Crosshairs, page 15
Now I was more hesitant. This had seemed like a better idea when I left the FBI office. Finally I asked, “Do you know the last time Trilling shot a rifle? Specifically, a .308?”
“I can check. But I can tell you for a fact he hasn’t been on an NYPD rifle range since early summer. I don’t think there’s any way he would’ve fired a rifle since then. I’ll double-check our training records and confirm with you.”
“When can you confirm it?”
“God damn, this isn’t some minor policy violation, is it?”
“I’d rather not say yet.”
“I respect that. Like I said, he’s a good kid. He gave up a lot for the country. Cut him some slack if you can.”
“I hope I can.”
CHAPTER 61
I DROVE BACK to the Manhattan North Homicide office slowly. Just trying to give myself a few minutes of quiet to digest everything I’d learned today. My first thought was that it could all be explained. A crazy coincidence.
Somewhere in my brain, I wondered how a sniper who’d been so precise and careful could leave such an obvious piece of evidence for someone to find. The answer was simple: he made a mistake. Everyone makes mistakes. Even the sharpest former military man. The only people who don’t make mistakes are in the movies. It didn’t make things any easier and I felt a little sick thinking about it, but at least I could wrap my head around it.
Before I even found a parking spot outside our building, Jeff Mabus texted me to confirm that Rob Trilling hadn’t officially fired a .308-caliber rifle in seven months. Well before the time he had the FBI car. Shit.
The squad bay was fairly empty. Trilling was out on an assignment. I noticed Harry Grissom sitting in his office. I walked in without fanfare, sat on the hard wooden chair he kept in front of his desk, and laid my entire concern out to him. Everything, including the comments Trilling made about Gus Querva, his absence on the night of Querva’s murder, my research on the drugs the VA had prescribed him, and, finally, the empty casing the FBI had found in his vehicle. I even told him about verifying Trilling’s training records to see when he last shot a .308 rifle.
Harry bit his lower lip. Something he only did when things had slipped from bad to horrible. He sucked in a deep breath and said, “You were right to come to me with this.”
“Harry, I looked at this a half a dozen ways. Tell me I missed something obvious. Something that might clear this whole thing up. I keep asking, Why Trilling?”
“Because life works out that way sometimes. But we gotta notify the right people. And we’ve got to do it right now. No delays.”
“But if it’s not true, the gossip will cripple Trilling’s career.”
“And the answer is to let a potential killer run around the city?”
Questions like that were hard to answer. No, we couldn’t let a potential killer go free. I sat there silently, considering everything that was about to happen. I knew the NYPD could move swiftly when they wanted to. They’d want to get in front of this before there were any accusations of a cover-up.
Harry leveled his eyes at me. He said, “If you had this much on someone you didn’t know, would they be considered a good suspect?”
“Yes.”
“You like this kid.”
“It’s kind of tough to call a war hero a ‘kid,’ but yes, he seems like a good person.”
“And you don’t want him to be the killer.”
“No.”
“Tough shit. You’re a homicide detective. You go where the evidence and witnesses lead you.” Harry picked up his phone. Then he looked at me and said, “Stand by. Whatever we do, we’re going to need your input.”
CHAPTER 62
THE BAD NEWS from headquarters arrived in the form of Detective Sergeant Dennis Wu. The Internal Affairs sergeant had been on the force about ten years and no one would ever think he was a veteran cop. He wore glasses that made him look like a banker or stockbroker, his usual Brooks Brothers dark suit, and a colorful tie chosen to distract people he was interviewing.
He strolled over to my desk, smiling. “Hey, Bennett, how’s it going? I mean, besides your gigantic fuckup?” He let out a laugh and then mumbled, “Classic.”
I let him go into Harry’s office, confident my lieutenant wouldn’t put up with much bullshit. After two minutes alone with the IA sergeant, Harry called me into the office.
When I stepped through the door, Dennis Wu said, “Let’s see if I can fix this mess with a good interview.”
Harry said, “We don’t know if it’s a mess yet. We’re still trying to figure things out, Sergeant.”
I smiled. The way Harry had emphasized “Sergeant” was a chance to remind the IA investigator how the rank structure worked.
Dennis said, “From what I’ve seen, it looks like he’s good for it.” He glanced around Harry’s office, then out to the squad bay. “I thought off-site offices would be nicer than this.”
I said, “I thought an IA sergeant would be more professional. Maybe if you’d spent more than a few months in patrol you’d have a better understanding of how things work.”
Dennis Wu took off his glasses and nodded. “Is that a shot at me for being moved from patrol to translate a Mandarin wire for the FBI? Clever. So what? I only did a month in the bag. I did five years at the FBI, a few years in general investigations, and I’ve been in IA for three years. I think I have a pretty good handle on how things work around here.”
“What about having concern for a fellow cop?”
“I do worry about cops. And the very few bad cops we have give us all a bad name. So why don’t we cut the shit and start to focus on the case.”
He was right, so I nodded in agreement.
Wu asked, “Did you put the .308 casing from the FBI into evidence?”
“I did, and it is going to the lab for every possible test the Ballistic Information Network can do on it.”
“NIBIN?”
“Yes, we’ve entered the casing into the national ATF database. It’ll only be useful if a casing from the same gun was used in another crime. Most shootings with rifles are AK rip-offs or .223s. The local drug dealer doesn’t have a .308 lying around.”
“And no one ever collected an empty casing from any of the scenes we could use for comparison?”
“There were none.”
Wu looked annoyed, like someone had dropped the ball. “And this is not a caliber Officer Trilling has fired in the normal course of his job for at least seven months, is that correct?”
I nodded. Then I started to say, “He’s a good—”
Wu held up his hand to cut me off. “I don’t deal in good or bad. Can Officer Trilling shoot a rifle well?”
“Yes.”
“Are you judging that from range scores on his training sheets?”
“No. He showed me at a range in West Point.” I told him the story.
Wu said, “You went on a tourist trip to West Point during work hours? Why would you waste time like that during a serial killer investigation?”
“I wanted to see what went into setting up a long-distance shot. Trilling knew someone at the academy. We had access to a convenient long-distance range. I didn’t consider it a waste of time. I consider talking to you a waste of time.”
Wu smiled. “That statement makes me question your judgment about what is, or is not, pertinent to this investigation. Do we need to replace you with a competent detective?”
Harry Grissom stepped in at that point. “I make those decisions, Sergeant. Don’t make threats to officers under my command. Not now and not in the future. Especially to a senior detective who’s done more in the last year then you’ve done in your whole career.”
All Wu said was “Duly noted, Lieutenant.”
Dennis Wu made a few notes in a leather-bound pad. He gathered his thoughts and basically acted like Harry and I weren’t in the cramped office with him. Then he looked directly at me and said, “I’m going to need you in the interview for your knowledge of the sniper case. Will you be able to help or is this too personal?”
That stung a little bit. It sounded a lot like what I’d said to Trilling after Gus Querva was shot. Then I thought of Juliana. What was her relationship with Trilling? I looked at Wu and nodded. I didn’t trust myself to speak.
Wu said, “Command staff wants this done today. No delays, no excuses. We’re not NASA. We go on time.” He looked at Harry.
Harry knew what the look meant and said, “I texted Trilling to come back to the office. He should be here any minute.”
I was still standing by the door inside Harry’s office. Wu sat in the spare chair. We just stared at each other for a moment. Then I gave the IA sergeant a little smile. There’s nothing more insulting than a smile during a disrespect contest.
Harry didn’t even know he was breaking up anything when he said, “Trilling just walked in.”
Wu asked Harry if we could use his office for the interview.
Harry said, “I think I should be here.”
Wu shook his head. “We might need you to take action if things go bad. It’s best if you wait in the squad bay.”
I thought it was best if Harry was in the other room to block inquiries from command staff. My stomach tightened when I saw Trilling walk toward Harry. Trilling was actually smiling for a change. That made it worse.
Harry said, “This is Sergeant Wu from Internal Affairs.”
The smile dropped off Trilling’s face. He looked over at me like a kid who’d just gotten dress shoes for Christmas. He suddenly realized that I really did suspect he was the sniper.
CHAPTER 63
I WATCHED ROB TRILLING’S every movement. It was the first time I’d seen him unnerved in any way. Who wouldn’t be? Even a relative newcomer like Trilling had heard of Dennis Wu. He realized this was serious and didn’t know what to do. I’d be in the same boat.
The Internal Affairs sergeant was polite and offered Trilling a hard wooden chair in front of the desk. Wu grabbed a plastic chair from just outside Harry’s office and sat across from Trilling. That left me with the chair behind the desk. It was Wu’s way of telling me I was only there to provide information, not to participate in the interview.
As soon as he closed the door, Wu turned to Trilling and said, “You have the right to remain silent.”
Trilling stiffened in the chair and blurted out, “Am I under arrest?”
Wu didn’t change his polite demeanor. He said, “No, you are not. I just like to be thorough and careful.”
I knew that was bullshit. It was an old IA tactic to read Miranda rights at the beginning of an interview. Even if no one was in custody. It tended to scare people and knock them off balance.
When Wu was done reading the Miranda rights, Trilling said, “What’s this about?”
Trilling looked at me, but Wu answered. “What do you think it’s about?”
Trilling didn’t say a word. I was used to the new partner’s silence, but I wondered how Wu would react. He waited it out a lot longer than I thought he would. Finally Wu said, “The sniper investigation. I’d say you have some explaining to do.”
Trilling turned again to face me. He still didn’t say a word. His expression said it all.
After another stretch of silence, Dennis Wu said, “Officer Trilling, do you have an alibi for the night Gus Querva was shot? Or any of the shootings?” Wu only waited through a little silence before he added, “Just so we can be sure you’re not the…” He paused for a moment. “What’s the media call him? The Longshot Killer.”
Trilling finally spoke. “Why don’t you ask my partner? I told him where I was.”
Wu looked down at his notes and said, “Yes, you said you were home asleep. A single guy alone in his apartment. That’s a tough one to verify.”
I saw a definite change in Trilling’s demeanor. He was no longer uneasy. He was angry. He had a slight twitch in his left eye and a vein in his left temple pulsed. I leaned forward slightly in my chair to get my feet under me in case things turned crazy.
Trilling glared at Dennis Wu. My anxiety level started to rise. I knew Trilling was remarkably quick and well trained. I let my hands drop to the arms of the chair, ready to jump.
Wu must have realized the changes as well. He shifted his tone completely. He took a friendlier approach and assured Trilling again he was not under arrest. Wu said, “I’m just trying to give you a chance to tell your side of the story. It’s a good time to do it. No media, no crowds, just us.”
Trilling spoke through gritted teeth. “I already told you my side. I was home asleep.”
“So you expect us to believe that a dedicated guy like you, who’s done nothing but serve his country and community, wasn’t bothered by all the praise a guy like Gus Querva was getting from the media?”
Trilling sat stone-faced.
Dennis said, “Praise of a guy like that doesn’t help the mission, does it? The mission is to serve and protect. What better way to protect than by eliminating a predator?”
Trilling started to answer. Then he stopped himself. He calmly said, “I need to speak to an attorney.” His right hand dropped and rested behind him.
I tensed, worried that he was going for his pistol. When he moved his hand, I realized he had taken his pistol and holster off his belt. He stood up and tossed it onto Harry’s desk. Then Trilling plucked the ID badge from his inside jacket pocket and pulled his police credentials from inside the jacket. They all hit the desk next to the pistol.
Trilling paused like he was waiting for someone to tell him he couldn’t leave. When no one said anything, he turned on his heel and marched out of the office, through the squad bay, and out the door.
Dennis Wu looked at me and said, “I think that’s all we need. He’s good for the shootings.”
I stared at the sergeant.
Wu ignored me. And continued. “As of this moment, Officer Trilling is suspended, is an official suspect in the sniper case, and you’re going to make the charges stick.”
“You can’t be serious. All he did was ask for his attorney.”
“He asked for an attorney because he had no more weak excuses. What are you upset about? You did a great job.” Wu saw I wasn’t happy with the situation. He said, “I had orders to convey to you that the brass wants this cleared up immediately. Command staff said you were the right guy to do the investigation quickly and efficiently.”
“You can tell the brass that it’s going to take a little while to clear this up. I’ve got a lot of background to do. No one wants to charge the wrong person with this crime.”
Dennis Wu smiled. “You put together the homicide case, and I’ll take care of the Internal Affairs aspects. But make no mistake, I’m going to tell command staff we have our man.”
“And I’m going to conduct an unbiased homicide investigation.”
The Internal Affairs sergeant said, “That’s good. Use that line with the media after you arrest that redneck prick.”
CHAPTER 64
I WASTED NO time after Dennis Wu’s interview of Rob Trilling. I didn’t sit at my desk and pout. I didn’t try to convince myself that Trilling was guilty or innocent. I looked at what I knew so far and what I needed to find out. There was a mountain of information I had to decipher. And I needed to do it right away. The NYPD might be telling me to keep it quiet, but I knew how things worked: eventually someone was going to make a comment that got into the media. That meant I only had a limited amount of time.
I used a contact at the FBI to gain access to any reports Rob Trilling wrote while he was working on the task force. I didn’t go through the ASAC, Robert Lincoln. I may have hinted to my contact that Lincoln had approved it, but I didn’t have the energy or the time to put up with that condescending jerk right now. I explained it had to do with a performance evaluation.
So I was sequestered in a room on the first floor of the New York field office with a stack of reports on the table in front of me. If I wanted copies made of any reports, the FBI was going to make a log of what I copied. They even had someone sit in the room with me while I went through the reports. They didn’t seem to trust anyone.
Trilling had been busy during his brief time at the FBI. He was out looking for fugitives every day, even on the weekend a couple of times. And it looked like he usually got who he was looking for. I saw the name Lou Pershing and remembered that he was an associate of the asshole William Hackford we’d arrested at the Bronx warehouse. The guy hadn’t yet weaseled out of federal custody yet, mainly because of the amount of heroin found in the warehouse. Like Trilling had said, it was almost as if no one cared about the human trafficking violations, though Hackford had been charged with that as well.
I was looking through a surveillance report from a couple of months ago on a house in Queens. The resident at the house was the mother of a fugitive the FBI had been looking for. I saw the address and felt an icy shot through my system.
I quickly pulled out my phone and brought up a map program. The house he’d been surveilling was only two blocks away from the house of the sniper’s first victim, Marie Ballard. It could be a coincidence, but it made me uneasy.
Now I raced through report after report, focusing mainly on the addresses. Trilling had been in Staten Island and Midtown Manhattan. Neither of the surveillances was that close to the shootings, but they did show Trilling had been in the area.
I took a deep breath and tried to figure this out. Of course, on a task force like this, he’d always be riding all over the city, looking for fugitives. But I kept going back to the address in Queens.
I tried again to get into the head of the shooter. I’d been trying since the case was first assigned to me. Why were these victims targeted? What was different about them? Was it completely random?
I had copies made of the most relevant reports. The young woman who was assigned to sit with me looked like she wouldn’t care if I told her the case involved the kidnapping of the president. She just filled in the number of each report I had copied and had me sign the bottom of the log.
