Read Online Echoes of My Soul by Robert K. Tanenbaum - Free Book Online Page B

unexpected stance. While Detective Justy was often earnest when discussing matters involving cases, he was rarely at a loss for words. In fact, he and Mel spent countless lunch hours discussing various details of particularly interesting homicides, or sometimes cold cases. An uncomfortable silence fell over the room. Justy fixed his eyes on Mel while pressing out his cigarette in the metal ashtray at the far-right corner of Mel’s desk. Gray smoke dwindled, curling vaguely to the ceiling. The two men stared at one another. Finally Mel rested the palm of his hand on his desktop and said, with as much conviction as he could muster, “Give me his number then, Detective.”
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    It was an understatement to say that Mel thought that he might be in a little over his head. While he had been with the DA’s office for just six years, he was still small potatoes. At that time the longevity of the ADAs in Manhattan was widespread. Most were career oriented. Only two new applicants were hired annually. The senior most competent ADAs left the DAO to become judges. The legendary DA Frank Hogan office alum permeated every level of the state’s judiciary—from the criminal courts, where misdemeanors were tried and felony hearings were conducted, to the state supreme court felony trial parts, up to and including the court of appeals, the state’s highest tribunal. When first hired and before learning the bar results, the procedure at the DAO provided that the newbies were criminal-law investigators (CLI). Once the CLI passed the bar and was deemed admitted to practice in New York State, he became a full-fledged ADA. In Mel’s case he was first assigned to the junior training rigors of the Complaint and Indictment Bureaus, where he presented about a hundred cases a month to grand juries deciding whether or not to indict the accused for the garden-variety mayhem inflicted upon the innocent denizens of Gotham. After that, he was assigned to the criminal courts to handle primarily arraignments, the setting of bail where appropriate, misdemeanor trials and dispositions, felony hearings, matters involving parole violations and evidentiary hearings ranging from defendants’ competency to stand trial to the myriad of legal motions tendered by the defense. It was a fertile minor-league training ground. By 1964, Mel had made it to the majors, and was investigating and prosecuting felonies. Still, it was a far cry from getting his feet wet in the so-called “Career Girls Murders.”
    Mel leaned forward and cupped his forehead in his hands. His sister’s suggestion that George Whitmore Jr. didn’t appear to fit the profile of the killer was haunting him more now than ever. Besides, he should’ve been overly concerned—Blanche worked a mere three blocks away from where the murders took place. He needed to be able to assure her, wholeheartedly, that her neighborhood was safe again—that the murderer was behind bars, that the nightmare that plagued that peaceful stretch on the Upper East Side was finally over. And he certainly didn’t like Justy’s odd manner on things, either—that was entirely uncharacteristic even if his detective squad was told to keep quiet on things. It certainly never stopped him before. With Justy now long gone, Mel sat up and reached across his metal desk for his phone. Lifting the receiver, he began dialing the number and then waited; until after four rings, someone picked up.
    A female voice chirped, “Lennen and Newell Advertisers. How can I help you?”
    With as much assurance as he could muster up, he replied, “ADA Glass, with the New York County DA’s Office. I’d like to speak to Mr. Max Wylie.”
    â€œOf course, Mr.—”
    â€œGlass. Melvin D. Glass, of the New York District Attorney’s Office.”
    â€œOf course, Mr. Glass. One moment please. . . .”
    A few seconds passed before a male voice came on the