625 8th Avenue

valor.

INTRODUCTION

In early October a young woman is found methodically strangled to death on the middle parking level of New York City’s dubious Port Authority Bus Terminal (BT). There are no signs of force and it appears that she not only knew her killer, but may have also contributed to her own brutal death. The investigation which follows takes you into the darkest shadows of a woman living two very different and very secretive lives.

October is also the time when preparations are being made for the annual BT Christmas Party to benefit Holy Cross Church on 42nd Street. This annual event is the most sort after holiday party by almost every cop, fireman, nurse, coed, teacher, commuter and resident in Times Square. It hosts over a thousand guests and is as much an annual tradition on the deuce

as:

four jostlers bumping,

three homeys preying,

two foot-cops running, and

a crack-head snatchin’ a TV

628 8th Avenue is a story centered around the legendary Terminal in Times Square. This mega-complex is the largest and most diversified ground transportation facility in the world. Literally a city within a city and centered at the core of the big apple, where it uniquely stands out like a giant fortress offering comfort and refuge to most, but sinister and illicit opportunities to others.

Approximately 250,000 people transgress their way through it almost daily, making it one of the largest cities in America. And like any other large city, it has its own distinct personality and unparalleled operational situations, which cannot be duplicated anywhere else. It has an annual operating budget larger than the GNP of most third world nations and its own essential services work force. The most important and critically essential of all these services are the Port Authority Police Department.

It is this department that is ultimately responsible for all the police, fire and medical emergencies which occur in this massive compound. And the enormous responsibility of running such a diversified department rests squarely on the shoulders of the Police Officers that have accepted the challenge of being assigned to the terminal’s police command. Over one hundred twenty-five men and women, all specialists in the various phases of public safety, have devoted their lives to providing courteous, professional and selfless service to the community they have chosen to protect and serve.

This is their story, reflective of the day to day operations of a police precinct that is unparalleled in every aspect of coping with society’s vast array of contemporary maladies. Every conceivable human emotion is taxed to their absolute limits, in order to cope with the harsh realities and emotional complexities of policing this microcosm of urban America.

This story certainly contains the realities of a typical police drama, but it also consists of some incredibly unique situations not commonly found in typical police accounts. Some of these aspects will absolutely entertain, while others will inevitably outrage. Some will induce a smile, while others will force a tear. Regardless of the emotions experienced, at the conclusion of this story you will be dared to accept the inescapable fact that what you have just finished reading is based on the many stories which have occurred inside the walls of 625 8th Avenue.

CHAPTER I

THOSE DREADED LATE NIGHT PHONE CALLS

My God she’s beautiful. Long black wavy hair, high cheek bones, a perfectly contoured mouth and the way she wore that dress. Draped over one shoulder, low cut around those beautiful breasts and totally revealing of her long, slender and perfectly shaped legs. She’s beautiful. The only problem, someone took one of her black opaque nylons, tied it around her neck and choked the life from her. She’s dead.

There’s probably nothing worse then waking up to the agonizing sound of a phone ringing in the middle of the night. It’s never good news, especially if it’s the office. Who’s sick, who’s hurt, and who’s dead. What happened?

Boss, sorry to wake you, but we have a homicide.

Those horrible words, we have a homicide and the very foul smell of death in the night air.

A white female in her early twenties, she was found strangled in her car on the middle parking level. Looks like she was raped.

Okay thanks, I’ll be there as soon as I can, hold the crime scene for me.

It’s only about a twenty minute ride at this time of night, from southern Rockland County to the Bus Terminal. But those twenty minutes feel more like an eternity when the drive is for something like this. Someone has taken the life of another human being, a young woman whose life was probably filled with the normal everyday dreams that women of her age have and the future plans for a wonderful life.

But now they’ll be no more everyday dreams and certainly no more plans for a wonderful life. No, someone has saw to it that this young woman’s destiny is no longer allowed to be her own. Whoever took her life changed all that. They decided what her destiny was going to be and they decided that it would be a very horrible death in a very lonely place, in the middle of the night.

The rain was coming down so heavy that it made the drive there even more hectic. Weather like this can only help the bad guy, unless of course the bad guy who committed this macabre act had the decency to take her life in a place where the rain wouldn’t be able to wash away anything important. That’s anything that could help us catch him of course. What were the odds that her killer was already sitting cuffed to a chair in the squad room, spilling his guts as to why he did it? No, this isn’t the movies and it’s never that easy, not when somebody’s dead.

The ramps leading from the Lincoln Tunnel exit to the Bus Terminal’s parking levels were closed off by a marked radio car. The three parking levels were part of the eight levels that comprised this massive structure, from 40th to 42nd Street and from 8th & 9th Avenues. Right smack dab in the heart of one of the most God forsaken places in the city, Times Square stood this concrete and steel monster. The largest and busiest bus terminal in the world, a city within a city. Open twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week and climate controlled, making it the perfect refuge for every night creature lurking in midtown.

Pimps, hookers, crack attackers, homeboys, conmen, sex deviates, robbery teams, general opportunists and derelicts, to name some of the vast array of it’s many dwellers. Of course with over 250,000 people transgressing their way through the terminal every day, most are hard working commuters or travelers, just minding their own business.

The terminal contained the normal things that one would expect to find in such a huge transportation facility. Such as scores of bus companies, waiting and baggage areas, rest rooms, restaurants, bars and shopping areas. But it also contained business offices, hair saloons, bakeries, lottery merchants and medical facilities. It even had its own drug store and one of the only bowling alleys in all of Manhattan. A self contained self functioning space station, but not the type one would expect to find in outer space. No, this was definitely a space station only to be found in urban space.

Like any other city someone had to keep it all together. At the But Terminal, the glue was heavily applied by the over 125 guardians of society’s humanity, decency and dignity; the men and women of the Port Authority Police Department at the Bus Terminal Command.

The cop in the radio car blocking the parking ramp moved his car out of the way so 1 could drive up to the crime scene. I drove past him going from the lower level to the middle.

It was easy enough to find where the young woman’s final breath of life was taken; the whole area was swarming with radio cars and uniforms. As I approached the area, a young cop in a brand new raincoat jumped out in front of me to stop me from continuing. Apparently, he didn’t know who I was.

Sorry sir, but you’ll have to turn around and go back the way you came. This area is closed for now; a young woman has been killed.

I know officer, I’m Captain Cirino, the C-0 and please do us all a big favor.

Sure Cap, what is it?

Please don’t tell everyone that happens to show up here exactly what happened. It’ll give the place a bad name.

Ahh, sure boss, right. I’m sorry.

I drove up to the scene and was immediately approached by a uniformed sergeant, Pete Bedlamanti, or as the men call him, Sergeant Bedlam. A middle-aged veteran of over twenty-five years, who was given this nickname because of his seemingly natural ability to blow every situation out of proportion. And as soon as I saw him coming towards me, I knew this would be no exception.

Hi Pete, what do you have?

Hi Boss. Sorry we had to wake you, but we have a dead young woman. Looks like she was strangled with one of her own stockings and by the looks of things, was sexually penetrated. Probably raped, but we’re not sure yet.

The crime scene guys had done a good job of securing the area, yards and yards of the bright yellow crime scene tape was everywhere. A very good idea, it’s always better to over do then under do the boundaries of a crime scene. You wouldn’t want to overlook something important because you were stingy with the tape. This keeps everything nice and sterile; it also helps to keep the curious from touching something they shouldn’t. This went for other cops as well as anyone else.

I crossed under the tape and walked over to the parked car which contained the dead woman. It was parked in the southeast section of the parking level, next to a large concrete column. Perfect for obstructing the view of anyone who might come wandering by.

The car was a late model Nissan Sentra, silver colored with Jersey plates. She was in the front passenger seat, which had been fully reclined. Her black satin dress had been raised up to her very slender waist and she was wearing only one dark colored opaque nylon on her right leg. The left leg was bare, the nylon intended for that leg was now neatly tied around her neck. This apparently, was the cause of her death.

Both her shoes were on the floor of the car directly in front of where she had been sitting and her jacket was neatly folded and lying on the back seat. There were no signs of any struggle whatsoever. Except for both front seats being fully reclined, the car seemed perfectly normal. She had no ripped or torn clothing and no visible signs of any other injuries. If it wasn’t for that nylon tied around her neck, the average person would be hard pressed to admit that she looked dead. With her big green bedroom eyes wide open and staring out into the blackened night sky, she looked more like a daydreaming beauty then a lifeless corpse.

It seemed obvious that she had to know her killer and it was also obvious that she consented to this partial removal of her clothing and the present positioning of her seat. But what else was consensual? What about the sex, if any? It certainly appeared that there was sex, but sometimes things that appear to be obvious, aren’t always.

The M-E (Medical Examiner) would be able to tell us for sure, along with how she actually died. Along with the approximate time, if she did put up a struggle and anything else that would be important to the investigators; such as the presence of any drugs or alcohol in her system and if they played a significant role in her death. For now it certainly appeared that this young and very beautiful woman had certainly known the person that caused her untimely and very gruesome death.

Two detectives approached and began to fill me in on the small amount of information they had. Detectives Mike Predmore and Dan Cipiletti were the first investigators to arrive on the scene, so they were now assigned the case. Both were veteran detectives who would stop at virtually nothing until whoever took the life of this young woman was certainly made to be held responsible for their actions.

Talk to me guys, tell me what you have.

Dan Cipiletti spoke first.

At about 0225 hours today, a parking lot attendant Mr. Raphael Morales, was on a routine check of all vehicles parked on the parking levels. He saw someone sitting in the front passenger seat, but couldn’t actually make out what she was doing because the windows were fogged. He tapped on her window several times, but of course she didn’t respond. So he tried the door handle and it opened. He tried to talk to her, but when she didn’t answer, he knew something was wrong and ran over to a wall phone and called the station. The two uniforms that responded, Cadden and Sala met him by the phone and he took them over to the car. They subsequently called in the homicide and stayed on the scene until the crime scene guys got here.

Predmore added to Cipiletti’s report.

We ran the plate and it came back to Diana Marie Cassey of Morristown, New Jersey. Her DOB is July 2, 1990. It does appear to be her, but we’ll make some inquiries before we make any official notifications.

Okay guys, but make sure you keep me posted.

The crime scene guys were just about finished with their photos, prints and gathering of other evidence and the M-E promised to get here as soon as he can to do his preliminary investigation and to take the body. After that the car will be towed to the lab, where it will be gone over with a microscope from bumper to bumper. The investigators will now begin the very arduous task of investigating every aspect of the crime, as well as the victim’s life. They’ll want to learn everything possible about her. This will help them to understand who she was and maybe in turn will help lead them to her killer.

They’ll start looking for any possible witnesses. They’ll talk to the terminal elevator operators, cleaners, other parking attendants and people in the general area. They’ll also hit the streets to see if any of the street people can help them out. Then there are the surrounding buildings. Maybe someone couldn’t sleep and was field testing that new telescope on other people’s apartments to see how they spend their late nights. Maybe they saw something that will help. They were going to be very busy.

CHAPTER II

THE HUNT DURING RED OCTOBER

October is one of my favorite times of the year, the days are still pretty warm, while the nights are usually perfect for sleeping. Of course the beauty of nature is apparent everywhere you look, even in New York. Around the Bus Terminal Command, October is special for another reason, it marks the beginning of the prep time for the annual BT Christmas party. This party, which always has a very legitimate charitable theme to it, is the most sort after Christmas party by every cop, fireman, teacher, nurse, coed, and resident in the Times Square area.

The party itself is an annual tradition and always held on the first Friday in December. But BT personnel will begin in early October handing out advance fliers and visiting other commands. They’ll also advertise it in area hospitals, nursing schools, area airports, the court buildings and just about any other place they could think of. They’ll also remind the general commuting public that the annual party is forth coming. This always helps to insure a huge turn out.

The party takes place in the basement of Holy Cross Church on 42nd Street, between 8th and 9th Avenues. It’s a fund raiser to help benefit the Church and its small elementary school and is certainly welcomed by its pastor, the Reverend Andrew Navaro and its very needy congregation. Command personnel solicit donations of food and beverages from the neighborhood merchants. A band, DJ, decorations, beer, wine and the clean up crew are also donated. Hard booze and mixers are given at cost and there is no charge for what’s unused. All the cooking and serving is done by the command and a 100% guarantee of