Page 10 of Crosshairs

I shuffled toward Walter’s office with a list of things I needed. I could hear Walter’s deep voice and assumed he was on the phone. I heard him laugh about something. Then, just outside the door, I stopped.

Walter wasn’t on the phone; he was chatting with someone in his office.

I stepped through the doorway and was surprised to see Rob Trilling laughing and nodding his head. They both looked up.

Walter said, “Mike, you didn’t tell me the new guy could hold his own with puns.” He looked at Trilling.

No one can resist Walter, so Trilling said, “I love the way the Earth rotates. It really makes my day.”

Walter almost fell out of his chair laughing. I smiled and nodded. It was a lot more than I had gotten from the young officer.

I avoided asking what time Trilling had arrived. He’d obviously gotten here before me, and I didn’t want him to think I really was keeping tabs on him. It was clear the young man had some drive and ambition. I liked that.

I looked at Walter and asked for the backgrounds on each of the victims in the case.

Walter said, “Rob’s already got them all. He even showed me afew more public records databases we can access for free. Just another way to look at things.”

Trilling kept his mouth shut, as usual. He looked up at me and shrugged. He finally said, “A little trick to supplement the FBI info on fugitives. They never look too far into social media or anything like that.”

I nodded and mumbled, “Good. You ready to head out to Queens? We gotta go look at the site of the first shooting. We’re also going to have to come up with a list of potential snipers who live in the greater New York City area. There can’t be all that many.”

Trilling said, “Military snipers are relatively rare. I was a Ranger, but not a sniper with the Army. The NYPD also put me through the weeklong sniper class.”

“Why? You could already shoot.”

“A lot of people grow up with guns and are really good shots. That doesn’t mean they’d be good snipers. There’s a lot more that goes into sniping. Tactics, movement, and decisions on the ground are just as important as having good shooting skills.”

“Do you think the list is a good idea?”

“I think we can use it, but I wouldn’t depend on it. I talk to guys at the VA all the time. I’ll see if they have any ideas.”

I nodded. “Sounds like we do need to get you over to look at the first crime scene. I’ve never read a good account of exactly where the shot could have come from.”

We were in my car and headed to Queens a few minutes later.

CHAPTER 13

IT WAS STILL pretty early, so we stopped at a little café on Kissena Boulevard in Queens, not far from the address where the first victim of the sniper was killed. I was hoping to use a little quiet time to get to know Trilling better and maybe smooth over our rough start.

We sat outside at a tiny table with our coffees and breakfast sandwiches. I sprang for both of us, hoping it might loosen up the young former Army Ranger. After five minutes of sitting there silently, sipping coffee and watching people stroll by on the wide sidewalk, I realized Trilling wasn’t going to say anything unless I started the conversation. He seemed quite content to keep his mouth shut unless compelled otherwise. Normally, I’d consider that a great characteristic in a relatively new cop. In this case, I needed to try and reach him.

Out of the blue I said, “Where do your folks live?”

It was as if he had to gather his thoughts even on a simple question. It took a full five seconds before he said, “My mom still lives just outside Bozeman. I don’t have any contact with my dad.”

I would’ve liked to explore that more, but his tone made it clear that was all he was going to say about it. Instead, we were interrupted by a young, pudgy guy walking by, wearing the uniform from one of the local grocery stores. His name tag said,CHIP.

Chip stopped near our table, looked right at me, and said, “What’s coffee run these days? About five bucks?”

I just nodded.

Chip said, “And you probably have at least ten cups a week, right? That’s fifty bucks a week. That’s about twenty-five hundred dollars a year. Think about it! In the last twenty years of coffee drinking, you would’ve saved enough to buy a decent boat.”

Trilling looked at the man. “Do you drink coffee, Chip?”

Chip seemed psyched to say, “Not at all.”

Without missing a beat, Trilling asked, “Where do you store your boat?”