“My name is McGuire,” McGuire said. “Dignitary Protection Unit. I’m the first supervisor on the scene.”
“I’ve seen you around,” the Sixth District lieutenant said.
“I have relieved Sergeant Payne of his weapon, and am now going to transport him to Internal Affairs.”
“You’re the shooter, Sergeant?” the lieutenant asked.
“I think all the questions to him are supposed to be asked by Internal Affairs,” McGuire said. “Nevins will tell you what we know. Will you come with me, please, Sergeant Payne?”
“Yes, sir.”
Lieutenant McGuire put his hand on Sergeant Payne’s arm and walked with him through the parking lot to where the unmarked Dignitary Protection Crown Victoria sat, its engine running and its headlights and concealed blue flashers still on.
He put Matt in the backseat but didn’t close the door.
Nevins came to the car a moment later.
“You drive, Al,” McGuire said. “I’ll ride in the back with Payne.”
They exchanged questioning glances, then shrugged, and then Nevins got behind the wheel, and McGuire got in the backseat with Matt.
TWENTY-ONE
In Philadelphia, any discharge-even accidental- of a police officer’s weapon is investigated by the Internal Affairs Unit. Even if the discharge of the police officer’s weapon results in a death, Internal Affairs still retains the weapon results in a death, Internal Affairs still retains the responsibility for, and authority to, conduct the investigation. The Homicide Division “assists.”
This policy came into being when various civil rights organizations charged that police shootings-fatal and nonfatal-were being covered up when investigated by Homicide or Detective Divisions, and that only Internal Affairs, an elite unit already charged with the investigation of police malfeasance, could be trusted to investigate shootings fully and fairly.
When the first “assist officer, shots fired” call was broadcast to every police vehicle in Philadelphia, it was received in the Crown Victoria assigned to Inspector Michael Weisbach, of the Internal Affairs Division, who was at the time returning to his home from a social event at Temple Beth Emmanuel.
He did not respond to the call, primarily because he was a considerable distance from South Front Street, and realized that by the time he could get there, at least twenty, and probably more, other units would be on the scene.
But he did turn to his wife and say, “I really hope no one was hit. I’m really beat.”
By the time he got to his home, however, other radio traffic had made it clear that he wasn’t going to be able to go to bed anytime soon. And after he’d dropped his wife off and headed for the Internal Affairs office on Dungan Road in northeast Philadelphia, there came, several times, official confirmation.
“I-2, Radio.”
“I-2, go.”
“We have two suspects down, one dead, at the assist officer, shots fired, unit block South Front Street.”
“Okay. I’m on my way to IAD.”
Then his cellular telephone chirped the first bars of “Rule Britannia.”
“Weisbach.”
“Inspector, this is Captain Fein, Sixth District.”
“Hello, Jake.”
“Two suspects down, one dead, at the assist officer, shots fired on South Front.”
“I’m on my way to IAD. Thanks for the heads up.”
“Out of school, Mike, it looks righteous.”
“I sure hope so. Thanks again, Jake.”
He had just laid the telephone down on the seat when it played “Rule Britannia” again.
“Weisbach.”
“Kimberly, boss. I just got a call from Lieutenant McGuire of Dignitary Protection. He was the first supervisor on the scene in the shots fired on South Front, and he’s transporting the shooter here.”
“I’m en route.”
“You’re not going to like this, boss. The shooter’s Sergeant Matt Payne.”
“Oh, hell.”
“You want me to call the FOP?”
“Yes, please. And put Payne in an interview room and don’t do anything else until I get there.”
“Yes, sir. There’s more, boss.”
“Let me have it.”
“Stan Colt and his entourage were there. The press has hold of it and they’re all over the scene. I’m watching it on the television here in the office. They broke into the prime-time shows to cover it live. It’s a real cluster fuck out there.”
Under the contract between the City of Philadelphia and Lodge #5 of the Fraternal Order of Police, it is agreed that whenever any police officer, regardless of rank, is detained for any reason that might result in criminal prosecution, the detaining unit will, at the same time it notifies senior police officials, notify the Fraternal Order of Police.
The Fraternal Order of Police will then dispatch an attorney to ensure that the rights of the police officer being detained are not violated in any way, and to assist him in any way deemed necessary.
There are lawyers under contract to Lodge #5 to provide counsel on call. There are other lawyers in Philadelphia who provide their professional services, pro bono publico, to Lodge #5.
Perhaps the most distinguished of this latter group is Armando C. Giacomo, Esq., a slight, lithe, dapper Italian who once served his country as a Marine Corps fighter pilot, then came home to become either the best and most successful criminal defense attorney in Philadelphia, or the second best. The other contender for that unofficial title being Colonel J. Dunlop Mawson, Esq., of Mawson, Payne, Stockton, McAdoo amp; Lester.
The difference between the two was essentially in their clientele. Colonel Mawson, who often defended individuals accused of stealing, misappropriating, embezzling, taking by fraud or deception, or otherwise illegally acquiring huge sums of money-and was compensated accordingly-declined to offer his professional services to anyone with any connection, however remote, to organized crime, or the illegal trade in controlled substances.
Arguing that even the most despicable scoundrels were entitled under the United States Constitution to the best defense possible, Armando C. Giacomo defended, very often successfully, the most despicable scoundrels alleged to be connected with organized crime and/or the illegal traffic in controlled substances, and was compensated accordingly.
Mr. Giacomo’s understanding with Lodge #5, Fraternal Order of Police, was that he wished to offer his services only in cases worthy of his talent. As the ordinary thug could not afford to avail himself of his services, neither should the cop charged with, say, drunken driving, or slapping the wife around, have his professional services made available to him, pro bono publico. He preferred to defend officers charged with violating the civil rights of citizens, and-above all- officers alleged to have illegally taken life in the execution of their official duties.
When the official of Lodge #5, Fraternal Order of Police, was informed by Captain Daniel Kimberly of Internal Affairs that a sergeant was being detained for investigation of a shooting of two suspects, one of them fatal, he immediately began searching for Mr. Giacomo’s unlisted home number in his Rolodex. And he was not at all surprised, despite the hour, that Mr. Giacomo said he would go directly to IAD, and that the FOP representative should meet him there.
The city editor of the Philadelphia Bulletin, Roscoe G. Kennedy, responded to a computer message from Michael J. O’Hara-
Kennedy-Hold space page one section one for threecolumn pic, plus jump for 350–400 words, + 3, 4 more
