Page 40 of Crosshairs
Chet looked right at me and asked, “Who’s this?”
My heart broke a little bit for the whole family.
CHAPTER 48
BEFORE WE’D EVEN driven back to the city, Walter Jackson had texted me a new possible address for Wendy Robinson. Rob Trilling insisted we look for her right now.
Trilling said, “I’m just thinking about the groupings we saw on the plywood behind her mom’s house. Robinson knows what she’s doing with a rifle. I don’t like being in this gray area where we don’t know how strong a suspect she is.”
“You’ll get used to it in Homicide. It feels like everyone’s a suspect sometimes. Let’s run by this address in the Bronx and see what we can find out.”
“I’ll tell you the truth, I hope she’s not the killer. I know what it’s like readjusting to civilian life. She might just be having a few problems. She seems like she’s trying to straighten her life out.”
“By lying to us and ignoring her mother?”
Trilling didn’t respond. If I’d never met him, I would’ve said he was brooding.
We found the address Walter had given us and sat in my Chevy down the block from the building. I casually said, “Where do you think she keeps the rifle she used up at her mom’s?”
Trilling thought about it. “If I were her, I’d have a place to keep it up in Putnam County. It’s too hard to move it around in the city without people noticing.”
We’d been sitting on the apartment building for only about five minutes. I was trying to think ahead and wondering if we needed assistance. When a cop does a surveillance like this, they never know when it will end. I’ve been on surveillances that lasted more than twenty-four hours.
My thought processes were shut down when Trilling tapped my shoulder and I looked up from my phone. Wendy Robinson was walking out of the apartment building, carrying an oversized gym bag.
I said, “Could you hide a rifle in a bag like that?”
“If the rifle broke down, you could. The oversized bag is good camouflage.” Trilling started to shift in his seat and reach for the door handle.
I said, “Hang on just a minute. Let’s follow her and see where she’s headed. Maybe we’ll learn something. If we start to lose her, we’ll end the surveillance and interview her on the spot.”
We waited until Robinson was almost at the end of the block, then Trilling and I hopped out of the car. He jogged up the block when we saw her turn at the end of the street. I remained behind her while Trilling crossed the street to follow her from another angle.
We followed the former Army sergeant six blocks. It only tooka minute for me to realize she was headed to her boxing gym. I sent a quick text to Trilling so he could get ahead of her.
I started to catch up to her when she reached the block where her gym was located. I noticed the homeless man with the pet rat, Nigel, sitting across the street, keeping an eye on the entire neighborhood.
I saw Trilling a block ahead of me. Then I hesitated. Wendy Robinson walked right past the entrance to the gym. Trilling picked up on it and stayed out of sight as he casually walked on the other side of the street.
He met up with me as she turned on the far side of the gym.
Trilling said, “What’s the plan?”
“We stay on her. Now Ineedto know what she’s up to.”
We hustled around the building in time to see our suspect speak to a tall man wearing sweats, then follow him through a door at the rear of the building.
Trilling and I walked up to the door. He gave me a questioning look, so I shrugged and tried the handle. We both walked through the door with confidence and were surprised to find ourselves in a warehouse crammed with dozens of people. No one paid us any attention. I worked my way through the crowd and saw that a square area on the floor was being lined with heavy mats.
When I looked across the open area, I saw Wendy Robinson taking off her sweatshirt and flexing her arms and shoulders. The tall man she’d walked inside with stepped onto the mat across from her.
Trilling inched up next to me. “What the hell is going on?”
I was about to say I wasn’t sure. Then I heard the ding of a bell and Robinson rushed out onto the mat to meet the man in the sweatsuit. There was no introduction or announcement. She just started swinging.
CHAPTER 49
WHEN WENDY ROBINSON stopped her wild swings and squared off against her opponent, I took a closer look at the man she was bare-knuckle fighting. He was well over six feet tall. He had some bulk to him as well. I figured him to be around thirty-five years old. He had a long, droopy mustache that reminded me of Harry Grissom’s impressive facial hair.