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Authors: Randy Jurgensen
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it away from his attackers. He pointed in the direction of the man standing above Phil and fired three times. His arm was slammed against the wall, sending the rounds high in the ceiling.
After hearing the shots, another uniform, Rudy Andre who had just arrived on the scene, broke the glass on the doors with his gun and fired five times into the ceiling. Navarra said that he could identify most of the assailants he encountered when he entered the mosque; however, he only heard the gunshot that hit his partner Phil—not any by Negron.
Padilla stated that as soon as he entered the mosque, he was jumped and stripped of his gun, which was not recovered. Later this would prove to be key in my investigation . He remembered nothing after that.
Seedman was confident. With Navarra's testimony he would be able to develop the assault cases, and from there he'd be able to deduce who the shooter was. Line-ups would be conducted at the 2-4 Precinct, and it'd be a matter of time before justice prevailed—that is if a proper investigation ensued.
Seedman and Daley had enough information to make a statement. They convened in the temporary headquarters where Chief of the Department Michael Codd was now stationed. Codd was the highest-ranking uniformed member of the NYPD. He was the only four-star chief on the job; everyone else had three stars or less, and he was very vocal about that fact. He was the boss of all uniformed bosses. It was a glamour position awarded by Commissioner Patrick V. Murphy, which meant Murphy could rescind it at any time, which meant Codd was Murphy's man.
Daley and Seedman both gave identical accounts to all the men in theroom. Lindsay and Murphy sat side-by-side. Daley insisted that all of the pertinent information be fed to the press: no civilians were shot, the police were attacked, one gun was missing not two, and arrests were forthcoming.
Murphy stood and turned away from Daley. He spoke to Chief Inspector Codd and Mayor Lindsay, “We're not sure yet. We better check into it a little further.”
Seedman never once looked at Murphy or the higher-ranking Codd. He stood with his body sidled against the door, staring out into the hallway where injured cops kept filing in. His body language indicated who he was, a cop, and where he wanted to be, with the cops. He was somehow able to disassociate himself from these politically charged decision makers, yet remain in the mix. He'd been around long enough, thirty-five years, to know that this meeting was just for show. The press was close by, and so were the rank and file; everything that these super-chiefs did or didn't do was being clocked. If there seemed to be dissension and disorganization among the hierarchy, then that would play out on the evening news and in the papers. From there, it would distill down to the voting public and patrol. Those men riding in those patrol cars in more than 800 sectors of New York, walking thousands of dangerous foot posts had to feel the ship they sailed had dominion, command, and was on course. Seedman knew different. It was adrift, rudderless, and heading for an iceberg.
Daley stood. He needed his position on the record, though by then he must have known that everyone was going to be manipulated, from the press to the people of New York to the backbone of the NYPD—patrol. “Commissioner, most of those reporters out there were already at the mosque. They're going to write and report half-truths anyway. Let's at least break it down for them so what they report will have a grain of truth. If not, the longer we wait, the harder it's going to be to refute what they say.”
Murphy condescendingly raised his hands. Daley snapped, “Sir, all due respect, why are you placating me? I'm the one you brought in to deal with the goddamn press.”
Murphy pointed his stubby finger in Daley's direction without looking him in the eye. “That's right, I brought you in...”
Murphy's voice was barely detectible. Finally, he looked
After hearing the shots, another uniform, Rudy Andre who had just arrived on the scene, broke the glass on the doors with his gun and fired five times into the ceiling. Navarra said that he could identify most of the assailants he encountered when he entered the mosque; however, he only heard the gunshot that hit his partner Phil—not any by Negron.
Padilla stated that as soon as he entered the mosque, he was jumped and stripped of his gun, which was not recovered. Later this would prove to be key in my investigation . He remembered nothing after that.
Seedman was confident. With Navarra's testimony he would be able to develop the assault cases, and from there he'd be able to deduce who the shooter was. Line-ups would be conducted at the 2-4 Precinct, and it'd be a matter of time before justice prevailed—that is if a proper investigation ensued.
Seedman and Daley had enough information to make a statement. They convened in the temporary headquarters where Chief of the Department Michael Codd was now stationed. Codd was the highest-ranking uniformed member of the NYPD. He was the only four-star chief on the job; everyone else had three stars or less, and he was very vocal about that fact. He was the boss of all uniformed bosses. It was a glamour position awarded by Commissioner Patrick V. Murphy, which meant Murphy could rescind it at any time, which meant Codd was Murphy's man.
Daley and Seedman both gave identical accounts to all the men in theroom. Lindsay and Murphy sat side-by-side. Daley insisted that all of the pertinent information be fed to the press: no civilians were shot, the police were attacked, one gun was missing not two, and arrests were forthcoming.
Murphy stood and turned away from Daley. He spoke to Chief Inspector Codd and Mayor Lindsay, “We're not sure yet. We better check into it a little further.”
Seedman never once looked at Murphy or the higher-ranking Codd. He stood with his body sidled against the door, staring out into the hallway where injured cops kept filing in. His body language indicated who he was, a cop, and where he wanted to be, with the cops. He was somehow able to disassociate himself from these politically charged decision makers, yet remain in the mix. He'd been around long enough, thirty-five years, to know that this meeting was just for show. The press was close by, and so were the rank and file; everything that these super-chiefs did or didn't do was being clocked. If there seemed to be dissension and disorganization among the hierarchy, then that would play out on the evening news and in the papers. From there, it would distill down to the voting public and patrol. Those men riding in those patrol cars in more than 800 sectors of New York, walking thousands of dangerous foot posts had to feel the ship they sailed had dominion, command, and was on course. Seedman knew different. It was adrift, rudderless, and heading for an iceberg.
Daley stood. He needed his position on the record, though by then he must have known that everyone was going to be manipulated, from the press to the people of New York to the backbone of the NYPD—patrol. “Commissioner, most of those reporters out there were already at the mosque. They're going to write and report half-truths anyway. Let's at least break it down for them so what they report will have a grain of truth. If not, the longer we wait, the harder it's going to be to refute what they say.”
Murphy condescendingly raised his hands. Daley snapped, “Sir, all due respect, why are you placating me? I'm the one you brought in to deal with the goddamn press.”
Murphy pointed his stubby finger in Daley's direction without looking him in the eye. “That's right, I brought you in...”
Murphy's voice was barely detectible. Finally, he looked
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