Crosshairs, page 13
Bennett took a deep breath. He was thinking hard about something. Finally he said, “Coordinate the canvass of the neighborhood. Extend it two blocks south. Maybe someone else saw the man with the large instrument case. Maybe we’ll get lucky and he’ll be on a security video somewhere.” Bennett looked at Trilling. “And tell me exactly where you think the shooter fired from. That’s what you’re an expert on, right? We’ll send a forensics team to you when you find the location.”
In the Army, a superior officer would usually tell him, Dismissed, when they were done with giving orders. Trilling had the good sense to know when he’d been dismissed whether someone said the word or not.
CHAPTER 52
IT’S SOMETIMES HARD for people to comprehend what goes into a police investigation. I had two things going for me: experience and a really good team. I never took Walter Jackson for granted. He saved me hours of work on every homicide by finding where witnesses lived and worked. Other detectives conducted canvasses for witnesses and checked for other vital information. But the initial period after a homicide is always hectic.
This one was particularly difficult for two reasons: it was the fourth in a string of killings, and I had a disturbing thought in my head about my partner. I just couldn’t ignore his very specific comments about Gus Querva. And the fact that Trilling hadn’t been around last night made me consider some terrible possibilities.
I made it a point for us to take a break at noon. I’d been on the clock longer than a regular workday and saw no end in sight. I needed some food and made Trilling stop with me at a small sandwich shop in the Bronx.
We were able to grab a tiny table for two in the corner and a bit of privacy. The place was busy enough that our voices didn’t carry.
I wiggled on the hard, wooden chair, trying to get comfortable. Trilling stared down at his tuna salad like he was dreading having to speak with me.
Finally I said, “Tough night and day. This is what a homicide investigation looks like immediately after the body’s discovered.”
“I’ll admit, I didn’t expect it to be like this. Your phone has rung at least thirty times.”
“That was before I put it on silent. I always update Harry Grissom. It’s the bosses from One Police Plaza that I tend to ignore. There’s always a lot of information thrown at us right after we get the call of a body being found. It never really changes.” I waited, hoping Trilling might say something to put me at ease. I was out of luck.
After a few minutes of silence, I said, “Can we talk frankly? I don’t really have time right now to beat around the bush.”
Trilling smiled and said, “I’ve never been around you when you did have time to beat around the bush.”
“Do you want to say anything to me? Do you have any more details you can provide about why you never answered my call?”
It took longer than usual for Trilling to answer. When he looked up at me, I noticed his eyes were bloodshot. He suddenly looked older as well. Then Trilling said, “I don’t know what to tell you.” He shook his head and kept looking down at his plate.
“Tell me what’s going on. Why you look like you’ve been running from aliens all night. I just want to understand.”
Trilling slowly nodded. “I get it. And I can see why you’re looking at me funny after what I said about Gus Querva. The truth is, I’ve had a few issues since coming back from Afghanistan. The worst issue is sleep disturbance. My counselor at the VA got me a prescription for a drug that really puts me out. I mean, I lose eight to ten hours of consciousness. They call it ‘sleep.’ I call it a coma. Then I wake up feeling weak, tired, and confused. So I can’t honestly tell you exactly what I did last night. I started the night lying in my bed, and I woke up in my bed. I’ve learned from past experience that doesn’t mean I didn’t do something in between. Once I made a meal when I was asleep. The next morning, I thought someone had broken in and microwaved the Stouffer’s lasagna and garlic bread that was sitting on my kitchen table.”
“Have you told the NYPD medical staff about this?”
“They know I’m under treatment by the VA. They’ve been in touch with my counselor. I stay on my schedule for appointments and even have been to a couple of their weeklong retreats. My counselor, Darcy, is the one who came with me to visit my mother. We were on our way back from Albany in September. I let my mom think it was more than just a counseling retreat. That way she didn’t keep asking me if I’d met any nice girls in the city.”
I appreciated his honesty as I considered everything he had said. But it didn’t ease my concerns. I still had that funny feeling in the pit of my stomach. The one that always made me nervous. The feeling that everything was about to be turned upside down.
CHAPTER 53
WE CLEARED UP all the immediate interviews and leads related to the murder of Gus Querva. Rob Trilling looked so rough, I told him to go home. As soon as I said it, I knew ordering an insomniac to rest and sleep was like telling a heroin addict, Just stop using heroin. But Trilling didn’t complain. He said he was going to do his best.
I called Mary Catherine. She sounded tired.
I said, “Is the fertility treatment getting to you?”
“I don’t know, Michael. I thought I was past it.”
“Is there anything I can do for you?”
“No, darling, I’m just a little tired. And you’ve been working since the middle of the night. Is everything okay with you?”
There was so much I could’ve gone into. Instead, I said, “Just finishing up the last few things for the day. You sit tight and I’ll grab dinner on my way home.”
Forty minutes later, I barely made it through the door as I juggled four large pizzas in one hand and a dozen roses in the other. The grateful look on Mary Catherine’s face made the effort well worthwhile.
Despite a deep-down exhaustion, I enjoyed hearing about the kids’ day. It sounded relatively uneventful. Fiona appeared to have finally figured out algebra, Trent used parts from four different computers to make a working one at Holy Name’s computer lab, and Brian helped install a giant AC unit on top of a warehouse in the Bronx.
Chrissy was very sweet, making Mary Catherine sit at the table while she rushed around and brought her pizza, then a drink, then moved the roses closer to her on the table.
I noticed Jane huddled with my grandfather at the end of the table. They were looking at a sheet of paper and whispering back and forth like middle schoolers who had just been passed a note.
I waited until after dinner to casually slide next to my grandfather on the couch. He had just gotten his good-night kisses from the younger girls and was patiently watching the boys play a video game. I took the quiet moment to do some subtle investigative work.
“What were you and Jane discussing at the dinner table?”
“I’m not allowed to catch up with my great-granddaughter during dinner?”
“That’s not what I said. And I’m too tired to play your crazy word games tonight. Jane’s been acting a little secretive and I want to make sure everything’s okay. So do you care to tell me what you were talking about?”
“You know that I love you, my boy. This whole family is what keeps me feeling young. That’s why I’m sorry to disappoint you when I cite priest, great-granddaughter confidentiality. I’m afraid it’s one of those immutable laws of nature that wasn’t designed to be broken by an old sinner like me.”
“Do you ever peddle this crap down at the church?”
“Every day. Why do you think the monsignor always looks so confused?”
I had to laugh at that and appreciate how my grandfather kept the kids’ secrets. Everyone needed someone they could talk to without fear. Maybe that was where I was letting Rob Trilling down. Maybe he wasn’t comfortable being completely honest with me. I shook that thought out of my head.
I said to my grandfather, “I just worry about the kids growing up too fast.”
“I wouldn’t worry about Jane, my boy. She’s more likely to be the city’s youngest mayor than she is to do something stupid.”
“Some people would say running for mayor is stupid.”
My grandfather smiled. “That’s because only stupid people usually run for mayor. Jane will break that trend.”
CHAPTER 54
I’D BEEN CAREFUL once I got into the office. The morning had been a blur. I had some serious anxiety about my new partner, but I couldn’t just start suggesting he could be responsible for a series of murders. Life doesn’t work that way. Once I said it, it could never be taken back. And that would follow Trilling the rest of his career. Assuming, of course, he wasn’t the Longshot Killer.
I could’ve used some help from Walter Jackson, but I didn’t want to involve him. I gave Trilling a detailed list of things to do on the case. Checking security videos, re-interviewing a few witnesses, and generally tying up his entire day. He didn’t bat an eye at the long list of assignments.
Now I found myself in Midtown Manhattan. Trilling had told me he came to an off-site VA clinic here. That wasn’t too hard to track down. I recalled that he and his mother had both told me that his counselor’s first name was Darcy. A name just uncommon enough for me to think I could find her.
The clinic was on the third floor of a commercial building just a tad on the run-down side, with cheap carpet and scuffed walls. Not high-end enough for law firms and architects to rent office space.
I walked through the door marked VETERANS AFFAIRS, with the s faded off the end of the nameplate. In the small waiting room, I found an empty reception desk with a note that said, “Be back in twenty minutes.” I had no idea how long the receptionist had been gone, so I sat in one of the five mismatched chairs available. In front of me was a coffee table with magazines I barely recognized. The best I could find was a Sports Illustrated that was about four years old. I wondered how many coaches the New York Jets had gone through in that time span.
One of the four doors leading to reception opened, and a young man dressed in a T-shirt and ratty jeans stepped out, followed by a pretty woman in her early thirties with short brown hair. I caught a break when the young man said, “Thanks, Darcy. I’ll see you next week.”
As the man headed out the door, I stood up. Darcy turned to me and said, “Can I help you?”
“I wasn’t sure how long the receptionist would be gone so I waited.”
“She’s been gone about two and half years. We haven’t gotten funding for a new one. I wrote that note myself about six months after she left. Pretty good, right?”
I already liked her. I pulled out my badge and introduced myself.
Darcy cocked her head and said, “And you want to talk to me? I haven’t run afoul of the law since I was a graduate student at Boston University.”
I smiled and said, “Couldn’t get into City College, huh?”
That made her laugh and put her at ease.
“I was hoping I might talk to you about one of your clients.”
“I’m afraid I can’t discuss any of my clients with the police. I need their permission, and there would be some paperwork with the VA.”
“I understand all of that. And I’m not trying to pressure you. I’m just trying to assess the situation in my office. One of my coworkers told me he comes to see you, and I have some concerns about his psychological stability. I’m worried about him.” I could tell by the look on her face Darcy knew exactly who I was talking about. But she was a pro, so she didn’t let anything slip verbally.
“I can tell you that the majority of my caseload isn’t any threat to anyone. They’re just trying to adjust to life back here after being deployed. Our focus here is assimilation. We’re trying to keep veterans from withdrawing. That’s why so many vets end up homeless. This is one way to try and stop that. All I do is let them talk. I would think you were perfectly safe working with anyone under my care.”
I liked her even more. Darcy was trying to help me without betraying any confidences or breaking any rules. “Do you prescribe medications?”
“No, but I’m supervised by a psychiatrist. She can write prescriptions as needed.”
“Would some of those prescriptions be for serious sleeping pills?”
“I’m not giving anything away by saying most of my clients have issues sleeping through the night. The most common symptom of PTSD,” Darcy said. “As far as the drugs go, I’m a counselor, not an MD. I have a general idea of what each drug does, but I’m certainly no expert.”
The door to my right opened and a tall woman in her fifties with a giant ball of bleached-blond hair stopped in the doorway and stared at me like my fly was down.
Darcy jumped in quickly. “Dr. Hendrix, this NYPD detective was just asking about the symptoms and treatment of PTSD. Can you give him any insight?”
The doctor looked annoyed. Clearly Darcy was used to dealing with her on a regular basis. She seemed to have developed techniques of distraction, much like coaxing a reluctant cat into a carrier.
Dr. Hendrix snapped, “Which drug? We prescribe a huge array depending on what the client needs.”
Darcy spit out a long, six-syllable pharmaceutical name. I knew immediately she was surreptitiously telling me which drug Trilling had been prescribed. She was able to do it without violating any trust or confidence.
The doctor frowned and said, “That’s a very strong sedative. It’s also one we prescribe regularly.”
I said, “Can you give me an idea of the side effects?”
“It does have a tendency to make the user hazy in the morning for the first twenty to thirty minutes. It’s also not uncommon for the user to perform activities while under the influence of the drug.”
“What sort of activities?”
“Usually activities related to their everyday lives. They cook. They clean their apartment. I had a carpenter once who built an entire pigeon coop on the top of his apartment building over the course of a month and never realized it.”
I asked, “These can be complex activities that the user of the prescription does during the day?”
“That’s what I just said.” She looked at Darcy. “Several of your clients take it. Even the young cop. The one who sits and doesn’t talk? That one worries me with his sullen attitude.”
Darcy all but cringed. She recovered quickly and said, “I know who you mean.” It was her way of shutting up the psychiatrist.
Dr. Hendrix asked, “You have a case involving the drug?”
I just nodded, trying not to give anything away. The statement from the psychiatrist alarmed me. Her description of the powerful side effects, and their potential impact on Trilling’s behavior, sent a chill through my body.
I started to formulate a hypothetical question that might shed more light on my concerns, but I was cut off.
The doctor looked past me toward the exit. “I’m sorry. I have some errands to run. Doesn’t the NYPD have someone on staff who can answer these questions?” She didn’t wait for an answer. She marched past us and out the door without another word.
Darcy just looked at me. She handed me her business card.
I looked down and saw her last name was Farnan. I said, “Thank you, Ms. Farnan. You’ve been a big help, and I won’t tell anyone I was here.”
“I’ll keep it quiet too, for now. Can you keep me in the loop if there’s anything specific that’s worrying you? Of course, I have no idea who, exactly, you’re talking about.” She had a friendly, mischievous smile.
“I promise. And I hope it’s nothing. But I have to be thorough.”
CHAPTER 55
I KNEW MY next stop was going to be tricky. I had a love-hate relationship with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. I’d worked with them closely in the past, but always with my good friend Emily Parker. I hadn’t had much contact with the FBI since her murder in Washington, DC, a short time ago.
I managed to score a fifteen-minute appointment with Robert Lincoln, the ASAC, or assistant special agent in charge. Usually the ASACs were the ones who actually ran the FBI offices in big cities. The special agent in charge was more likely to meet with the other law enforcement agencies and the media when required. Lincoln and I had butted heads on several different cases over the years. He was exactly what most cops disliked about the FBI: pompous, secretive, and patronizing. The trifecta of pissing off people trying to do their jobs.
But I’d learned that Lincoln was personally overseeing the fugitive task squad Rob Trilling had been previously assigned to while the squad supervisor was out on extended medical leave. So it gave me an excuse to come find out some information.
My escort was a young man named Jason, who led me through the maze of hallways at the New York office of the FBI to a solid door with the nameplate ROBERT LINCOLN on it. Jason knocked on the door softly and opened it carefully. I saw Lincoln sitting behind his enormous oak desk. He didn’t even bother to look up. He mumbled, “Thanks, Jason. You can have a seat, Detective.”
I still wasn’t sure how I wanted to handle this. I didn’t want to get Rob Trilling in trouble. Not if he wasn’t doing anything wrong. I thought I’d figured out a way to talk to the ASAC and still accomplish that goal.
Finally Lincoln looked up at me. He was in his late forties or early fifties and still looked fit. I knew there weren’t that many high-ranking Black agents with the FBI, so despite our differences, I realized he had to be somewhat on the ball.
All he said was “What can I do for you, Detective?”
“Thank you for letting Rob Trilling come back to the NYPD temporarily to help us on the sniper case. I thought I should give you a quick update that we’ve tied the latest shooting to the other three. We don’t have any specific leads yet, but I wanted to let you know you can call me anytime if you have questions. Or if you’d prefer, I’ll come here to your office and brief you.”
“I’d prefer not to have a twenty-four-year-old police officer on our fugitive task force. I took him as a favor to one of your assistant commissioners. As far as your case goes, I’m not surprised the NYPD hasn’t come up with anything. This sniper seems a notch above the level of killers you typically deal with. I have some analysts looking at different information to decide if we’re going to get involved or not.”
