Page 34 of Crosshairs
“Looking for another suspect?”
“No, just curious.”
“His name is Darnell Nash. He was my spotter in Iraq. He might not have been a certified sniper, but he’s really good with the rifle. He lost a foot to an IED.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
Trilling asked, “Why is your buddy an analyst if he has military experience? Clearly he must have a college degree or the FBI wouldn’t have hired him.”
“An FBI analyst’s job is not too bad.”
Trilling and Tavarez started to talk about different veterans’ groups and causes they were involved in. I respect the bond military people feel toward one another.
As soon as we said our goodbyes and were heading to another unit in the headquarters building, I made a quick call to Cindy Tavarez to verify what her husband had told me about his alibi. She backed it up, and even provided a few details about what they’d had for dinner and watched on TV.
CHAPTER 42
I TRIED TO advise Rob Trilling about the importance of making contacts everywhere he went. That included headquarters. There’s no way a detective can know all the things that are needed in big cases. Between electronic surveillance, witnesses, forensics, and so forth, it’s just too much for any one person. That’s why it’s important for a good detective to know who to call if he or she has questions.
Trilling was so quiet and reserved, I worried that establishing that kind of network might end up being one of the hardest aspects of the job for him.
I turned to go up to the fourth floor and meet Rebecca Swope, one of the sharpest analysts at headquarters. She also had a direct connection to every college and school in New York. We needed to verify a few things.
As we started up the stairs, I heard someone coming down from the third floor. As we turned for the next flight, I saw the widefigure of my old friend Greg Stout. Greg was a little overweight but liked to tell everyone that he felt it was important his body match his surname. And he was known for being a resourceful and determined investigator. That, coupled with his writing abilities, had moved him up through the ranks to sergeant in charge of major investigations. He also had a joke for every possible occasion.
As soon as he saw me, Greg broke into a wide smile and said, “Mikey boy, what brings you to the king’s castle? Someone figure out your degree in philosophy is bogus?”
“My biggest fear, but that’s not the issue today.”
“How’s that big beautiful family of yours?”
“All good. And yours?”
He shrugged.
I knew not to ask any more questions. Stout was frustrated by his twentysomething slacker son who believed every wacky conspiracy he read on the internet.
Stout changed the subject. “Seriously, why are you here? We want to escape, and you come here willingly?”
“Need some expertise and I’m headed up to see Becky Swope.”
“If she can’t figure something out, no one can.” He turned his attention to Trilling and said, “Who’s this?”
“He’s working on the Longshot Killer case with me. Greg, this is Rob Trilling. Rob, this is Sergeant Greg Stout.”
He patted his belly and said, “No jokes. I’m the only one allowed to make jokes around here.” Then he took another look at Trilling and said, “God damn, how old are you? You even made an arrest yet? I mean, for anything.”
Trilling stayed silent. In fact, he did a pretty good job of ignoring Stout altogether even though it was just the three of us in the stairwell.
Greg looked at me and said, “Seems a little touchy. Maybe he needs to learn some manners.”
Now Trilling spoke very evenly. “Where I’m from, manners are something we use every day. With everyone. My grandpa told me to ignore loudmouths.”
That was it. Trilling didn’t have anything else to say. He continued to ignore the sergeant but looked at me like he was waiting to see what I was going to say. Obviously Trilling followed his grandfather’s advice. And he was pretty efficient too.
I said, “Lay off, Greg.”
“What’s the matter, rookie can’t defend himself?” When that didn’t get Trilling’s attention, Greg Stout reached out and flicked Trilling’s ear.