Page 28 of Crosshairs
“I appreciate your mature approach.”
“I appreciated you inviting me into your home last night. Your family is so different from mine. I only have one brother, one sister, my mother, and my grandfather.”
I noticed he didn’t mention his father at all.
Trilling said, “I especially enjoyed speaking with your grandfather. My grandfather raised me. He had a little car lot in Bozeman. But he always had time for my brother, sister, and me. Now he kind of splits time between my sister’s house and my mother’s house. He’s still in good shape physically at seventy-two, but he’s been diagnosed with early onset dementia. He has good days and bad. It’s scary.”
I understood. I worried about my grandfather every day. Every grunt or sigh from him set me on edge because I was afraid it was the start of some terminal ailment. But I couldn’t imagine Seamus ever losing that sharp mind of his. That would just kill me.
I tried to cheer up my new partner. I put on a smile, leaned over, slapped him on the shoulder, and said, “You ready to go to a resort?”
“What do you mean? Where is there a resort?”
“Staten Island, my boy. It’s an island, so it’s kind of like a resort. And we’ve got people to talk to.”
CHAPTER 35
LOUISE BANNON, WIDOW of the sniper’s second victim, Thomas Bannon, lived in a nice neighborhood, Dongon Hills, off Hylan Boulevard on Staten Island. The GPS said traffic was bad, even for New York, so we came down through Brooklyn and took the Verrazzano-Narrows Bridge over to the island.
The Bannon house was a cute 1960s two-story. The tricycle turned on its side in the front yard immediately broke my heart. Even with the sun shining and the temperatures comfortable, I felt gloomy when Rob Trilling and I walked up to the house.
As I knocked on the wooden door, I noticed that someone spent a lot of time on the porch. There were stacks of magazines next to a comfortable rocker and a little heater tucked in the corner.
A woman in her late thirties with frizzy brown hair came to the door. A cute toddler and a little girl about five years old stood behind the woman, staring out at us.
I held up my badge and identified myself and Trilling. Louise Bannon didn’t say anything for a few seconds, then finally said, “Do you have news on Tommy’s killer?”
“No, ma’am. We’re working the case and just wanted to talk with you about any details we might’ve missed.”
“You’re not even the original detectives. I haven’t heard shit in three weeks.” She opened the door and shook her head, muttering something about the NYPD.
I knew this wasn’t the time to make apologies or excuses. Everything would be forgiven if we could find the killer. To do that we had to ask questions, and I needed her to be open to answering questions. So I kept my yap shut.
After the rough start, we chatted with Louise to get background on her husband. I didn’t really learn anything new. He’d been with the FDNY for twenty-one years. He had numerous commendations and was well thought of generally. The whole family had connections to the Fire Department and Staten Island. Thomas Bannon’s brother was a paramedic and their father had retired as a captain.
Even Louise Bannon’s family was tied to the department. Three of her four brothers were with the FDNY. The fourth worked at a machine shop just a few blocks away from the Bannon house.
After the usual questions, I came in a little hotter with “Did your husband have anyone who could be angry with him? Anyone who felt he did them wrong?”
“Tommy was a good guy. Everyone liked him.”
“He didn’t have any vices, did he? I mean ones that might draw some attention. I’m not trying to insult your husband’s memory, just hoping to find some lead that will catch this shooter.”
“But the way you asked that question tells me you are willing to smear Tommy’s reputation.” Now she set the toddler on the floor and told him to go play with his sister. Louise looked at me and said, “Vices? We all have vices. I don’t see what this has to do with your investigation. Tommy was a good guy,” she repeated.
Then her phone rang. She pulled it from the outer pocket of the loose cardigan sweater she was wearing. I heard her mumble answers to a couple of questions, then say, “No, the cops are here right now. They’re starting to piss me off.”
When she looked up at me after ending the call, it was clear she had no use for the police. Louise Bannon said, “Do you have any questions that will catch my husband’s killer?” She folded her arms and started to tap her right foot.
I felt like I’d hit a nerve when I asked about vices. It was hard to tell in a situation like this. I turned to Trilling, hoping the charming young man might find a different approach.
Trilling said, “Mrs. Bannon, you read about this latest case in the paper, right?”
She nodded.
“Did your husband or you know either of the other victims? The first one or this latest one?”
She shook her head.