ONCE IN, NEVER OUT
Chapter 6

     
     
     
Since it was almost quitting time, Lieutenant Mosley was busy clearing his desk. In front of him was a pile of COMPLAINT FOLLOW-UP reports that documented the work his detectives had done on their cases that day and he was signing them at his usual rate of six a minute. Then there was a perfunctory knock at his door and McKenna walked into his office.
     The lieutenant immediately suspected he had a problem. An unannounced visit from the PC's pal could mean nothing else, so Mosley quickly ran his cases through his mind, searching for the one that had a booby trap for him inside. A few came to mind, but he couldn't attach names to them. There were just so many people reported missing in New York City, but that had never been a problem for Mosley. Experience had taught him that sooner or later, somebody found them, usually by accident.
     "Good to see you, Brian," Mosley said. "What brings you here?"
     McKenna didn't think that Mosley looked glad to see him at all. "I've been ordered to take over one of your cases."
     In any other circumstances involving any other detective, any squad commander would indignantly shout, "Ordered by who? " But not with McKenna because everyone knew who the who was. "Good. So you'll be working for me?"
     "No."
     "I see," Mosley said as he mulled over the implications of McKenna's simple "No ." "Which case?"
     "The Meaghan Maher case."
     "Meaghan Maher?"
     "The one you got two weeks ago from the 19th Squad."
     "Oh, that one. According to the guidelines, it never should have come here. Peters should have closed it, but you know him. I figured he sent it to me just to break my balls."
     "That's not why he left it open," McKenna said. "Whatever the guidelines say, Lieutenant Peters was sharp enough to see that there was something to it."
     That was not what Mosley wanted to hear. "There a heavyweight involved here, somewhere?"
     "I never ask," McKenna lied.
     "Good policy. Good thing I assigned one of my best men to it."
     "Detective Swaggart?"
     "Yeah, Swaggart. Very experienced man, been here for years."
     "Could I speak to him?"
     "Sure."
     "And could you ask him to bring the case folder in?"
     "You got it." Mosley picked up his phone and a few minutes later Swaggart was in the office.
     Swaggart was an old-timer in his late fifties, but he looked like he had jumped out of the Mod Squad. He had muttonchops and a long, droopy mustache, and he wore a checkered polyester sports coat and frayed polyester slacks. McKenna didn't like that look in a detective. Worse, Swaggart had just been summoned into his squad commander's office and he was standing there with his top shirt button undone and his tie pulled down.
     McKenna felt he was rocking on a very loose ship. After seeing Swaggart, he wasn't interested in what the man had to say. "May I see the case folder, please?"
     "Not much to it. Pretty routine," Swaggart said as he handed the folder to McKenna.
     It took McKenna only a minute to read because Swaggart had done only four short reports on the case. In the first he acknowledged receiving it for investigation; in the second he verified that the alarm for Meaghan Maher as a missing person had been transmitted; in the third he described a phone call he had received from the subject's mother in Ireland, a call in which he had assured her that everything possible was being done to locate her daughter; and in the fourth he had recommended that the case be closed pending further developments. Mosley had signed each report.
     McKenna was shocked. Swaggart had never once left the office to work the case. His initial shock was replaced by anger and he struggled to keep himself under control. Like Swaggart, McKenna was a detective, not a boss, and he knew it wasn't his place to offer criticism. But something had to be said. "This is it? Four reports that say absolutely nothing and case closed?"
     "Yeah, pretty routine," Swaggart offered. "Remember, this case is outside the guidelines. It never should have come here in the first place."
     You're right about that, McKenna thought. After all, it's people's lives we're dealing with. Their problems, worries, and concerns should never wind up in this investigative cesspool. "Lieutenant, is Detective Swaggart related to you in any way?"
     "No. Why would you think that?" Mosley asked suspiciously.
     "Just a thought. After looking at this case folder, I figure you must owe him something because you let him get away with it. Figured that years ago, maybe he did you a favor and married your ugliest sister."
     Mosley turned red and visibly angry. His lips quivered and he looked like he wanted to shout, but then he thought better of it. He put a pleasant smile on his face and asked, "I guess you think he should have done more?"
     "Much more."
     "Let me explain something to you, Brian. Most people are missing because they want to be missing. Fine, but we know that they all show up, sooner or later."
     "But you don't find them?"
     "I've got twenty-six detectives and we get a hundred cases a day. There's procedures and we follow them. Finding someone who wants to be missing is a difficult, time consuming job."
     Too difficult for this crew with their present boss, McKenna thought. "Don't a number of them wind up as victims of crimes?"
     "Not a sizable number, but it happens," Mosley conceded.
     "Let's hope it didn't happen in this case. Let's hope we don't find out that this girl has been kidnapped, raped, or murdered while you're sitting on a closed case that your very-experienced detective here never really worked."
     "And if we do?"
     "Use your imagination."
     "Are you threatening me, Detective McKenna?" Mosley asked, angry and indignant.
     "Yes," McKenna answered, then turned and headed for the door.
     "Think you can do better, McKenna?" Swaggart shouted.
     "That shouldn't be hard."

*     *     *

Like many other valuable investigative tools used by detectives for years, the telephone records of a subject have been officially denied to them by a host of court decisions relating to privacy. The telephone companies were forced to comply and now require a court order or subpoena before releasing subscriber information to the police. McKenna knew that he couldn't fill those requirements in this case, but that didn't concern him. Telephone companies traditionally hire retired police bosses as their heads of security, and NYNEX was no exception. Running their security operation was Steve Tavlin, an old friend who had recently retired as chief of Manhattan detectives.
     McKenna got Meaghan Maher's telephone number from Walsh's reports, called Tavlin with his request, and then made himself a cup of coffee. The day shift was leaving and the night shift was reporting in, so McKenna lounged by the fax machine and exchanged pleasantries with the new arrivals while he waited and drank his coffee. He was still waiting and on his second cup when Sheeran came out of his office.
     "Staying late?" the inspector asked McKenna.
     "Yeah, I figure maybe nine o'clock. Got some things that need doing."
     "Can I help you out with anything?"
     "I'd like to use your phone. Think I'm gonna be making some international calls."
     International calls could not be made from the phones on every detective's desk, but they could from the CO's phone. "Her parents?" Sheeran asked.
     "That's one of them. Also hope to get a line on somebody else she's been talking to."
     "Anybody in particular?"
     "There's a mystery boyfriend in here somewhere and he's in the military. He hasn't been around for a while, so he's probably not stationed at any base around here."
     "I guess you asked Tavlin for some help," Sheeran said.
     This Sheeran's still sharp, McKenna thought. Ordinarily, bosses never wanted to hear about the slightly illegal things their detectives did as they went about their work. " Results count, but spare me some of the details" was the usual attitude. But not Sheeran. He trusted every man in his squad to do the right thing and then competently deny it if the need ever arose. Every detective in the Major Case Squad realized that trust was a two-way street and they all felt comfortable keeping Sheeran in the loop. "Yeah, we talked," McKenna said. "He asked me to send you his regards."
     "Thanks. Call me if you need anything. I'll be at home."
     Right after Sheeran left, the fax started spitting paper. It lasted an hour and didn't stop until McKenna had every call Meaghan had made from home in the past year. McKenna took the paper into Sheeran's office and made himself comfortable as he went over the bills.
     The last call Meaghan had made was at 1:10 AM on the morning of February 19th. It was an international call, so McKenna opened Sheeran's directory and turned to the page listing country calls. It was Belgium. He picked up the phone and dialed.
     "Bravo Company, Sergeant Waters speaking."
     Bingo! McKenna thought. Getting close to my soldier. "Yes, Sergeant Waters. This is Detective McKenna of the New York City Police Department. Could you please give me your full unit designation and tell me where you're located?"
     "Yes, sir. Bravo Company, Fourth MP Battalion. We're in Brussels, Belgium."
     Only one thing an American army unit could be doing in Belgium, McKenna knew. "Is your unit assigned to guard NATO Headquarters?"
     "Yes, sir. Is there a problem?"
     "Yes, but it's my problem, not yours. Thank you, Sergeant. You've been a big help."
     "Is there anything else I can help you with?"
     McKenna thought about asking Waters if there were any soldiers in Bravo Company named Owen, but decided against it. For all he knew, he might be speaking to Sergeant Owen Waters and he wasn't ready to tip his hand yet, just in case Owen had something to do with Meaghan's disappearance. Word travels fast in the military and the news that a NYC detective had called to ask about Owen would be sure to reach him. "Not yet, Sergeant. Thank you."
     McKenna's next call was to Meaghan's parents in Ireland. According to her bill, she had last spoken to them three days before she disappeared. McKenna intended it to be a simple courtesy call, but figured the call was a couple of hours overdue because it was close to midnight in Ireland and the phone kept ringing. He was about to hang up when the phone was answered.
     "Hello?" It was a woman's voice and she sounded like she just woke up.
     "Hello, Mrs. Maher. This is Detective McKenna of the New York City Police Department." There was no response. McKenna was puzzled until he realized that Meaghan's mother was expecting bad news from the midnight call and was probably holding her breath. "There've been no new developments, but I just wanted to let you know that I've been assigned the case," he added.
     "Thank God, Detective McKenna, but you scared me out of my wits," she said, relief sounding through her thick brogue.
     "Sorry I'm calling so late, but we've got a time difference," McKenna said.
     "Don't be sorry. Please call anytime. This wouldn't be the Detective McKenna, would it? Detective Brian McKenna?"
     "Yes, it is. How do you know?"
     "Since Meaghan's gone to America, we pick up the New York papers from time to time. We know all about you and I'm delighted that you're going to help find her."
     McKenna's head was swelling. "I'll do my best, Mrs. Maher," he said.
     "Was Detective Swaggart too busy? Is that why you've been assigned?"
     "No, I don't think that's the case. Why would you think that?"
     "Because every time we call, they always tell us that he's not in the office. They always tell us that he's busy in the field."
     That lazy, lying sack of shit! Except to fill his face, Swaggart probably hasn't been out of the office in a year, McKenna wanted to scream. However, he didn't see how that would help Mrs. Maher's state of mind, so he said instead, "I've been assigned to find Meaghan because our police commissioner has taken a personal interest in this case. We're going to do everything we can and I'll call you every couple of days to let you know how we're doing."
     "Wonderful! Thank you, Detective McKenna. You can't imagine what it's like for us, not knowing where she is or if she's dead or alive."
     "I think I can, but it's hard to put myself in your shoes. When was the last time you heard from her?"
     "That would be Sunday, February 15th."
     McKenna already had the answer in the bills in front of him, but he had to ask. "Did she usually stay in touch with you?"
     "Always. Called us every Sunday, without fail. That's one of the reasons we're so concerned."
     "Has anybody you don't know called asking about her?"
     "Meaghan was very popular here. Everybody's been asking about her, but we know them all."
     "How about Chris O'Malley?"
     "Never met him, but he's a wonderful boy. Calls every couple of days. I think he's as worried as we are."
     "Will you call me immediately, day or night, if you hear anything at all?" McKenna asked.
     "Of course."
     McKenna gave her his work number, his home number, and his cell phone number.
     "Thank you, Detective McKenna. God bless you and good luck. From this moment on, you're in our prayers," Mrs. Maher said.
     Pray for yourself and Meaghan, not me, McKenna thought. The deeper I get in this, the worse it looks.

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