Crosshairs, page 18
CHAPTER 75
I WAS IN the office early again. Despite the great evening with my family, where Mary Catherine and I were pampered like a rich lady’s French poodles, I still had an anchor in my stomach when I thought about Rob Trilling.
As usual, the only other person in the office was Walter Jackson. I gathered my notes and went in to talk to Walter, the walking computer whose ease in finding the smallest detail in a case matched his ability in coming up with puns.
I stood in Walter’s doorway, waiting for him to stop focusing on the computer screen. He looked up and grinned. “When I heard someone else in the office, I knew it had to be you. Are you holding up okay?”
I shrugged and said, “I’m trying to treat this like any other case. Be thorough and fair. That’s what they used to drill into us at the academy.” I tried to get a glimpse of his computer screen to see what Walter had been focusing on. “What was that you were reading?”
“A story about glass coffins being all the rage, but I don’t know. All I can say is: remains to be seen.” He kept a neutral expression for almost five seconds, then his grin came back. That was also about the time his pun clicked in my brain. I smiled and nodded. It wasn’t bad, but my mind was elsewhere.
Walter picked up that I wasn’t in the mood to joke around. He turned in his chair to fully face me. He said, “Tell me what you found out so far.”
I told him about the victims and their criminal pasts. I said, “It’s not just the NYPD. The Securities and Exchange Commission also sent a referral to the FBI for Adam Glossner. That means whoever’s getting the information is getting it from the FBI.”
“And your boy Trilling had been working at the FBI since around the same time the sniper started shooting people.” Walter paused and looked at me. “I like him personally too. None of the rest of you ever come up with puns for me. But I can’t dismiss him as a suspect because of my personal feelings.”
“Neither can I.”
“Your theory is sound. He’s got the skill, the opportunity, and possibly the motive. I didn’t want to mention it, but he’s wrapped a little tight. He could have a serious vigilante streak in him. Straight arrows like Trilling hate it when people beat the system. Maybe it pushed him over the edge. Call it whatever you like. PTSD, morally driven, or just plain crazy. Look at how pissed he was about the gang leader, Gus Querva, being treated like a saint. I think he’s good for the shootings.”
I said, “I know. It’s a simple theory to follow. Rob Trilling took exception to people getting away with crimes. I’ve seen it before, but not to this extreme.”
Walter said, “Why does a simple theory make you nervous?”
“Because it is so simple, someone from headquarters could run with it without any follow-up. I think we owe it to Trilling to take it a little more seriously.”
“So, what do you do next? Wait for him to snap and maybe shoot a bunch of people at once?”
That made me stop. All I could think was Holy shit, what if that really does happen? The thought scared me to my bones.
I hung my head. “I guess I’ve got to go over to the FBI again. That could be messy.”
“Or at least unpleasant. Who can you call over there? That ASAC who has it in for you?”
I shook my head. “I’m not sure. I used to call my friend Emily Parker. She always worked miracles.” It hurt to even think about my dear friend.
Walter mumbled, “She was a smart woman. That was a big loss to us all.”
Instead of answering, all I could do was nod. I sat there silently, considering my options. Then I had an idea. Possibly a really good idea.
I spun around and aimed for my desk as I thanked Walter. It was still too early in the morning to try this idea, but I knew what call I’d be making as soon as the clock struck eight.
CHAPTER 76
THE OFFICE WAS still mostly empty when I called Roberta Herring. Roberta and I had worked together in the Bronx decades ago, back when we were both rookie patrol officers. I tried to teach her patience and she tried to teach me to use my gut feeling more. The irony is that she left the NYPD and worked her way up the ladder with the Department of Justice Office of the Inspector General. It was about the only agency with any oversight over the FBI. It also forced Roberta to be patient with every case. Investigations into wrongdoing at the FBI were never undertaken lightly and always took far too long.
Roberta picked up on the second ring. I could almost feel the smile as she said, “Mike Bennett, calling me before 9 a.m. My guess is that you need help, or you miss me so badly you couldn’t wait until I was a little more settled behind my nice cushy desk.”
“Both.” We laughed together for a moment. We weren’t only old friends; we were also good friends. We didn’t need any pretext to call each other, and we didn’t need excuses when we called to ask for help. Roberta had helped me through some of the most difficult times imaginable. Hell, Roberta had stood as godmother to my second youngest, Shawna. She had been just about the only choice. Often people just assume that because Shawna is Black, we chose a Black woman as her godmother. That never once played into our decision.
We quickly caught up with each other’s lives since I’d last seen her in Washington, DC, where not long ago she’d helped me look into Emily Parker’s murder. Then Roberta got right to the point. “What’s this call really about, Mike?”
I held nothing back. I told her about the case, Rob Trilling, how even my family loved him. Every detail I could think of. I waited in silence. Maybe longer than I thought I should. Then I realized from the sound of keystrokes that she was looking at her computer. I heard a couple of um-hums and ah-ahs.
Roberta said, “I can see all these referrals you’re talking about. None of them are restricted. None of the cases seem particularly high concept or unusual. We both know the city of New York experiences a great deal of fraud. We also know people from all walks of life download child pornography. I’d be surprised to find a serious hedge-fund manager who didn’t bend the law.”
“So you can find the cases that quickly on the computer?”
“And that means anyone in the New York field office could do the same.”
I felt disappointment. I couldn’t quite place it at first. But I now realized just how much I didn’t want this theory to be possible. Trilling had gone off the rails. I couldn’t ignore it. Walter’s concern about Trilling snapping popped into my head.
Then Roberta said, “What I’m missing is the psychological makeup and assessment of… What’s his name? Rob Trilling?”
“I gotta say, Roberta, he seemed like a really decent young man. I’m afraid Juliana has a little bit of a crush on him. On the flip side, I could see him having a self-righteous streak. He thinks things should be done a certain way. He believes in a mission for the police department. I can imagine him taking things too far. I just don’t want it to be true.”
“You say he’s an Army vet.”
“Yeah.”
“Sniper?”
“No, a Ranger. From what I gather, a really good one.”
“We can’t eliminate this being a result of some form of PTSD.”
“I’ve considered that. It doesn’t change the fact that he needs to be stopped.”
“Does he go to any kind of therapy or counseling?”
“Yeah, I spoke to his VA counselor. She’s not all that worried about him.”
“Of course she isn’t. That’s our job. And it’s a much tougher job when a suspect is likable.”
I thought about that, then said, “I guess that’s where my doubts spring from.”
“Have you started writing the arrest affidavit? That was what always made cases real for me. When I had to put the facts in order and hand it to someone who knew nothing about the people involved. They could read the facts and see that a crime had been committed.”
“I’ve got a few more things to tie up. But I intend to start working on it this afternoon. I’m still piecing together information on the last shooting. The neighborhood activist with a criminal background, Gus Querva. Aside from being a public figure with a dark past, I don’t see where the FBI was investigating him.”
Roberta typed away for a moment more, then said, “I see it.”
I started taking notes on another nail in Rob Trilling’s coffin.
CHAPTER 77
I WAITED ON the phone while Roberta Herring checked and rechecked every file she could find connected to Gus Querva.
Then Roberta told me to hang on while she set down the phone. I could hear her on her office phone calling someone to confirm what she’d found on the computer. I had to smile when I heard her tone. Whoever she was talking to must’ve asked why she was interested. Roberta said, “I’m interested in everything the FBI does. It’s my job. I’m not sure what you don’t understand about that.” There was a pause and then she said, “Thank you for your assistance.”
Hearing Roberta Herring dress down someone like that, especially someone in the FBI, made me smile. She’d been a great partner when we worked together in the Bronx. She couldn’t stand to see hungry stray dogs, so she always kept dog food in the patrol car. She’d take the dogs back to the precinct and hold them in a back room until she could find someone to adopt them. It worked well until a lieutenant looking for something stumbled upon the makeshift kennel. He would’ve let things slide, except he’d stepped in a big puddle of dog urine. After that, Roberta kept the dogs she found at a Department of Water facility at the edge of our precinct. One way or another, she always gets what she wants.
She came back on the line, apologized for the wait, and said, “There was an official investigation by the FBI into Gus Querva’s activities. The New York office had a RICO investigation that included drug distribution, extortion, and murder. The case went on for almost a year until someone blabbed and two key witnesses were murdered. That incident, coupled with the high-profile charity work Querva had been doing, led the US Attorney to decide not to proceed with the case partly for public perception.”
“Could Trilling have been able to see those reports?”
“The case was restricted while it was active, but it was closed about two months ago. He would’ve been able to see the reports. The FBI is weird because they protect the reports like gold but, like in any other agency, everyone talks. Someone must’ve let something slip. Looks like your boy Trilling cleaned up their mess.”
“Roberta, don’t make it sound like he’s doing a public service.”
“You telling me you don’t get a little discouraged with the way the courts just spit people out? That’s why every cop loved that old Charles Bronson movie series Death Wish. Charles Bronson got to do what we dream about doing: killing some of these thugs who prey on people.”
“Except this isn’t a movie and Rob Trilling isn’t Charles Bronson. I’m worried about him as much as anything else. Now I have a definitive link between the four victims. Each had been in the FBI system. Maybe that was enough to throw Trilling over the edge.”
Roberta said, “Keep me in the loop, and call me if you need any more help. I’m not sure the ASAC in New York, Robert Lincoln, would appreciate you poking around.”
“I guarantee you Lincoln wouldn’t appreciate me doing anything.”
CHAPTER 78
ROB TRILLING HAD spent the day leaning against a light pole in front of the little dive bar where Lou Pershing was supposed to hang out. The one fugitive he wanted to catch was still out of reach. Hell, Trilling wasn’t technically allowed to even look for Pershing right now. But he couldn’t concentrate on other things knowing this asshole walked free. Technicalities wouldn’t stop him from keeping the city safe. It’s how he lived with himself.
In reality, Trilling was doing everything he could not to think about his own problems. The alternative to looking for a dangerous fugitive was to lie around his apartment and feel sorry for himself. That wasn’t in his nature.
Trilling credited his grandfather with a lot of his attitude. Chet used to tell Trilling and his brother that no matter how low they felt physically, they could always still accomplish something. So on the few occasions when Trilling was sick and had to stay home from school, his grandfather would make up simple assignments to occupy his mind. Rob would read the entire newspaper, every story, then answer his grandfather’s questions. It didn’t sound like much, but Trilling knew it helped build his memory and reading skills.
Every time he stopped thinking about Lou Pershing, even for a moment, a feeling of dread washed over him. Trilling felt like his career was already ruined. What would happen if they charged him with murder?
A couple of times he’d even considered the possibility of fleeing. He had options. He could work overseas as a mercenary. Not his first choice. He could go back to Montana and get lost in the wilderness. The idea of not seeing his family again depressed him. So here he was, doing the best he could.
Just then his phone rang. Trilling looked down and saw that it was Darcy Farnan from the VA. He answered it quickly.
Darcy said, “Rob, I saw you called yesterday. Is everything okay?”
“No. Not by a long shot.”
“I’m on my lunch hour now, and it’s the only free time I have all day. Are you anywhere near Midtown?”
Trilling glanced up at the dive bar’s doors, making his decision instantly. “Yes, I’m in Midtown now.”
Darcy hesitated, then said, “Rob, there’s something I need to tell you.”
Trilling didn’t like how she’d said that. A quick flash of nerves ran through him. He said, “Why don’t you wait till we see each other in person.”
“That’s probably for the best.”
Trilling asked, “Where would you like to meet?” Then he glanced up and froze in place.
He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Lou Pershing, in the flesh, walking out of the bar. How had Trilling not noticed him go in?
Darcy was still talking when Trilling ended the call and stuffed his phone into his front pocket. He fell in behind Pershing, who didn’t seem to have a care in the world.
Trilling hoped to change that very soon.
CHAPTER 79
I’D HOPED TO get a little more unofficial background on Rob Trilling’s NYPD career so had put in a call to Yvette Morris, a respected patrol officer who’d worked with him in the Bronx. When I got a call back, she told me that she was in training at One Police Plaza today, so I agreed to meet her for coffee in lower Manhattan.
Yvette sat across from me at a tiny café off Church Street. She was in training clothes, which consisted of a T-shirt and 5.11 cargo pants, plus an oversized windbreaker, which covered anything that showed she was an officer with the NYPD. She was about thirty years old, with a soft voice and demeanor, which were incongruent with her hard-edged look of a veteran cop: fit, tall, and with her hair cropped close to her head for practical purposes. She literally inspired confidence.
After we chatted for a few minutes, Yvette said, “I can’t imagine why Detective Michael Bennett wants to talk to me.”
I said, “This conversation has to be completely confidential. It’s about Rob Trilling.” I noticed her smile immediately falter. I said, “What’s wrong?”
“You’re in Homicide still, not IA, right?”
“Yep. Trilling is temporarily assigned to my squad.”
“I’m not sure what you want, Detective. Rob is a hard worker.”
“I agree.”
“Smart, compassionate to victims. He has real potential.”
“I sense some hesitation.” I noticed how she looked around the café and leaned slightly closer to me.
Yvette said, “He’s quick to anger. I mean, he goes from zero to sixty in an instant.”
“How so?”
“He won’t get in trouble for this, will he?”
I said, “Believe me, any trouble Trilling gets in will be of his own doing.”
Yvette took a moment to gather her thoughts. Then she said, “Rob hates to see people beat the system. We arrested a guy for dealing meth twice in one day. The perp got cut loose without any bond the first time. You’d have thought the guy killed the president by Rob’s reaction. After we arrested him the second time, Rob walked the perp through booking and then showed up in court on his own time to tell the prosecutor not to release him again.”
I nodded. That sounded like Rob Trilling.
Yvette said, “Another time, at a domestic, I saw how Rob hated bullies. The wife and baby were crying, but there were no outward signs of violence. The wife didn’t want to press any charges. The husband didn’t seem to care one way or the other. Rob led him out of the apartment and downstairs. Supposedly the guy tripped and fell the last flight. He never made a complaint, but it still worried me.
“And then there was a concerning incident of a foot chase of a robber who stole a woman’s purse at knifepoint, then shoved the woman into the street, where a taxi nearly ran her over. Rob tackled him hard. Too hard. Broke the guy’s jaw and hand in the fall. It made me nervous.”
I said, “Did you report these incidents to anyone? This is no comment on you. I’m just curious.”
“I didn’t have anything solid. No one complained. And he only seemed to react this way to the worst suspects or the ones not facing any punishment. Rob’s quirky that way.”
I found myself nodding. I wasn’t happy to hear anything she had to say. I was almost distraught. But it helped me make up my mind. For a moment I pictured Trilling in prison. The irony wasn’t lost on me.
CHAPTER 80
TRILLING FOLLOWED PERSHING east on foot. He thought about calling someone or stopping the fugitive right now, but he wanted to see who Pershing talked to. With Pershing’s partner, William Hackford, being held on federal drug and human trafficking charges, there was no telling who Pershing was working with now.
Trilling walked on for a few minutes, assessing his target. Pershing was a big man, over six foot two with broad shoulders. Watching him made Trilling angry, unable to stop thinking about the marks on Marisol’s neck or the glass eye Pershing’s former girlfriend now had to use.
