Page 85 of Crosshairs
CHAPTER 108
INTERVIEWING AND ARRESTING Darnell Nash, and everything that went with it, took us into the evening. When I got home, Mary Catherine and the kids had already huddled around the TV. They looked like a group of fans watching a sporting event, but they were actually watching a live NYPD news conference about the sniper investigation.
No one even glanced away from the TV when I stepped into the apartment. Contrary to the scoldings I’d gotten as a kid—that I would ruin my eyes by sitting too close to a TV—my grandfather was positioned about three feet from the screen. The kids were grouped around him in rows, with Mary Catherine at the center of the back row. Naturally she got to sit in the recliner with everyone else either leaning on it or sitting on the floor.
I made my way across the living room, then slipped throughthe kitchen to come into the living room behind the crowd. I eased up to the rear of the group without anyone noticing me.
On the screen, the NYPD public information officer provided background on the case from a podium in front of a US flag, a New York City flag, and a blue, green, and white NYPD flag. Behind the PIO was the usual NYPD brass. I saw a few faces who’d actually been involved in the case. Inspector Lisa Udell again looked impressive, standing next to the police commissioner. A little farther back, I noticed Harry Grissom wearing a fairly sharp suit and looking less grizzled than usual.
Ricky, sitting next to my grandfather, said, “Where’s Dad? It was his case. Why isn’t he at the news conference?”
That’s when I said in a good, clear voice, “Because I’d rather be here with you guys.” It was true. Harry had asked me if I felt up to attending the news conference. I had politely declined, citing the fact that I had been in a gun battle today.
The kids sprang off the floor and swarmed me like piranha around a bloody cow leg. Or whatever happens down in the Amazon. Mary Catherine was particularly agile, coming out of the chair and spinning around to hug me. I wondered if there was any event in life that would ever equal the feeling I have when my whole family embraces me.
I waved off questions about why I was home so we could watch the end of the news conference. Most everyone went back to their original places in front of the TV. Except for my grandfather, Seamus. He stood next to me and wrapped a bony arm around my shoulders and gave me a squeeze. He said in a low voice, “This city needs to thank God it has someone like you around.”
A murmur of excitement rippled through the kids as Harry Grissom stepped to the microphone and gave a quick recap of theactual arrest. He left out a lot of detail, which I was glad to avoid discussing with my family. Most cops never want to let their kids know the kind of danger they face every day.
Harry opened up questions from the media. There looked to be about twenty reporters and seven or eight cameramen all wedged into an area in front of the podium. I smiled when the first person Harry called on turned out to be none other than Lois Frang of theBrooklyn Democrat. Suddenly I realized why Harry looked so dapper and cleaned up. He had a new girlfriend. I’m sure he’d never use that phrase or even admit it, but it was clear the way he was gazing at Lois from the podium that she was more than just a reporter for a little-known newspaper in Brooklyn.
Lois asked, “This seems like quite a complex case. Did any one tip or piece of info break the case open?”
Harry straightened at the podium and leaned toward the microphone. “We found multiple pieces of evidence that allowed us to assemble information leading to the arrest of Darnell Nash. I’d like to acknowledge not only NYPD personnel but also FBI personnel, who helped us narrow the focus of our investigation.”
That was the most politically correct statement I had ever heard Harry Grissom make. But it was true. The damn FBI had saved my bacon today. And I wouldn’t be forgetting it anytime soon.
CHAPTER 109
AFTER THE NEWS conference, we all settled down to a modest feast of sloppy joes and a Greek salad. I could tell by the awkward pairing of cuisines that our resident chef, Ricky, had not prepared the meal. He was a little bit of a nut when it came to the dining experience. He always insisted that every side dish complement the main dish. But when you regularly feed thirteen hungry people for dinner on an NYPD detective’s salary, cheap meals like sloppy joes are essential.
Brian hurried into the kitchen. A few seconds later he walked out holding up a bottle of champagne. Not the ritziest and not the nastiest of champagnes. He had a broad grin on his face as he said, “Dad solving this case means we can finally pop the cork.”
It was Korbel, and it sounded like a fine idea to me, so I gave him a little nod.
Brian was prepared, with a dishrag around the collar of thebottle. He pointed the bottle at an angle and worked the cork slowly. It still made the good popping sound. Brian managed to catch the cork in his hand and avoid spilling any of the champagne.
My grandfather stood up and took plastic champagne flutes from a bag sitting on the dining room table. That’s when I knew the entire incident had been preplanned. The place got boisterous fast. The kids all politicked for some champagne. We settled on letting anyone over the age of twelve have a sip and anyone over sixteen a small glass.
I held two plastic glasses, each filled halfway. I turned to Mary Catherine and offered her one, but she held up her hand. I knew it had to do with her fertility treatment. So I gave it to my grandfather, who gladly threw it down with gusto.
Now I could focus on my sloppy joe dinner. I couldn’t believe how much better I felt listening to the chatter around the table. It made me wonder what it’d be like to be around the house full-time. Retirement was just around the corner if I wanted it to be.
It didn’t help that Seamus sat next to me. About midway through dinner he said, “You doing okay, boyo?”
“I am now.”
“We haven’t seen much of you lately.”
“It was a big case.”
“Technically, every homicide is a big case. Don’t try and tell me that a family in the Bronx is any less grief-stricken than a family in Tribeca when a family member is murdered.”
“You know I don’t feel anything like that. I don’t think I’d even talk to someone who thought that was true. This investigation was complicated. That’s what made it a big case.”
“You’ve got a big family too. They need you more than the police department does.”
I nodded without responding. This was a recurring theme. What I think a lot of people have to deal with in life: finding the right balance.