# 23 - Chapter Twenty Three. "It Hurts to Say Goodbye"

 

It Hurts to Say Goodbye 

Chapter Twenty-Three

“I guess we gotta take it,” Lieutenant Doug Boswell said. “It’s always like this. Just when you don’t want it, it happens. Your friend, the Siegel guy, that was him on the phone. Thinks he broke the whole case wide open. Still, no matter what, we got no choice. We gotta follow up.” 

“Jesus, man, you’re lookin’ all broke up about it,” said Sergeant Eddie Buckley. “If Siegel really has something, that’s what we want. Ya know, we wanna solve this thing. We been waitin’, we been working for this.”

“Sure, you’re right, couldn’t be more right.” Boswell’s eyes went blank, just an empty gaze as he leaned on the desk in front of him. “Thing is, it’s a matter of timing, always a matter of timing. And this time, bad timing.” 

The two detectives were at the 6th District station house, at the very desk in one of the side rooms that had become their workplace. It was late in the afternoon, and the station was starting to look and sound like a rodeo – noise, confusion, officers shouting or rushing between the cramped desks, some civilians lined up to ask for help, others lined up to get booked. 

“You’re confusing me,” said Buckley, shaking his head. “I got absolutely no idea what you’re talkin’ about.” 

Boswell raised his eyes toward his partner. “Okay, I’ll explain. Like I said, that was Siegel. He told me, last night he was at Gertie’s, drinking, sure, but also talking with the barkeep, the big guy name Clyde. Well, Clyde watches everything, and remembers a lot, too. He’s tellin’ Siegel he saw Faith with that guy Stanhope, saw ‘em together a bunch of times around May thirteenth, and even saw ‘em leave together.”

“That’s what we need. Sure, it’s just a beginning. We gotta make sure, fill in the gaps and all that, ‘cause all that might not mean anything, ‘cause it could backfire if we rush. But it’s a beginning, it’s a chance.”

“Well, now I’m gonna tell you the details.” Boswell grabbed a free chair from the desk across the aisle and sat. “When there was the raid on Orlov’s empire, the big operation in North Philly, and you know, I told you, Orlov’s the guy, the big boss. Well, I’m tellin’ you, that operation happened, and it changed a lot.” 

“Yes, and . . .  ?”  Buckley waited. 

“Well, I didn’t tell you the whole story about that morning. See, when I rushed into this storage room, I had the strangest feeling. Just the way McAllister was standing there, just the look on his face. I can’t put my finger on it. But it seemed the captain just shot Orlov, just shot him. And Orlov never really tried to kill McAllister, he just killed him, just like that. He killed Orlov, maybe because Orlov could reveal the captain’s game. Or maybe the captain wanted to take everything over. Who knows? They were partners, the two of them, ya know. The two of  ‘em ran that drug cartel. It was Orlov and McAllister.”

“Jesus Christ, can’t believe it. I just can’t believe it,” said Buckley, looking at his partner with a skeptical expression. “How the hell you know all that?”

“Wait a second. You’re gonna see.” Boswell went on, “And I told you, remember, McAllister wants us to arrest El Siegel. But I didn’t tell you what else he said to me. He said something, and he sounded like it was normal, just like it was SOP, but fuckin’ A, it sure isn’t SOP. He told me, if I ever cross him, I’d die. I wouldn’t know when or where, but I’d be shot.”

“I can see that look on your face.” Boswell stopped for a second. “I can almost tell what you’re thinking. But remember, McAllister and Orlov, they were partners. They were running the operation together.”

Boswell stalled for a few more seconds. The words blocked in his throat, and he had to force them out. “And I know what I’m talking about, you’re gonna see. We’re not talking about nice guys.”

More silence, more stalling. Then the words came one at a time. “Now, what I’m gonna tell you, I can’t . . . I wanna tell you I’m so sorry. I can’t tell you how sorry I am.”

He averted his partner’s eyes. “Remember when I told you I was in deep shit. Well, here’s the shit: I worked for them. It’s true. They were my bosses. I been on the take, on the take for years. It started small, next to nothing, and then it got bigger and bigger. Didn’t know who I was workin’ for. But still, I couldn’t stop it. I took the money. And now, I sure as hell don’t know what to do.”

There was a silence. Neither one knew what to say. Neither looked at the other. 

Boswell’s face was twisted in pain. He tried to speak but couldn’t. He pushed, and every word hurt: “I’m so sorry. I never wanted to. I just couldn’t stop it. I’m so . . .  ”

“Impossible. No one . . .  No one.” Buckley stopped, and then the damn broke. “I can’t believe it. You know what this means? We’re doin’ this investigation, we’re doin’ it together, you know! And guess what? You’re workin, for the other side! How the fuck, how the fuck could you? We’re workin’ together, and you’re really one of them! Shit, you know the trouble you’re in?”

Then the silence returned, and it seemed to last forever. 

Finally, their eyes locked. 

Buckley spoke first. “It’s just, like you didn’t trust me. Jesus man, all along, you didn’t tell me the truth. I’m sorry, I can’t tell you how much. Sometimes you acted . . . strange. But I thought . . . I never dreamed, this . . .  ”

“And I was, I’m ashamed now. It started years ago, when I was new, the new guy on the street. I just didn’t know what I was getting into. And then I couldn’t stop it.”

“Anyway, what you do is up to you,” Buckley said. “Really, it’s up to you. But I can’t stop myself from . . . Don’t know why. I wanna help you. I got an idea. I got an idea about what you gotta do. You really got no choice. There’s only one thing you gotta do.” 

More silence, and then Buckley went on. “You gotta come clean. That’s all. Man, you got no choice. It’s gonna be tough, real tough. Maybe you’ll have to do time. No, no maybe about it. You’ll do time. ‘Cause, ya know, think about it, you can’t be a cop, and a criminal, too. Think about it, man.” Buckley stopped. 

Then, like he realized something, Buckley spoke again: “Shit, I don’t know. I got no idea what’ll really happen. I know this is bad! But for the rest of your life, can you fix it? Maybe some day, some day you’ll be able to live without always wondering, always wondering who’s out to get you. I don’t know. I’m not in your shoes.”

Buckley couldn’t stop himself. “But think about it. We were there, at the big headquarters, we watched those Crime Scene guys loading all those files and computers and maybe even some phones into the vans, all the records. You gotta be in there, and McAllister’s gotta be in there, too. You gotta be the person comes clean first. You can plead, beg even. You can agree to testify. Maybe you’re an asset, I don’t know.” 

Boswell’s face went blank. He stared in front of himself, and he saw nothing.     

-0-

The office of Captain Louis Schaeffer, the head of the police department’s Detective Bureau, was on the fourth floor of The Roundhouse. 

Almost everything in it was standard issue. The shelves behind his desk contained only the volumes of procedure and law that he would require for his official duties. Neatly on his desk were three stacks of documents to review, four ball-point pens, and an agenda. The only personal item in the entire office was the trophy Schaeffer earned at Penn State for the Commonwealth fencing championship years ago, in fact, the year of his graduation. 

The two detectives sat across from Schaeffer. He looked more like a college professor than a powerful police officer. Of average stature, he was bald with a tanned complexion, and he wore a closely clipped beard and horn-rimmed glasses.

Boswell had just finished relating how he was recruited by a drug cartel when he first became a police officer, how he took small payoffs to turn his back on drug sales, and how – under the threat of death – he was forced to do more and more over the years. 

“Sir, I don’t know how all this happened.” For the first time in his life, Boswell knew he was starting to tear up, and he didn’t want to reveal his emotions. “I kept looking for a way out, and I kept putting it off. Then, there was the big raid on Orlov’s operation in North Philly, and then I knew I was trapped.”

He stopped. He didn’t want to, but he reached up and wiped a tear from his right cheek. “I wouldn’t be sitting here if . . .  I’m here because my partner convinced me to come clean. And I am, I’m trying. I’ll do whatever I need to, anything to get back, but only on the right side of the law, give info, testify, state’s evidence, carry a bug. Whatever I need . . . ”

“Lieutenant, tell me. You said it was the operation up in North Philly convinced you,” Captain Schaeffer spoke in precise, clipped terms. “Tell me, what happened up there that convinced you? What exactly?”

The words flooded out; Boswell hardly controlled them. “My God, I don’t know where to start. McAllister kept telling me that he wanted us to frame El Siegel. But really, Siegel, all he was, he was kind of an innocent bystander. He’s an older guy maybe even he had an affair with the victim, Faith Gruen, I don’t know. Anyway, McAllister kept pushing, and it was clear there was no way Siegel could’ve killed that poor girl. Well, that morning, the morning of the raid and all that, he kept telling me, arrest Siegel. No excuses, no reasons, just do it. Then, he told me, he just said it like it was a normal thing to say, if I wasn’t loyal to him, he’d have me killed. And that was right after he killed Orlov. He, McAllister said Orlov tried to kill him. But it sure didn’t look that way, it sure didn’t smell that way. And then there was the records, all the computers and the cartons of evidence. I’m betting my name’s in there somewhere.”

Boswell stopped. He looked at the floor and waited. 

Schaeffer watched Boswell, giving him more time. 

But finally, Schaeffer spoke. “Lieutenant, I’m not gonna hide anything from you. This is a major breech, what you did. It’s a confession of criminal activity. And the law and regulations are clear. Your case has to go to the district attorney’s office, that’s all. It’s outta my hands. But lemme tell you: I always thought of you as a good cop. You’ve done good work, as a cop, as a cop under my command. So, based on that, I can make a recommendation.”

From Boswell, the words came fast: “Thank you, sir! Thank you!”

Schaeffer had his next comment ready: “But what I say won’t matter much. For you, the rules’re tough, not much leeway. But lemme ask you: did you ever think about becoming a plant, a mole, and turning info over to the department? What I mean is, ever think about turning it around?”

Boswell’s face changed. His jaw clamped shut, the muscles in his neck tightened, and his mouth fell open. “No, sir, I never did. I never thought about it. I just worried a lot, and I thought about tryin’ to get out of it, about tryin’ to save my ass.”

Schaeffer spoke almost as if he had planned his answer in advance. “So, what we got? We still got a case, and some progress been made. We got a mess to clean up. But now we only got one cop on the job. He’s a good cop, but he’s got less experience. So, what can we do?” 

Buckley entered the conversation. “So, sir, do I report to you? And if I do, I’ll tell you, I’m thinking about Captain McAllister, maybe he doesn’t feel the same way. Maybe it could be open war with him. Sir, I don’t know, but . . . ”

“On your second question, I don’t see any open war, surely not with McAllister.” It was almost impossible to see, but just a hint of a smile forced up the corners of Schaeffer’s mouth. “Captain McAllister isn’t going get in your way. For the moment, he’s – How should I put it? – he’s otherwise occupied. Basically, he’s on administrative leave, without salary, I might add, while the district attorney’s office sorts out a few things about him. Don’t worry about him.”

Schaeffer straightened his back in his chair and took on an official air. “On your first question, I’m sorry to say, I just can’t let Lieutenant Boswell continue on the case. I have confidence in him as an investigator. But his integrity and his objectivity have been damaged. I’m sorry, he just can’t participate in the case any more. Right now, I’m thinking that you, Sergeant Buckley, that you’re going to need some help. I’m going have to decide. So, for now, sergeant, you have the floor. Where are we on the murder case? What’re you doing? Where are you?”

Boswell hesitated, but then finally, he spoke. “Sir, it kinda looks like I’m gonna be facing some charges. For sure, you don’t need my agreement. But I just wanna say, I understand.” 

Schaeffer said, “So, now, Sergeant Buckley, you have the floor.” 

Buckley was ready. “Sir, we were gonna start focusing on a young guy, Leland Stanhope, a guy involved in the poetry club ‘Wonder Words.’ We got word that Stanhope was spending a lot of time with the victim, a lot of time around the May thirteenth date. Fact is, word came from El Siegel. He was talking to the bartender at Gertie’s, a place over on Sansom by 13th.”

Schaeffer leaned back in his chair. “I’m going to tell you how we’ll proceed. The Faith Gruen case is yours, sergeant. You’ll continue working on the case, and for the moment, under my direction. In the meantime, I’m going have to see if you need help, and what kind of help is available. Does that sound okay with you?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“As we go forward,” Schaeffer said. “Our internal resources are going to back you up. Our social media experts will do an exam of Stanhope’s accounts. We’re going to get search warrants for his home and his bank records. And then the DNA question: Al Stillman, over at the Medical Examiner’s Office, he did a rape kit on that . . . on the victim’s body, and he has the rapist’s DNA. So, if you’re thinking about that Stanhope kid, we’ll need to get something, anything to get his DNA. And, the Crime Scene guys, they’re under special orders from the commissioner, and they’re going through everything seized up there at Orlov’s headquarters.

Schaeffer said, “And you, Sergeant Buckley, it looks like you got plenty to do. I suggest you look for the places Orlov hung out, and where McAllister did. I think he was a member of several clubs, et cetera. See if McAllister or that Stanhope kid were involved in meetings, and what they talked about. We wanna know who they were seeing and what they were saying.”

“But don’t limit yourself,” he said. “Just keep me informed, keep filing your reports, so we can give you backup when and if you need it. You ready?”

“Yes, sir!” Buckley’s voice came on strong, but it wavered just a bit.

Then Buckley took the floor. “Sir, I’m gonna work like hell, and I’m gonna work smart.  We started something. And I’ll do my damndest to finish it.”

“If that’s all, . . . ” Schaeffer began. 

Buckley said, “Thank you, sir.”

Schaeffer continued, “And Lieutenant Boswell, you told me your tale, how you got into trouble. I respect you, for your honesty. Now, all I can do is wish you good luck, and recommend you get good counsel.”