Captain Peters arrived a half hour later and was staring eyeball to eyeball with Mac.
“Come off it, Lieutenant!” he yelled. “What kind of line are you handing me anyway?”
“Just the facts,” Mac yelled back.
“Well, its just damned impossible!” Peters yelled. “Nothing could have withstood that kind of impact. We should be able to pick him up in a vacuum cleaner if they hit him like they said.”
“Have they found any sign of him at all?” Peters said lowering his voice now.
“Not even a drop of blood,” Mac glowered now, but with an even voice.
“What’s the toll, Lieutenant?” Peters said, offering Mac a cigarette.
“Two dead, three injured with no hits, runs, or errors,” Mac snapped.
“Knock off the crap, Mac,” Peters said.
“Sorry,” Mac said accepting the cigarette and a light.
“That’s all right,” Peters said. “It just sounds too fantastic.”
“I agree with you one hundred percent, but it’s all there,” Mac assured him. (more…)

Captain Peters arrived a half-hour later and was staring eyeball to eyeball with Mac.

“Come off it, Lieutenant!” he yelled. “What kind of line are you handing me anyway?”

“Just the facts,” Mac yelled back.

“Well, its just damned impossible!” Peters yelled. “Nothing could have withstood that kind of impact. We should be able to pick him up in a vacuum cleaner if they hit him like they said.”

“Have they found any sign of him at all?” Peters said lowering his voice now.

“Not even a drop of blood,” Mac glowered now, but with an even voice.

(more…)

The funerals were held in New York and on Long Island. Jenkins and Delveski’s were held together downtown in St. Patrick’s Cathedral, while Russo’s was held in Bayshore and Bently was given one in Garden City.

Mac took Peg to the one in Manhattan. Harry had picked them up in a cab, for neither one of the two men felt like driving. They later learned that the two other officers that were wounded on that night, would pull-through nicely and one might even be back on light duty within the month.

It was a solemn occasion with all the dressings. The mayor was there, wearing his concerned look, along with the police commissioner and various public officials. There was also an honor guard and a full dressed pipe band of the police Emerald Society.

Six thousand uniformed police, representing over one hundred police departments, and scores of plainclothes detectives lined the streets and attended the mass for the two fallen comrades.

Mac didn’t want to take Peg originally, but she had insisted. She had never gone to a policeman’s funeral before. It was a Joint

(more…)

It was 2:45 in the afternoon when Jenkins and a small squad of heavily armed men arrived at the Twenty-eighth Street Station of Manhattan’s Broadway line.

They had trudged down the tracks from thirty-fourth street. They were to relieve the four patrolmen and the one uniformed sergeant already there. Billy was to be relieved there himself, once Harry and Mac arrived. He had been on his feet for fourteen hours straight, and he was looking forward to kicking his shoes off once he got home. Mac and Harry were half-way to the station at this time and would probably get there around three.

Coming up the end of the station platform stairs, the five men were greeted with nervous relief by their counterparts. The men on the platform knew they had another fifteen minutes and they were glad of the early arrival of the other officers. Out of comradeship they wouldn’t leave yet, and they would give the other guys a little company.

(more…)

With frozen stares, Mac and Harry glanced slowly around them. They were aware that the other five men were still aiming their guns at them and would probably shoot without any questions.

One of the men was quietly sobbing and waving his gun slightly with the uncontrolled jerks of his body. They saw one of the older men had tears streaming from his eyes, and the man who was slumped against the floor now held them in his sights, with that pop-eyed expression you only saw in war zones, borne on the faces of shell-shock veterans. He also had a nasty lump on his forehead. To their left, they saw several bodies lying on the floor with a growing crimson pool surrounding them. They heard moaning from that direction, so they knew someone was still alive.

Beyond the figures pointing certain death at them, they could see two other fallen figures covered in blood as well.

The two bodies lay one on top of the other and Mac could see that the one on the bottom wore sergeant stripes.

(more…)

With the new rash of murders, the Mayor was forced to resort to manning the subways again. Fear was renewed in the holiday travelers, small shop owners and their larger competitors, who felt the pinch as sales tapered off.

Mail order catalogue houses, and out-of-town direct order retailers, seemed to benefit the most. Along with the United Parcel Service, local small package services seemed to have mushroomed in their deliveries. Those with small trucks cashed in as well. The fact was, nobody wanted to travel.

It got to be that everyone was seeing giants. They began to rank in popularity with sea monsters and UFO’s. People began to back off from anybody over six feet tall, giving shorter people a sort of superiority complex. People screamed when they saw tall mailmen, shunned tall Santa Clauses on street corners, and even retailers refrained from such terms as “Giant savings.”

(more…)

Thanksgiving came and went without fanfare. At least for the families of the beleaguered policemen. Other families were drawn together more tightly by the heartbreaks due to the loss of loved ones at the killer’s hands.

Harry and Mac were able to get a fast dinner at Mac’s house. Peg had gotten a large turkey at the local market. Mac’s folks, as well as Peg’s, came for the dinner. At the table, the large bird looked delicious surrounded by the holiday usual.

There was stuffing, spiced just right, cranberry sauce, brussel sprouts, baked potatoes, corn on the cob, broccoli in cheese sauce, fruit, and oven rolls. On a side board, there was an apple pie, a pumpkin pie, and a mince meat pie that Peg’s mom baked, as well as a large coffee brewer set up for after dinner. Mac’s mom baked a scotch meat pie and a hot lamb pie, and Harry brought several bottles of good wine to round off the meal.

The meal was served around noon so that Mac and Harry could relieve the next shift for their holiday meal. Everyone was on duty, with no exceptions, so if anything, the killer broke up about

(more…)

Harry and Billy Jenkins had been on separate vacations at the time of the killing and MacCallum found himself reviewing the case by himself. After talking to the three ladies, he felt no closer to the killer than he was before.

The only thing new was the fact that the killer switched into the good-guy role again, knife and all. The dead man had already been carted off to the morgue and the transit men began to wash away the small pond of drying blood. The other detectives were also packing it up. They had taken the pieces of the broken bottle back to the lab and Mac sent a few men out to see if anyone had known the drunk. “Hopefully,” Mac thought, “someone saw the big man following him before the old girls got off the train.” It was a long shot with no results, but with this case, anything was possible. (more…)

The following day the papers reported the grizzly deaths of the three victims and blasted the Mayor and the police force just like Mac predicted.

With the holiday coming on they said, “the Mayor had left virtually every Christmas shopper at the hands of the killer.” Another reported that the Mayor, in order to cut the end of the year budget, pulled almost every cop from the station platforms. Still another said, “the Mayor goofed on priorities. Instead of protecting citizens’ lives, he had opened a war on pickpockets to keep the season’s businesses healthy.”

Of course, this brought flack from above in a chain reaction, reaching the lower rank and file. He, MacCallum, being of the lower rank. (more…)

The following night seemed no different than the night before. The vigil was just as maddening, and the detectives came up empty handed again.

They still proceeded to work on what leads they had and asked the Federal Bureau of Investigation to join in with a nationwide inquiry for information of any similarly related crimes committed in other states, and possible inquiries of escapees from mental institutions across the country which fitted the killer’s description. The information forthcoming, they knew, would be slow, but at this point it was better than nothing.

Careful forensic research was done on each victim and although there were two different weapons used, the force of the blows were of the same magnitude. This seemed to point out only one killer. The psychological viewpoint of each attack proved baffling though. Even if the killer in every case seemed identical from the eyewitness description, his mannerisms and choice of victims created the illusion of two separate killers, each with his own motivation.

(more…)

It was nearing the end of November now, and the holiday rush was in full tilt. Thanksgiving was only a week away, and the first snows had fallen on the city a week before.

There had been a slight dusting early in the afternoon, but that had not stopped the season’s revelers, and the holiday shoppers even seemed to be spurred on by the Christmas like setting it produced.

The pure white crystalline petals drifted in a gentle cascade, showering all who walked under its umbrella with short crisp kisses wherever they lighted. It almost reminded one of the small globes that you overturned and, when righted, created a Currier and Ives atmosphere in a picture setting.

(more…)

Joseph Donnello was a successful stockbroker.   Success really cannot be an accurate definition of what Joe symbolized as the idiom of his good fortune.  Luck seemed to play the key role in his ability to climb as far up as he had.  Luck and an easy way of handling people.

Joe had that certain gift of gab that lulled people into his confidence.  He considered himself natural in his approach, with no phony or confusing overlay of baffling terminology that some had used on their clients, nor did he strike the pose that a used car salesman uses.  That type was signified by those who were brash, loud, and razzle‑dazzled their clients to no end.   No,  Joe had a natural easy going nature that made you feel that he was a friend you knew for many years.

His luck was highlighted by always being in the right place at the right time.  Luck and his outgoing personality brought in a constant stream of happy investors for his firm. He became highly regarded by those in the upper echelons.  Still, unlike some, he never pressed this point home with self-important demands or requests from his employers.  Because of this he was being considered a junior associate by those in higher places.  Yes, Joe was happy with his success, and at the age of twenty‑seven, he could not want more out of life.

Tonight, after work, Joe had gone to a nearby pub with a few of his co‑workers and his senior broker.  It was happy hour in the Big Apple, and no one was really in a rush to get home.  A few of the wives would complain, of course, about overcooked dinners, but the few ‘worried’ guys present could smooth things over.   Joe, unmarried, didn’t have to worry about those problems.

To Joe’s surprise, the gathering was set‑up by his boss, Bob Compagneo, to break the news of his promotion.   Everyone there gave him their heartiest congratulations and toasted his good luck and good fortune.

They moved the party uptown a little later, and a few, including Bob, begged off with the excuse of getting home to their wives to stem the tide of any abuse they may receive for being late.

At about ten‑thirty, the party broke up entirely and all bid farewell.  With a sigh of accomplishment, and a slight vertigo from a few too many, Joe thanked them and stumbled to the twenty‑third street station. (more…)

Mac sat staring down at the lab reports on his desk, and shook his head.  Shuffling these reports aside, he twisted in his chair and glanced over the eyewitness reports again.  His eighteen years on the force had taught him to miss nothing.  But, more important, to pick negative pieces out of a puzzle if they didn’t fit.  Sometimes working backwards this way helped solve the problems more easily.  That left only identifying and establishing the difficult parts as the keys to the crime.  No matter how big or small they seemed, each segregated part was important.  Once this was done, the pieces fit, and then the puzzle would emerge as a simple and logical pattern.

What bothered him most was the man’s height.  The lab reports did confirm that someone had to have great strength and apparent size to perform the damage done to the victims on Lexington Avenue and up in the Bronx.  Yet, no one outside of the immediate eyewitnesses had seen him.  Why?  Especially with the way the victims were killed and with the amount of blood spilled, surely an abnormally sized, blood-soaked human being would be an eye-catcher.

Another thing was that the old lady didn’t quite fit into the pattern.  Why her?  The others seemed to be in the act of committing a crime.  The old lady, if anything, seemed more like a victim of circumstance rather than a perpetrator.  Unless the assailant believed her lifestyle constituted criminal behavior and her presence in the subway established the crime in his eyes,  but this didn’t add up quite so neatly. (more…)

Barbara was a hard working girl who took her job seriously, and with interest.  She had been working in the city for two years now, at the Taiwan National Bank, six blocks away from Penn Station.  She took the Double R line every night to her apartment in Astoria.

She loved her little apartment, and she always stopped to pick up something to decorate it with.  At lunch today, she had picked up a shower curtain, bath mat, and toilet cover set for the bathroom. On the way to the station, she  also picked up a cute pink, artificial plant from a street vendor to place up on the tank top.

Happily she walked down the stairs to the change booth and to her dismay found it closed.  She fished through her bag for a second, and luckily came up with a spare token.

“I should really try to leave work a little earlier,” she

said to herself, “but there’s too much to do”.

Barbara knew her parents were worried about her being on her own.  “I’ve got to break away sometime”, she thought.  She was only twenty‑two and you can say that she was pretty much described as a good‑looking girl, with extremely long blond hair.  She had quite an attractive face, too, with a good figure and a nice pair of legs.  She always looked at things from a psychological point‑of‑view and felt herself emerging from some sort of cocoon, blossoming into womanhood, and maturity, with a great sense of self. (more…)

Miguel Hernandez was a pretty sharp dude.  At least he thought so.

He was known as Mickey by most of his friends.  He earned this from abbreviating his first name and from his close cropped, kinky red hair.  It was a trait that was unusual for a Spaniard, but not wholly uncommon.

Mickey was proud of his speed as well.  At five feet, ten inches, he moved swifter than most and could easily outdistance any cop the fuzz put against him.  He was big built, too, and owed his agility to his daily, strenuous, exercises.  Because his hair would easily give him away, he was always careful to wear a hat.

He was careful with his victims, too.  He had a knack for stalking his prey like a hunter, and would change hats and reverse the two-way jacket he wore several times before he felt that it was the right time to bag his victim.

He also read someplace that “John law” always staked out the locale of a particular mugger’s territory, so he was cautious never to hunt in the same area twice.  This made fingering him difficult.

Today he was on the track of a dude that he had first latched onto around dinnertime.  Dinnertime for most, that it, except for Mickey.  The guy had taken a young girl out to dinner in a neighborhood restaurant near Central Park, and afterwards, he had seen her off in a cab.  He dressed businesslike, and Mickey guessed that the girl he saw was probably a secretary that he was warming up to.

Mickey nonchalantly looked on as the dude pulled out a roll of bills, probably to impress the girl, and handed some to the cabdriver before he pulled away from the curb.

“Easy meat”, Mickey thought.  He followed him down Park a bit, then over to Lex as the man made for the subway.  Along the way, he went through his usual routine of quick clothes changes, just in case the guy might have had a wife that was suspicious enough to hire a private eye or someone follow him.  No sense in taking chances playing the odds and have a long shot of possible outside interference upset the routine.  Guys like this are always afraid of their old lady’s having a tail on them, Mickey thought. (more…)

Jenkins poked his head into Mac’s office and said simply, “our boy’s back.”

Mac knew it was going to be a bad day.  After reading Jenkins’s report, it looked as if the case was going to turn into a killing spree; four victims the day before and now the young mugger today.  Mac already read the Morning Post and things were shaping up bad.  It looked as if someone wanted to claim the underground system for himself and didn’t give a damn who he had to kill to get it.

Well, if the last transit strike didn’t clean out the subway, this sure will, Mac thought. He knew a lot of people would be screaming for action.  This latest murder would send politicians reeling, and it wasn’t even in the media’s hands yet.

When he and Jenkins arrived at Lexington, a grim‑faced Jimmy Peters met them at the entrance to the subway.  Jimmy was Mac’s peer and graduated in the same class as he did at the academy, but he had several “Rabbi’s” on the force and was quick to make captain in Central Homicide.

“What’s up,” Mac asked, extending his hand for a handshake.

“Plenty,” Captain Peters said, accepting the Lieutenant’s firm grip.

On the way down they passed a blood-stained covered stretcher going the other way.

“The mugger?” Mac asked with a toss of his head.

“Yeah.”

“What happened?” the lieutenant asked. (more…)

“Homicide”, McCallum said answering the phone.  He had a bad headache from the kids this morning.  He was never an easy one to wake‑up and the beginning of the day started out bad when Jimmy, his littlest, fell down the basement stairs and sported a nasty cut on his upper lip.  A cut that warranted three stitches, and a shared trip to the emergency room of Westchester Square Hospital, with a panicky kid and a hysterical wife.  Some day it will be easier, he kept telling himself.

“Lieutenant Haroldson?” the voice acknowledged.  Haroldson was a good cop, but getting a little too meaty, Mac thought.

“Yeah, what’s up?” he said irritably.

“Up to seeing a couple of stiffs?” Haroldson asked almost nonchalantly. (more…)

Angie had lived on her own now for about fourteen years. Ever since her husband, Walter, had died life had seemed to deal her one unkindness after another.  It was a little more than three years ago now, that Angie had left her apartment and was forced to live on the streets.  In the Big Apple, she and others like her, were termed “bag ladies” after the fashion in which they carried all their worldly possessions in a multitude of shopping bags.  ‘Gypsies without wagons’ could be one interpretation of their life style but, in reality, they neither had style, nor wagons.  Their soul means of survival depended on what they could beg for and what pitiful amounts of food could be found in the garbage pails and gutters, discarded by the tourists and commuters, and uncollected by the squirrels and rats.  In the wintertime, they burrowed like field mice into the deeper corners of the subway system to keep warm.  Theirs was a life of constant moving by the prodding nightstick of the beat cop, and the rushing crowds of the commuters.  They feared all, and trusted none.  They were constantly pursued by the stares of the passerby and by those who could not find handier victims to rob.

Angie’s usual haunts were the Canal and Prince Street areas. They proved to be a bit more deserted, and gave her a little more solitude than the uptown stops around thirty‑fourth or fourteenth streets, where occasionally she would ask for handouts of spare change. (more…)

Night Trains- A Synopsis

In his first novel, ‘Night Trains’, in what began as a simple assault quickly becomes the ultimate battle between good and evil. The story revolves around a killer in the New York City subways. This is no ordinary killer though. He can thwart the best of police efforts to apprehend him and his ability to do so stems far beyond the possibilities of reality….into the realms of the supernatural.

…and now a ‘Ghost Story Like No Other’….

Joseph J. O’Donnell’s ‘Night Trains’

by Author Joseph J. O'Donnell

CHAPTER ONE

Maria Gomez stood on the open platform of the Pelham Bay line.  It was late October and the chilling rains had made the day miserable. She hated these night shifts at the hospital where she worked as a nurse because it forced her to make these night trains a daily and often scary trip.  Some of the weirdoes that were occasionally forced upon her during these travels made her look longingly to the end of the month when her rotation would be due, and she would be able to switch and work the morning shifts for a change. (more…)