Free Investigation by Dorothy Uhnak Page A

kind of desk you have to be second-generation successful to appreciate. People like Tim and me thought it was a pretty ugly old hunk of junk.
    The District Attorney of Queens has always been openly pleased with his nickname: Gorgeous Jerry. An attractive man with high pink color, bright-blue eyes and an unruly mop of lemon-colored fluffy hair which he finger-combed from his forehead in a calculated way, he greeted us, literally, with a wide opening of his arms as though we were long-missing friends he was happy to see. It took him about thirty seconds to greet us, offer us any of the comfortable leather chairs in front of his desk and our choice of Scotch, Jack Daniels or coffee. It took us another thirty seconds to sit down, get settled and politely refuse his hospitality.
    Even if he did switch labels on his clothes, I thought he looked pretty good for a fifty-four-year-old former college athlete who for years had overindulged and underexercised. Jerry Kelleher was very popular in Queens and could have spent the rest of his life being reelected to the D.A.’s office. But Jerry figured eight years was long enough; it was time for the big move. To City Hall.
    Unfortunately for Jerry, he came across as too much of the chameleon pol to inspire the disillusioned, weary and battered voters of New York City. Despite his pink cheeks and golden hair, he carried the atmosphere of the smoke-filled back room. He might have been as clean and pure as he claimed, but the voters wanted, if not the substance, at least the appearance of purity.
    At least that was how one powerful section of the Democratic Party read things, and since Jerry couldn’t be persuaded that he had a nice setup where he was, a Democratic mayoralty primary was set for early June.
    Gorgeous Jerry was pitted against the noncontroversial if somewhat unknown figure of Marvin L. Schneiderman: forty-six years old; former member of the City Council; former Assistant Commissioner of Public Works; former Commissioner of Investigation, with an accumulation of credits for having cleared up a certain amount of corruption in various city agencies. He was presently in private practice. He was a relatively attractive man; a widower with two very photogenic, well-behaved little girls. He was inoffensive; bright without being too intelligent; ambitious as hell without letting it show too much.
    The key to the outcome of the primary rested with Ken Sweeney, the young Democratic Party leader of Kings County. Kenny had weight not only in Brooklyn but in the city, in the state and, in fact, nationwide. He considered himself to be, and was in fact, a kingmaker, and he had come out a few weeks ago for Marvin L. Schneiderman, pledging the considerable support of his organization and, of course, of himself. Ken had had the decency to take his old pal Jerry for a decent meal at Gage and Tollner’s, the well-known Brooklyn political watering place, and to tell him, face to face, man to man, that there was nothing personal involved; it was just “politics.”
    I knew about the meeting because Ken Sweeney had told his law partner, Tim’s wife, Catherine; Catherine told Tim and Tim told me.
    And Jerry Kelleher knew that Tim knew about the luncheon; and Tim knew that Jerry knew he knew. But Jerry didn’t know that I knew, because I wasn’t involved, directly, in any of their games.
    To an uninformed spectator, the two men would appear to be cordial, even fond of each other. They exchanged some small talk, then the D.A. told his secretary, via the intercom, that he wasn’t to be interrupted until further notice. He sat in his high-backed black leather chair, settled himself in, clasped his hands over his stomach and carefully rearranged his normally happy face into an appropriately sad expression. He jutted his chin toward the afternoon New York Post, which had been placed on his desk, the headline facing us: QUEENS BOYS FOUND MURDERED .
    “Bad business, bad business, Tim.” He shook his