McCall waited for Stavros Kokinas outside the entrance to Loi Estiatorio’s Greek restaurant at 132 W. 58th Street, just down from Central Park West. The proprietor was Chef Maria Loi and she was the finest Greek cook in New York City in McCall’s opinion. Her establishment was cozy, the staff were outgoing and accommodating in an atmosphere that called for the finest of Greek hospitality. Marie Loi was the heart of it. She hailed from Nafpaktos. McCall often stopped late at the restaurant when the crowds had gone to sample Chef Loi’s spreads: Tzatziki, Tyrokafteri, Melitzanosalata and Hummus, followed by Tiger Prawns, arugula, cauliflower, lemon and olive oil. Marie Loi had published 36 cookbooks and was a celebrity who had catered to President Obama and Vice-President Joe Biden and 250 guests at the White House. A group of Greek men exited the restaurant with Marie Loi in their midst. The carefree ambiance had not carried out onto the sidewalk. The mood was somber. The center of attention was a stocky, good looking man in his early sixties, Stavros Kokinas, who was Alexa’s father. He shook hands with the waiters and gave Maria Loi a hug. She glanced over at McCall and nodded, as if she understood now who he was. Stavros walked over to him. McCall held out his hand.
“I’m Robert McCall.”
Stavros shook his hand. “Stavros Kokinas. You know Maria Loi?”
“Best Greek restaurateur in the city.”
“She is. Walk with me into the park.”
They crossed 59th Street outside the Plaza Hotel and entered Central Park. Stavros’s voice was clipped and terse. “Detective First Grade Steve Lansing at the 7th Precinct told me you help people. That you are some kind of a knight errant. Sounds like a vigilante to me who takes the law in his own hands.”
“When I have to.”
“As a Police Officer I can’t condone that.”
“I have rules,” McCall said. “Why don’t you tell me what has happened to you?”
“Not to me,” he said. “To my daughter Alexa.”
McCall waited. There was so much rage bottled up in the man that it threatened to explode. They walked through the trees, heading toward the Pond. Finally Stavros was able to contain his wrath and bring it down to an acceptable level, but it simmered just below the level of violence.
“I’m a cop. I have been teaching at the Police Academy for thirty-two years. We used to be located at 20th Street in Gramercy Park but in 2014 we moved to West College Point in Queens. A 750,000 square-foot facility that covers three buildings. I train the police recruits in communication skills, safe tactics, intelligence gathering and shooting training. I teach counterterror methodologies, counter surveillance technology and education to protect the lives, rights and dignity of all New Yorkers and their visitors.”
They skirted around the Pond and headed in the direction of the baseball diamond and the chess tables. Stavros was on a roll. “We have numerous locations within the facility that can be utilized. We got a precinct stationhouse, a multi-family residence and a convenience store that gets robbed every day. On purpose, of course. We got a bank and a subway car and platform. It’s a great facility.”
They passed the Zoo and headed down The Mall toward the Sheep Meadow.
McCall waited.
Stavros said: “My daughter Alexa had wanted to be a Peace Officer since she was five years old. She was a grade-A student who graduated high school with honors. She joined the Police Force when she was twenty-two years old. She is volatile and fiery and conducts herself with dignity and compassion. She has had to deal with a major handicap. She is hearing impaired. Which is the polite way to say that she is deaf. Not totally. She has hearing in her left ear. But it is like being underwater for her. She says she hears a whooshing sound like static on an old transistor radio which comes in and out, but she cannot hear the music. But she copes with it beautifully. She’s tough and she’s strong.”
Stavros seemed to run out of words. He stopped and looked through the trees toward Strawberry Fields and the John Lennon Memorial.
Finally McCall said: “Is your daughter the only hearing-impaired Police Officer on the force?”
“There’s only one other, a Deputy Sheriff in Arizona. About the same age as Alexa.”
“Tell me what happened, Stavros.”
The tough Greek took a breath and slowly let it out. “Alexa was alone in her patrol car down on the Lower East Side. She has got a partner, Officer Tony Palmer, a couple of years older, who swore he would look after her, but he did not. She entered an old warehouse building down the block. The gate had been left open. A padlock had been broken off. Alexa approached with all due caution, but she did not immediately call for back-up. She had her weapon drawn. She entered the warehouse and was attacked out of the shadows. Alexa said that the perps were all wearing black clothing and ski masks. They used a taser on her to bring her down to her knees.” Stavros paused, collecting himself. He said: “They raped her. When it was all over, they left her on the floor of the warehouse barely able to breathe. Officer Palmer found her and radioed it in. They took her to Bellevue Hospital.”
“Can she give a positive ID on the men who assaulted her?”
“I know one of them,” Stavros said. “A NYPD homicide cop out of the 16th Precinct named Frank Macamber. I taught him at the Police Academy. He is a foul-mouthed, bigoted asshole who graduated at the top of his class. He is a dirty cop who takes graft and distributes heroin to the street gangs. The 16th Precinct has trying to make a case against him for harassment and intimidation, but they have never been able to prove anything. He has a clean record.”
“So Alexa can’t say for certain that Macamber was one of her attackers?” McCall asked.
“No,” Stavros said. “But Officer Palmer believes her and so do I. There were six of them altogether that graduated from the Academy. Unusual for all of them to get assigned to the 16th Precinct, but that was calculated. Frank Macamber had markers he cashed in. They had a nickname at the Academy. They called themselves The Elite. They were fighting crime. Cleaning up the streets of New York. They are scum like you would wipe off your shoe. We have a word in Greek. It is Viasmos. It means ravishment. That was what they did to my little girl. They ravished her and left her unconscious on that warehouse floor with the filth and the rats.”
The man’s hands were shaking. He stopped amid the trees to try to compose himself.
“Who is leading the investigation at the 16th Precinct?” McCall asked.
Stavros looked at McCall with savage irony. “The Elite, of course. They will ask all the right questions, get statements from eyewitnesses, of which there were none. The crime will be swept under the rug and life with go on. Except that Alexa will be finished as a Peace Officer. She will he traumatized by this for a long time.”
“You can’t be sure these Police Officers were the rapists?” McCall objected.
“I would bet money on it, but that never will be proven. Macamber is the ringleader. So unless you get a better idea, Mr. McCall, one of these dark nights out in the streets I will put a bullet into Frank Macamber’s brain.”
McCall shook his head. “You’d be throwing your career and your life away.”
“Only if I got caught. Are you going to try and stop me?”
“If you corner Macamber in a dark alley somewhere, that’s game, set and match. You cannot do that, Stavros. You asked me my help. Let me see what I can do.”
“Frank Macamber will hunt you down and kill you.”
“I’ll take my chances.”
Stavros looked away again toward the John Lennon Memorial. “John Lennon was gunned in the street for no good reason. I’ve got a reason.”
“You’re a better man than that,” McCall said. “In Greek, the term ‘Philotimo’ means doing something with pride, with love and respect of oneself and one’s family. The Greek word psuche is the aftermath of God breathing his life into a person. If you take someone’s life, you will be losing your soul. Let me take care of this.”
Stavros slowly nodded. “I will give you three days, Mr. McCall. Then I will be coming for Frank Macamber.”
Stavros Kokinas walked away without another word toward Bow Bridge and The Lake.
Leaving Robert McCall to think about Frank Macamber and the Elite.
Alexa’s doctors only gave McCall ten minutes alone with her. She had been moved from the ICU ward to a private room on the fourth floor of the hospital. She was hooked up to various machines monitoring her heart rate, blood pressure, an IV drip. McCall had sat beside her for five of those minutes. Her beautiful face was a mess. Her right eye had opened up a little, but her left eye was still a slit. Her face was heavily bandaged. She looked bleary and disoriented when she turned around to look at him.
“My name is Robert McCall,” he told her softy. “Your father came to see me.”
When Alexa spoke her voice was a hoarse whisper. “Why?”
“He wants to find justice for his daughter. I am going to help him do that.”
She focused more on his face. “You are a cop?”
Her speech was more halting than usual. McCall shook his head. “No. But I am here to help you. You can read my lips. I will go slow, but we do not have a lot of time. I read the police report that your partner Tony Palmer made out for the precinct. You were in an abandoned warehouse. Six men attacked you. They were all wearing black?”
Alexa nodded.
“And black ski masks?”
Alexa nodded.
“But you didn’t know who they were?”
She hesitated.
“I know you know who there were,” McCall said. “But you can’t be sure of their identities. Not unless you can identify them. Can you do that?”
Alexa shook her head. Unwanted tears came into her eyes and spilled down her face. Gently McCall wiped them away. “You can do this, Alexa. You know what you saw.”
The soothing quality of McCall’s voice reassured her. But she shook her head.
“Dark.”
“Yes, it was dark, and the shadows were crowding in on you. I am not trying to cause you any more grief, but you could hear what these animals were doing to you. You have those images ingrained in your head. We can reconstruct what happened to you. I know it will be painful, but you are the only eyewitness to what happened. Close your eyes. Give me your impressions on a visceral level. Try to see back to that night.”
Alexa searched his face for reassurance. Then she nodded and closed her eyes.
“You don’t need to be able to see me, Alexa.” McCall said, still very quiet in the hushed room. “Everything I need is in your subconscious. I know one of the men used a taser on you. That was how they were able to incapacitate you. Did any of them talk to you? Telling you to lie there, be still, don’t fight them.”
“No talking,” she said haltingly.
“All right, that’s good. These attackers were big men. Would that be right?”
“Yes.”
“You can see that in your mind’s eye.”
Alexa nodded. “Yes.”
“They held you down.” McCall said. “Probably two or three of them at a time.”
“Yes.”
“Do you remember how they held you there? What was it an effort for them to keep you from struggling?”
“Taser.”
“Yes, they used a taser. That is how they subdued you. Think of their breathing. What was it coming easily or were they grunting for breath?”
Alexa kept her eyes closed, reliving the nightmare. She said: “Heavy breathing.”
“From all the attackers, or just one of them?”
“One of them.”
“Like he had to catch his breath?”
Alexa nodded.
“Was he wheezing?”
Alexa nodded emphatically.
“Maybe he coughed a lot?”
Alexa nodded.
“A heavy smoker, probably. Prone to asthma attacks. Think about the order of the men who attacked you. When one of them climbed onto you, was there anything that set him apart from the others? I know this is hard for you to have to remember this trauma. But you were right there.”
“Took turns.”
“Were there any mannerisms you can remember?”
“Third attacker,” Alexa said. “Had a laugh.”
“He laughed at you?” Alexa shook her head, as if McCall did not understand. “But he had some kind of a laugh that resonated with you. Try to remember it. Was it deep-set or was it high-pitched?”
“A giggle.”
“So this attacker had a nervous giggle.”
“Peculiar,” Alexa said. “A kid’s laugh. When he was agitated.”
‘Had you ever heard it before?”
Alexa nodded. “Pool hall.”
“You heard it when you were playing pool?”
Alexa nodded.
“Where was that?”
“O’Grady’s Saloon.”
“Where is that?”
“Lower East Side. Near Gramercy Park.”
“Who were you playing pool with?”
“Cops.”
“From your precinct?”
“16th.”
“Were you beating this guy at pool?”
“Creaming his ass.”
“How tall was this cop?”
“Over six feet.”
“So he stooped over the pool table?”
“Yes.”
“Were any of the others tall?”
“One was short.”
“Maybe five feet six?”
“Taller than that.”
“Five eight?”
“Like that.”
She clenched her hands into fists on the bedcovers.
More of the tears fell from her eyes.
“You’re doing great,” McCall said. “Take your time.”
Alexa said haltingly: “One of them hit me. In the face. He made a sound when did that.”
“What kind of a sound?”
“Humming.”
“A distinct tune?”
“Just humming.”
“The tall one or the short one?”
“Tall one.”
“Did any of them have a lot of weight to him?”
“Yes. Big man. He was sweating.”
“How do you know that?”
“I felt it on his hands.”
“Who was the last attacker?”
“Another big man.”
“But not bigger than the one who was sweating?”
“Not that big.”
“But you felt this man’s weight when he climbed on top of you.”
“Yes. He smelled.”
“What did he smell of?”
“Body odor. Made me nauseous.”
“Where did you smell this body odor?”
“At the pool hall.”
“One of the haunts of these cops?”
“They’re there most every night.”
“Anything else you can remember?”
Alexa shook her head, trying to bring the memories to the forefront of her mind.
“Did they just climb on you and climb off again?”
“Yes.” Then she said: “Saw one of them standing up.”
McCall moved closer to her. “One of them stood up?”
“Yes.” Alexa was struck with the sudden sense-memory. “He took off his ski mask.”
“Did you see his face?” McCall asked, urgently.
“Just profile.”
“Did you see his eyes?”
“Cornflower blue.”
“What color was his hair?”
“Fair hair. Sideburns.”
“How long were his sideburns?”
“Long. His eyebrows were not there.”
“What do you mean?”
“They were very fine. Like…”
. “Like an albino’s eyebrows?” McCall asked her.
“Like that.”
“What else could you see?”
“He turned from me right away. Embarrassed. Looking down at my naked body.”
“Then what happened?”
“One of the others told him to put back on his ski mask.”
“Did you recognize his voice?”
“Yes. From the pool hall. With the bad breath.”
“What was his name?”
“Frank Macamber. Detective First Grade.”
“Go back to the blonde cop with the sideburns,” McCall said. “Was he one of the rapists?”
“No. He didn’t want any part of it.”
“But he let it happen.”
“Yes.”
McCall could tell that the rookie cop was exhausted. He put a gentle hand on her shoulder. “That’s enough for now.”
Alexa opened her eyes and looked up at him.
“I did okay?”
McCall smiled reassuringly at her. “I would say you were outstanding. You gave me detailed descriptions of your attackers, including the ringleader.”
Alexa motioned toward a small table standing in front of the window. “Piece of paper.”
McCall rose, picked up the pad from the table and brought it back to her. Alexa’s hand flashed over the page. When she had she finished, she turned the page back so McCall could read it.
FRANK MACAMBER — PETE HIGHTOWER — TOM GRAVES — SAUL COOPER — MARVIN RABINSKI — JERRY KILPATRICK
“The Elite,” she said, softly.
“Not elite anymore,” McCall said with an edge to his voice. “We know who they are. Your father knew also. Now I have to prove it.”
Alexa shook her head. “Can’t. These are corrupt cops. They will kill you.”
“They can try.” McCall took a card from wallet and put it beside the bedside table. “Call me anytime you need to. Day or night. Especially if Frank Macamber comes to see you. He is heading the investigation into your attack.”
She took McCall’s card with trembling hands. “Nothing you can do.”
“Let me worry about that.”
Her voice had a new hope in it, but she shook her head. “What can you do?”.
“I can lower the odds against you.”
McCall left her in her shadows. She looked again at his card. “You can’t,” she said, very softly. Then she said again: “They will kill you.”