His demand came so suddenly, so abruptly, that the other three were startled. They looked at each other; the noise and smells from outside, men talking, arguing, smoking in the living room, seemed to invade this quiet place and envelop them all.
“Now,” Thorsen said bitterly. “It would have to be tonight.”
“You can do it,” Delaney said stonily, staring at the Deputy Inspector. “I don’t give a fuck where you get them. Bring them in from Staten Island. This guy has got to be covered. Tonight and every night until I can figure out how to take him.” Silence then, in the dining room, the four men standing. Only Delaney looked at Thorsen; the other men’s eyes were turned downward, unseeing.
Was it a minute, or five, or ten? The Captain never knew. Finally Deputy Mayor Alinski sighed deeply, raised his head to look at Thorsen and Johnson.
“Would you excuse us?” he asked gently. “I would like to speak to Captain Delaney privately. For just a few moments. Would you wait outside, please?”
Wordlessly, they filed out, Johnson closing the door behind them.
Alinski looked at Delaney and smiled. “Could we sit down?” he asked. “It seems to me we have been standing much too long.”
Delaney nodded. They took padded armchairs on opposite sides of the oak table.
“You don’t smoke cigars?” Alinski asked.
“No more. Oh, occasionally. But not very often.”
“Filthy habit,” Alinski nodded. “But all enjoyable habits are filthy. I looked up your record. ‘Iron Balls.’ Am I right?”
“Yes.”
“In my younger days I was called ‘Bubble Head.’” Delaney smiled.
“Good record,” Alinski said. “How many commendations?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’ve lost count. Many. You were in the Army in World War Two. Military Police.”
“That’s correct.”
“Yes. Tell me something, Captain: Do you feel that the military-the Army, Navy, Air Force-should be, at the top, under control of civilian authority-President, Secretary of Defense, and so forth?”
“Of course.”
“And do you also believe that the Police Department of the City of New York should also, essentially, be under civilian control? That is, that the Commissioner, the highest ranking police officer, should be appointed by the Mayor, a civilian politician?”
“Yes…I guess I believe that,” Delaney said slowly. “I don’t like civilian interference in Department affairs anymore than any other cop. But I agree the Department should be subject to some civilian control authority, not be a totally autonomous body. Some form of civilian control is the lesser of two evils.”
Alinski smiled wryly. “So many decisions in this world come down to that,” he nodded. “The lesser of two evils. Thorsen and Johnson tell me you are an apolitical man. That is, you have very little interest in Department politics, in feuds, cliques, personality conflicts. Is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“You just want to be left alone to do your job?”
“That’s right.”
The Deputy Mayor nodded again. “We owe you an explanation,” he said. “It won’t be a complete explanation because there are some things you have no need to know. Also, time is growing short. We must all be at the Mansion by seven. Well then…
“About three years ago it became apparent that there was a serious breach of security in the Mayor’s ‘Inner Circle.’ This is an informal group, about a dozen men-the Mayor’s closest personal friends, advisors, various media experts, campaign contributors, labor leaders, and so forth-on whom he depends for advice and ideas. Meetings are held once a month, or more often when needed. Well, someone in that group was leaking. Newspapers were getting rumors they shouldn’t get, and some individuals were profiting from plans still in the discussion stage, before the public announcement was made. The problem was dumped in my lap; one of my responsibilities is internal security. It wasn’t hard to discover who was leaking-his name’s of no importance to you.”
“How did you do it?” Delaney asked. “I’m just interested in the technique you used.”
“The most obvious,” Alinski shrugged. “Various fictitious documents planted with every man in the Inner Circle. Only one was leaked. It was that easy. But before we kicked this bastard downstairs to a job inspecting monuments or potholes-you don’t fire a man like that; the public scandal helps no one-I put him under twenty-four hour surveillance and discovered something interesting. Once a week he was having dinner with five men, always the same five men. They were meeting at one of their homes or in a hotel room or renting a private dining room in a restaurant. It was a curious group. Chairman of the Board of a downtown bank, real estate speculator, editor of a news magazine, a corporation VP, our squealer, and Deputy Commissioner Broughton. I didn’t like the smell of it. What did those men have in common? They didn’t even all belong to the same political party. So I kept an eye on them. A few months later, the six had grown to twelve, then to twenty. And they were entertaining occasional guests from Albany, and once a man from the Attorney-General’s office in Washington. By this time there were almost thirty members, dining together every week.”
“Including the man you infiltrated,” Delaney said.
Alinski smiled distantly but didn’t answer. “It took me a while to catch on,” he continued. “As far as I could determine, they had no name, no address, no letterhead, no formal organization, no officers. Just an informal group who met for dinner. That’s what I called them in my verbal reports to the Mayor-the ‘Group.’ I kept watching. It was fascinating to see how they grew. They split into three divisions; three separate dinners every week: one of the money men; one of editors, writers, publishers, TV producers; one of cops-local, state, a few federal. Then they began recruiting. Nothing obvious, but a solid cadre. Still no name, no address, no program-nothing. But odd things began happening: certain editorials, hefty campaign contributions to minor league pols, pressure for or against certain bills, some obviously planned and extremely well organized demonstrations, heavy clout that got a certain man off on probation of a tax evasion rap that should have netted him five years. The Group was growing, fast. And the members were Democrats, Republicans, Liberals, Conservatives-you name it, they had them. Still no public announcements, no formal program, no statement of principles-nothing like that. But it came increasingly clear what they were after: an authoritarian city government, ‘law and order,’ let the cops use their sticks, guns for everyone. Except the blacks. More muscle in government. Tell people, don’t ask them. Because people really want to be told, don’t they? All they need or want is a cold six-pack and a fourth rerun of ‘I Love Lucy.’”
Alinski glanced at his watch. “I’ve got to cut this short,” he said. “Time’s running out. But I get carried away. Half my family got made into soup at Treblinka. Anyway, Deputy Commissioner Broughton began to throw his weight around. The man is good; I don’t deny it. Shrewd, strong, active. And loud. Above all, loud. So when Frank Lombard was killed, the Group’s agit-prop division went to work. It was a natural. After all, Frank Lombard was a member of the Group.”
Delaney looked at him, astounded. “You mean these four victims had something in common after all-a political angle? Were the other three members of the Group, too?”
“No, no,” Alinski shook his head. “Don’t get me wrong. Detective Kope couldn’t have been a member because the Group doesn’t recruit cops under the rank of lieutenant. And Bernard Gilbert and Albert Feinberg couldn’t have been members because there are no Jews in the Group. No, Lombard’s death was just a coincidence, a chance killing, and I guess the man you’ve found has never even heard of the Group. Not many people have. But Lombard’s murder was a marvelous opportunity for the Group. First of all, he was a very vocal advocate of law and order.’ ‘Let us crush completely crime in our city streets.’ Broughton saw his opportunity. He got command of Operation Lombard. With the political pressures the Group organized, he got everything he wanted-men, equipment, unlimited funds. You’ve met Broughton?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t underestimate him. He has the confidence of the devil. He thought he’d wrap up the Lombard murder in record time. Score one for his side, and an important step toward becoming the next Commissioner. But in case he didn’t find Lombard’s killer, the Group would be left with their thumbs up their assholes. So I asked Thorsen and Johnson who were the best detectives in New York. They named you and Chief Pauley. Broughton took Pauley. Thorsen and Johnson asked for you, and we went along with them.”
