"Yikes, gentlemen this is a fucking big problem because the detectives on the crime scene found both memo books and now they have enough incriminating evidence to prosecute you both and I.A.B. is going to be up both of your asses," Moore said.
"But don't worry about it; you guys are not in the N.Y.P.D. roster and your fingerprints and personal information aren't in the database. Don't stress yourselves out, and please don't talk to anyone about this case with anyone. Understood?"
"Yes chief," both detectives replied.
"By the way, come back here at 5 p.m. and I will give you guys some new memo books," Moore said.
"Roger that sir," both detectives replied.
"Well, gentlemen anything else?"
"No Sir," both detectives replied.
"Okay, guys then go back to the new O.C.D.," Moore said.
The new O.C.D. or Organized Crime Division was created and controlled by the departmental chief Ray Anemone and the Albanian Intelligence Agency for N.Y.P.D. officers working for the Albanian mafia. It was a pact made to assist the head of the Albanian mafia Edon Kastrani smuggle his drugs into the United States and other countries without being caught; and to restrict the personal lives of all corrupted police officers working for the Albanian mafia. It also restricted their phone numbers, and addresses, changed their names, and expunged their fingerprints; so that they wouldn't get caught and still be able to work for Edon Kastrani. This new O.C.D division was managed by Steve Moore at the N.Y.P.D. level.
At 5 p.m., the same day, Detective Vitale and Tiziano met again with Steve Moore at Fitzgerald's.
"Gentlemen, here are your two new memo books." Be careful next time when you go somewhere to do a mafia hit, make sure you put your memo book in the P.D. summons binder and put it in your front pocket to avoid losing it. Next time, it'll be command discipline—a five-day suspension."
"I am on your side, but the police commissioner, Bruce Wane is the most straight-arrow and disciplinarian-style police commissioner the department has ever had and he checks the memo books every day. If he sees old memo books missing, he will start issuing Command Disciplines," Assistant Chief of Payroll Operations Steve Moore said.
After the assistant chief's criticism, both detectives took their new memo books and went home.
In the evening of the same day, Lieutenant Dansky sat in his office reviewing the Barbara Walters homicide case. Dansky wondered if there was anyone who would report the woman missing. Dansky tossed the case folder into the active basket. He reached down and slid out the bottom drawer took out the quart bottle of Chivas Regal scotch and poured some into a glass. With a drink in hand, he got up and walked over to the windows.
He grinned when he saw the black man on the corner of Franklin Avenue and Eastern Parkway; panhandling and bothering three Hispanic women for money. "Skells; they'll never learn."
Dansky's office was a cubicle fitted with green and gray cinder block walls, a locker, three file cabinets, and a glass bookcase containing the Patrol Guide, Penal Law, and Criminal Procedure Law. His desk was green metal with a gray Formica top and a glass covering; standard N.Y.P.D. issue. After he sat in his chair he began to rock back and forward, rolling his pen with his hands. He then began to stare at the picture frame on top of his desk; a photo of his ex-wife and two daughters Michelle and Elizabeth, ages three and five when the photo was taken. It had been a long time since he had gotten lost in this photograph. He moved his chair closer to his desk and took a deep breath.
He poured more scotch into his glass and picked up the photo, staring into his wife's charcoal blue eyes. He could still remember the exact date he had snapped it. April 1, 1971, in the Prospect Park Zoo. She was twenty-one. He was twenty-two. They were married on February 28, 1971.
Bill Dansky and Sandy Berger fell in love. They were full of dreams about the future. He was going to earn his B.A. in public administration from John Jay College and become a policeman and go on to become a lieutenant detective of the largest police department in the world. Sandy Berger was going to earn her PhD in speech therapy and become a child speech therapist. They were going to marry and live happily ever after; a marriage that started in paradise and ended in hell, he thought, as he drank.
Their union lasted seven years. In the beginning, they were very happy. Each day ended with long, full reports on the day's experiences. By the end of their second year together they had earned their degrees. She was doing graduate work at Baruch College and was active in the speech therapy club. On February 28, 1972, one year after their marriage, he was appointed to the police department. The transition from civilian to police officer began immediately.
His first class at the Police Academy was a police science class. In the police academy, they told the recruits not to get involved off duty; and don't discuss the job with civilians. "Don't be a zero, be a hero. Don't be a fighter. Don't ever trust newspapermen, lawyers, junkies, or hookers." He enjoyed the structured curriculum at the academy, learning the law, police procedures, and traditions. Twice a week, in the afternoon policemen from some of the city's busiest houses would come to the academy to conduct informal sessions with the recruits. He would sit wide-eyed and attentive, listening to the experiences of street cops.
"Never stand in front of a closed door. The person on the other side might fire through it and kill you. When responding to a 10-30, which is a robbery in progress, be mindful that the holdup team might have a backup lurking nearby. Know that a woman or a child can kill you just as dead as a man. A nun dressed in a religious habit is not to be trusted either. In a crowd stay with your partner, don't get separated. Pull your holster around your front to protect your groin and prevent anyone from coming up from behind and ripping your gun from your holster.
After classes in the academy, while wearing a cadet gray shirt and navy blue pants, he would ride the uptown number 6 train on the Lexington Avenue subway to 86th Street; to their one-bedroom apartment on 129 East 86th Street, #3C. Usually, they would make love and then go out to eat afterward. They almost always went to Antonucci's restaurant between Lexington and Third Avenue. They both loved Italian food and ordered lasagna. Upon graduation from the academy, he was assigned to the 14th Transit Bureau precinct, which covered 14th Street and Lexington Ave up to 125th Street and Lexington Avenue; East Harlem, a ghetto ripe with decay and violence. It was those rookie years in the 14th Transit Bureau precinct that destroyed his marriage.
Many cops were content to do their eight-hour shift and go home. Then there were the active ones, the cops who lived for the job—the N.Y.P.D lifers always searching for collars and summonses. Dansky was that kind of cop, a lifer. As his arrest record kept growing, so did the amount of time he had to spend in court. As a young cop, he and Sandy were spending less and less time together; the inevitable outcome of a cop's job; giving more to the city than to their marriage.
The 14th Transit Bureau cops hung out after work at O'Hanlon's Bar, a well-known Irish pub on 349 East 14th Street in Manhattan. After a tour from four to twelve, the cops would go to O'Hanlon's to release stress. Their time together hanging out would last until four in the morning. The rookies would often tag along with the old-timer cops to O'Hanlon's just so they could listen to angry, cynical men recite epic tales and legends of the job.
In the early 1970s Bill Dansky, who was one of those rookies, hung onto every word of some of the old-timers and started drinking scotch with them to fit in.
Sandy Berger was alone most of the time now. She kept herself busy with school and working as a speech therapist. She told herself that Bill's beginning years on the job would be the hardest, practically enslaving him. It would wear off in time and they would settle into the normal routine.
But on May 23, 1973, Dansky was on a tour from four to twelve and doing some solo patrolling in Bowery on the J line inside the subway station. It was now 5 p.m. and he wanted to take a ten-minute break to get money from the bank upstairs. Officer Dansky exited the subway station and into Bowery Savings Bank to take out money from the ATM. As he was completing his transaction, he heard a scream inside the bank. When Officer Dansky entered the bank, he walked into a robbery in progress. An unmasked black male pointed a Smith & Wesson silver revolver at the teller. "This is a hold-up," he screamed. "Give me all your money."
The teller panicked and gave the robber $10,000 in a black duffel bag.
Officer Dansky inconspicuously walked into the bank with his revolver in hand at chest level. As the robber tried to flee from the bank, he shouted, "Police. Don't move. Drop your gun. Put your hands up, wiggle your fingers, turn around, and put your hands behind your back. Do it now or I'll blow you away."
The perpetrator dropped his weapon and did as he was instructed. As Dansky approached the robber with his weapon pointed at him, he rear-cuffed the man. Dansky then called in a10-13, an emergency, officer in need of assistance. Officer Maria Orozco and Officer Robert Welch, two anticrime plainclothes cops, and transit supervisor Sergeant Paul Camuto and his partner Officer Mike Burns all responded to the scene.
Officer Orozco, the ranking officer at the scene, took the felon and Dansky to the 14th Transit Bureau jail cell. The three other officers who arrived at the scene joined them.
"Great collar, rookie," Sergeant Camuto said.
As Dansky went inside with his arrest, he handed his unloaded revolver to the assistant desk officer, Sullivan Soprano. Officer Bill Dansky then searched and frisked the felon. He then took the man's personal property and the weapon he used to commit the robbery along with six bullets and put them inside separate crime evidence plastic envelopes and sealed them all to be used as evidence in court.
"Take off your shoelaces and your belt," Officer Dansky said to the perpetrator who then did as he was told.