Trilling looked up at the girl again and said, “It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you or anyone else. I just need to check something with this man.”

  The girl nervously nodded. Her right hand trembled.

  He looked back down at the man on the floor. He said in a casual tone, “I need to get a look at your right arm. Slip off your jacket?”

  The man looked up at him and grunted. “I ain’t taking off nothing.”

  Trilling shrugged and said, “Suit yourself.” He reached into the front pocket of his Wrangler jeans and pulled out the Gerber pocketknife he’d carried with him since he was twelve. Including his time in Afghanistan. He flicked the three-inch blade open with his right thumb.

  The suspect’s eyes were wide with terror. He didn’t say anything. A slight mewling sound creeped out of his throat.

  Trilling wasted no time stabbing the knife near the man’s right shoulder. With two quick movements, he severed the sleeve without leaving a scratch on the man’s arm. He yanked the sleeve off and stared at the man’s biceps, partially covered by a T-shirt.

  Trilling jerked the sleeve of the T-shirt all the way up even though he now knew he wasn’t going to see anything. He stared at the man’s arm, which had no tattoo at all. In frustration, he rolled the man to one side and pulled out a wallet from his rear pocket. He checked the man’s ID. Albert Craig from Jersey City. Shit.

  Trilling stepped away from the man on the carpet. His hand came up and touched his cheek under his eye where the man’s jacket had struck him. It was a little tender but nothing serious. Then he turned his attention to the girl, now sitting in the single chair.

  Trilling said, “How old are you?”

  “Twenty-two.”

  Trilling gave her a good look. The way he’d looked at his sister when he’d catch her coming in late and she’d given some lame excuse.

  Without further prompting, the young woman said, “Eighteen.”

  “Is this meeting consensual?”

  The girl said, “What does that mean?”

  “You agreed to meet this man voluntarily?”

  This time she nodded. “Yeah, for two hundred bucks.”

  The man on the carpet said, “You going to tell me what the hell is going on?”

  “Sorry, building security. I’m going to take your gun and you can get it back from the doorman when you leave. You might not want to mention this to anyone since you’re carrying an unlawful firearm within the city limits.”

  The man nodded but didn’t say anything.

  Trilling took the elevator to the lobby. It was still empty as he calmly ambled through, disassembling the pistol in his hands as he walked. He dropped the slide into a garbage can on the sidewalk. He dropped the main body of the pistol down a storm drain and kept walking.

  He’d find another way to locate Lou Pershing. He had the name of a Pershing associate who might even be a decent suspect in their sniper case.

  CHAPTER 27

  I GOT INTO the office early again. As soon as I walked through the door, I realized it still wasn’t quite early enough. The first thing I heard was Walter Jackson’s deep voice and then a chuckle. I knew exactly who was in there talking to him this morning.

  I stepped into Walter’s open doorway and said to him and Rob Trilling, “I hope you two are doing something constructive this early in the morning.”

  Walter said, “You mean in addition to sharing puns and jokes?”

  “I’m sure they’re hysterical.”

  Walter was grinning like a little kid. He looked over at Trilling and said, “Go ahead, tell him yours.”

  “It doesn’t look like he’s in the mood for puns, Walter.”

  Walter didn’t miss a beat. He looked at me and said, “I have a friend who was raised in England. Over there, they call elevators lifts. We, of course, call them elevators. I guess we were just raised differently.”

  I’ll admit it was cute. I’ll also admit it took me a moment to get it. I gave him a pity smile and hoped to move on to business.

  Walter, now looking deflated at my response, said, “Rob gave me a potential suspect’s name and I’ve been seeing what we can come up with. Mostly making connections through public records and rental agreements. I’m waiting for confirmation on a couple of things.”

  I turned to Trilling and paused. There was a tiny cut on his left cheek and his eye was slightly swollen. It almost looked like he had a black eye. I said, “Did you get the shiner at your appointment yesterday?”

  Trilling absently reached up and touched his cheek. He said, “I was trying to hang a bookshelf in my apartment. It came loose and smacked me in the face. Nothing to worry about. I’m fine.”

  He let the whole dig I gave him about his appointment slide.

  I decided to let it go. Instead, I said, “Where’d you get the name?”

  “He’s an associate of a fugitive I was looking for at the FBI. They both are former military and worked for contractors in Afghanistan. The name I have is William Hackford. On some promotional bio he created for their company, Hackford mentioned that he was sniper certified. I’m not sure who certified him or if it’s legit, but I thought it was worth a try.”

  “You’re not just looking for a way to find your FBI fugitive, are you?”

  I’d been teasing, but for a minute I thought Trilling wasn’t going to answer. Then he said, “It wouldn’t be a bad thing if we caught the fugitive, Lou Pershing, too. I thought this guy might be a decent interview for us.”

  That was a good answer. It’s hard to argue with a guy who’s doing things for the right reasons. It made me think of the Army captain he’d introduced me to at West Point. Captain Hawks had told me Trilling stayed on mission no matter what. Not a bad thing.

  Walter started printing out a packet of information for us. He said, “This Hackford guy’s got a decent criminal history. Three assaults and one charge of carrying a concealed weapon. The victims dropped the charges in every case. I know some of the military contractor companies will overlook a criminal history if it gets them a motivated worker.

  “And he’s been ticketed twice in the last month right here in the city. I don’t see a home address or even a contact phone number for him, but looks like his name is on the lease to a warehouse up in the Bronx.” He handed a folder across to Trilling. “Here’s everything I have as well as a Google satellite photo of the warehouse.”

  I felt a surge of excitement at a new lead. It was hard to tell if Trilling was excited or not, but he jumped up from the chair and moved pretty quickly.

  CHAPTER 28

  WE TOOK MY Impala north all the way to the New York Botanical Garden. I didn’t spend a lot of time in Bronx Park near the Rose Hill campus of Fordham University and was surprised how unfamiliar the area looked to me. Trilling kept a sharp eye out and found the string of older warehouses on a short block at the very north end of the Bronx. None of the warehouses was more than three stories tall, and it didn’t look like they were being used much nowadays.

  I took a moment to survey the street as we sat in the car. A good cop should know who might be around. I noticed Trilling doing the same thing—although I got the impression he was looking for bad guys more than he was for innocent bystanders we potentially needed to get out of the way. Either way, there was no one around.

  At Hackford’s warehouse, we nonchalantly took the outside stairway to the main door. It had to open onto the second floor. I tried the door, which was locked. The two windows in the front had been frosted over from the inside. We found an alley that cut behind the warehouses and tried the rear door at the top of a rickety wooden staircase. It was also locked.

  Trilling put his ear to the door and, after thirty seconds, turned to me and said, “I hear noise. There’re people inside.”

  “Think we can use a ruse to convince them to let us inside?”

  “I’ll bet you lunch they won’t even answer the door if we knock.”

  I didn’t give him a chance to back out of the bet. I knocked politely and we waited. Then I pounded on the door with my fist. Still nothing. I turned to Trilling and said, “What d’you think?”

  Trilling said, “I don’t think you’re hitting the door hard enough.”

  I stepped to the side and said, “Be my guest.”

  Trilling didn’t say a word as he stepped in front of the door. Then, in one smooth motion, he lifted his right leg and kicked the door right next to the handle and dead bolt.

  The door flew open, smashing into a wall behind it. Trilling slipped inside before I could say anything. I followed my partner, half expecting to be confronted by an outraged business owner. Instead, there was no one near us. I could hear faint noises coming from another room.

  We carefully walked next to the wall toward where we heard noise. When we came to an open door, we saw a catwalk above a main floor that trucks must use to load whatever was held in the warehouse.

  Before we stepped through the door, Trilling tapped me on the shoulder and pointed to the far corner of the main warehouse room. There were four or five women working near some tables, all wearing what looked like white surgical clothes. Their faces were covered with N95 masks, but dark hair spilled out and down their backs.

  The floor of the warehouse was covered with row after row of heavy, empty shelves. There was a line of cots with blankets on them against the far wall. There was also a refrigerator and microwave by a door. The only activity was in the far corner.

  I ducked back behind the wall and leaned in close to Trilling. “I don’t see William Hackford. I don’t even see any men in that group.”

  “But you see the drug operation, right?”

  “I see what looks like five women processing drugs. But if I got on the stand and said that, without going down to check, a defense attorney would rip me in half. That’s after we were arrested ourselves for B and E after explaining how we entered without authority.”

  Trilling nodded, then said, “They got a lot of room here for not much activity. You think they plan to expand?”

  “I think the whole idea of this warehouse is that they don’t have to worry about noise or anyone paying attention to what’s going on here.”

  Trilling looked over my shoulder. He nudged me to step out onto the walkway. We crept along together, gathering a better view of the operation with every step.

  Then I heard a gunshot.

  CHAPTER 29

  I’D LIKE TO claim it was my police training or my lightning-fast reflexes that saved me from getting shot. The truth is, my new partner, whom I didn’t completely trust yet, grabbed me by the arm and jerked me flat onto the catwalk.

  I was panting as we hit the wooden walkway. Now I was lying on my belly alongside Rob Trilling. The young former Ranger showed no stress or anxiety. He could have been playing a game with his buddies.

  I said, “What the hell? That asshole didn’t even offer a warning. Whatever they’re doing in the corner is a big deal.”

  I could just see the far corner of the warehouse floor. The women who’d been working at the tables were now all cowering in the makeshift kitchen. I couldn’t see the shooter on the floor of the warehouse. At least not without exposing my head.

  I turned back to Trilling as I fumbled for my phone to call for help. Trilling was still as calm as if he were waiting in line. He said, “I’m going to flank him.” He was up and moving before I could tell him to sit still and wait for backup.

  I scooted back from the edge of the catwalk with my phone in hand. I took a couple of breaths to slow down my heartbeat and tried to remember some training that might save my life.

  When the dispatcher picked up, I kept my voice low so as not to attract the shooter. In a harsh whisper, I identified myself by name and ID number. “We are in a warehouse in the Bronx and taking fire from an unknown assailant.” It took me a moment to recall the address and I barked it out in my hushed voice.

  The dispatcher was really sharp, and I heard her already clearing the air to call out, “Officer needs assistance.”

  Then another bullet ripped through the walkway, about three inches from my face. I sprang to my feet but couldn’t see the shooter below me. I knew I had to move. Every footstep felt like a signal of where to aim. I slid to a stop behind some crates piled on the catwalk. I hoped that whatever was in them was enough to stop a bullet.

  At least now I could see the entire floor of the warehouse. I finally caught a glimpse of the shooter as he darted from underneath the catwalk and lost himself in some shelving in the middle of the floor.

  Then I noticed Trilling two rows away from the shooter. He looked up at me and I pointed past him and held up two fingers to tell him where the shooter was. I saw Trilling crouch down, trying to look under the shelves to locate the shooter.

  Then Trilling stood up and put his back to the shelving unit next to him. He started to push. He squatted lower and braced his back against the lowest shelf as he pushed with his legs.

  It took me a moment to realize what he intended. I didn’t think it was a good idea. The wall of shelves he was pushing tipped dangerously away from Trilling. Then the whole thing tumbled into the next wall of shelves, which immediately started knocking the shelves into the next row.

  The noise was unbelievable. It sounded like a freight train had flipped in my living room. I raced to the first ladder coming down from the catwalk to the warehouse floor. I landed and scanned the area in front of me. There was dust in the air as thick as fog.

  As I ran toward the toppled shelves, Trilling stepped out of the rubble, holding a man in an arm bar.

  Trilling casually said, “Can you collect his pistol? It’s about twenty feet down the aisle.”

  CHAPTER 30

  TRILLING AND I turned the prisoner and the pistol over to detectives from the local precinct. The Narcotics guys couldn’t believe they had just made a seizure of sixteen kilograms of heroin right at the edge of the Bronx.

  For as much noise and damage as we’d caused inside the warehouse, it had had no effect whatsoever outside the four walls. No one had heard the gunshots or the deafening sound of the shelves crashing, or had seen anything unusual.

  That was exactly why William Hackford had rented this place. There was no one around to see or hear anything. God knows how much heroin had run through it in the eight months Hackford had leased it.

  I looked over at Trilling, who was trying to comfort the five women who’d been working with the heroin. They were all Pakistani and had been smuggled into the US by associates of Hackford. The women looked amazed that a police officer could be so friendly.

  I’d learned that three of them spoke broken English and two could understand basic phrases. They all seemed to be in their twenties. I noticed they all had pronounced forearms, which I assumed had something to do with the work they had been completing every day for the last eight months.

  Our suspect was already off the premises. When Trilling brought him out of the rubble of the shelves, I handcuffed the man. Then I said, “NYPD, you’re under arrest.” I read him his rights immediately and then told him, “You get extra credit if you cooperate with us right now.”

  The smirk he gave was all I needed. I’d never talk to this asshole again. I didn’t care if he had evidence that would bring down the Gambino crime family. That one look told me he assumed he’d be getting out quickly. That someone was going to come up with a boatload of money to get him out on bond, then out of the country. At least that’s how I took it.

  Some Homeland Security agents showed up for the women. Trilling intercepted them and said, “None of these women are under arrest. They were here under duress.”

  A tall Black agent, about forty, nodded and said, “That’s how I understood it when we got the call.”

  “So you won’t treat them like prisoners?”

  “Technically, they’re not free to go, so they are prisoners.”

  That seemed to get to Trilling. He looked at me and wiped his face with his bare hand.

  Trilling said, “Where will you house them?”

  “What are you, writing a book?” The agent turned to his partner and said, “How long till the van gets here?”

  Trilling looked like he was getting desperate. “Do they get to see a judge?”

  “They sure do. Depends on the roster, but probably not tomorrow—maybe the next morning, first thing, at the annex near the federal building where they hold immigration hearings. The hearings are open to the public.”

  Trilling rushed back to the women and explained what was going on and that everything would be okay.

  Not only did I appreciate that my new partner had saved my life but I also appreciated how he was dealing with these poor women.

  Maybe it was time to show my appreciation for his talents and attitude.

  CHAPTER 31

  IT TOOK SOME effort to convince Rob Trilling to come to my apartment for dinner. I had to assure him several times that it would be no bother for anyone in the family. He still seemed unsure, so I told him to do it as a favor to me. Not that he owed me any favors. In fact, he had just kept me from catching a 9mm slug in the head. If anyone owed favors, it was me.

  We had a brief conversation before reaching the apartment. I told him, “I’ve got sort of a big family. Just to let you know.”

  “Walter said you had a lot of kids.”

  I smiled. “No specific number?”

  “Nope.”

  “Good. Care to make a guess?”

  As always, Rob Trilling looked thoughtful before he answered. Then he said, “Six?”

  “Not a bad guess.” I didn’t commit to anything besides that. I don’t often get the chance, but I love to surprise people with the sheer size of my immediate family.