Page 46 of Crosshairs
Darcy spit out a long, six-syllable pharmaceutical name. I knew immediately she was surreptitiously telling me which drug Trilling had been prescribed. She was able to do it without violating any trust or confidence.
The doctor frowned and said, “That’s a very strong sedative. It’s also one we prescribe regularly.”
I said, “Can you give me an idea of the side effects?”
“It does have a tendency to make the user hazy in the morning for the first twenty to thirty minutes. It’s also not uncommon for the user to perform activities while under the influence of the drug.”
“What sort of activities?”
“Usually activities related to their everyday lives. They cook. They clean their apartment. I had a carpenter once who built an entire pigeon coop on the top of his apartment building over the course of a month and never realized it.”
I asked, “These can be complex activities that the user of the prescription does during the day?”
“That’s what I just said.” She looked at Darcy. “Several of your clients take it. Even the young cop. The one who sits and doesn’t talk? That one worries me with his sullen attitude.”
Darcy all but cringed. She recovered quickly and said, “I know who you mean.” It was her way of shutting up the psychiatrist.
Dr. Hendrix asked, “You have a case involving the drug?”
I just nodded, trying not to give anything away. The statement from the psychiatrist alarmed me. Her description of the powerful side effects, and their potential impact on Trilling’s behavior, sent a chill through my body.
I started to formulate a hypothetical question that might shed more light on my concerns, but I was cut off.
The doctor looked past me toward the exit. “I’m sorry. I have some errands to run. Doesn’t the NYPD have someone on staff who can answer these questions?” She didn’t wait for an answer. She marched past us and out the door without another word.
Darcy just looked at me. She handed me her business card.
I looked down and saw her last name was Farnan. I said, “Thank you, Ms. Farnan. You’ve been a big help, and I won’t tell anyone I was here.”
“I’ll keep it quiet too, for now. Can you keep me in the loop if there’s anything specific that’s worrying you? Of course, I have no idea who, exactly, you’re talking about.” She had a friendly, mischievous smile.
“I promise. And I hope it’s nothing. But I have to be thorough.”
CHAPTER 55
I KNEW MY next stop was going to be tricky. I had a love-hate relationship with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. I’d worked with them closely in the past, but always with my good friend Emily Parker. I hadn’t had much contact with the FBI since her murder in Washington, DC, a short time ago.
I managed to score a fifteen-minute appointment with Robert Lincoln, the ASAC, or assistant special agent in charge. Usually the ASACs were the ones who actually ran the FBI offices in big cities. The special agent in charge was more likely to meet with the other law enforcement agencies and the media when required. Lincoln and I had butted heads on several different cases over the years. He was exactly what most cops disliked about the FBI: pompous, secretive, and patronizing. The trifecta of pissing off people trying to do their jobs.
But I’d learned that Lincoln was personally overseeing thefugitive task squad Rob Trilling had been previously assigned to while the squad supervisor was out on extended medical leave. So it gave me an excuse to come find out some information.
My escort was a young man named Jason, who led me through the maze of hallways at the New York office of the FBI to a solid door with the nameplateROBERT LINCOLNon it. Jason knocked on the door softly and opened it carefully. I saw Lincoln sitting behind his enormous oak desk. He didn’t even bother to look up. He mumbled, “Thanks, Jason. You can have a seat, Detective.”
I still wasn’t sure how I wanted to handle this. I didn’t want to get Rob Trilling in trouble. Not if he wasn’t doing anything wrong. I thought I’d figured out a way to talk to the ASAC and still accomplish that goal.
Finally Lincoln looked up at me. He was in his late forties or early fifties and still looked fit. I knew there weren’t that many high-ranking Black agents with the FBI, so despite our differences, I realized he had to be somewhat on the ball.
All he said was “What can I do for you, Detective?”
“Thank you for letting Rob Trilling come back to the NYPD temporarily to help us on the sniper case. I thought I should give you a quick update that we’ve tied the latest shooting to the other three. We don’t have any specific leads yet, but I wanted to let you know you can call me anytime if you have questions. Or if you’d prefer, I’ll come here to your office and brief you.”
“I’dprefernot to have a twenty-four-year-old police officer on our fugitive task force. I took him as a favor to one of your assistant commissioners. As far as your case goes, I’m not surprised the NYPD hasn’t come up with anything. This sniper seems a notch above the level of killers you typically deal with. I have some analysts looking at different information to decide if we’re going to get involved or not.”
I knew Lincoln said that just to stir the shit. Contrary to public opinion, the FBI couldn’t just step in on any case. It would cause too many problems with a major department like the NYPD. I let it slide.
I said, “I was told that the supervisor of the fugitive squad has been out for several months with some sort of medical issue. They said you’re overseeing the group.”
Lincoln nodded. “Yeah, the supervisory special agent has serious back problems. He might go out on a medical. Is there something specific you want to know?”