A woman waiting there recognized Renato Seabra. Wanda Pires, a friend of Mr. Seabra's travel companion, Carlos Castro, stopped him to ask when Castro would be coming down. She and her daughter, Monica, had arranged to meet Castro at 6.

"He won't be coming down anytime soon," Mr. Seabra told the women in his native Portuguese. Then he walked out the hotel doors to the corner of 44th Street and Eighth Avenue, a block west of Times Square.

Mr. Seabra's comment was as chilling in the moment as it now seems in retrospect. Immediately suspicious, Ms. Pires asked hotel staff to check Room 3416, where Castro and Mr. Seabra were staying. There they found Castro—one of the leading gossip columnists in Portugal—lying face-up naked on the floor in an expanding pool of his own blood. His face was bludgeoned. It had been slammed repeatedly against the television.

According to a confession by Mr. Seabra, a 21-year-old model and reality-show contestant, he placed Castro in a chokehold, stabbed him in the eye with a corkscrew and kicked him over and over. The medical examiner noted shoe impressions on the victim's face, where Mr. Seabra had stomped on his cheek and chin. There were also signs of strangulation. Castro's neck bone was fractured. According to a court report, the cause of death was blunt-force trauma and internal hemorrhaging.

Some of the blood on the floor came from the head trauma. But most of it flowed from a wound in the groin of the 65-year-old victim. His testes were found severed from his body. Using the small knife of a hotel corkscrew, Mr. Seabra had castrated Castro.

In Disneyfied New York, a case of gothic-style torture in a luxury hotel seems more suited to an episode of Law & Order than real life. Indeed, the city's tabloids and bleed-leading local news channels initially couldn't figure out how to play the story. Was it a return to Times Square's bad old days? Or a sex romp gone bad? And how did an unrelated homicide at Soho House, only weeks earlier, play into the narrative?

By the time police and stunned hotel staff discovered Castro's corpse, Mr. Seabra had hailed a taxi and directed the driver to go to the nearest hospital. At Roosevelt Hospital on 10th Avenue and 58th Street, he arrived at the emergency room with two slit wrists, the result of a presumed but unconfirmed suicide attempt. The taxi driver called the police after recognizing news photos of his passenger. Describing Mr. Seabra as "frantic," the cabbie told the police, "I think I just dropped your guy off at the hospital." Upon apprehension, Mr. Seabra was transferred to the Prison Ward of Bellevue Hospital, where he will remain under medical observation until his Feb. 1 Supreme Court arraignment.

Much of what happened that night remains a mystery. Some suggest that jealousy between Castro and the young model had poisoned their relationship. Castro, known for his gay activism and flamboyant public escapades—one journalist called him Portugal's Michael Musto—was in the end murdered by a man whose closest family and friends insist he was straight.

The issue is further confused by Mr. Seabra's confession to the police that he mutilated Castro "to rid him of his homosexual demons."

Last Friday on the fifth floor of Manhattan Criminal Court at 100 Centre Street, Mr. Seabra was arraigned via video conference from the Bellevue Prison Ward—in a Skype-like version of the traditional bedside arraignment. On a television screen before a packed courtroom, the defendant sat in pajamas next to his lawyer.

A crowd of Portuguese journalists gathered outside the courtroom. According to the writers, it would be difficult to live in Portugal and consume popular culture and not know who Castro was. He had enjoyed a long career, published several books and made constant appearances on television morning shows.

Still, the Portuguese contingent, among them more than half a dozen journalists who had flown in from Lisbon to cover the story, agreed that in their culture, a gossip journalist was not a real journalist.

"He was well known, but it's not like he was respected or renowned; there's a difference," explained a reporter who preferred not to be named.

"He was like Perez Hilton," said another. "Even in the feminine way."

"Everyone wanted to be friends with him," said a writer from Caras, the Portuguese equivalent of People, for which Castro wrote, "because he could help people going up. He could put someone really down or put them up, so he was kind of influential. He was in a lot of newspapers and magazines."

Sara Oliveira, a TV reporter who flew to New York for the arraignment and Castro's funeral, was more charitable. "He was very sensitive; he was always very nice to me, always. He was very funny but he was difficult to handle because his job was to criticize things."

Eventually, the press secretary for the district attorney's office, Joan Vollero, addressed the group. She dispelled a rumor that the arraignment room had been moved. Another official rejected out of hand a last-minute effort by Portuguese TV to televise the proceedings.

Once the arraignment began, Mr. Seabra sat silently on his plastic seat staring downward, his hands in his lap. His defense attorney, David Touger, a pasty man with deep-set eyes, spoke for his client.

A translator could be heard off-camera as the young man in Bellevue nodded meekly after each proceeding was explained to him.

In front of the bar were two court officers, Assistant District Attorney Maxine Rosenthal and another woman from the district attorney's office.

Ms. Rosenthal—tall, with shoulder-length ash blond hair and wearing a pantsuit—ignored the fake wood table and blue nylon upholstered chairs set up for her use and instead stood directly in front of Judge Anthony Ferrara. "It's a very serious and violent crime," she said, arguing that Mr. Seabra be remanded without bail. Mr. Touger lifted his hand onscreen to note that, actually, the defendant was not seeking bail. The judge swiftly brought down his gavel. "One charge, murder in the second degree." The case will be arraigned in Manhattan Supreme Court on Feb. 1.

After the hearing, Mr. Touger told the Associated Press that while Mr. Seabra did confess to police, "all the facts are not out there, by any stretch of the imagination. ... What's great about our system of justice is that he's presumed innocent at this point."

Mr. Seabra and Castro arrived in New York on Wednesday, Dec. 29, with plans to watch the ball drop in Times Square and see a Broadway show. The pair scored tickets to Spider-Man: Turn Off the Dark and ate at the trendy Keith McNally pizzeria Pulino's on the Bowery.

They had so much fun that they stayed to pose for photos with a restaurant manager. "We're not going to talk about that night," a Pulino's manager told The Observer about a week after the incident. It was getting late, and the crowd consisted largely of Alan Rickman and his fellow cast mates from the Ibsen play John Gabriel Borkman, playing at BAM.

"I know what night you're talking about," the manager said. "If you want to have a drink, you're more than welcome. Or you can leave."

After dining at Pulino's, the couple then went to see the gruesome and sexually tortured movie Black Swan.

Friend and journalist Luis Pires said the pair also ventured to Atlantic City one evening and had dinner at the Taj Mahal Hotel.

This was the New York Mr. Seabra had always dreamed of. He grew up in the small town of Cantanhede, not far from the Atlantic and south of Porto. He was a college basketball star. But his real break came when he appeared as a contestant on the reality show A Procura do Sonho (In Pursuit of a Dream)—the Portuguese equivalent of America's Next Top Model. Mr. Seabra, though one of three finalists, did not win. His Facebook fan page, however, garnered more than 2,000 followers, and one of the show's developers and judges, fashion designer Fatima Lopes, offered Mr. Seabra a modeling contract.

His figure is trim, and the ripples of a muscular upper body accent his silhouette. His skin is olive, and his smile gleams under tousled hair. Mr. Seabra has attributed the success of his modeling career to his mother. "My mom told me to keep trying," he told a Portuguese newspaper, "because I wasn't taking modeling seriously enough. ... I'm shy in front of the camera, especially when everyone is watching me."

Friends of Castro say the two had been in a relationship for several months before their Big Apple tour, and flirtatious Facebook messages such as Mr. Seabra's closing salutation, "big kiss," suggest they were romantically involved.

"This kid was probably looking for fame and money," Mr. Pires has said. "He took a chance to be very close to a man who could promote him. It was a risky relationship."

Their romance does not seem far-fetched. An ambitious young show-business wannabe had met the established celebrity journalist who could make his career. But Mr. Seabra's mother, Odilia Pereirinha, a resolute Catholic, insists her son was never ambiguous about his sexuality. "My son never hid his sexuality," she told the Portuguese network TVIndependente. "He is heterosexual. ... He was not Carlos Castro's lover."

Ms. Pereirinha's denial has created what one attendee of Castro's funeral described as "a war" between the two families. In fact, according to Portuguese news sources, Ms. Pereirinha and Castro's two sisters, who attended their brother's funeral two days earlier, boarded the same flight from Newark to Lisbon on Monday morning.

Down an alley that splinters off Congress Street in downtown Newark—in the heart of the city's Portuguese community—two women in black fur coats and black stilettos walked under a wrought-iron sign that read, "Igreja de Nossa Senhora de Fatima." It is, like many churches, named for the apparition of the Virgin Mary in Fatima, Portugal. During the hectic hours of Saturday afternoon, the parish was surrounded by news crews, onlookers and vans saddled with oversize satellite dishes.

The local Portuguese community was joined by more than 50 mourners who had flown in from Portugal for Castro's funeral. Among them were a number of beauty-pageant contestants, who knew Castro from his involvement in the Miss Portugal America pageant at the Taj Mahal.

The wide nave of the white-washed Catholic church was crowded with visitors. Photographers and journalists lined the outer aisles, hovering under the stained-glass stations of the cross.

Two of Castro's four sisters, Fernanda and Maria Castro, were present for the mass. They were escorted down the aisle with Ms. Pires, the close friend whose fateful encounter with Mr. Seabra in the InterContinental lobby led to the discovery of the deceased. The three women embraced. As they descended the aisle, their arms linked, all three softly cried.

The alter was decorated with bouquets of yellow and white roses, and pots of yellow poinsettia were set around the apse. Monsignor Joao Antao assumed the pulpit cloaked in a bright purple robe.

One sister warily stepped forward. She bowed her head to regain composure, and replaced her sunglasses with wire-rim reading glasses. During her eulogy, her voice crackled under the strain of tears.

Photographers and videographers flanked the alter snapping frantically throughout the mass. "You have all the major networks in Portugal broadcasting live at this time," Clarise Frias, a friend of Castro's, whispered to The Observer in the back of the crowded church.

During communion, the priest had to ask one squatting photographer to move off the altar so that he could take his chair to read the rites.

Mr. Pires, the newspaper editor and the ex-husband of Ms. Pires, had not seen Castro for five years before his death. He stood at the end of the first pew with his camera, acting as both mourner and journalist.

At the front of the aisle, a small table was draped with a crocheted white doily and displayed a framed photograph of Castro. Next to it was a small urn containing his ashes. As his sisters and Ms. Pires took the urn and turned to walk down the aisle, a burst of applause erupted and followed them out of the church.

"We lost a great man," said Ms. Pires on the sidewalk in front of the church. "He was a great heart, a man from the community. He touched tons of people's hearts. We lost a good friend."

Ms. Pires' daughter, Monica, told The Observer that she was unable to discuss anything about the day of the crime, on orders of the district attorney's office.

"No one knows why he did what he did," said Mr. Pires of Mr. Seabra. "That's the reason why everyone is here, because everyone thinks it was so tragic a crime."

"I knew him very well," said Francisco Saldana, a manager at Cablevision and a Newark native who had worked with Castro for almost 20 years on the Miss Portugal America pageants. "Sometimes you're working up to 18 hours a day. He was a very hard worker, very passionate about what he did. I was the director, and he was the producer, choreographer, creator; it was a pageant, so he had to work with the young ladies to teach them what to do, and he was very knowledgeable about that.

"When I read about it in the paper, I was shocked, I was really going crazy. I was calling all my friends to find out if they knew anything more about it. It's very sad what happened. It's a great loss to the community. He was a gem. I just hope justice gets served."

Outside, after the mass ended, two stubbled fashionistos, male-model types in Dolce & Gabbana sunglasses, immediately lit up cigarettes. They didn't exchange a word between themselves, or with anyone else.

Luis Nascimento, who stood near the sisters' black limousine, explained that his wife and mother-in-law, Monica and Wanda Pires, had been friends with Castro for 35 years. "I don't think nobody deserves to go out that way," he spat in a Portuguese accent that betrayed a stint in Jersey.

Mena and Jose Leandro, a Portuguese couple who live in Newark, also knew Castro from the pageants he produced. "I think he was jealous." Mr. Leandro speculated of Mr. Seabra. "Something strange happened because apparently he was a nice guy, the boy, and Carlos was a nice man. I don't know what happened. He tried to be famous with Castro, he thought Castro could make him a model."

Mrs. Leandro shook her head. "It's very, very, very sad the way things happen," she said. "I listen to the things on TV about Seabra, and everyone says the guy is very nice-he goes to church, he exercises nice, he models nice-everything nice. Nothing like this had happened before. But in five minutes, you change your life, my friend."

After just a few minutes of dodging some of the swooping cameras, the Castro sisters ducked into a black limousine. They were on their way to spread their brother's ashes in Times Square.

"That's a place that he loved," Mr. Nascimento told The Observer just before the limo sped toward Manhattan. "What he said is, if he ever passed away, he would want his ashes in Times Square."

Castro got his wish. Castro's sisters and friend Claudio Montez arrived around dusk at 43rd Street and Broadway, where they unwrapp
ed the urn, and the three took turns pouring Castro's remains through a grate into the New York City sewer system, the lights of the Hard Rock Cafe marquee glowing behind them.

Just a block away were the 36 black-marble stories of the InterContinental Hotel, where in Room 3416, Castro's life was lost in a murderous frenzy.

"It makes things worse than how they are," Mr. Nascimento said. "But that's the place he liked to stay."

cmalle@observer.com, nfreeman@observer.com

The victim says that she got up from her seat at Citibar, 1446 First Avenue, at 10:10 p.m. to change the channel, leaving her purse hanging from her barstool. When she was ready to leave, she noticed that her wallet was missing. So she notified the manager, who went back to his office to review the bar’s security video.

Sure enough, he spotted a male suspect going through the woman’s handbag and taking her wallet. He even recognized the guy, describing him as a “regular homeless man,” though it was unclear whether he meant a regular patron of the bar who happens to be homeless, or a regular guy who just happens to be down on his luck (or perhaps both). The bartender also told the victim that the suspect “is always hanging around the establishment.”

In any event, he’ll probably be sporting a new, improved look the next time he visits the bar, because the woman’s Ann Taylor wallet contained a Nike gift card valued at $100, an American Express gift card worth $100, a $50 Gap gift card and $40 in cash.

Shakespearean Theft

On Feb. 13, the Shakespeare scholar Dympna Callaghan was providing the commentary for an evening of discussion and performance at Hunter College’s Silvia and Danny Kaye Playhouse entitled “Boys Will Be Girls,” according to the Web site Broadwayworld.com. Ms. Callaghan was addressing the mysteries of cross-dressing in the Bard’s work, when someone—taking advantage of the onstage commotion (the performers included Good Night, and Good Luck’s David Strathairn and members of an all-female production of The Taming of the Shrew)—stole her wallet from her dressing room.

Perhaps because her name was on the door of the dressing room, Ms. Callaghan assumed that her star power would give any potential thief pause. Either that or she took the word of the event’s security director, who told her that her property would be safe in the unlocked room. However, New York crooks, as a group, tend to be rather inured to celebrity—not to mention Elizabethan poetry—and the fact that the property was apparently in plain view was too inviting to pass up.

Ms. Callaghan, the author of Shakespeare Without Women, didn’t even realize that her wallet was missing until the next morning, because the thief left behind her handbag and other items of personal property. Her wallet contained $200 in cash and an American Express card, which, fortunately, she was able to cancel before it was used.

Pregnancy Scare

One way to chastise motorists who are guilty of violating automotive etiquette—say when they try to run you over as you’re crossing the street—is to tap on the trunk of their car after you’ve survived the encounter.

This would seem a completely justifiable, even measured reaction, considering that they almost killed you. But the sort of would-be assassin who would drive that way in the first place probably isn’t particularly well bred and might even have homicidal tendencies, as a pregnant woman crossing 79th Street and Third Avenue discovered on Feb. 8.

The victim, 9 1¼2 months pregnant and on her way to the gynecologist, was attempting to cross from the southeast to the northeast corner of 79th Street when a car traveling northbound on Third Avenue made a right turn onto 79th Street and almost hit her. That’s when the expectant mother, a 36-year-old West 67th Street resident, decided to reprimand the driver by tapping on her vehicle.

There are those who can’t take criticism, no matter how valid, and the perp pounced from her car, stating, “I’m going to fuck you up.” That the woman was about to deliver—and even informed her of that fact—made no difference. So much for female empathy.

“Did you fucking hit my car?” she demanded and kicked her in the stomach. Then she fled eastbound on 79th Street. Luckily, the victim—who received medical attention at the scene—got her assailant’s license number and car description before she departed. She was driving a gray 2002 Nissan Altima.

“That’s an easy one,” stated a police source. “They have a plate. I’m sure they’ll make an arrest soon.” Let’s hope.

The victim says that she got up from her seat at Citibar, 1446 First Avenue, at 10:10 p.m. to change the channel, leaving her purse hanging from her barstool. When she was ready to leave, she noticed that her wallet was missing. So she notified the manager, who went back to his office to review the bar’s security video.

Sure enough, he spotted a male suspect going through the woman’s handbag and taking her wallet. He even recognized the guy, describing him as a “regular homeless man,” though it was unclear whether he meant a regular patron of the bar who happens to be homeless, or a regular guy who just happens to be down on his luck (or perhaps both). The bartender also told the victim that the suspect “is always hanging around the establishment.”

In any event, he’ll probably be sporting a new, improved look the next time he visits the bar, because the woman’s Ann Taylor wallet contained a Nike gift card valued at $100, an American Express gift card worth $100, a $50 Gap gift card and $40 in cash.

Shakespearean Theft

On Feb. 13, the Shakespeare scholar Dympna Callaghan was providing the commentary for an evening of discussion and performance at Hunter College’s Silvia and Danny Kaye Playhouse entitled “Boys Will Be Girls,” according to the Web site Broadwayworld.com. Ms. Callaghan was addressing the mysteries of cross-dressing in the Bard’s work, when someone—taking advantage of the onstage commotion (the performers included Good Night, and Good Luck’s David Strathairn and members of an all-female production of The Taming of the Shrew)—stole her wallet from her dressing room.

Perhaps because her name was on the door of the dressing room, Ms. Callaghan assumed that her star power would give any potential thief pause. Either that or she took the word of the event’s security director, who told her that her property would be safe in the unlocked room. However, New York crooks, as a group, tend to be rather inured to celebrity—not to mention Elizabethan poetry—and the fact that the property was apparently in plain view was too inviting to pass up.

Ms. Callaghan, the author of Shakespeare Without Women, didn’t even realize that her wallet was missing until the next morning, because the thief left behind her handbag and other items of personal property. Her wallet contained $200 in cash and an American Express card, which, fortunately, she was able to cancel before it was used.

Pregnancy Scare

One way to chastise motorists who are guilty of violating automotive etiquette—say when they try to run you over as you’re crossing the street—is to tap on the trunk of their car after you’ve survived the encounter.

This would seem a completely justifiable, even measured reaction, considering that they almost killed you. But the sort of would-be assassin who would drive that way in the first place probably isn’t particularly well bred and might even have homicidal tendencies, as a pregnant woman crossing 79th Street and Third Avenue discovered on Feb. 8.

The victim, 9 1¼2 months pregnant and on her way to the gynecologist, was attempting to cross from the southeast to the northeast corner of 79th Street when a car traveling northbound on Third Avenue made a right turn onto 79th Street and almost hit her. That’s when the expectant mother, a 36-year-old West 67th Street resident, decided to reprimand the driver by tapping on her vehicle.

There are those who can’t take criticism, no matter how valid, and the perp pounced from her car, stating, “I’m going to fuck you up.” That the woman was about to deliver—and even informed her of that fact—made no difference. So much for female empathy.

“Did you fucking hit my car?” she demanded and kicked her in the stomach. Then she fled eastbound on 79th Street. Luckily, the victim—who received medical attention at the scene—got her assailant’s license number and car description before she departed. She was driving a gray 2002 Nissan Altima.

“That’s an easy one,” stated a police source. “They have a plate. I’m sure they’ll make an arrest soon.” Let’s hope.

More about Mrs. Clinton in a moment; first to the bank robbery.

The suspect, Edward Falvey, 53, allegedly visited the North Fork Bank at 1010 Third Avenue around noon. He produced a note written on a deposit slip that stated: “This is a robbery. I have a gun. Pass me the 20’s, 50’s and 100’s. No dye packs.”

Bank robbery has become a relatively easy crime to commit because many banks are reluctant to beef up security, despite repeated protests by the NYPD. And the average bank teller, understandably, is often eager to meet the crook’s demands, especially with a gun pointed at his or her head.

But there must have been something non-threatening about Mr. Falvey’s demeanor—aside from the fact that he wasn’t brandishing a weapon—because his victim pretended to faint when he presented her with his note. The ploy worked: The crook left the bank empty-handed.

But instead of taking his failure as an excuse to consider a less stressful line of work—especially since he’d just been released from a Brooklyn halfway house after doing time for threatening Mrs. Clinton’s life, having already served 30 months in a New Jersey lockup for a prior bank robbery—Mr. Falvey, loath to let his robbery note go to waste, merely proceeded to the nearby Bank of America at 988 Third Avenue.

For the record, he was more successful at his second stop, persuading a teller to part with $5,199. But a teller from the North Fork Bank, showing impressive initiative, followed him to the Bank of America and watched him pull off that robbery. In the meantime, her fellow North Fork employees had called 911 and tripped their alarm, which helped explain the sound of approaching police sirens.

Mr. Falvey allegedly ducked into a phone booth and attempted to hide from the cops—all while under the watchful eye of the North Fork teller, who obligingly pointed him out to the police units when they arrived. The police took Mr. Falvey into custody and turned him over to the feds; his illustrious rap sheet dates back at least as far as 1977, when he was arrested and charged with threatening to kill President Jimmy Carter. He received probation in that case, according to the Associated Press.

His crime against Senator Clinton occurred in April 2003, when he wrote a letter to a prison psychologist while incarcerated in New Jersey, explaining that his life was “dull and boring” and that he thought he might be able to “spice it up” by shooting a famous person.

Mike Truman, a spokesman for the Federal Bureau of Prisons, described Mr. Falvey as a “busy guy,” despite the convict’s complaints that his life lacks excitement. “Every time I hit a button,” Mr. Truman added, referring to tracking the perp’s rap sheet on his computer, “I come up with something else.”

It seems that after seeing much of the country on the federal dime, or at least what you can observe of it through the bars of a prison cell (Mr. Falvey has done time in prisons in Philadelphia, Oklahoma and Texas), he found himself transferred to that Brooklyn halfway house on Nov. 18, 2005.

“It looks like he was released from Brooklyn on Feb. 3, 2006,” Mr. Truman said. “And they picked him back up on Feb. 8, 2006.”

This means that Mr. Falvey enjoyed all of five days of freedom—and perhaps some respite from the painful tedium of his existence—before he was back behind bars. The suspect is currently incarcerated at the Metropolitan Correctional Center in Brooklyn, awaiting arraignment in federal court for his latest crimes.

More about Mrs. Clinton in a moment; first to the bank robbery.

The suspect, Edward Falvey, 53, allegedly visited the North Fork Bank at 1010 Third Avenue around noon. He produced a note written on a deposit slip that stated: “This is a robbery. I have a gun. Pass me the 20’s, 50’s and 100’s. No dye packs.”

Bank robbery has become a relatively easy crime to commit because many banks are reluctant to beef up security, despite repeated protests by the NYPD. And the average bank teller, understandably, is often eager to meet the crook’s demands, especially with a gun pointed at his or her head.

But there must have been something non-threatening about Mr. Falvey’s demeanor—aside from the fact that he wasn’t brandishing a weapon—because his victim pretended to faint when he presented her with his note. The ploy worked: The crook left the bank empty-handed.

But instead of taking his failure as an excuse to consider a less stressful line of work—especially since he’d just been released from a Brooklyn halfway house after doing time for threatening Mrs. Clinton’s life, having already served 30 months in a New Jersey lockup for a prior bank robbery—Mr. Falvey, loath to let his robbery note go to waste, merely proceeded to the nearby Bank of America at 988 Third Avenue.

For the record, he was more successful at his second stop, persuading a teller to part with $5,199. But a teller from the North Fork Bank, showing impressive initiative, followed him to the Bank of America and watched him pull off that robbery. In the meantime, her fellow North Fork employees had called 911 and tripped their alarm, which helped explain the sound of approaching police sirens.

Mr. Falvey allegedly ducked into a phone booth and attempted to hide from the cops—all while under the watchful eye of the North Fork teller, who obligingly pointed him out to the police units when they arrived. The police took Mr. Falvey into custody and turned him over to the feds; his illustrious rap sheet dates back at least as far as 1977, when he was arrested and charged with threatening to kill President Jimmy Carter. He received probation in that case, according to the Associated Press.

His crime against Senator Clinton occurred in April 2003, when he wrote a letter to a prison psychologist while incarcerated in New Jersey, explaining that his life was “dull and boring” and that he thought he might be able to “spice it up” by shooting a famous person.

Mike Truman, a spokesman for the Federal Bureau of Prisons, described Mr. Falvey as a “busy guy,” despite the convict’s complaints that his life lacks excitement. “Every time I hit a button,” Mr. Truman added, referring to tracking the perp’s rap sheet on his computer, “I come up with something else.”

It seems that after seeing much of the country on the federal dime, or at least what you can observe of it through the bars of a prison cell (Mr. Falvey has done time in prisons in Philadelphia, Oklahoma and Texas), he found himself transferred to that Brooklyn halfway house on Nov. 18, 2005.

“It looks like he was released from Brooklyn on Feb. 3, 2006,” Mr. Truman said. “And they picked him back up on Feb. 8, 2006.”

This means that Mr. Falvey enjoyed all of five days of freedom—and perhaps some respite from the painful tedium of his existence—before he was back behind bars. The suspect is currently incarcerated at the Metropolitan Correctional Center in Brooklyn, awaiting arraignment in federal court for his latest crimes.

He returned home later that day to discover that somebody had entered his apartment and stolen his Apple laptop. Which might have seemed less insufferable if his plumbing problems had at least been fixed. But it turns out the plumber—or whoever it was who stole the computer—isn’t just crooked, he also does sloppy work: The victim, 35, entered his bathroom and discovered that the workman had left behind an exposed pipe and torn pieces of tile on the bathroom floor. There were no signs of forced entry into the apartment.

Barney Hunter

It’s not easy to find bargains at Barneys—unless you work there, and not just because you can take advantage of their employee discount. On Jan. 30, the department store’s loss-prevention manager reported to the police a rather nifty piece of in-store detective work that ended in the apprehension of a 20-year-old employee.

The manager told the cops that the suspect was working at the store on Dec. 27 when he issued a gift card to a customer in the amount of $239.36. Except that he actually kept the gift card for himself and handed the shopper a gift card with a zero balance: in other words a blank, a dummy—which, come to think of it, is an absurdly simple thing to do, since it’s impossible to tell the balance on a gift card just by looking at it. The only problem with the scheme is that sooner or later the customer is going to return to the store and try to use the card. And when he can’t, he’s going to report the problem to the management, which is what happened here.

When the shopper came back to Barneys and tried (unsuccessfully) to make a transaction, the problem was brought to the attention of the loss-prevention manager. The salesperson who’d originally issued the card was tracked down through store receipts with his name on them for an amount close to the stolen credit: He’d used it to make a $112 purchase on Dec. 28, and two additional purchases—one for $69.73, the other for $62.69—the following day.

He was apprehended when he arrived at 2151 Broadway, the site of Barneys Co-Op, for what was described as a “training session”—though the thief’s talents could probably have been put to better use teaching his co-workers the finer points of loss prevention than demonstrating how to attractively restock a department-store shelf.

Hearty Huckster

Hale & Hearty, the soup makers, have a program in which you buy 10 soups and then get the 11th one free. But an employee thought up an even better incentive program, after working at the company’s 1129 Lexington Avenue location for only four days.

The suspect, described as 5-foot-10, 160 pounds and 34 years old, put in a strenuous day’s work delivering such Hale & Hearty favorites as Tuscan white bean and broccoli cheddar. He was supposed to return to the store at the end of the day with $242, the amount he’d collected in food orders. But he never did, pocketing the money instead. He also absconded with a handsome $22 Hale & Hearty delivery jacket and a $65 Hale & Hearty insulated carrying bag.

Street Smarts

A quick-thinking crook got the better of the nerds at Advantage Testing on Jan. 18. The thief visited the company’s East 86th Street office at 3:50 p.m. and proceeded to the back office, removing an air purifier. When challenged by an employee, he displayed the native intelligence that the College Board finds so hard to test and quantify— announcing that he was taking it for a cleaning.

That didn’t explain the orange leather duffel bag he was carrying, but no matter. He fooled the testing-company employee, entered the elevator and was seen no more. After he departed, the Advantage Testing employee discovered that a bunch of other stuff was gone, too: $480 worth of Guy Larmandier champagne that had been stored in the stairwell (perhaps to fête clients who scored a perfect 2,400 on their SAT’s?); five copies of The Rule of Four, a mystery novel set at Princeton; $1,350 in personal checks; and, of course, the air purifier, which was valued at $100.

He returned home later that day to discover that somebody had entered his apartment and stolen his Apple laptop. Which might have seemed less insufferable if his plumbing problems had at least been fixed. But it turns out the plumber—or whoever it was who stole the computer—isn’t just crooked, he also does sloppy work: The victim, 35, entered his bathroom and discovered that the workman had left behind an exposed pipe and torn pieces of tile on the bathroom floor. There were no signs of forced entry into the apartment.

Barney Hunter

It’s not easy to find bargains at Barneys—unless you work there, and not just because you can take advantage of their employee discount. On Jan. 30, the department store’s loss-prevention manager reported to the police a rather nifty piece of in-store detective work that ended in the apprehension of a 20-year-old employee.

The manager told the cops that the suspect was working at the store on Dec. 27 when he issued a gift card to a customer in the amount of $239.36. Except that he actually kept the gift card for himself and handed the shopper a gift card with a zero balance: in other words a blank, a dummy—which, come to think of it, is an absurdly simple thing to do, since it’s impossible to tell the balance on a gift card just by looking at it. The only problem with the scheme is that sooner or later the customer is going to return to the store and try to use the card. And when he can’t, he’s going to report the problem to the management, which is what happened here.

When the shopper came back to Barneys and tried (unsuccessfully) to make a transaction, the problem was brought to the attention of the loss-prevention manager. The salesperson who’d originally issued the card was tracked down through store receipts with his name on them for an amount close to the stolen credit: He’d used it to make a $112 purchase on Dec. 28, and two additional purchases—one for $69.73, the other for $62.69—the following day.

He was apprehended when he arrived at 2151 Broadway, the site of Barneys Co-Op, for what was described as a “training session”—though the thief’s talents could probably have been put to better use teaching his co-workers the finer points of loss prevention than demonstrating how to attractively restock a department-store shelf.

Hearty Huckster

Hale & Hearty, the soup makers, have a program in which you buy 10 soups and then get the 11th one free. But an employee thought up an even better incentive program, after working at the company’s 1129 Lexington Avenue location for only four days.

The suspect, described as 5-foot-10, 160 pounds and 34 years old, put in a strenuous day’s work delivering such Hale & Hearty favorites as Tuscan white bean and broccoli cheddar. He was supposed to return to the store at the end of the day with $242, the amount he’d collected in food orders. But he never did, pocketing the money instead. He also absconded with a handsome $22 Hale & Hearty delivery jacket and a $65 Hale & Hearty insulated carrying bag.

Street Smarts

A quick-thinking crook got the better of the nerds at Advantage Testing on Jan. 18. The thief visited the company’s East 86th Street office at 3:50 p.m. and proceeded to the back office, removing an air purifier. When challenged by an employee, he displayed the native intelligence that the College Board finds so hard to test and quantify— announcing that he was taking it for a cleaning.

That didn’t explain the orange leather duffel bag he was carrying, but no matter. He fooled the testing-company employee, entered the elevator and was seen no more. After he departed, the Advantage Testing employee discovered that a bunch of other stuff was gone, too: $480 worth of Guy Larmandier champagne that had been stored in the stairwell (perhaps to fête clients who scored a perfect 2,400 on their SAT’s?); five copies of The Rule of Four, a mystery novel set at Princeton; $1,350 in personal checks; and, of course, the air purifier, which was valued at $100.

Something like that happened on Jan. 30, shortly after 3 p.m., on 65th Street between Lexington and Third avenues. A 54-year-old male was observed by a police officer driving a blue 1991 Volvo with a defective headlight.

It happens to the best of us. But must we have a can of beer in our lap, or an entire six-pack—or, in this guy’s case, a ziplock bag containing pot? And how did the cop discover that his suspect was a pothead? It wasn’t because the inside of his vehicle was obscured by cumulus clouds of dope, or because it suffered the unmistakable scent of cannabis.

It’s because the fool tried to throw his stash out the window. And lest you think I’m being too hard on the guy, he admitted so himself. Rather than playing dumb—“Marijuana? What marijuana? That’s incense”—he told the cop, “I should have eaten the marijuana instead of throwing it out the window.”

A computer check pursuant to his arrest for criminal possession of marijuana revealed an outstanding warrant of an undisclosed nature.

Hey, Cop, Over Here!

In a similar but more serious case of being your own worst enemy, a police officer observed two males illegally parked in front of 187 East 80th Street on Jan. 23 at 8:45 p.m. It was a rather boneheaded thing to do, because the men were wanted for several recent armed robberies, including two in the 19th Precinct and three in the 20th Precinct on the West Side.

And in one of those cases of trying too hard to look innocent, thus attracting additional suspicion, the driver got out of the car, approached the cop and asked him whether it was legal to park there. When the officer looked at the car before offering his opinion, he spotted the second male sitting in the passenger seat and engaged in what the police described as “furtive movements.” Which is usually the way it is when you’re trying to hide a firearm from a cop.

In any case, the officer may have been more attuned to suspicious behavior than usual because the 4-to-midnight tour had been dispatched from the stationhouse with instructions to be on the lookout for these exact robbers.

So the officer asked the passenger to get out of the car. He refused—numerous times—undoubtedly confirming the cop’s suspicions that these two weren’t garden-variety scofflaws, and making the decision to remove him forcibly from the vehicle and handcuff his hands behind his back a relatively easy one.

The officer discovered the loaded firearm that the suspect, 19, was trying to hide, in the immediate vicinity of where he’d been sitting. And wouldn’t you know it, the other guy’s New York State driver’s license had been suspended. He also happened to be carrying a knife, and probably not for peeling fruit; when the police searched the car’s trunk, they found a black 9-millimeter Makarov pistol with seven live rounds, a black magazine (apparently of the ballistics rather than the literary sort), a .22-caliber revolver and four live .22 cartridges.

The suspects were arrested for criminal possession of a weapon, though not for illegal parking, and line-ups with some of their robbery victims were in the works. “The investigation is ongoing,” said a police official who expects the suspects to be connected to additional crimes.

Something like that happened on Jan. 30, shortly after 3 p.m., on 65th Street between Lexington and Third avenues. A 54-year-old male was observed by a police officer driving a blue 1991 Volvo with a defective headlight.

It happens to the best of us. But must we have a can of beer in our lap, or an entire six-pack—or, in this guy’s case, a ziplock bag containing pot? And how did the cop discover that his suspect was a pothead? It wasn’t because the inside of his vehicle was obscured by cumulus clouds of dope, or because it suffered the unmistakable scent of cannabis.

It’s because the fool tried to throw his stash out the window. And lest you think I’m being too hard on the guy, he admitted so himself. Rather than playing dumb—“Marijuana? What marijuana? That’s incense”—he told the cop, “I should have eaten the marijuana instead of throwing it out the window.”

A computer check pursuant to his arrest for criminal possession of marijuana revealed an outstanding warrant of an undisclosed nature.

Hey, Cop, Over Here!

In a similar but more serious case of being your own worst enemy, a police officer observed two males illegally parked in front of 187 East 80th Street on Jan. 23 at 8:45 p.m. It was a rather boneheaded thing to do, because the men were wanted for several recent armed robberies, including two in the 19th Precinct and three in the 20th Precinct on the West Side.

And in one of those cases of trying too hard to look innocent, thus attracting additional suspicion, the driver got out of the car, approached the cop and asked him whether it was legal to park there. When the officer looked at the car before offering his opinion, he spotted the second male sitting in the passenger seat and engaged in what the police described as “furtive movements.” Which is usually the way it is when you’re trying to hide a firearm from a cop.

In any case, the officer may have been more attuned to suspicious behavior than usual because the 4-to-midnight tour had been dispatched from the stationhouse with instructions to be on the lookout for these exact robbers.

So the officer asked the passenger to get out of the car. He refused—numerous times—undoubtedly confirming the cop’s suspicions that these two weren’t garden-variety scofflaws, and making the decision to remove him forcibly from the vehicle and handcuff his hands behind his back a relatively easy one.

The officer discovered the loaded firearm that the suspect, 19, was trying to hide, in the immediate vicinity of where he’d been sitting. And wouldn’t you know it, the other guy’s New York State driver’s license had been suspended. He also happened to be carrying a knife, and probably not for peeling fruit; when the police searched the car’s trunk, they found a black 9-millimeter Makarov pistol with seven live rounds, a black magazine (apparently of the ballistics rather than the literary sort), a .22-caliber revolver and four live .22 cartridges.

The suspects were arrested for criminal possession of a weapon, though not for illegal parking, and line-ups with some of their robbery victims were in the works. “The investigation is ongoing,” said a police official who expects the suspects to be connected to additional crimes.

And while free expression (if not vandalism) is to be encouraged, we’d prefer its practitioners save their energy for their own homelands rather than inflict it on ours, as one 15-year-old Moldovan youth did on Jan. 14.

The police spotted the suspect making graffiti at several locations, including in front of 1435 First Avenue, where they tried to apprehend him at 1:50 a.m. But rather than surrender quietly, the teenager tried to flee the scene. In the process, he ran into a police officer, causing him to fall to the sidewalk and injure his back, wrist and ankle.

The downed officer’s partner then tried to stop the perp, who allegedly swung at him twice with a closed fist. After a brief struggle, the cop apprehended the vandal. But there was to be no arrest—for making graffiti, resisting arrest or anything else. The suspect, whose home address is the same as the Moldovan mission to the United Nations, claimed diplomatic immunity.

Nice and Naughty

It’s conventional wisdom that honey will catch more bees (or is it bears—or flies?) than vinegar. But that doesn’t always apply, at least when it comes to robbery and your victims expect you to show a little spine.

The relative merits of each approach were apparent in two recent Upper East Side holdups. On Jan. 22, a couple of well-mannered villains visited Pizza Mia, a restaurant at 1163 Second Avenue, shortly after midnight. One of the men acted as if he was going to order a pizza—a charade that ceased as soon as he produced a black gun with a wooden handle. But despite the weapon’s antisocial appearance, the perp couldn’t have been more sympathetic.

As the accomplice stood silently behind him, he stated, “Calm down. I want to get out of here quicker than you want me out.”

His approach worked. A female working behind the counter forked over $480, and the perps fled westbound on 61st Street, jumping into a gray (or silver) Honda (or Toyota). The police conducted a canvass of the area, with negative results.

In a decidedly more roughhewn robbery a day earlier, three criminals visited the D’Agostino’s at 1074 Lexington Avenue. While one of them waited outside as a lookout, the other two entered the supermarket, displayed their weapons—one a revolver, the other a semi-automatic—and ordered employees and customers alike onto the ground.

In fact, when a new customer unwittingly entered the store in the middle of the incident, which occurred around 10 p.m., one of the suspects hit him in the forehead with his gun and then ordered him onto the ground as well. The perps also confiscated eight cell phones belonging to both customers and employees—presumably not for their resale value, but to prevent them from calling 911 or surreptitiously taking their photos for future reference.

But the real purpose of their visit was to plunder the supermarket’s safe. “I ain’t playing games—open the safe or I’m going to shoot you,” one of the bad guys warned the manager. After receiving an undetermined amount of money, which they deposited in a black-and-gray book bag, the unfriendly crooks fled southbound on Lexington Avenue and then westbound on 75th Street with the cash and cell phones.

Harried Mommies

The pattern of thieves stealing unsuspecting mothers’ wallets from their baby strollers continues unabated. For example, on Jan. 18, a 29-year-old East 74th Street resident told the police that she had last seen her pocketbook hooked to her child’s stroller around noon, as she walked uptown on Second Avenue.

However, when she needed it, she discovered that it was gone, even though she has no recollection of seeing or feeling anything suspicious. And the bag constituted something of a haul, especially if you’re into designer labels. The bag itself was a Louis Vuitton, worth $250; inside was an $800 black-and-tan Tod’s pocketbook containing a $300 Prada wallet. The thief also absconded with the woman’s iPod.

To prevent such unpleasantness in the future, the 19th Precinct’s crime-prevention office has published some advice to prevent distracted mothers from becoming the victims of pickpockets. The suggestions include never leaving your wallet inside a diaper bag or hanging from your stroller, as well as never leaving the stroller itself unattended, even for a minute. This may present something of a challenge, especially for today’s overprotective parents, constantly hovering over their offspring. But if you keep your purse on your person, it shouldn’t be a problem.

Next, minimize the number of credit cards you schlep around. Ask yourself: Must I really have my Barneys credit card on me at all times?

If you observe someone suspicious—someone who doesn’t look at all like a person you’d include in your mothers’ group, and who happens to be loitering in your vicinity and taking an unnaturally keen interest in your activities—don’t keep it to yourself; inform the management.

Finally, be aware when someone approaches your stroller and engages you in conversation or tries to play with your baby or toddler. We all know he’s extremely cute and gifted, but, as difficult as it may be to accept, there are some lowlifes out there who are more interested in your debit card than they are in your baby’s sponge-like fascination with his environment. Making a fuss over your infant is a common—and frequently successful—ploy to separate you from your property.