The Strangler by William Landay Read Free Book Online

the bookie.
    Cronkite, voice-over: “From June the first to June third, 1963, we filmed ten members of the Boston police force entering or leaving the key store. We don’t know why they came to the key store or what they did inside. We only know that they were there.”
    A man in plain clothes came out of the key shop. Big guy with a barrel torso. He wore a dark coat, open collar, and flat-brim fedora.
    “Oh my God—” Kat muttered.
    But Cronkite cut her off. “The man coming out of the door now is a detective. We found that he comes from Station Sixteen, Boston Police Department, just a few blocks away.”
    The camera lingered on Joe as he loitered on the sidewalk outside the shop. He looked, even to the Daleys, like the very face of police corruption.
    “Oh my God,” Kat repeated. She had covered her mouth with both hands, as if to catch any words that might slip out.
    Cronkite: “Other Boston police officers were seen entering the key store during the course of our investigation. We must emphasize again that we do not know the nature of their business in the key store.”
    A white-haired gent appeared onscreen to opine on the matter of cops and bookies: “I think most of the policemen on the Boston Police Department are honest and want to do their sworn duty. However, some of them have been in touch with me, by calls and letters, and have written on police department letterhead, although unsigned, about suspected illegal gambling operations which they hope we will do something about.”
    And Cronkite again, now in close-up. “It has been said that police corruption can be found in every city where illegal gambling flourishes. The story has been told in headlines from cities across the nation time and time again. It is in part an answer to the question ‘What harm can there be in a little two-dollar bet at the corner bookie?’”
    “Fuckin’ Walter Cronkite.”
    “Shush, Joe!”
    “What, Mum? He can’t just—I mean, for Christ’s sake, I went in there for a key!”
    Ricky snorted.
    “Yeah?” Michael asked. “A key to what?”
    “What is this, cross-examination? I needed a key. So what?”
    Margaret turned to Amy as a representative of the news media. “Amy, can they do this? Just, just put up someone’s pitcher like that and say whatever they want?”
    Amy made a fatalistic shrug and turned her palms up.
What can you do?
    Now the program displayed a banner headline from the Boston
Traveler,
“Commr. Sullivan May Be on Probation,” with the subhead “Volpe Has His Eye on Him.” Cronkite in voice-over: “…At a press conference Governor John A. Volpe said he expects the Boston police commissioner to fulfill his responsibilities in full compliance with the law.”
    Cronkite appeared onscreen again, in the wood-paneled studio. “We extended an invitation to Boston Police Commissioner Leo J. Sullivan to appear on this program to comment on the difficulties facing local police departments in coping with illegal gambling as reflected by the history of the key shop operation. Commissioner Sullivan has replied to our invitation with a letter outlining problems confronting local police. He points out that legalized on-track betting stimulates illegal off-track betting; that placing a bet off-track is not an offense; and that bookmaking is only a minor misdemeanor.”
    “Yeah, okay, Commissioner, I’m sure that’s gonna be good enough.”
    “Shush, Ricky.”
    Cronkite: “He went on to say that the local police administrator has limited manpower and funds, and that the combined efforts of all law enforcement agencies have failed to dent the framework of illegal gambling. ‘It would therefore be a grave injustice,’ said the police commissioner, ‘to denigrate an entire police department and to destroy the public image created by the fine accomplishments of many dedicated police officers on the basis of one such gambling establishment. In the final analysis, the people of this and every other