Dennis Baker came from a family of law enforcers. His father had been a transit cop, who retired early after he took a spill down a subway station stairwell. An older brother worked for the Department of Corrections and Baker’s uncle was a cop in a small town in Suffolk County, where the family was from. Initially he’d had no interest in the profession—the handsome, well-built young man wanted big bucks. But after losing every penny in a failed recycling business, Baker decided to join up. He moved from Long Island to New York City and tried to reinvent himself as a policeman.

But coming to the job later in life—and the cocky, TV-cop style he adopted—worked against him, alienating brass and fellow officers. Even his family history in law enforcement didn’t help (his relatives fell low in the blue hierarchy). Baker could make a living as a cop but he wasn’t destined for a corner office in the Big Building.

So he decided to go for the bucks after all. But not via business. He’d use his badge.

When he first started shaking down businessmen he wondered if he’d feel guilty about it.

Uh-uh. Not a bit.

The only problem was that to support his lifestyle—which included a taste for wine, food and beautiful women—he needed more than just a thousand or so a week from Korean wholesalers and fat men who owned pizza parlors in Queens. So Baker, a former partner and some cops from the 118th came up with a plan for a lucrative extortion ring. Baker’s cohorts would steal a small amount of drugs from the evidence lockers or would score some coke or smack on the street. They’d target the children of rich businessmen in Manhattan clubs and plant the drugs on them. Baker would talk to the parents, who’d be told that for a six-figure payment, the arrest reports would disappear. If they didn’t pay, the kids’d go to jail. He’d also occasionally plant drugs on businessmen themselves.

Rather than just taking the money, though, they’d arrange for the victims to lose it in sham business deals, like with Frank Sarkowski, or in fake poker games in Vegas or Atlantic City—the approach they took with Ben Creeley. This would provide the marks with a reasonable explanation as to why they were suddenly two or three hundred thousand dollars poorer.

But then Dennis Baker made a mistake. He got lazy. It wasn’t easy finding the right marks for the scam and he decided to go back to some of the earlier targets for a second installment of extortion money.

Some paid the second time. But two of them—Sarkowski and Creeley—were businessmen with pretty tough hides, and while they were willing to pay once to get Baker out of their hair, they drew the line at a second payment. One threatened to go to the police, and one to the press. In early November Baker and a cop from the 118th had kidnapped Sarkowski and driven him to an industrial section of Queens, near where a client of his company had a factory. He’d been shot, the crime staged to look like a mugging. Several weeks later Baker and the same cop had broken into Creeley’s high-rise, strung a rope around the businessman’s neck and tossed him off the balcony.