Page 22 of Crosshairs
CHAPTER 27
I GOT INTO the office early again. As soon as I walked through the door, I realized it still wasn’t quite early enough. The first thing I heard was Walter Jackson’s deep voice and then a chuckle. I knew exactly who was in there talking to him this morning.
I stepped into Walter’s open doorway and said to him and Rob Trilling, “I hope you two are doing something constructive this early in the morning.”
Walter said, “You mean in addition to sharing puns and jokes?”
“I’m sure they’re hysterical.”
Walter was grinning like a little kid. He looked over at Trilling and said, “Go ahead, tell him yours.”
“It doesn’t look like he’s in the mood for puns, Walter.”
Walter didn’t miss a beat. He looked at me and said, “I have a friend who was raised in England. Over there, they call elevatorslifts. We, of course, call them elevators. I guess we were just raised differently.”
I’ll admit it was cute. I’ll also admit it took me a moment to get it. I gave him a pity smile and hoped to move on to business.
Walter, now looking deflated at my response, said, “Rob gave me a potential suspect’s name and I’ve been seeing what we can come up with. Mostly making connections through public records and rental agreements. I’m waiting for confirmation on a couple of things.”
I turned to Trilling and paused. There was a tiny cut on his left cheek and his eye was slightly swollen. It almost looked like he had a black eye. I said, “Did you get the shiner at your appointment yesterday?”
Trilling absently reached up and touched his cheek. He said, “I was trying to hang a bookshelf in my apartment. It came loose and smacked me in the face. Nothing to worry about. I’m fine.”
He let the whole dig I gave him about his appointment slide.
I decided to let it go. Instead, I said, “Where’d you get the name?”
“He’s an associate of a fugitive I was looking for at the FBI. They both are former military and worked for contractors in Afghanistan. The name I have is William Hackford. On some promotional bio he created for their company, Hackford mentioned that he was sniper certified. I’m not sure who certified him or if it’s legit, but I thought it was worth a try.”
“You’re not just looking for a way to find your FBI fugitive, are you?”
I’d been teasing, but for a minute I thought Trilling wasn’t going to answer. Then he said, “It wouldn’t be a bad thing if we caught the fugitive, Lou Pershing, too. I thought this guy might be a decent interview for us.”
That was a good answer. It’s hard to argue with a guy who’s doing things for the right reasons. It made me think of the Army captain he’d introduced me to at West Point. Captain Hawks had told me Trilling stayed on mission no matter what. Not a bad thing.
Walter started printing out a packet of information for us. He said, “This Hackford guy’s got a decent criminal history. Three assaults and one charge of carrying a concealed weapon. The victims dropped the charges in every case. I know some of the military contractor companies will overlook a criminal history if it gets them a motivated worker.
“And he’s been ticketed twice in the last month right here in the city. I don’t see a home address or even a contact phone number for him, but looks like his name is on the lease to a warehouse up in the Bronx.” He handed a folder across to Trilling. “Here’s everything I have as well as a Google satellite photo of the warehouse.”
I felt a surge of excitement at a new lead. It was hard to tell if Trilling was excited or not, but he jumped up from the chair and moved pretty quickly.
CHAPTER 28
WE TOOK MY Impala north all the way to the New York Botanical Garden. I didn’t spend a lot of time in Bronx Park near the Rose Hill campus of Fordham University and was surprised how unfamiliar the area looked to me. Trilling kept a sharp eye out and found the string of older warehouses on a short block at the very north end of the Bronx. None of the warehouses was more than three stories tall, and it didn’t look like they were being used much nowadays.
I took a moment to survey the street as we sat in the car. A good cop should know who might be around. I noticed Trilling doing the same thing—although I got the impression he was looking for bad guys more than he was for innocent bystanders we potentially needed to get out of the way. Either way, there was no one around.
At Hackford’s warehouse, we nonchalantly took the outsidestairway to the main door. It had to open onto the second floor. I tried the door, which was locked. The two windows in the front had been frosted over from the inside. We found an alley that cut behind the warehouses and tried the rear door at the top of a rickety wooden staircase. It was also locked.
Trilling put his ear to the door and, after thirty seconds, turned to me and said, “I hear noise. There’re people inside.”
“Think we can use a ruse to convince them to let us inside?”
“I’ll bet you lunch they won’t even answer the door if we knock.”
I didn’t give him a chance to back out of the bet. I knocked politely and we waited. Then I pounded on the door with my fist. Still nothing. I turned to Trilling and said, “What d’you think?”
Trilling said, “I don’t think you’re hitting the door hard enough.”