Dolan: Murder Cop
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About this ebook
Yet it is his background as a retired New Jersey police officer and detective sergeant that has legitimized the background of his newest work, Dolan: Murder Cop. He answered the calls, combed through mountains of evidence, made countless inquiries, worked the midnight shift, and sought closure for families in his search for truth.
Join him through these intriguing and exciting investigations. Travel through the streets of Manhattan's Hell's Kitchen, the penthouses of New York City's skyscrapers, to the Wild West of America, and on to the underworld of Hong Kong.
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Book preview
Dolan - John Masterson
Chapter 1
MURDER AT THE ALGONQUIN
The scream from the thirty-fifth-floor penthouse could be heard up and down 44th Street. A housemaid immediately called 911 after she arrived and found the unconscious body of the penthouse owner lying on the alcove floor. Within minutes, the EMTs arrived and pronounced the occupant dead. They, in turn, notified the police.
The call came into the homicide squad at 11:20 a.m. on January 18th. I caught
the case and arrived shortly after the patrol division, at 11:30 a.m.
I’m Vince Dolan, detective first grade, New York Police Department, assigned to high-profile cases. These cases entail investigations of famous people, people of interest, or ones in which the media are involved. On my arrival, I cleared the crime scene of all unauthorized personnel, including the uniformed division, to prevent contamination. I immediately found the visibly shaken housemaid. I tried my best to put her at ease, suggesting I would speak with her shortly.
Talk about first-class, this place screamed of wealth: three bedrooms, a study, and a living room with a crystal chandelier leading to a balcony, a far cry from my abode at 227 Nassau Street. The place was meticulous, of course; having someone in to clean on a twenty-four-hour schedule sure helps. Everything was cleaned and polished and in its place. Everything, that is, except for the dead body.
The ice-cold temperature caught my attention. I noticed all the windows in the suite were open, letting in the January air. I observed the corpse lying face-up on the living room floor, completely naked. I recognized the decedent, Daphne Dubois, a popular stage and movie celebrity, wife of Dirk James, prominent Shakespearean actor in his own right. On her beautiful milk-white skin, I observed a bullet hole the size of a buffalo nickel in the middle of her Academy Award breasts.
Motive, opportunity, and cause are the three components for a detective to consider. Robbery? No, her designer purse lay on the dressing table with one hundred dollars inside and what appeared to be some very expensive jewelry. A crime of passion involving jealousy or hate? No, in most crimes of passion, the victim is shot several times, indicating anger or revenge. Was it a stranger-to-stranger shooting? These, most times, involve parties who are unfamiliar with each other. No, her nudity indicated she was familiar with the assailant. I leaned down to see scorch marks around the wound, leading me to believe this was up-close-and-personal.
Forensics completed their work and left. Now the coroner needed to determine the time of death. He based this on body temperature and surrounding conditions. Indications showed no sign of postmortem lividity, bruise marks caused by the settling of blood due to gravity. This type of bruising usually distributes itself over several areas of the body, indicating the corpse being turned over or moved. He chronicled the time of death at approximately 9:00 a.m. that same morning. While I checked for other bruises, I felt a hot breath on the back of my neck. The Algonquin Hotel manager asked when the suite would be cleared. I brushed him off. While still on my knees, I spotted a shell casing under a chair, it appeared to be from a .45 caliber automatic. Talk about overkill. That model weapon was standard equipment for military police and was very popular among hitmen involved in organized crime. It makes a small hole going in, but you could drive a Mack truck through it coming out.
Having completed the preliminary work, it was time for interviews.
The housemaid stated, I had not seen Mrs. Dubois today until finding the body. This was about 11:00 a.m. Her husband left before I arrived. He had gone to Atlantic City for the day.
Checking with the doorman, he confirmed she was right.
He stated, I saw the husband getting into a taxi and telling the driver to take him to JFK Airport. This was about 8:00 a.m.
Later that afternoon, as I prepared to leave, Ms. Dubois’s husband arrived. He seemed very distressed hearing of his wife’s murder. In fact, the hotel manager sent for a doctor who immediately sedated Mr. James. Before he lost consciousness, he told me he had left the apartment for Atlantic City around 7:30 a.m. He added he spent the day at the Golden Nugget.
To confirm what he told me, I contacted the Golden Nugget and checked with the casino manager.
He confirmed the husband’s presence adding, As a matter of fact, he caused a commotion at the craps table for all to witness.
So far, he had an alibi.
About this time, the coroner was finishing up, and I left him to secure the crime scene. I then went to see the couple’s agent. A pudgy gentleman in his late sixties, he hardly seemed the type Daphne would prance around in the nude for.
During our interview, he said, I have been representing Daphne Dubois and Dirk James for the past fifteen years.
I asked, Did you sense any unusual behavior between the two of them that you’d consider a strain in the marriage?
He said, Nothing more than in most marriages between people in show business. Let’s remember we are dealing with two superegos.
He then mentioned, Dirk James had not received a part in a play in a very long time and was very distraught feeling he was being overlooked.
After the interview, I returned to the squad room to review the information I had gathered so far. Something gnawed at me about the housemaid. I felt she could have been more forthcoming. I returned to the hotel and, during a reinterview, I centered on the couple’s married life. This time, she became much more cooperative.
They would have guests come over once or twice a week. A very young man for her husband and a very young girl for the wife, so young they almost looked like teens.
She then said, They never came on the same day. The couple had a calendar on the refrigerator displaying which days each would have their day for , ahem, socializing. I would be told what time the guests would be leaving so I could make up the bed.
At this time, their sexual preferences held very little importance to me. Then came the bombshell.
She said, They would have violent arguments, mostly about who was contributing the most to the marriage financially. As the arguments heated up, she would always threaten him with bringing up their past. Constantly, she would say she could bring down both their careers in flames if she went to the press with what she knew to be true. He knew the truth too. Ms. Dubois said she was getting ready to pull the plug and this would send both careers spiraling down the drain. This infuriated Mr. James, and he begged her not to be hasty.
I asked, Do you have any insight about other people coming and going from the suite?
A man about the same age as Ms. Dubois visited her regularly, usually when her husband was away for an extended time. One time, I overheard one of their conversations. He was criticizing her husband, saying things like ‘How can you stay married to such a loser? His acting days are over. He is nothing but a financial drain on you. Leave him and run away with me.’
I asked, Did her husband know about any of this?
I’m pretty sure he suspected something going on behind his back.
"Did you hear any other conversations between Ms. Dubois and the man who visited her?
I’m not sure, but on one occasion I think I heard him say, ‘If you want him erased from the picture, I can take care of that.’
Then I asked, Can you recall the last time this mysterious person called on Ms. Dubois?
She said, Yes, as a matter of fact, it was just yesterday.
That’s all she had to offer in the way of information regarding her employers. It was time to move on. The information about this mystery man intrigued me. For sure, I wanted to know more.
Expensive apartment buildings are equipped with extensive security systems, with loads of cameras. I went to the building attendant and asked if he could run a tape for me, the one for January 17th, the day before the murder. Looking at the tape, only one car entered the garage. This was at 11:00 a.m. It left about two hours later. We zoomed in and got the license plate number, New York plate BKM137W.
I contacted Keegan at HQ to run the plate. It was registered to a Marc Gentile, 2875 Hills Avenue, Whitestone, New York . This was bad. Gentile happened to be the boss of a well-known organized crime syndicate. I knew right away things would get sticky.
I drove out to the Whitestone section of Queens and met with Gentile at his headquarters, The Young Men’s Fish and Game Club. As mobsters usually are, he was very polite, offering me an espresso, which I refused. He already knew of Ms. Dubois’s death but did not seem to be upset in any way.
Before I could ask, he said, I suppose you want to ask about my whereabouts around the time of the murder.
I was set back by his candor and took a moment to reply.
What’s the matter, detective? Did I catch you by surprise?
You sure did. I figured you would want me to earn my pay. After all, you are the taxpayer who pays my salary.
Within seconds, he called in two other people, his attorney and his attorney’s wife.
"Tell the good