Page 43 of Crosshairs
Bennett stopped what he was doing, turned to face Trilling, and said, “How did you know the victim was Gus Querva?”
“It’s on the news. I heard it on my way over here.” Trilling didn’t like the look Bennett gave him. He stayed put while Bennett started to march through the crime scene, checking on each person doing a specific task.
Trilling wanted to be close to Bennett so he could learn how this shit was done properly. He caught up to Bennett and started to follow him around as he talked to a couple of potential witnesses, including Querva’s girlfriend. The former Miss Colombia had been asleep in their apartment. Apparently the doorman had an excused absence for a couple of hours, then came through the rear door, so he didn’t notice the dead man by the front door. As soon as he’d found the body, he called 911.
After the initial round of tasks was completed, Bennett turned to Trilling and said, “Let’s go sit in my car for a few minutes. It’s quiet and I need to think.” His Chevy was parked almost in front of the building. Its close proximity to the crime scene discouraged anyone from walking up and talking to him when he was sitting inside. Trilling could understand why he needed to get away from everyone’s questions for just a few minutes.
Once they were settled in the car’s front seats, Bennett turned to him and said, “We have something we didn’t have before.”
“What’s that?”
“The canvass turned up a coffee shop employee who saw someone walking by with what they thought was a musical instrument case. At least we have a description now. White male, about six feet tall, with short, dark hair. The description that fitsmaybe five hundred thousand people in the greater New York area.”
“I even fit that description.” Trilling noticed Bennett didn’t say anything.
“You going to be okay working on the homicide of a guy like Gus Querva?” Bennett asked. “You told me you thought he’d ruined the neighborhood and was just putting on a show for the media.”
Suddenly Trilling felt like someone was tightening a vise on his chest. He’d never had anyone question his integrity before. In the service, if you completed your mission, no one harassed you.
“It almost sounds like you’re trying to accuse me of something. Go ahead and ask me anything you want.”
“I just did. Can you work the case?”
Trilling nodded.
“Where were you that you didn’t answer your phone?”
Trilling was silent. He stared at Bennett for a moment, then said, “Do I need an alibi? Sure you want to ride around town with me?”
“Making smart-ass cracks right now doesn’t help anything. I texted and called you and got no answer. Where were you?”
Trilling didn’t need someone looking at him the way Bennett was right now, grilling him over a missed phone call. All he could say was “I was at home, sound asleep. No fancy excuses. I screwed up and I know it.”
Bennett sat silently, looking out the windshield. “For a guy who got to sleep last night you look like shit.”
Trilling nodded. He knew he had bags under his bloodshot eyes. He could tell Bennett was exhausted. Maybe too tired to pick up on some details of the crime and the shooter.
Trilling said, “I’m here now. Let me take some of the burden off you. What do you need done right now?”
Bennett took a deep breath. He was thinking hard about something. Finally he said, “Coordinate the canvass of the neighborhood. Extend it two blocks south. Maybe someone else saw the man with the large instrument case. Maybe we’ll get lucky and he’ll be on a security video somewhere.” Bennett looked at Trilling. “And tell me exactly where you think the shooter fired from. That’s what you’re an expert on, right? We’ll send a forensics team to you when you find the location.”
In the Army, a superior officer would usually tell him,Dismissed,when they were done with giving orders. Trilling had the good sense to know when he’d been dismissed whether someone said the word or not.
CHAPTER 52
IT’S SOMETIMES HARD for people to comprehend what goes into a police investigation. I had two things going for me: experience and a really good team. I never took Walter Jackson for granted. He saved me hours of work on every homicide by finding where witnesses lived and worked. Other detectives conducted canvasses for witnesses and checked for other vital information. But the initial period after a homicide is always hectic.
This one was particularly difficult for two reasons: it was the fourth in a string of killings, and I had a disturbing thought in my head about my partner. I just couldn’t ignore his very specific comments about Gus Querva. And the fact that Trilling hadn’t been around last night made me consider some terrible possibilities.
I made it a point for us to take a break at noon. I’d been on the clock longer than a regular workday and saw no end in sight. Ineeded some food and made Trilling stop with me at a small sandwich shop in the Bronx.
We were able to grab a tiny table for two in the corner and a bit of privacy. The place was busy enough that our voices didn’t carry.
I wiggled on the hard, wooden chair, trying to get comfortable. Trilling stared down at his tuna salad like he was dreading having to speak with me.
Finally I said, “Tough night and day. This is what a homicide investigation looks like immediately after the body’s discovered.”
“I’ll admit, I didn’t expect it to be like this. Your phone has rung at least thirty times.”