A COUPLE OF nights later, I relaxed in the living room recliner. I still looked badly sunburned, but I’d been
allowed to take off most of the bandages.
When I first removed them at the apartment, Jane had walked in and said, “You look like someone who’s been out
in the sun way too long.”
Ricky had been a little more blunt. He said, “You look like a lobster.” Close enough. I was good for a public
appearance.
My left foot remained tender, but I no longer walked like Captain Ahab.
The kids were spread out across the apartment doing routine activities like homework, cleaning up after dinner, and
rotating for their showers.
Mary Catherine sat on the end of the couch closest to me.
My phone rang. Harry Grissom. It was common for commanding officers to check on their injured employees. I
picked it up and heard Harry’s gruff voice say, “Turn on NY1. Someone leaked a story you might appreciate.”
Before I could say anything or ask any questions, he hung up. I picked up the remote and switched to the news from
ESPN. I told Mary Catherine that Harry wanted us to watch something. The first story was about kids organizing a
5 K to raise money for their sick teacher.
Mary Catherine said, “That’s so nice. Is this what Harry wanted us to see?”
“I doubt it.”
The next story seemed much more likely to garner the interest of Harry Grissom. It certainly caught my attention.
The first image was of a balding man in his early forties who looked familiar. I snapped my fingers and said,
“That’s the guy who filed the IA complaint against me. Ronald something.”
On TV a r eporter said his name was Ronald Pittman. She turned to the man and asked him about his recent
complaint against an NYPD officer.
Thank God no one mentioned my name. The r eporter then asked him if the complaint was a hoax. When Pittman
denied it, the station rolled a video clip.
I sat up in my recliner. It was a surveillance video, which showed Pittman walking down the street toward a group
of young women. Though their faces were digitally obscured, I recognized Juliana, Katie, Sabiha, Ayesha, Fareeha,
and Sylvia. What happened next was crystal clear: Pittman reached over and fondled Ayesha’s rear end, then the
whole group turned on him. (Well, Juliana stood off to the side. The others mainly kicked the man.)
Then the camera switched back to the r eporter trying to interview Pittman. He was at a loss for words as the r eporter
said, “Why were you trying to deceive the NYPD? Was your intent to ruin the career of an officer?”
At the end of the segment, a photo came up with the caption “Dumbest Person of the Week.” The anchor laughed
and said to the camera, “We’re trying something new. Let us know how you feel about the dumbest person of the
week.”
I turned to Mary Catherine and said, “I guess my IA investigation is complete.”