Page 11 of Crosshairs

That flustered Chip, who decided he was in over his head. He kept walking down the street.

I smiled and filed the interaction away, realizing there was a lot to this young man that I hadn’t seen yet.

It was about eight thirty in the morning by the time we pulled up in front of a nice single-family home with a small front yard and a beautiful garden in a raised patch by the front door. The place was tidy but could’ve probably used a new coat of paint and maybe someone to pressure clean the walkway and front door.

I’d been a little disappointed by the lack of details about the victim, Marie Ballard, in the reports from the homicide detective,but I knew that her two adult children and one grandchild still lived at the address.

Trilling and I stood on the sidewalk for a moment as I let him soak in the neighborhood. I was about to tell him where they’d found the victim’s body, but he beat me to it.

Trilling said, “I looked through the crime-scene photos. She had been gardening and was found at 5 p.m. in that raised bed just under the bedroom window. That means”—he looked up and down the street—“most likely the shot came from that direction.”

We took a couple of steps into the front yard when the door opened and a muscular young Black man stepped out onto the porch with a baseball bat in his right hand. He slapped it into his left hand to show us it was heavy and he meant business.

CHAPTER 14

I WASN’T HAPPY to see a man using a baseball bat in such a menacing way. But I wasn’t panicked either. The young man was about Trilling’s age but a little bulkier. I knew from reports his name was Duane Ballard, and he was the victim’s son.

Duane was still a good thirty feet from us. I was more interested in how Trilling might react. If he drew his gun, I’d be a little concerned. I know there’s no rule about cops retreating to safety instead of defending themselves, but retreating isn’t a bad tactic either. Certainly not in a nice neighborhood like this where crime isn’t the central problem.

Trilling stayed absolutely still. He gave no reason for the son to get more upset. I was impressed.

I pulled out my badge and identified myself.

Duane eased up. He set the bat on the small porch with the handle leaning against a brick wall. We cautiously worked ourway up the walkway, and he came down the three steps to meet us.

He said, “I thought you were more reporters.” He looked at Trilling, then at me. “I guess neither of you look too much like those douchebags who try to get photos inside the house or take pictures of my sister and her baby.”

I said, “I’m glad we passed your test.”

Duane said, “Y’all doing anything to find my mom’s killer? You’re the first cops I’ve seen in a month. Once that fireman in Staten Island was shot, it was like you forgot about us. Even the media attention all shifted to him. Now some rich dude in Manhattan gets shot and I figured you’d ignore us.”

“We’re trying to narrow some things down.”

“I’m not even sure I want you guys at our house. No one from the NYPD has shown much interest in solving the murder of a single Black woman.”

Now Trilling stepped toward the young man and spoke for the first time. I tensed, hoping he didn’t try to do this the hard way.

Trilling said, “Man, I’m so sorry about your mom. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost my mom.”

I hadn’t expected that.

Trilling stepped even closer to the young man. “You staying in touch with friends and family? That can drop off when you’re grieving. It’s really important.”

Duane tried to answer but got choked up. He just nodded as he looked down at the ground.

I was surprised to see Trilling scoot to the side of the man and put a comforting arm around his shoulder. He said in a low voice, “Now, can you walk us through what happened? Maybe you could tell us what you think the other cops have been missing.”

Duane started slowly. He sniffled and wiped his nose on his arm. But he showed us how he’d walked outside to find his mother lying in the garden with blood pouring out of a hole just above her right eye. He hadn’t heard any shots or seen anything suspicious. I knew all this already from the reports, but I think it was good for Duane to let it out again.

“Someone killed her while she was just out here tending her favorite plants, like she did every single weekend at that time.” Duane looked off as he remembered his mother. “She was nice to everyone. And everyone loved her.”

I watched as Trilling followed the young man across the yard to the garden. Standing in front of the house, his eyes tracked from every position, and I realized he was looking at the crime scene from an entirely different perspective than I did. I didn’t know what this young officer knew about investigations, but it sure looked like he understood long-range shots. I still didn’t know how he’d ended up with the NYPD, but I was suddenly grateful we had people with his expertise in our ranks. Officers with this kind of specialized experience are what make the NYPD so effective.

Trilling said to Duane, “Give us a few minutes to walk down the street and we’ll come back and talk to you. I’m sorry we disrupted your morning.”

Duane nodded and stuck his hand out for Trilling to shake.

Trilling shook, then started walking away from the house, and I had to quickstep to catch up to him. Now I felt like the trainee as I trailed behind Trilling. We finally slowed down about four houses away from the victim’s house.