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The woman didn’t put up much of a fuss, Bianchi said. She didn’t have a courtesy card and she didn’t drop any names. Bianchi wrote her a ticket and sent her on her way.
Two days later, Bianchi was transferred out of the traffic unit and placed back on patrol. In a lawsuit he filed against New York City, he says that a supervisor told him that Jeffrey Maddrey, then the chief of patrol and now the department’s highest-ranking uniformed officer, requested that he be transferred. Maddrey, Bianchi was told, was friends with the woman he had stopped.
This is the best summary I could come up with:
A red Mazda sped past a police officer’s unmarked car stationed at a tree-lined Staten Island intersection.
Bianchi was starting to view the cards as a different kind of symbol: of the impunity that came with knowing someone on the force, as if New York’s rules didn’t apply to those with connections.
In a lawsuit he filed against New York City, he says that a supervisor told him that Jeffrey Maddrey, then the chief of patrol and now the department’s highest-ranking uniformed officer, requested that he be transferred.
Maddrey is a prime example: When he faced departmental discipline last year, Adams vocally defended him, undermining the authority of Keechant Sewell, who was then the police commissioner.
But if Maddrey was a beneficiary of the culture of loyalty and brotherhood, Bianchi — beholden to his personal history, an unshakable morality, a stubborn refusal to get with the program, or some unknowable combination of character and circumstance — was a victim of it.
New York City, after twice delaying its response to his lawsuit, issued a reply last month in which it denied the vast majority of his allegations, including those related to Maddrey’s role in his transfer.
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