Crosshairs, p.20
Crosshairs, page 20
I cleared my throat.
The woman looked up at me, startled. “You must be some kind of ninja. I didn’t even see you there.” She glanced over the desk to see if I had any luggage.
I said, “My name is Michael Bennett. I’m a detective with the NYPD.”
The three men nearby all looked over at me as the woman reached a hand across the counter. As we shook, she said, “Margaret Holliday, with two l’s. My friends call me Maggie.”
I smiled. “That explains the sign.”
“I’ve had a couple of cease-and-desist letters from a hotel chain I won’t name. The only thing I ever conceded to was adding ‘Tavern’ to our title. Other than that, I’ve run this place for thirty-two years. And I always support the police. I don’t think people realize how dangerous your job is. What can I do for a detective from the big city?”
“I was wondering about a veterans’ group that met here not long ago. Do you remember that at all?”
“Of course I do. Obviously I support the military too. The VA has encounter groups here at least once a month. I have the perfect conference room for them. Our rates are cheap, and they work around our busy times. Like I said, what can I do for you?”
“Could I look at your registration log?” I slipped her a piece of paper with the exact dates and Rob Trilling’s name.
She read the note and said, “I know Rob Trilling. He’s here every few months.”
Maggie started to type on the computer sitting on the counter. After a moment, she looked up and said, “Got it right here. He was here for four nights and then we let the VA guys stay through the whole day for free—that way they complete a five-day course of some kind and don’t have to pay as much.”
“Any chance I could see the original registration card with a signature on it?”
That made her pause. “What kind of detective are you?”
“A tired one.”
“I like a good sense of humor. Now give me the straight answer.”
“Homicide.”
The tallest of the three men said, “Hang on, Maggie.”
The hairs on the back of my neck tingled. I suddenly had a feeling that I was in for a repeat of my firefighter interviews. I couldn’t understand why people wouldn’t mind their own business.
The man looked at me and said, “You got a warrant?”
“I’m sorry, who are you?”
“David Klatt. I’m here with the VA and we all know Rob Trilling.”
Now I purposely took a step away from the front desk and turned to face the three men fully.
The other tall man in the group said, “Why are you looking at Rob’s work here? He does a great job.”
“I’m not looking at anything to do with the VA.” I tried to stay calm as the men circled me. Each one of them looked like they knew how to fight.
Maggie, the clerk, hadn’t left the front desk. She stared at the four of us, no one saying a word.
I said, “Guys, if you’re gonna kick my ass, let’s take it outside.” I needed to buy some time to think. I had a hard time reading the expressions on the three men’s faces.
Finally Klatt said, “Kick your ass? Why would we do that? I’m an attorney. I asked about a warrant.”
The other tall man said, “I’m an accountant. I haven’t been in a fight since basic training.”
I looked at the shorter Marine.
He smiled. “I’m an unemployed house painter. I’ll kick your ass if you want, but I’m mostly looking to get my faulty key replaced by Maggie.”
I turned to Maggie at the front desk. “You confirmed Rob Trilling was here at the time in question. If you could do me a favor and hold the signature card, I’ll get a warrant and come back later.”
She gave me a cheerful smile. “Sure thing, Detective.”
I nodded to the three men. I had to get back to Manhattan and figure things out.
CHAPTER 86
I GOT HOME from Albany late that evening and my effort to be engaged with the kids quickly fell flat.
My mind was racing with the hope that Rob Trilling was not our sniper. But the newest shooting still made me doubt my findings. I’d heard that when Dennis Wu found Trilling at his apartment building hours later, Trilling had refused to speak to the Internal Affairs sergeant. I didn’t blame him. From his perspective, there was no upside. Dennis made no secret of the fact that he was trying to pin everything on Rob Trilling. It was still a bad look for Trilling, because without any other suspects, all the attention was focused on my former partner.
The kids and Mary Catherine realized I’d had a long day when I dozed off in the chair in the living room.
I sprang awake the next morning and tried to make amends by preparing a giant breakfast. No one would be at the VA until nine o’clock anyway. I pulled out all the stops. Pancakes, eggs, bacon, and ham. Plus a whole wheat English muffin for Mary Catherine and a bowl of Lucky Charms for Chrissy.
It didn’t take long for all the kids to start wandering out to the dining room. Nothing I couldn’t handle. Their plates were already made. I realized if the whole homicide investigation thing didn’t work out, I might have a second career as a short-order cook.
A few hours later, I was waiting at the VA office when Darcy Farnan walked in. She did a double take when she saw me in the lobby. She turned to a young man with long, stringy hair walking with her and said, “Can you give me a few minutes with this man, Peter?”
The young man nodded, then turned back to his phone. Darcy gave me a quick nod with her head to get me to hustle into the office. As soon as the door was closed behind us, she said, “Please don’t tell me anything has happened to Rob Trilling.”
“No, it might be just the opposite. I need to confirm something with you.”
“I’m sorry, but the same conditions apply as before. He has to give me permission to talk to you. I almost told him you’d been here, but he never met with me after we spoke.”
“I get it. I’m not trying to get you to violate any rules or ethics. But I think I can help him. And I already have a lot of the information I need.” I gave her the briefest of thumbnails of what I was doing. I explained that Trilling was a suspect in some murders but that I’d gone to Albany, and it looked like he might’ve been out of town during one of the murders.
Darcy smiled for just a moment. She brushed some hair out of her eyes. “Like I said, Detective, I’d need Rob’s permission to confirm that he was at a VA retreat in Albany as both a facilitator and a participant. He would tell you that he was at the hotel the entire time with me and nine other veterans. He would probably also tell you that I saw him every single day.” She couldn’t hide the smile.
I said, “At some point, probably fairly soon, after Trilling gives you permission, I’ll have to ask you about this again.”
“After I get his permission, I’ll tell you anything you want to know about the week. Even the side trip he and I took to visit his family in Putnam County. I mean, if we really did that.” This time she gave me a wink.
CHAPTER 87
I WANTED TO see if there was some way to confirm that Rob Trilling was at his apartment on the night Gus Querva was shot. Things were moving quickly now, and I decided to forgo the surreptitious route and talk to Trilling directly. I had a few more questions to ask him.
I drove directly to Trilling’s apartment. The small, older building was just as I remembered from my previous visit. I didn’t buzz him. I knew the apartment number and was able to enter the building when another tenant came out. I walked inside and up to the second floor. The stairway’s banister was missing six spindles and its carpet was clean but fraying down the center—in need of enough repair that the building was obviously not run by a corporation. I checked apartment doors until I found Trilling’s and knocked. I could hear someone moving around behind the wooden door. Maybe more than one person. I hadn’t pried much into Trilling’s personal life, but I sort of assumed he didn’t have a girlfriend. At least that’s the impression I’d gotten from my daughter Juliana.
I waited about fifteen seconds, then knocked again. I called out, “Rob, it’s Mike Bennett. I gotta talk to you for just a minute.” I heard some more rustling in the apartment. Now it sounded like there were half a dozen people in there.
The door opened about two inches, and three separate safety chains caught it. I took a step to the side to look into the apartment. All I saw was a veil of long brown hair.
Without thinking, I called out, “Juliana?” I couldn’t see her face. She moved away from the door quickly. I took a step back from the door. Maybe, somewhere in the back of my head, I was considering kicking the door in. You never know how you’ll react if you think your child is in some sort of dangerous situation. This time I called out a little more forcefully, “Juliana!” I really couldn’t tell if it was my daughter inside or not. But no one was speaking to me, and I was starting to get nervous. I rechecked the number on the door to make sure it was the right apartment. There was no mistake. This was Rob Trilling’s place.
This time I called out, “Rob, are you in there?”
The brown hair appeared at the door again. This time I could see a little of the young woman’s face. It wasn’t Juliana. She said, “Rob not here.” Her accent was thick, but I could understand her.
“When will he be back?”
“I say Rob not here.” Her voice had risen in volume. I couldn’t tell if she was angry or frustrated that I wasn’t listening to her.
I said, “Look, I really need to talk to Rob.”
There was a long silence. I reached for the door and grabbed its edge so she couldn’t close it easily. Then I felt a sharp pain shoot through my hand. I jerked it away from the door. I had a gash across my index and middle fingers. Blood started to seep between my fingers and down the back of my hand.
I mumbled, “What the…”
A four-inch blade popped out of the opening in the door. The hand tightly gripped the knife, pointing it right in front of my face. I could see her knuckles turn white from the pressure.
This time, speaking slowly and concentrating on each word, the woman said, “I say Rob not here. Go away. Go away right now.”
“I’m Mike Ben…”
The door slammed shut and the dead bolt twisted into position.
I went outside, wiping the blood from my hand with a paper bag I’d found in the hall. It didn’t look like the wound needed stitches. But I didn’t intend to put my hand on that door again.
As I walked toward my car, a heavyset man with the thickest mustache I’d ever seen looked over at me. He was cleaning out some buckets with a hose. I guessed he was the super Wu had spoken to. I went over to talk to him, and he confirmed that he’d run the building for nearly sixteen years.
I explained that I was Trilling’s partner at the NYPD.
“I love having a cop in the building. Especially one like Rob. Very levelheaded, that one.”
I didn’t need Dennis Wu to tell me the super’s nationality. I could tell by the super’s accent he was Armenian. He could’ve been a commercial for hardworking Armenians in the US. He probably wore size 45 work pants to fit his belly. But he was friendly, and I decided to not waste the opportunity to talk to him. I said, “The girl in his apartment didn’t sound like she spoke much English.”
“She has not been there long. I’ve never spoken to her. I seen her walk out one day and that was it. They’re a little loud now and then. Sounds like a soccer team from the apartment underneath. But I said something, and Rob told me they would try to keep it down.”
I looked up and noticed several cameras around the building. “Looks like you have a pretty good security system.”
The super smiled. He had a gold crown on one tooth. “No one can come or go without my system recording it. Haven’t had anything stolen in three years. That’s got to be some kind of record here in New York.”
It didn’t take any effort at all to convince him to show me his security system. The system was everything the super had said. Four cameras on the building periphery, two cameras in the lobby, and one in each hallway and stairwell. Very impressive.
I said, “Can I test it out?”
“What do you mean?”
“Let me pick a day and I’ll count how many times I see Trilling.”
The super was intrigued to have a law enforcement professional evaluate his system. He took a moment to show me how it worked on a simple Windows operating system.
Of course, I immediately went to the night Gus Querva was shot. The super stood over my shoulder.
I scrolled through the video taken by the cameras in the lobby until I saw Trilling enter.
The super pointed and said, “There, there—you see him?”
I nodded. The time stamp said 6:05 p.m. He would’ve just been coming from the office. Then I fast-forwarded through the lobby cameras. And I kept fast-forwarding, looking to see when he appeared again. I didn’t see him until 7:05 the next morning.
The super said, “You can’t really tell much from that.”
“Let me see if I can find him on the other cameras.” And that’s what I did. I raced through the cameras in the stairwell and in the hallway by Trilling’s apartment. He never came out of his apartment.
I turned to the super and said, “How long do you keep these videos?”
“All saved on the cloud. They always keep them for at least one year.”
I convinced him to let me burn a copy of the single day onto a DVD. I explained that it could be a good training tool about what to look for on surveillance videos.
The super slapped me on the back as I was leaving. He said, “You seem like you would be a good partner to Rob. He’s a good boy. I worry about the way people treat police. I worry about Rob.”
All I could say was “I worry about him too.”
CHAPTER 88
IT WAS STILL midmorning when I left Trilling’s apartment. The phone rang and I saw it was Harry Grissom. I didn’t know what bad news was waiting for me, so I hesitated to answer. That’s a terrible place for your mind to be, especially if you’re a cop working on a major case.
Harry didn’t even bother with the greeting. All he said was “I just got an official notice of suspension on Trilling.”
“Shit. I guess it means they intend to go after Trilling hard.”
“It says that personnel interviewed him yesterday. Did the admin and read him his work rights. That sort of shit.”
“What time yesterday? I was with him in the morning and Wu couldn’t find him later.”
There was a pause and I knew Harry was studying the document on his computer screen. Finally Harry said, “Looks like it started at 10:15, until 11:05.”
“What time did the antifa guy get shot?”
“God damn, I must be getting old. Shooting happened at 10:50. Get over to personnel and figure this out.”
“On my way.”
It felt like only a few minutes later I was walking through the doors of the NYPD personnel department at One Police Plaza. I heard someone call from the other room and found Sharone Baxter-Tate sitting behind a wide, cluttered desk.
She had a brilliant smile and ushered me to the seat in front of her desk. I explained that I wanted to talk to her about Rob Trilling.
“Seems like a nice young man. Sorry to see he was suspended. I never see the reason. I just have to inform them of their rights and what they can and can’t do while suspended. I’m guessing he had some kind of a personal issue. Maybe he drank too much?”
“No, nothing like that.”
“Moonlighting without permission?”
“Nope.” I really hadn’t come here to answer her questions. Before she could ask another, I said, “I just want to verify when Trilling was here and how you keep track of the time when you’re interviewing someone.”
Sharone said, “I talked to him in the morning.”
“Can you be more specific?”
She reached into her desk and pulled out a worker’s rights form. “See, there is a space for the start and ending times of the interviews. I look at that clock right behind you and write down whatever it says. Yesterday I started the interview with Officer Trilling at exactly 10:15 and ended at 11:05. I didn’t round up or round down. He was right on time for his meeting, and I noticed we finished our chat at 11:05.”
I checked the digital clock on the wall against the time on my phone. They matched. I looked at Sharone and said, “And you were here with him the entire time?”
“I’m required to read the documents aloud so no one can claim they didn’t understand what was going on. It almost always takes forty-five to fifty minutes.”
I was already up and out of my chair, heading for the door, as I thanked Sharone Baxter-Tate. “I’ll get back to you and explain everything one day soon. Please keep all that original paperwork secure.”
I didn’t hear her response as I hustled out the door.
CHAPTER 89
I’D GATHERED A fair amount of evidence that pointed to Rob Trilling not being the Longshot Killer. I still wasn’t sure what to do with the information. In the back of my mind, I was worried command staff might relieve me and put someone else in to investigate the sniper. They would have a fair argument. I had now prioritized actively looking to exonerate Rob Trilling over the rest of the case. That’s not exactly what homicide detectives do.
Walter Jackson called me while I was still at One Police Plaza. “The report on the casing found in Trilling’s car came in and I’m emailing it to you now.”
I opened the email on my phone and quickly read the report while Walter was still on the line. The report said there was no usable DNA or fingerprints on the casing. Not even a partial print.
“Who wipes a bullet down before they put it in a rifle?” I thought about it and said to Walter, “Unless the casing was planted.” I paused, trying to wrap my head around the possibility that someone might have tried to frame Rob Trilling for the sniper murders.
