Crosshairs, p.17
Crosshairs, page 17
I had an idea how she knew I was a cop. In my most polite voice, I said, “I was wondering if I could talk with you in private, Captain.”
“That’s not necessary. We have an open-door policy in this station. Anything you say to me, I’ll say to them. In fact, since we’re all gathered here, this is the perfect place to talk.”
She was a cool customer. Clearly the Bannons had talked about their scuffle with me and Trilling at the Bannon residence. I decided I had to plow ahead. If I went through official FDNY channels, it could take time. I was starting to feel like I had a real break in this case. I wasn’t going to ruin my momentum.
I cleared my throat and said, “I’m—”
The captain cut me off. “We know who you are. We also know what you’re doing here. Louise Bannon already told us about your run-in with her brothers. We also know the nasty rumors that have been floating around about Thomas Bannon. Am I pretty close to why you’re here?”
All I could do was nod slowly.
The captain said, “But he’s dead. So the rumors don’t mean anything and have nothing to do with why he was murdered. What none of us can understand is why you’re trying to smear the reputation of a true hero, instead of trying to find the shit-bird coward who shot him.”
That comment was greeted with a round of nods and approval from the other firefighters.
The captain looked at the giant man I had noticed as soon as I stepped in the room. She said, “Russ, why don’t you show the detective out. And I’m telling you right now you don’t have to take any shit from him at all.”
When the man stood up, I realized I had underestimated his height. He was more like six foot eight, and probably weighed three hundred pounds. The vast majority of it muscle. All the other firefighters seemed satisfied with the way this situation was being handled. It made sense. If this guy knocked the crap out of me and I filed a complaint, no one else would be in trouble. If I caused a scene here, not only would I have to deal with multiple firefighters, after it was all over, but also they could get their story straight and make it look like I was lying.
I went willingly with Russ. He didn’t grab me by the arm or shove me. He just pointed me through a side door, blocking my path back to the open engine bay where I’d entered.
As soon as I stepped outside, I realized exactly what Russ had planned for me. There was a little grassy area between the fire station and a furniture store. No one would notice the empty patch unless they walked around the building. That could be bad news for me.
I turned and faced Russ. All I could say was “You’re big.”
“I know.” He showed a little satisfaction with that statement.
I said, “I don’t want any trouble.”
“No one ever does.”
I said, “You know the old saying ‘The bigger they are, the harder they fall’?”
“Yep. Just more fake news.”
“I think it’d be better if you just sat down and avoided the fall altogether. Less chance of injury that way.”
Russ said, “I’m going to enjoy knocking out a few of your teeth. Why would I sit down?”
“So you don’t run into a wall or twist your ankle tripping over something when you can’t see.”
The giant man said, “What the hell are you talking about?”
That’s when I casually pulled my left hand out of my jacket pocket. The can of pepper spray was easily concealed in my palm. I sprayed Russ in the face and stepped back. I’d expected a shout of agony, but the low register and volume were surprising. I watched the giant firefighter stumble around in the grass. I stepped forward, holding his arm as I kicked his feet out from under him.
I said, “Easy does it, big fella,” as I eased him to the ground and left him whining and holding his eyes. I made sure he was safe in the grass. “Just sit here for a while and the stinging will go away.”
He managed to speak through the sniffles. “Really? How long till it stops?”
“An hour. Maybe less.”
Russ moaned as a long string of snot flooded from his nose.
I’ll admit I had to keep from smiling as I hustled around the building to my car.
CHAPTER 71
AFTER MY ENCOUNTER session with the giant firefighter on Staten Island, I raced directly to One Police Plaza. Essentially, the firefighters had confirmed the rumors. There’s no way they would have reacted like that if there wasn’t some fire behind the smoke. Their crude attempt at scaring me off only pushed me to find out exactly what the hell was going on.
Once inside headquarters, I didn’t make my usual rounds to say hello to my friends and check in with old partners. Instead, I went directly to a specific analyst who had helped me on cases a dozen times before. His name was Neil Placky, and he had one of those minds that could remember and interpret seemingly insignificant details. All good analysts have that same trait. But Neil had a University of Pennsylvania education to augment it. A fact that he worked into virtually every conversation.
As soon as I stepped into the main analytic room, several heads turned to look at the door. Once they established that I wasn’t anyone of note, everyone went back to work. Everyone except Neil. He stood up from his desk at the front of the room and waved me over.
We shook hands and caught up. But I’ll admit I gave him the abbreviated version. Basically, “Everyone’s fine.” Then I laid out parts of the case I was working on. Mainly, the rumor FDNY firefighter Thomas Bannon had downloaded child pornography on a city computer.
I could tell by Neil’s silence that there was meat to this rumor.
After a quiet moment, I gave Neil a hard look and said, “I can’t tell you how important this is. Not only to a homicide investigation but for the NYPD as well.”
Neil let out a long sigh. He said, “C’mon, Mike. Don’t do this to me. I have very explicit instructions not to talk about this.”
“I already know Bannon was downloading child pornography. That fact was confirmed by other means. I just want to understand, if everyone knew about it, why wasn’t there an investigation? Could it lead to someone taking the law into their own hands?”
It looked like a light went on in Neil’s eyes. He now understood exactly what I was asking and why. He said, “We never talked about this, right?”
“I was never even here.”
“That’s not gonna fly, because every analyst in this room just saw you walk in and talk to me. But we’re just catching up. Two old friends. I remember when I was at Penn, I had an ethics class. Thank God I slept through most of it.”
“You don’t have to give me evidence, just tell me what happened so I understand.”
“Okay. We did receive a complaint that Thomas Bannon had downloaded child pornography. Apparently, an administrator who was at the fire station observed it. To avoid a conflict of interest, the NYPD referred it to the FBI. All I know is there was some issue with the chain of custody of the evidence and they cut a quick deal for no prosecution if Bannon retired immediately. His paperwork was in when he was shot. That’s all I know.”
“While I have you in the right frame of mind, let me ask you about the first victim of the sniper. She worked for the Housing Authority.”
Before I could say anything else, Neil asked, “Marie Ballard?”
I stared at my friend. Just by coming up with the answer without knowing the exact question told me everything I needed to know.
I said, “Were there allegations against her?”
“We got a referral from the Housing Authority inspector general. She’d used over a hundred thousand dollars in city money to pay personal expenses. This was over the course of at least nine years.”
“And nobody caught it until recently?”
Neil just shrugged. “We referred that one to the FBI as well. That’s how I knew her name so quickly. I heard that the mayor had called the FBI directly to keep it quiet. She was on a repayment plan to keep from going to trial.” Neil was now speaking in a very low tone. Almost like we were in church. But he was smart enough to know he had pointed me in a new direction in the case. I’d finally found a link between all four victims. They had each committed crimes for which they weren’t being prosecuted.
And Rob Trilling would have had access to all those reports while he was at the FBI.
CHAPTER 72
ROB TRILLING HAD to do something to get his mind off his worries. He didn’t think it was right to go visit his family up in Putnam County. They shouldn’t have to be around someone who felt as low as he did. He didn’t even want to think what his negative vibes might do to his niece and nephew. He needed to get out and do something useful, maybe volunteer for a few hours. Usually food banks and soup kitchens posted when they needed people, but Trilling decided to help the community in another way.
He looked down at his phone. There was a text from Juliana Bennett, asking if he was okay. He messaged her back, saying, As good as can be expected. Hope to be able to talk to you about it soon. He didn’t risk saying anything else. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt a young woman who’d been nothing but nice to him. Trilling didn’t have any idea what her father was saying about him. It didn’t matter. He intended to keep on doing the right thing.
He slipped out of the apartment with the idea to look for his fugitive, Lou Pershing. Trilling had searched internet forums having to do with mercenaries and off-the-grid nut jobs. Even if they called themselves “military consultants.” Although there was a lot of extraneous crap on the internet, Trilling was able to find a few mentions of Pershing. A few new mentions of Marisol Alba had popped up too, a woman with a phone number that had been linked to Pershing when Trilling was still at the FBI. Intel had said she could be his current girlfriend and she lived in a rented brownstone apartment in Brooklyn. Maybe Pershing would be there too.
Trilling rode the F train into Brooklyn and got out at Carroll Street, then walked south toward the area called Red Hook. He liked not worrying about a car and where to park, though he didn’t particularly care for walking. Not that he minded the exercise; it just felt boring to him. He found himself looking at the address about forty minutes after he got off the train.
There was a vacant house a few doors down and across the street. Trilling found a comfortable place on the porch to sit where no one could see him from the street and he could watch the house where he thought Lou Pershing might be living. He appreciated parents walking children home from school and joggers hustling along the sidewalks under the canopy of trees. Somehow this didn’t feel like the kind of place a guy like Lou Pershing would live.
Not long after nightfall, Trilling noticed a single light in the upstairs of the house. The way it moved told him it was a flashlight. That looked like someone trying to keep a low profile. Maybe Pershing and his girlfriend had turned off the electricity so people would think they’d moved away.
Having scouted the area, Trilling was able to walk unseen across the street and down to Pershing’s building. He slipped into the building’s entryway. It took only a little effort with his pocketknife to slide the single lock from the doorframe.
He creeped through the ground floor and made his way upstairs without making any noise. He paused at the top of the staircase near where he’d seen the light and lowered to a crouch to listen for sounds within the apartment. His plan was simple: grab Pershing and leave him tied up in front of the nearest precinct. He didn’t care about getting credit for an arrest. He just wanted to get an asshole like Pershing off the street before he hurt anyone.
Trilling realized he was in the weeds on this one. But if he was already going insane, one more crazy act wouldn’t mean much. He stood up and heard his knee pop. When he stepped around the corner, he froze.
The point of a knife pressed against his throat.
CHAPTER 73
IT WAS AFTER dark by the time I arrived at my apartment on the Upper West Side. I had been so busy all day that I’d lost track of life in general. I’d skipped lunch; I hadn’t checked in at home like I usually do; I’d jumped from interview to interview. And as soon as I walked through the door, it all hit me at once. I thought I might collapse. But something wasn’t right. Some vibe in the apartment felt off.
I stepped through the foyer and still didn’t see anyone. I heard some movement in the living room, but no one had come to greet me. That was unusual. One of the big advantages of having ten kids is that there is always someone interested in meeting you at the door.
When I came through the dining room and into the living room, I had to stop and take in the scene. Mary Catherine sat on the couch, propped up on a mountain of pillows. Her feet rested on an ottoman. A TV table was positioned in front of her. All the kids—and I mean every one of them—turned and faced me, grinning like they were posing for a photograph.
I couldn’t keep a smile from spreading over my face. “What’s this all about?”
Chrissy stepped forward. “We decided it was International Mary Catherine Day. We want to show her how much we love her. And how happy we are about trying to have a baby.”
I was speechless. A tear ran down Mary Catherine’s left cheek. We really had raised these kids the right way.
I said, “Ricky, does this mean you’re making something extra special for dinner?”
My son shook his head. Then he looked across at Chrissy and said, “Jane and I are the official servers. But Chrissy and Shawna are making dinner.” The four of them broke off from the group and headed into the kitchen.
Bridget and Fiona took my hands and led me to the couch next to Mary Catherine. They set me up pretty much the same way. Only without the ottoman. They used a chair to put my feet up.
After a couple of minutes, Ricky and Jane walked out with plates. Each plate was covered by a bowl, and they made a show of revealing the meal to us: hot dogs on buns, with mustard, plus a handful of potato chips and a pickle.
Jane whispered to me, “Chrissy counts the pickle as your vegetable serving.”
I said, “It looks delicious.”
Chrissy came out of the kitchen still grinning and said, “They’re even your favorite kind of hot dogs.”
“Nathan’s?”
Chrissy looked crestfallen. She said, “No, all-beef Ball Park franks.”
“I love those too.”
Then Shawna said, “We even have the perfect movie for everyone to watch. You don’t have to move or anything.”
Jane said, “We picked the movie through a democratic process.”
Trent moaned, “A really long democratic process.”
Jane gave her brother a dismissive look, then added, “We each listed five movies, then we picked three out of that whole group. We kept voting until we came up with The Princess Bride.”
Mary Catherine beamed. “Brilliant.”
It was exactly what I needed. It got me out of my head and only thinking about what was most important in life: my family.
CHAPTER 74
ROB TRILLING STOOD as still as possible. He was afraid to even swallow. He could feel the knife tip dig into the skin of his throat. The idea of his blood spilling onto the floor kept him from doing anything stupid. At least anything more stupid than breaking into a building to find a fugitive while he was suspended from the police force.
Trilling felt a slight tremor in the blade. Whoever held the knife was nervous too. He hoped they weren’t nervous enough to make a mistake. In the dim light he couldn’t tell who was standing against the wall with the knife to his throat.
Then a woman’s voice said, “Who are you?” She had a slight accent.
“I’m Rob. Who are you?”
“What do you want here?”
Trilling decided he had nothing to lose. He said, “I’m looking for Lou Pershing.”
“Why?”
He was going to say, To arrest him, but at the last moment said, “To turn him over to the authorities.”
“You’re a bounty hunter?”
“I guess.” He felt the knife move away from his throat. Trilling sucked in a deep lungful of air. Then the flashlight turned on and he saw an attractive woman with long, dark hair that needed to be washed. She held a butcher knife with an eight-inch blade.
Trilling said, “Are you Marisol?”
She nodded.
“No power?”
“I have power, but I didn’t want to risk Lou thinking I was home. He’s been gone a few days, and I’m just trying to get out without him seeing me. I was going to go to Los Angeles, but I can’t come up with the money.”
When Marisol turned, Trilling noticed bruises around her neck and swelling around her left eye. He felt anger welling up inside him. How could men act like this?
Trilling made a split-second decision. “I know a place you can go where you’ll be safe. Pack a small suitcase. Just the stuff you really need.”
“I’m wearing everything I really need. Can you actually get me out of here?”
Forty-five minutes later, Trilling and Marisol stood in front of a women’s center in Manhattan. Trilling had learned about the center while on patrol his first week with the NYPD.
He stayed with Marisol while she answered a few simple questions from the woman who ran the facility.
As he stood up to leave, Marisol gave him a hug. She whispered, “Thank you,” into his ear.
The director said, “I wish every cop paid attention like you do, Officer Trilling. I’m glad you know to bring women here.”
“One last thing,” Trilling said to Marisol. “Do you by chance have a recent picture of him? The one I have is blurry, and I could really use a better one.”
Marisol fumbled for her cell phone. It took her a minute. “I may have deleted them all.” But then she stopped, turned her phone for Trilling to see finally a clear image of the man he was determined to find.
“Thanks.” He left the center feeling like his head had cleared a little bit. He hoped to find Pershing soon. If for no other reason than to stop him from terrorizing his girlfriends.
