not been holding his academically at Canterbury, a prestigious New England prep school, but Craig seemed to have garnered unlimited determination to make his father even prouder. After completing twelfth grade at sixteen, he enrolled at Tufts University and graduated with an A-minus average. Of the three medical schools where he was accepted, Craig chose New York University so he could be close to his father. Although young Hinton studied hard and did well, he still dated girls whose parents were listed high in the social register. Yet Craig fell in love with one who was definitely not in the social register: Grace Kingsley of Abilene, Texas. The twenty-two-year-old raven-haired, blue-eyed beauty had been in New York City less than three months when she met Craig. Grace was the salesperson who waited on him at Tiffany’s. And ten months later, they were married.

Dr. Hinton glanced at the dashboard clock—a couple of minutes ’til midnight. Traffic on the Long Island Expressway was rather light, and he enjoyed zipping along while listening to his favorite talk show, Buzz Wendy. Craig was still chuckling over a humorous reply to a caller’s question when the nightmarish pop of a blowout interrupted the atmosphere. Then he thought how stupid it was of him not to have bought four new tires instead of one after the same thing happened in October when he and Grace were driving home from a party in Scarsdale.

Twenty minutes later, Craig had put on the spare and was tightening the lugs. He had no idea that his plight was being observed by three youths who had climbed over the chain-link fence.

Okay, guys, let’s do it.

When Dr. Hinton finally saw them, they had come down the embankment and were heading toward him. He sensed trouble.

Hey, man, you need some help? asked another as the distance closed to less than thirty yards.

Ah, no, Craig responded, but thanks anyhow.

Although the temperature was a bone-chilling nineteen degrees, the young doctor suddenly felt rivulets of perspiration ooze from his armpits. He had heard too many horror stories about a carjacking on the LIE not to be genuinely concerned about his present situation, especially when one of the guys nosed around the opened trunk. Craig’s grip on the lug wrench tightened even more as he quickly stood up. Adrenaline was gushing, and the wide-eyed doctor was ready to fight or take flight. Then the trio’s apparent leader said something that eased the mounting tension, Say, man, I know what you’re thinking, but we didn’t come down here to hurt you or jack your ride. Hell, we’re like them guardian angels! Me and the guys help people who break down on this part of the expressway since it passes right through our neighborhood.

One of the others then added, It’s Christmastime, man, and we’re just trying to make a little bread for the table, ya know? Hey, but that’s all right if you don’t need us.

On hearing these nonthreatening words, Craig was pleasantly surprised; and he sort of relaxed his defensive posture, especially when the speaker said, Okay, fellas, let’s split. We ain’t needed here after all. Enjoy the rest of the night, man.

Now, the young physician felt not only relieved but also somewhat embarrassed as the trio slowly backed away and started up the embankment. Hey, wait a minute, guys, he called, placing the lug wrench on the ground and reaching into his pocket, Oh, hell, it’s Yuletide! Let me give you something anyhow.

Before turning around, the leader whispered to his smiling companions, Gotcha. Works every time. Okay, right after the next car passes.

Craig, while offering a $10 bill and apologizing for showing suspicion, did not notice he was being surrounded. The doctor felt a sharp pain in his back. Within the next twenty seconds, the thugs took their victim’s wallet and car after stabbing him six more times.

Fifteen minutes later.

What was that? the passenger asked when the headlights streamed across something lying just off the asphalt.

Probably another dead dog, the driver answered casually. You really have to be careful when—

Pull over, interrupted the passenger, peering back into sheer blackness. That looked like a person to me. Let’s check.

What? Joan, you’ve got to be kidding! It’s freezing out there!

Ted, please!

Dammit, all right, her husband consented, breaking to a stop approximately a hundred yards ahead. This is ridiculous! You’ve seen roadkills before—dogs, deer, skunks, raccoons—

Okay, okay, but let’s back up and see. Please, sugar.

I have to be crazy doing this on this black-ass road, he grumbled, shifting the Lexus into reverse.

2

The shockwaves had crashed against the shoreline of everyone’s mind. Funeral services for Dr. Craig Hinton were held five days after Christmas. Well over three hundred mourners crowded into Saint Paul’s Presbyterian Church. Judge Hinton, despite the utter devastation he felt, did his best to remain strong for both his daughter-in-law and his unborn grandson. Grace, still sobbing, clung tightly to her father-in-law’s arm as they emerged from the church into the driving snowflakes. The soft words of condolences spoken by mourners seemed to run together in the judge’s ear; however, he raised his head upon reaching the bottom of the marble steps. There was something unique about the sound of this voice that said, You have my heartfelt sympathy, Your Honor. Roland’s reddened eyes quickly scanned the crowd until they came to rest on the particular person who had spoken those words and was turning away. But he recognized the person immediately: Elaine Davis.

3

Twenty-nine-year-old Detective Carlos Rimirez, the newest member of the Sixth Police Precinct’s homicide squad, was ecstatic when Captain Timothy Kelly called him in and briefly reviewed the most talked-about case: the Hinton murder. Word was that headquarters focused sharply on this case because the victim was the son of a judge. And judges who hear criminal cases were considered part of the blue family.

Rimirez helped to locate the chop shop where Craig’s car had been taken, and things were looking up—but almost three months had passed since then. Although the shady owner, Vincent Costa, was busted for possession of the stolen property, he never spent one night in jail. Mr. Costa’s team of lawyers worked the system, so their client not only walked but also retained his auto repair business.

Instead of being out celebrating the wearing of the green, Captain Kelly was in his office discussing the latest progress in the Hinton investigation with the same person calling him at least once a week since January. Ten minutes into their meeting, the fifty-eight-year-old veteran tried one other angle to break the code of silence practiced heavily among known chop-shop owners.

Judge, I want to ask you a serious question, said Kelly, making sure that his office door was shut. Would you throw out evidence if you discovered that it was obtained in a manner not totally in alignment with regulations?

Hinton leaned back in his seat and replied, Ninety-nine percent of the time, yes, but it’s that 1 percent we’re concerned with here. Am I correct?

Uh-huh, you’re right, Judge. And I have to be assured that the Sixth won’t be shafted by the DA’s office. Roland knew that Kelly had a new lead, and suddenly, nothing else mattered short of bringing Craig’s killers to justice.

What are we talking about here? asked Hinton excitedly. Do you have something?

Not exactly, but I’ve decided to talk to a private investigator whose name was dropped on me at the awards banquet last night. His name’s Peter Ulinski. Have you heard of him?

Mind if I smoke, Tim? Humph, you’d never believe I gave ’em up right after my wife died. Now, I’m back to almost a pack a week.

Yes, I know Ulinski. But for the sake of not exhuming the past, let me assure you, Captain, I wouldn’t give a damn how evidence might be gathered about the case. I would still use every iota of influence I have to see that whatever he’s responsible for bringing in would stand up, regardless.

Good, Kelly responded, looking at his watch, I’ll contact him tonight.

Ordinarily, Roland would have taken some time to watch at least a portion of the Saint Patrick’s Day parade; but now he had too much on his mind, especially Peter Ulinski. Did Roland remember former detective Peter G. Ulinski? How could he possibly forget the hard-nosed cop whose methods of extracting confessions and other information caused him to be hauled before Internal Affairs several times, yet he survived.

Later, a young attorney in the Public Defender’s Office gave courtroom arguments instrumental in causing the District Attorney’s Office to drop a rape charge against Malik Evens, a drug pusher with many brushes with the law going all the way back to his preteens. The young attorney proved that Ulinski had stun-gunned and rubber hosed the twenty-one-year-old defendant to get the signed confession presented as evidence at the trial. Therefore, when the judge refused to accept it, the rest of the prosecutor’s case ultimately disintegrated. How the young public defender handled himself in court became a hot topic downtown, especially when Internal Affairs salivated at the opportunity to nail Ulinski once and for all. However, helped by his friends in high places, he was allowed to retire. Incidentally, that young public defender who was the basic cause of Ulinski’s fall was Roland Hinton.

4

Remember, Carlos, said Captain Kelly at the close of their meeting, I’m depending on you to work closely with Pete and to keep me informed of all progress.

Yes, sir, no problem, sir. I understand everything perfectly. But Detective Rimirez did not understand everything perfectly.

There were still several questions in his mind; nevertheless, he decided not to ask them. Perhaps it was because Rimirez did not ask those logical questions that Captain Kelly smiled and remarked as the rookie detective was about to leave the office, I know there’re some things that are not too clear at this time, Carlos, but when you meet Ulinski, I’m sure he’ll fill you in.

Being a low man on the totem pole didn’t bother Rimirez because he believed that, as long as he followed departmental regulations, his expertise would not go unnoticed. Maybe this was why he, unlike most of his colleagues on the graveyard shift, never complained.

Jack Napolitano, punching the computer keyboard, spun around in his seat to answer the phone, It’s for you.

Detective Rimirez speaking . . . Ah, yes, I used to live up there . . . Umm, say forty-five minutes . . . Sure, no problem.

When Carlos hung up, Napolitano, whose desk was head-on with Rimirez’s, laughingly remarked, Damn, forty-five minutes? Where the hell do you have to go for cryin’ out loud, Jersey?

What can I tell you, Nappy? You know how it is with these spooked informants. They’re scared. Before his partner could ask more questions, Rimirez was briskly moving toward the exit.

This would be the second meeting between the energetic young detective who enjoyed the prospects of steadily rising through the ranks within the department’s infrastructure and the laid-back old private investigator who still had a bad taste in his mouth from that same infrastructure. The first meeting of Rimirez and Ulinski had given rise to some serious but unspoken concerns in the younger man’s mind. Specifically: Why was he given this covert assignment to work with someone outside of the department? What was the real reason for his being chosen when every other detective in homicide has more time in grade? Why did Captain Kelly have him swear to secrecy? Why did the first meeting with Ulinski take place on a bench in Central Park?

Although these concerns loomed large in Rimirez’s mind, he felt it would be to his benefit to do what his superiors wanted him to do, regardless. And this ultimate decision prompted the young detective not to pursue his strong urge to ask around to secure information about Pete Ulinski. Nearly three weeks had passed since the first meeting. During that period, there was absolutely no contact, not even a phone call. And the mystery of it all was heightened by Captain Kelly’s never mentioning Ulinski’s name.

Rimirez looked at his watch. It was eight minutes past midnight and raining lightly. While he was driving through the area infamously known as Fort Apache, he wondered why the mysterious private eye would want to meet at El Carribe Cafe, practically nothing more than a hole in the wall owned by a reputed Peruvian drug dealer and patronized by Puerto Ricans. The heavy odor of marijuana stabbed Carlos’s nostrils as soon as he opened the lime-green door. The pulsating rhythm of salsa music thundered forth from the multicolored jukebox in the corner. In the other corner sat