Page 7 of Crosshairs
CHAPTER 9
I TURNED AND stared at the young man standing just outside Walter Jackson’s door. It wasn’t just that Rob Trilling had surprised us in the middle of discussing his service record. It was that hedidlook incredibly young. He looked like he could’ve been one of my kids. Age-wise, he actually could have been.
It was quite a blow to an active cop who tries not to think of himself as getting older.
It was Walter who saved me. While I just sat there with my mouth open, Walter slid out from behind his desk and extended his hand. I was still trying to get my head straight and say something intelligent. I couldn’t even really judge Trilling’s height because six-foot-six Walter towered over him, like he did over most people.
Finally I stood and introduced myself.
“Nice to meet you, sir.”
“Please call me Mike.”
Trilling nodded but didn’t say anything else.
I said, “We’ll be working together.”
“Yes, so I’ve been told.”
“I’m looking forward to it. I could use a perspective on long-range rifle shots.” I took a moment to study the young man as we all stood there. I guess I’d expected him to say something in response, but he just stood there quietly.
Walter suggested I introduce the new guy to the lieutenant and the other detectives on the squad. It didn’t take long to walk him around the office. I noticed he had extremely good manners and didn’t say much. He used “sir” and “ma’am” a lot but generally waited for people to ask him questions before he said anything.
When all the introductions were done, I led Rob Trilling to our conference room. I shut the door so we would have some privacy. I brought over a folder with reports giving a broad outline of all three cases and what had been determined so far about where the shots had originated.
I tried to put Trilling at ease and said, “Can I get you some coffee?”
“No thank you, sir.”
“Call me Mike.”
Trilling just nodded again. He wasn’t at attention, but it was close. There are a lot of former military members who continue their public service as officers with the NYPD, but it’s usually not this easy to spot them. They typically slip into a more relaxed, civilian mode. This guy seemed like he was still a Ranger.
“Why don’t you tell me about yourself?”
“Not much to tell. I was in the Army and now I’m with the NYPD. That sums things up pretty well.”
“Are you from this area originally? I can’t place your accent.”
“I’m from just outside Bozeman, Montana.”
“How on earth did you end up in New York City?”
The young man just shrugged and didn’t say anything.
I stood there in awkward silence with this twenty-four-year-old former Army Ranger. After almost a minute of dead air, I had to say something.
I said, “Look, I moved us in here so we could have some privacy. I’m getting the sense that you don’t like the idea of working on this case with me. Talk to me, cop to cop. Nothing either of us says will leave this room. What’s going on?”
It took almost a full ten seconds before Trilling looked me in the eye and said, “It feels like I’ve been assigned here so you can keep an eye on me. I don’t need a babysitter.”
“No one said you did.”
“That’s the problem with the NYPD. No one saysanything. They move you around or send you someplace new, but no one ever explains why they do it.”
“I’m not sure I follow.”
“The military lets you do your job. If you screw up, they tell you. Here, it seems like they dance around issues, and it doesn’t help with accomplishing the mission.”