"So do you, Karp." The Bronx guy again.
"But at the same time, those of you who hate that kind of press, if you tolerate the bad apples just because they wear the same badge, you're no better."
The last comment brought a fresh chorus of boos but he noticed there was also some applause. Karp looked over to the wings and saw Murrow with his hand clamped over his mouth as if he was about to throw up. "I KNOW most of you have never taken a bribe in your lives, not so much as a free coffee on a cold morning. I KNOW most of you have done your job day in and day out without stepping over the line. But that's not enough…"
"Take a hike, Karp," the guy from the Bronx yelled again.
"Shaddup, Archie, I think he's talking about you," someone else shouted, which stirred more laughter.
"I don't care if you're pissed at me for convicting scumbags who happen to also wear that uniform," Karp said. "But who you should really be pissed at are the guys who sully their badges and yours with their greed or their laziness or their corruption. If you have a stain on your house, you're the ones who need to clean it up."
"Yeah, what about your house?" the female heckler said.
Karp knew what she was driving at. Everybody in the law enforcement business in New York knew that Marlene had a reputation for working in some pretty gray areas of the law. In general, the cops liked her even better than him; they understood her vigilante sense of justice. But it certainly made it difficult to point fingers.
"What about the DA's office?" one of the union officials yelled from his seat in the front. "It seems to me that for all this talk about the so-called Irish Gang, which as an Irish-American I find personally offensive, there was some complicity in the DA's office. But I don't see anybody there in jail."
The audience liked that one and cheered. It took a minute before they quieted down enough for Karp to speak. The question was a good one, but not one he knew the answer to yet. He suspected that the No Prosecution files forwarded by Kane and others to the DA's office had been ignored because Bloom, and certainly Keegan, had trusted their opinion and because it was easier. So far there was no indication, as in evidence of bribes or kickbacks, that would establish that a crime of malfeasance had been committed.
"All I can say in that regard," Karp replied, "is that the investigation begun this past summer is continuing. We are following all leads, up to and including any that would point to wrongdoing by anyone in my office past or present."
"Yeah, whaddya bet only cops will take the heat on this," the union official grumbled.
"If a cop commits a crime that we can prove, he or she will be prosecuted," Karp said. "And if someone in my office commits a crime that we can prove, he or she will be prosecuted. You'll just have to take it-or not-on faith."
"Not," shouted several. Another added, "We have faith in our own."
Karp nodded. "Which is how it should be. I have always admired your loyalty to one another. But I think you have to ask yourself, what if a thief or rapist or murderer is one of your own, does he deserve to wear that uniform? I don't hire or fire anyone at the New York Police Department. My job is to prosecute criminals who commit crimes in New York County and that's what I do whether they're doctors or truck drivers or lawyers or police officers. Justice is blind, and justice can be slow. But anybody who tells you I'm anticop is not serving you, they're serving their own interests…you'll have to decide why that is."
The crowd was silent after that last comment. "Thank you for your time," Karp said. "I hope there's a next time when you and I can talk about the stuff that matters, like working together toward a common goal."
Karp turned to go and found himself almost face-to-face with Clay Fulton, who had walked out and stood with his hand extended. Fulton was well respected in the PBA, one of the guys who'd worked his way up through the ranks. Karp knew that his appearance onstage was his way of making a statement to the members.
"More of them heard you than you think," Fulton said as they shook hands. "It's just tough for them to break ranks."
Karp patted him on the shoulder. "Thanks. I understand."
At that moment, one of the union flunkies walked up to Karp. "Mr. Ewen would like to speak to you, if you have a minute."
Karp and his entourage followed the young man off the stage and through a door leading to a hallway. At the end of the hallway, Karp paused in front of a car-size photograph of the burning World Trade Center buildings in a frame, and around its edges were the names of the police officers who'd died that morning trying to save others.
"Quite a list, eh, Mr. Karp," said a voice from the office to the left.
Karp turned, and in the near dark of the room he saw the union president, Edward Ewen, a large, florid man, sitting behind a desk. With his bulging cheeks and bulging eyes, Ewen reminded him of a bullfrog. It would not have surprised him to see a long, pink tongue dart out from between the thin purple lips to snatch an insect, which was how he was looking at Karp.
Karp glanced again at the photograph and names. "Yes, quite a list," he said. "I can't imagine the courage it took to go back into those buildings."
"Ya know, Karp," Ewen said. "Sometimes ya sound like you was on our side. Then others, it's like ya got a hard-on for cops and think that the boys are a bunch of crooks."
"I don't think of it as taking sides," Karp said. "I get paid by the people to prosecute criminals; it doesn't matter if they're wearing blue jeans or blue uniforms. If the NYPD doesn't like the black eyes from these cases, maybe the membership and the union ought to work harder to ferret the bad ones out."
"None of the boys want to work with bad cops," Ewen said. "But it seems that every time one of you guys runs for office, you feel like you need to make a big splash in the newspapers by bustin' cops for ticky-tacky stuff."
"Murder, criminal conspiracy, extortion…a little more than ticky-tacky," Karp noted.
"No doubt. No doubt," Ewen agreed. "It's just that the boys don't see no one in the DA's office going down on this one, and you can't tell me…them…that Keegan and that other idiot, what was his name, Bloom, were squeaky clean and didn't know what was going on."
"As I told 'the boys,' this investigation isn't over," Karp said. "If crimes were committed by anyone in the district attorney's office, we will pursue those charges as vigorously as we do the others. Now, was there something in particular that you wanted to talk to me about?"
"I just wanted a little face time, Karp," Ewen said. "Personally, I think you're a good guy…heart in the right place and all that. I just thought that as one old campaigner to another I'd let you know that there's a perception out there that you're anticop. You need to do something about it, or even a supporter like me won't be able to persuade the membership to back you in the election."
Karp rankled at the implied threat: play ball with the union or jump to the back of the unemployment line. "I guess I'll just have to trust that most of the membership can think for themselves and don't need to be persuaded by someone else," he replied.
"Careful, Karp," the union boss said, narrowing his frog eyes into slits, "I'm not someone you want as an enemy."
"Neither am I, Ewen," Karp shot back.
Murrow, who'd started to feel nauseated as the situation deteriorated, jumped in. "Hey, hey, in the immortal words of Rodney King, 'Can't we all just get along?'"
Ewen looked at Murrow as if he were a fly he was about to snap up, but then he laughed. "Yeah, yeah, young man…sometimes a coupla bull-headed guys like your boss here and me, we gotta butt heads. But we all want the same thing, a safe city. Them guys out there, they pay me to look after 'em. I'm just trying to give your boss a friendly reminder that sometimes you get more with honey than a stick."