Chapter Two
At nine that night, Munch got home. He walked very wearily up the stairs to his apartment. It had been a long day. They were still no closer to finding Chris Muldoon.
As he put his key into the lock, Munch became aware of a presence in the hallway.
"Detective Munch!"
Munch turned towards the source of the stage-whisper. It was Casey Novak. She was wearing a hooded sweatshirt under a leather jacket, and blue jeans.
"Counselor! I was just looking for you, I went to your place..."
"Let's talk inside!"
Casey glanced in both directions, as if to make sure there was no one else there. Munch picked up on the urgency in her voice and actions, and opened the door without another word. He motioned for Casey to enter. After she did, he checked to see if there was anyone else in the hallway. Satisfied that there was not, he entered, and closed and locked the door.
"Have a seat" Munch said as he turned on the light.
Casey sat on the edge of the easy chair that faced the door, perpendicular to Munch's couch and TV. Munch took a seat on the right side of the couch, sitting at a forty-five degree angle to face Casey.
"Counselor, I tried to find you at your office, but they said you had already left. I tried your place, but there was no answer. I just want to say I'm sorry about this morning. I was out of line. This case is frustrating, but I shouldn't have vented on you like that."
"I understand John, and thank you. But that's not why I'm here. Without mentioning any specifics, can you tell me if you made any progress on the case?"
"No. We're still where we were this morning. Ms. Southerlyn couldn't get the judge to unseal Muldoon's juvie record."
"Then, let me put a hypothetical before you. Would you, in a case like this, rather arrest the suspect, only have the case dismissed on technicality, but at least you'll have his prints and a record on him as an adult? Or, would you prefer to do it by the book and get him for good later rather than sooner?"
"What kind of technicality are we talking about?"
Casey did not answer right away. She took a deep breath and retired into deep contemplation for a moment.
"John, there is a reason I approached you in particular. You're always arguing how the government is infringing on our privacy, how Big Brother is looking at everything we do. I get the feeling from listening to you that you actually take the Constitution very seriously. More so than most John Laws. And you sound like you genuinely and passionately care about individual rights and freedoms. If anybody can tell me if what I am thinking of doing is ethical or not, it's you."
That caught Munch like an uppercut from Mike Tyson. Few people listened to his rants. They had cost him many a partner and many a wife. But no one had ever told him they thought the better of him for them.
"I'm touched that you think so much of me, Counselor. Especially after this morning. But before you go any further, I have to advise you that there is a high probability that you will be identified as the source of whatever you might disclose. I don't have to tell you what that would do to your job, not to mention your legal career."
"That makes no difference. My letter of resignation is already on Arthur Branch's desk, dated today. I can always get another job. But I have to be able to live with myself."
The room fell silent for what seemed an eternity. Munch was at a loss for words. Finally, he leaned forward.
"It looks like you are prepared to go above and beyond the call of duty on this one. Least I can do is make sure your sacrifice is worth it. What do you have?"
"OK." Casey leaned forward. All apprehension, all doubt had melted away from her face. Cold, detached, clinical determination took over.
"Three years ago, when Muldoon was sixteen, the Hamptons Police charged him with sexually assaulting one of his parents' maids and one of his older cousins' friends from college. They alleged he sweet-talked both of them into getting beer for him. He passed them each a $100. They brought the beer back to the Muldoon mansion, and met him in the garage.
"Then, in both cases, the vics initially stated Muldoon approached them within twenty-four hours with a videotape that had them passing the beer to him. They said Muldoon threatened to go to the police with the tapes—he said he had other copies stashed away safely if either woman got any ideas—unless they did what he wanted them to.
"The victims said Muldoon then ordered them to the Muldoon beachfront. At the North-easternmost tip of the beachfront, there are some boulders, and the ground rises up. Hidden behind the boulders, and recessed in the ground, is a cave. Suffolk County owns the lot adjacent to the Muldoon estate. There was no one on that lot late at night.
"The victims claimed that Muldoon ordered them each into the cave. They described the place as deep, and well lit up. They alleged that Muldoon then punched them in the solar plexus, hard enough to take the wind out of them and incapacitate them for a few minutes. Then he ripped their clothes off and raped and sodomized them, slapping them hard on the face. When he was done, the victims said, Muldoon grabbed them by the hair, and turned them around until they saw that he had installed a camera in the rocks, capturing everything on tape. They said he told them that, if they opened their mouths, he would make sure all the friends and family saw 'their fifteen minutes.'
"The maid was an illegal, so she kept quiet. But his cousin's friend went to the police. They took her statement, and started asking and looking around at the mansion. The maid looked like an illegal. Since the John Laws couldn't find anything—besides some really expensive video and mixing gear—, they figured they'd bring her down to the station house, and at least have a collar for INS to make their Chief look good. They get to the station, and the maid blurts out what happened to her, figuring she has nothing left to lose. She didn't know that the cousin's friend had also complained. The details of the crimes matched perfectly. That was enough for a warrant.
"But, when the Hamptons Police returned to the Muldoons' mansion, they could not find any of the tapes. They arrested Chris Muldoon, but his father bailed him out less than an hour after they booked him."
"Muldoon is learning, but old habits die hard." interjected Munch. "None of our victims were slapped, and he's using chemistry instead of a punch to the solar plexus, but all five were also sodomized."
"There's more. We were all set to go to trial. I was convinced we could get Muldoon off. The cops did not turn up any of the footage Muldoon allegedly took, so I actually believed the bastard was innocent."
"What made you change your mind?"
"The days they were supposed to testify, the victims didn't show. The judge sent a bailiff after them, but they decided to recant their testimony. Even the threat of being charged with making a false statement couldn't persuade them."
"I can see that happening. Muldoon came from money. Some gold-digger cries rape, and, if she doesn't squeeze a few hundred out of the family, at least she gets to be famous. Then, she changes her mind at the last minute, figures the defense will rip a hole in their stories, and they'll get a reputation for crying "Rape!" and no man will go near her again. Judge has to admonish them for wasting the court's time."
"I thought the same thing too at the time. Then, a few weeks later, the police haul in Mr. and Mrs. Muldoon for questioning. It seems the maid had disappeared without a trace, and the cousin's friend died of an overdose. The thing was, the ME found that the cousin's friend was not a habitual user, and that there were bruises on her arms and wrists consistent with someone holding her down.
"Other than motive, there was nothing to hold the Muldoons, so they were released. But there was something that stuck in the back of my mind, something I never wanted to believe for the longest time..."
"What was that?" asked Munch.
"Well, just after the case against Chris Muldoon was dismissed, he threw himself a party on the beach. He behaved like a perfect gentleman. The trial was fresh, and he really wanted to clear his image. He invited all of us who participated in his defense team. He even kissed me on the hand, you know, like European gentlemen used to do years ago..."
Casey's hand wiped her right hand up and down the side of her leather jacket, like she was trying to get rid of something odious on the back of her hand. Imaginary to be sure, but odious nevertheless.
"After a while, Maureen Muldoon came down to see how the party was going, and to thank each one of us. She said she hoped we were enjoying ourselves. Then, she headed back to the mansion. I was talking to a friend, but as soon as she turned back towards the path, I followed her. I was hoping to get a letter of recommendation from her. I was some distance behind her, and she didn't see me.
"Then all of a sudden, one of the groundskeepers, Eamon Farley, meets her on the way down. He had a cooler-full of soda for Muldoon's party. Maureen Muldoon grabs him by the arm, and asks him what the hell he was doing there. 'You've more important things to do, Farley!' She told him 'Now hurry up and drop that down there, and do what I asked you to.' "
"Eamon Farley? Did you get a good look at him?"
"Yes. About six and a half, two hundred pounds, muscular. Balding, whatever hair he had left was curly and on the sides of his heads. Light brown or dirty blond. Sunken cheeks, habitually has his mouth open. Blue eyes. Why?"
"Jackpot. That's our Eamon Farley. This time, witnesses put him visiting the vics one day after we identified Chris Muldoon as a possible suspect. After that, all five refused to talk to us. But one of the kids who ID'd Farley talking to a vic at Uptown U. recognized him from the Muldoons' summer place at the Hamptons. Said Farley was one of the help at a party Chris Muldoon threw for his classmates last summer. We paid a visit to the Muldoons' place in the Hamptons. The Muldoons weren't in residence. They live on Park Avenue this time of the year. But friend Eamon was there, blowing the leaves. We brought him in for questioning, but he wasn't talking. Next thing we know, Seamus Parnell Muldoon Junior is bursting into the box, telling us to charge his client, or let him go."
"And you did..."
"We had too. We only had him visiting the vics. They weren't talking, and none of our witnesses heard what Farley and the vics talked about. Day and half later, he flew to Dublin on an Irish diplomatic passport."
"Did you get the Garda Siochona," asked Casey, using the title of the Republic's national police force, "to verify that Farley landed there?"
"We asked them. They stonewalled us. Said that Farley is an Irish citizen, and that we did not have enough evidence that he committed any crime..."
"He is an Irish citizen, but I can guarantee he is not in Ireland."
"What? How do you know that?"
"Maureen Muldoon does a lot of very high-profile pro-bono work with Irish immigrants, helping them get green cards. She told anyone who would listen that poor Eamon Farley fled to America because he had had 'simply protested British rule in Ireland.' "
"You didn't buy that?"
"I did at the time. Then, I overheard Maureen talking to Farley. After I joined the DA's office, it still bothered me. I didn't want to believe it, but the doubt kept nagging me. I checked up on Farley. Ten years ago, there was an Irish drug lord who was killed, allegedly because he was doing business with Loyalist paramilitaries. Farley was a known associate of that drug lord. He arrived in New York less than a week after the killing. He made a claim for asylum. INS had their doubts, but, when Seamus Parnell Junior showed up with a mountain of paperwork, they had to grant Farley a temporary visa. He was granted asylum six months later, and a green card two years later."
"So," asked Munch, "You're telling me that Farley would never go back to Ireland because this drug lord's crew would give him a warmer reception than he would care for?"
"Exactly."
Munch sat back and drew a breath. Then, he got up and walked to the rather untidy bookcase that lay several feet beyond his TV. From this, he finally extracted a road atlas of New York. He sat back down on the couch, opened the index of the atlas, found the number of the map he wanted, and then flipped to it. After he found the right page, he examined it for a few seconds, and then turned the map so that Casey could see it.
"Okay. This here is the Muldoon summer place." Munch indicated with his index finger. "Do you know where the cave is from here?"
Casey showed him.
"Okay. Good. That's a start."
"I can see that you look at that map a lot!" Casey's mouth broke into a half-smirk, and a playful look brightened her eyes.
"One day, I'm gonna find me a rich widow with a place out there." retorted Munch. "But not tonight. I have to head back to the House for a little bit. Can I give you a lift home?"
"No, I'll be alright. But, I thought you were done for the day."
"I left my favorite razor in my locker."
At nine that night, Munch got home. He walked very wearily up the stairs to his apartment. It had been a long day. They were still no closer to finding Chris Muldoon.
As he put his key into the lock, Munch became aware of a presence in the hallway.
"Detective Munch!"
Munch turned towards the source of the stage-whisper. It was Casey Novak. She was wearing a hooded sweatshirt under a leather jacket, and blue jeans.
"Counselor! I was just looking for you, I went to your place..."
"Let's talk inside!"
Casey glanced in both directions, as if to make sure there was no one else there. Munch picked up on the urgency in her voice and actions, and opened the door without another word. He motioned for Casey to enter. After she did, he checked to see if there was anyone else in the hallway. Satisfied that there was not, he entered, and closed and locked the door.
"Have a seat" Munch said as he turned on the light.
Casey sat on the edge of the easy chair that faced the door, perpendicular to Munch's couch and TV. Munch took a seat on the right side of the couch, sitting at a forty-five degree angle to face Casey.
"Counselor, I tried to find you at your office, but they said you had already left. I tried your place, but there was no answer. I just want to say I'm sorry about this morning. I was out of line. This case is frustrating, but I shouldn't have vented on you like that."
"I understand John, and thank you. But that's not why I'm here. Without mentioning any specifics, can you tell me if you made any progress on the case?"
"No. We're still where we were this morning. Ms. Southerlyn couldn't get the judge to unseal Muldoon's juvie record."
"Then, let me put a hypothetical before you. Would you, in a case like this, rather arrest the suspect, only have the case dismissed on technicality, but at least you'll have his prints and a record on him as an adult? Or, would you prefer to do it by the book and get him for good later rather than sooner?"
"What kind of technicality are we talking about?"
Casey did not answer right away. She took a deep breath and retired into deep contemplation for a moment.
"John, there is a reason I approached you in particular. You're always arguing how the government is infringing on our privacy, how Big Brother is looking at everything we do. I get the feeling from listening to you that you actually take the Constitution very seriously. More so than most John Laws. And you sound like you genuinely and passionately care about individual rights and freedoms. If anybody can tell me if what I am thinking of doing is ethical or not, it's you."
That caught Munch like an uppercut from Mike Tyson. Few people listened to his rants. They had cost him many a partner and many a wife. But no one had ever told him they thought the better of him for them.
"I'm touched that you think so much of me, Counselor. Especially after this morning. But before you go any further, I have to advise you that there is a high probability that you will be identified as the source of whatever you might disclose. I don't have to tell you what that would do to your job, not to mention your legal career."
"That makes no difference. My letter of resignation is already on Arthur Branch's desk, dated today. I can always get another job. But I have to be able to live with myself."
The room fell silent for what seemed an eternity. Munch was at a loss for words. Finally, he leaned forward.
"It looks like you are prepared to go above and beyond the call of duty on this one. Least I can do is make sure your sacrifice is worth it. What do you have?"
"OK." Casey leaned forward. All apprehension, all doubt had melted away from her face. Cold, detached, clinical determination took over.
"Three years ago, when Muldoon was sixteen, the Hamptons Police charged him with sexually assaulting one of his parents' maids and one of his older cousins' friends from college. They alleged he sweet-talked both of them into getting beer for him. He passed them each a $100. They brought the beer back to the Muldoon mansion, and met him in the garage.
"Then, in both cases, the vics initially stated Muldoon approached them within twenty-four hours with a videotape that had them passing the beer to him. They said Muldoon threatened to go to the police with the tapes—he said he had other copies stashed away safely if either woman got any ideas—unless they did what he wanted them to.
"The victims said Muldoon then ordered them to the Muldoon beachfront. At the North-easternmost tip of the beachfront, there are some boulders, and the ground rises up. Hidden behind the boulders, and recessed in the ground, is a cave. Suffolk County owns the lot adjacent to the Muldoon estate. There was no one on that lot late at night.
"The victims claimed that Muldoon ordered them each into the cave. They described the place as deep, and well lit up. They alleged that Muldoon then punched them in the solar plexus, hard enough to take the wind out of them and incapacitate them for a few minutes. Then he ripped their clothes off and raped and sodomized them, slapping them hard on the face. When he was done, the victims said, Muldoon grabbed them by the hair, and turned them around until they saw that he had installed a camera in the rocks, capturing everything on tape. They said he told them that, if they opened their mouths, he would make sure all the friends and family saw 'their fifteen minutes.'
"The maid was an illegal, so she kept quiet. But his cousin's friend went to the police. They took her statement, and started asking and looking around at the mansion. The maid looked like an illegal. Since the John Laws couldn't find anything—besides some really expensive video and mixing gear—, they figured they'd bring her down to the station house, and at least have a collar for INS to make their Chief look good. They get to the station, and the maid blurts out what happened to her, figuring she has nothing left to lose. She didn't know that the cousin's friend had also complained. The details of the crimes matched perfectly. That was enough for a warrant.
"But, when the Hamptons Police returned to the Muldoons' mansion, they could not find any of the tapes. They arrested Chris Muldoon, but his father bailed him out less than an hour after they booked him."
"Muldoon is learning, but old habits die hard." interjected Munch. "None of our victims were slapped, and he's using chemistry instead of a punch to the solar plexus, but all five were also sodomized."
"There's more. We were all set to go to trial. I was convinced we could get Muldoon off. The cops did not turn up any of the footage Muldoon allegedly took, so I actually believed the bastard was innocent."
"What made you change your mind?"
"The days they were supposed to testify, the victims didn't show. The judge sent a bailiff after them, but they decided to recant their testimony. Even the threat of being charged with making a false statement couldn't persuade them."
"I can see that happening. Muldoon came from money. Some gold-digger cries rape, and, if she doesn't squeeze a few hundred out of the family, at least she gets to be famous. Then, she changes her mind at the last minute, figures the defense will rip a hole in their stories, and they'll get a reputation for crying "Rape!" and no man will go near her again. Judge has to admonish them for wasting the court's time."
"I thought the same thing too at the time. Then, a few weeks later, the police haul in Mr. and Mrs. Muldoon for questioning. It seems the maid had disappeared without a trace, and the cousin's friend died of an overdose. The thing was, the ME found that the cousin's friend was not a habitual user, and that there were bruises on her arms and wrists consistent with someone holding her down.
"Other than motive, there was nothing to hold the Muldoons, so they were released. But there was something that stuck in the back of my mind, something I never wanted to believe for the longest time..."
"What was that?" asked Munch.
"Well, just after the case against Chris Muldoon was dismissed, he threw himself a party on the beach. He behaved like a perfect gentleman. The trial was fresh, and he really wanted to clear his image. He invited all of us who participated in his defense team. He even kissed me on the hand, you know, like European gentlemen used to do years ago..."
Casey's hand wiped her right hand up and down the side of her leather jacket, like she was trying to get rid of something odious on the back of her hand. Imaginary to be sure, but odious nevertheless.
"After a while, Maureen Muldoon came down to see how the party was going, and to thank each one of us. She said she hoped we were enjoying ourselves. Then, she headed back to the mansion. I was talking to a friend, but as soon as she turned back towards the path, I followed her. I was hoping to get a letter of recommendation from her. I was some distance behind her, and she didn't see me.
"Then all of a sudden, one of the groundskeepers, Eamon Farley, meets her on the way down. He had a cooler-full of soda for Muldoon's party. Maureen Muldoon grabs him by the arm, and asks him what the hell he was doing there. 'You've more important things to do, Farley!' She told him 'Now hurry up and drop that down there, and do what I asked you to.' "
"Eamon Farley? Did you get a good look at him?"
"Yes. About six and a half, two hundred pounds, muscular. Balding, whatever hair he had left was curly and on the sides of his heads. Light brown or dirty blond. Sunken cheeks, habitually has his mouth open. Blue eyes. Why?"
"Jackpot. That's our Eamon Farley. This time, witnesses put him visiting the vics one day after we identified Chris Muldoon as a possible suspect. After that, all five refused to talk to us. But one of the kids who ID'd Farley talking to a vic at Uptown U. recognized him from the Muldoons' summer place at the Hamptons. Said Farley was one of the help at a party Chris Muldoon threw for his classmates last summer. We paid a visit to the Muldoons' place in the Hamptons. The Muldoons weren't in residence. They live on Park Avenue this time of the year. But friend Eamon was there, blowing the leaves. We brought him in for questioning, but he wasn't talking. Next thing we know, Seamus Parnell Muldoon Junior is bursting into the box, telling us to charge his client, or let him go."
"And you did..."
"We had too. We only had him visiting the vics. They weren't talking, and none of our witnesses heard what Farley and the vics talked about. Day and half later, he flew to Dublin on an Irish diplomatic passport."
"Did you get the Garda Siochona," asked Casey, using the title of the Republic's national police force, "to verify that Farley landed there?"
"We asked them. They stonewalled us. Said that Farley is an Irish citizen, and that we did not have enough evidence that he committed any crime..."
"He is an Irish citizen, but I can guarantee he is not in Ireland."
"What? How do you know that?"
"Maureen Muldoon does a lot of very high-profile pro-bono work with Irish immigrants, helping them get green cards. She told anyone who would listen that poor Eamon Farley fled to America because he had had 'simply protested British rule in Ireland.' "
"You didn't buy that?"
"I did at the time. Then, I overheard Maureen talking to Farley. After I joined the DA's office, it still bothered me. I didn't want to believe it, but the doubt kept nagging me. I checked up on Farley. Ten years ago, there was an Irish drug lord who was killed, allegedly because he was doing business with Loyalist paramilitaries. Farley was a known associate of that drug lord. He arrived in New York less than a week after the killing. He made a claim for asylum. INS had their doubts, but, when Seamus Parnell Junior showed up with a mountain of paperwork, they had to grant Farley a temporary visa. He was granted asylum six months later, and a green card two years later."
"So," asked Munch, "You're telling me that Farley would never go back to Ireland because this drug lord's crew would give him a warmer reception than he would care for?"
"Exactly."
Munch sat back and drew a breath. Then, he got up and walked to the rather untidy bookcase that lay several feet beyond his TV. From this, he finally extracted a road atlas of New York. He sat back down on the couch, opened the index of the atlas, found the number of the map he wanted, and then flipped to it. After he found the right page, he examined it for a few seconds, and then turned the map so that Casey could see it.
"Okay. This here is the Muldoon summer place." Munch indicated with his index finger. "Do you know where the cave is from here?"
Casey showed him.
"Okay. Good. That's a start."
"I can see that you look at that map a lot!" Casey's mouth broke into a half-smirk, and a playful look brightened her eyes.
"One day, I'm gonna find me a rich widow with a place out there." retorted Munch. "But not tonight. I have to head back to the House for a little bit. Can I give you a lift home?"
"No, I'll be alright. But, I thought you were done for the day."
"I left my favorite razor in my locker."