“Crockett,” he said. “I’m sure I saw him go into the terminal.” He yanked the napkin from his collar and slid out of the booth in a hurry. I fumbled in my pocket, found a twenty and dropped it on the table. I slid out of the booth and hurried after Danny.
When I caught up with Danny, he was dodging his way through midtown traffic, heading for the front entrance of the bus terminal. I maneuvered my way between cars and trucks, trying not to get crushed to keep up with him. I wasn’t as young as Danny, but my arms and legs were still adequately agile, due to my days of running track at college.
When we finally made our way into the terminal front lobby, Danny looked hard in every direction.
“Are you sure it was him?” I said.
“It was him,” Danny said. Then he pointed across the lobby at the escalators, on the lower level. “There he goes,” he said.
Danny had been right, Crockett had seen us and was on the escalator, taking two steps at a time, trying to getaway. Danny started after him, I started after Danny.
From the top of the escalator, we saw Crockett jump off the steps at the bottom and disappear. When we reached the bottom, we looked around but didn’t see Crockett.
“Come on,” Danny said.
We made a left at the bottom of the escalators and hurried through a wall of open glass doors. I followed Danny’s lead, trusting his instinct. There were people everywhere, and it was difficult to maneuver around them and still keep up a good pace.
We stopped at a second set of escalators, which lead to an upper and lower level. Crockett might have continued on this level or jumped the escalators to go up or down. We had three choices.
“Whattaya think?” Danny said.
“I’m for up,” I said. “I think he’d try to double back.”
We stepped on the escalator and rode it to the top.
An endless string of retail stores populated both sides of the promenade. Crockett could have ducked into any one of them and vanished. It was like searching for the proverbial “needle in a haystack”.
“Let’s split up,” I said. “You take that side. I’ll work this one. Keep in sight of each other in case we spot him. Keep surveying the crowd and glancing into the stores. It’s all we can do.”
Danny zigzagged his way through the crowd to the other side of the promenade. There had to be a million places Crockett could’ve used to secure his escape: retail outlets, public washrooms, utility closets and a forest of cylindrical supporting pillars that reached from floor to ceiling that he could’ve easily hid behind and kept in motion while making good his escape, and of course, escalators, and more escalators.
I walked along the storefronts, keeping close to their facades, concentrating on the crowd and looking into the stores as I went. It wasn’t long before my eyes began to ache, and the crowd began to blend into one endless mosaic of colors and shapes. I was sure my chances of spotting Crockett were slim to none. I was relying more on Danny at this point.
I searched through the crowd and found Danny standing in front of a newsstand. He was waving his arms at me and pointing to a set of escalators that lead to an upper level. Danny jumped on the escalator and rode it up. When I came up behind him, he said, “He’s up ahead I saw him go up.”
From the bottom of the escalator, we spotted Crockett at the same time he spotted us.
Crockett started running.
Danny started running.
I started running.
Crockett wasn’t far ahead now. I was sure we were gaining on him. He made a left into a smaller promenade. There were fewer people here, which made it easier for Crockett to put on some speed. Danny was holding his own, although it wasn’t easy running in a three-piece suit and dress shoes. I used a breathing technique I had learned during my track running days, which allowed me to keep up with Danny.
Crockett made another left and then vaulted over a low metal fence that partitioned an area that led to a new set of escalators. Danny negotiated the fence without breaking stride. I paused and climbed over it one leg at a time.
We weren’t far behind Crockett now, and I was sure we would have him at any moment. That’s when I saw the custodian rolling a pail of dirty water across the floor in front of us.
Danny didn’t.
Danny’s foot caught the pail.
The pail spilled over.
Danny fell.
I fell on top of Danny.
The custodian fell on top of both of us.
We had a “hell of a time” trying to untangle ourselves from each other, slipping and sliding in the murky water. When Danny and I finally got to our feet, we helped the custodian up; then, we turned and continued our run without offering an apology, leaving the man in shock and disbelief.
We sprinted a short distance, hindered by slippery shoes on a wet tile floor until we stopped at a large pillar. We scanned the area for Crockett. He was nowhere to be found. We stood by a glass railing at the escalators feeling exhausted and defeated, until Danny said, “There he goes.”
He pointed to the lower level. When I looked over the rail, I saw Crockett scurrying through the crowd. Danny and I watched helplessly as Crockett hurried out a door onto 8th avenue and vanished. We were both breathing hard, tired, wet, and mad as hell.
“That’s the second time I chased that guy, and he got away,” I said.
Chapter 26
The following morning, I was at my desk when my phone rang. Caller ID told me it was Lieutenant Sean McCaffery. I wasn’t eager to take his call.
McCaffery and I had worked the streets together for several years before he made rank and was transferred to the 32nd. At the time, he considered the advancement proceeding as a personal rivalry between him and me. I had never been a part of that mindset. The proceedings were as fair as they had always been and based strictly on merit. When he made rank, I congratulated him with a handshake. Although he was transferred uptown, he continued to hold on to an unwarranted dislike for me. I had nothing personal against McCaffery, other than the baseless animosity he exhibited toward me whenever I was in his presence. In my opinion, he was a mediocre cop at best, with a propensity for displaying an abundance of arrogance. At times, he could be the epitome of professional ineptitude. Although he was a pretty good street cop when we’d worked together, I think the responsibilities of rank were, quite often, beyond his abilities. Making the wrong choices in this job could get someone killed. There had been no love lost between us over the years, and I’d tolerated him only for the sake of professional courtesy.
When I picked up the phone, he said, “McCaffery here.”
I said, “Good morning, Lieutenant.”
“Graham,” he said. “I’ve got your man.”
“Which man?” I said.
“Your APB, Crockett.”
“In lockup?” I said.
“He’s held up in a warehouse surrounded by my men. You better get your ass over here if you want him.”
McCaffery wouldn’t think twice about taking the credit for arresting Crockett and sealing up a case I’d worked hard and long on. I wasn’t about to let that happen. I wrote down the address he gave me and hung up without thanking him.
I called Danny on the road and told him to pick me up at headquarters. I explained to him about McCaffery’s call and what was going down while we headed uptown.
The address McCaffery had given me was in the midst of a neighborhood of row houses located in East Harlem. Several blocks had been cordoned off in every direction with patrol units and yellow tape. I parked by a hydrant, and Danny and I got out. The tableau was one of organized confusion. At the center of it all was a metal warehouse. Its I consisted of a large overhead door and a small entrance door to the right of it. Several spotlights flooded the front of the structure. Officers with their guns at the ready were crouched behind their cars, respectively. Red and blue strobe light flashed everywhere. There was an ambulance and a SWAT armored vehicle parked in the middle of the street.
&nb
sp; I spotted McCaffery standing with his hands on his hips talking to several officers beside an unmarked unit. He was in full uniform with the brim of his hat pushed back on his head, revealing his wiry red hair and freckled face. He hadn’t changed much since I’d last seen him, other than he looked like he had gained a few pounds, but I was sure his attitude toward me hadn’t changed. When Danny and I walked up to him, he continued his conversation with his officers without acknowledging our presence. When he was through, he turned to us. I took it as a deliberate move of disrespect just to agitate me.
“Graham,” he said.
“Lieutenant,” I said and made a gesture toward Danny. “My partner, Detective, Nolan.”
McCaffery offered a short nod.
“What’s the status?” I said.
“Patrols spotted your man coming out of a liquor store down the block. When they approached him, he pulled out a gun and ran. They chased him into that empty warehouse.”
“What makes you think, he’s my man?” I said.
“Fits your APB description, and he didn’t run for nothing.”
Two quick shots rang out from inside the warehouse. Everybody ducked. There was a small window in the entrance door and the shooter had broken the glass and was randomly firing shots at the police.
“My orders are to hold fire,” McCaffery said. “We’ve been trying to talk to this guy, but he only answers with gunfire. I ordered an evacuation of the residences on this block and the one behind it. I’m getting to the point where I’ll have to employ my SWAT team.”
I was thinking, if this was Crockett, he must have lost his mind completely, or had killed Father Conlon and was desperate for escape, if he were willing to shoot at and possibly kill police officers.
One of McCaffery’s men was standing behind a unit closer to the warehouse. He was wearing a helmet and a vest and held a megaphone in his hand. Periodically he would raise it to his mouth and, ostensibly, use his negotiating skills to reason with whoever was inside the warehouse doing the shooting, hoping to persuade him to come out with his hands up. Each time he completed his carefully rehearsed soliloquy, his words were answered by a burst of gunfire, which sent him and the rest of us crouching for cover.
“See what I mean. Every time we try to talk to this guy, he shoots back,” McCaffery said. “You got any ideas, Graham? Maybe your boy will listen to you.”
“I don’t know, yet that it is ‘my boy’,” I said.
“Hey, Graham,” McCaffery said. “I gave you a courtesy call.”
McCaffery was asking for my help but didn’t want to use the words.
I looked at Danny. “Your call,” he said.
I took a moment to contemplate my next move. Danny knew what it would be, so did McCaffery, he said. “You want a vest?”
I had no special negotiating skills, but figured I couldn’t do any worse than the professional negotiator had done. Besides, if that was Crockett inside the warehouse, he just might deal with me.
I took off my jacket and handed it to Danny. McCaffery removed a vest from the trunk of his vehicle and tossed it to me. “Watch your ass,” he said. “I don’t wanna get blamed because you were dumb enough to catch a bullet. I got enough paperwork.”
McCaffery was true to his game, concerned more for himself than the wellbeing of his fellow officers.
I put on the vest. I crouched low behind several units and made my way to the officer with the megaphone. He handed me the megaphone and moved away, a bit too quickly I thought, leaving me alone behind a single unit.
It had been quiet inside the warehouse since the last round of shots. The small window was dark and I could see no movement behind it. The time seemed right. I raised the megaphone and said, “Inside the building. It’s Detective, Graham. Be smart and give it up. We’ll talk.”
My attempt at reasoning was answered by a succession of gunshots. I hit the ground and waited for the barrage to end. In the ensuing silence, I got to my feet cautiously and brought the megaphone up again. “Don’t get yourself in any deeper,” I said. “We can work ─”
Shots rang out a second time, one pinged off the fender of the patrol car in front of me. I dropped and covered my head.
My negotiating skills had been proved fruitless. That last shot was too close for comfort. I left the megaphone on the ground and hurried back to Danny and McCaffery.
McCaffery said, “Son of a bitch is crazy. I’m sending in the team.”
“Sure you wanna do that?” I said.
“He’s giving me no choice.”
I handed the vest back to McCaffery and put on my jacket. As Danny and I walked back to our unmarked unit, he said, “If it was me, I’d sweat the guy out before rushing in.”
Although I agreed with Danny, I didn’t offer a response.
We sat in the unmarked and watched the proceedings. Danny said,” If that’s Crockett, he’s gone wacko.”
“We’ll find out quick enough, who it is,” I said as I saw McCaffery give the signal for the SWAT team to move in.
The six-man team, wearing heavy armor and carrying state-of-the-art assault weapons, stepped into formation and moved silently toward the front door of the warehouse. Danny and I watched as they split formation. One of them covered the side windows while another moved to the rear of the building. The four remaining team members stood at the ready by the front door. When the signal was given, the lead member, carrying a battering ram, swung it against the front door, once, then twice. On the second swing, the door shattered with the sound of splintering wood and crunching metal. The team rushed into the darkness. There was rapid gunfire, then a short pause, and a second round of fire, and then silence.
“Lot of firepower,” Danny said.
We got out of our vehicle and walked over to McCaffery.
An officer came to the front door and gave an all-clear to McCaffery. Several uniformed police entered the warehouse to secure the scene. At the same time, an EMT vehicle pulled up to the front door. Two medical techs climbed out, slid a gurney out of the rear door and rolled it inside.
“Sometimes it doesn’t end well,” McCaffery said.
“Depends how it’s played,” Danny said.
McCaffery gave Danny a disapproving look.
We walked to the ambulance and waited until the EMT’s brought the perp out on the gurney. He was in a black vinyl body bag. McCaffery put one hand up, indicating for them to stop. He asked them to unzip the bag. When they did, I looked at the deceased, so did Danny. McCaffery didn’t bother; his lack of self-awareness and his high degree of arrogance precluded the idea that he could ever make a mistake.
“Guess you can wrap your case up, Graham,” McCaffery said. “You can thank me later.”
I looked at McCaffery and said, “Thank you for nothing. That’s not Crockett.”
McCaffery looked like he was about to become apoplectic. His face almost turned the color of his hair. He looked at Danny for confirmation of what I had said. Danny shook his head.
“You sure?” he said. “The guy fits your description.”
“A lot of people could’ve fit that description,” I said. “I’m surprised at you, Lieutenant.”
McCaffery’s sergeant walked up to us and handed Mc Caffery the dead man’s wallet.
“No ID,” the sergeant said. “When they print him, we’ll find out who this guy is.”
I saw an opportunity to make McCaffery sweat a little.
“A rush to judgment,” I said. “You might’ve shot the wrong guy.”
McCaffery tried to conceal the uncertainty in his face.
“Well, he ran from us, didn’t he? He must be wanted for something.”
“Hard to justify one guy being shot to death by a six-man SWAT team. He might’ve had a pile of parking tickets he didn’t want to pay.”
“He had a gun and fired at my men.”
I shrugged my shoulders and said, “It’s your show.”
McCaffery examined the dead man’s wallet, hoping to fi
nd something to justify his actions, then said, “Well... anyway, I got this one off the street.”
“You’re my hero,” I said.
“Looks like your boy is still your problem,” McCaffery said with a snide expression.
“Yeah,” I said. “But the dead guy in the bag is your problem.”
Danny and I turned and left.
McCaffery was still the asshole I’d known him to be.
Chapter 27
I had the testimony I needed to corroborate Monsignor Belducci’s disclosure about Father Conlon and Father Faynor. What Margaret Faynor had revealed to me erased all doubt in my mind. This presented a new path, a new picture, but at least I had a direction. The new question was: Why were two men murdered, both of whom just happen to be priests and homosexuals? What was the connection?
My desk phone rang. It was Eileen Conlon.
“Detective, Graham,” she said, “David Crockett has been to see me.”
“Where and when?” I said.
“Not more than an hour ago,” she said. “He forced his way into my home. He had a gun.”
“Did he hurt you?”
“No. He threatened me if I didn’t help him. He made me give him the keys to my car and then took it without my permission. He also took whatever money I had in my purse.”
“Where is Troy?”
“I don’t know. He’s wasn’t home when David showed up. I’m glad he wasn’t here. He might have had an encounter with David and gotten himself or David hurt trying to defend me.”
“Lock your doors and stay put,” I said. “I’ll send a patrol car to sit in front of your house. You’ll be okay. I don’t think he’ll be back. Don’t open the door for anyone but Troy. And wait there until I get there. Give me the make and model of your car and the license plate number.
“It’s a white Lexus SUV,” she said. “I can’t recall the plate number. I’ll have to look it up. Hold on.”
I waited until she came back with the tag number. I jotted it down, then ended the call.
I put the vehicle information on the air immediately. If Crockett were trying to get away in Eileen Conlon’s car, there would be a good chance patrols would spot it quickly in the metro area traffic.
Other Men's Sins Page 18
