Unlucky Day

by J. R. McLeay

  Joe stood up and collected the empty cups, then the detectives walked toward the exit.

  “I'd rather kick this guy’s door down. I know he's hiding that rifle somewhere.”

  Hannah opened the door and followed her partner out onto the sidewalk.

  “I think the lieutenant has made it clear he doesn’t want us chasing any more ghosts.”

  Joe and Hannah began making their way toward their patrol car parked three stores down on the side of the street.

  “For now, perhaps,” Joe said, fishing his keys from his pocket.

  As they approached the front of their car and separated to enter their respective sides, they suddenly heard a loud metallic bang. Joe saw the front of the car buckle and an unmistakable hole in the hood.

  The detectives took cover at the side of the car, crouching low behind the rear wheels, with their pistols drawn. Alarmed passersby screamed and ducked into nearby stores.

  “What the hell?” Hannah exclaimed.

  Joe looked at his watch. It was just after twelve.

  “Stay low. He hasn't got a clear shot at us from this angle.”

  Hannah pointed up the street.

  “I heard an echo coming about a block to the west. The Millenium Hotel is at 7th and 44th. You don't think—?”

  “Who else could it be? Call it in. Let's lock down the block.”

  As Hannah retrieved her phone and called into central dispatch, Joe slowly began to stand up.

  “Joe!” Hannah shouted. “Are you crazy? Get back down. What are you doing?”

  Joe shook his head.

  “This guy never misses. Let alone by several feet. If he wanted one of us dead, he could have already picked us off. I think he's sending us some kind of message.”

  Joe walked toward the front of the car then stepped directly into the center of the sidewalk. He spread his arms and looked down the street in the direction of the hotel.

  “Joe—please!” Hannah begged. “You're making yourself an easy target.”

  “That's the point. I'll keep him distracted while you call in the location. We need to keep him stationary long enough for our guys to get to him. This might be our only chance to trap him.”

  “This is Detective Trimble of the 18th Precinct,” Hannah spoke excitedly into her phone. “Shot fired at 58 West 44th Street. Officers pinned. Suspected shooter at Millenium Broadway Hotel. Send backup immediately!”

  Joe looked up toward the top of the hotel on the side of the street nearly a block away. He couldn't see a rifle poking out from a window, but he knew the sniper was watching. He stared blankly in the direction of his adversary and sneered, daring him to shoot again.

  The sidewalk between his feet spat up some loose rock as a second bullet struck the pavement directly in front of him. Joe ducked reflexively but stood his ground. If this was a game of chicken, he was determined not to be the first to blink. He thought he saw a small flare coming about halfway up the side of the hotel just before the second bullet was fired.

  “Han, I think I saw the rifle burst. Tell dispatch the shooter is definitely at the Millenium, roughly twenty stories up, on the south side of the building. I'll try to keep him distracted while our crew locks down the building.”

  “Joe, this is suicide,” Hannah implored. “Don't tempt this guy. He already knows what you look like. You've antagonized him enough. Get back down here and let ESU take care of it.”

  Joe waved his hand behind his back.

  “That's twice he's missed now by several feet. This is just his way of telling us he's watching. He knows we're getting close and he’s trying to demonstrate he's still in control. If he wanted me dead, I would be.”

  Joe stared in the direction of the rifle flare.

  “I think maybe you're right, Han. This is personal.”

  He stood still as a statue for several seconds. There were no more shots fired. The sidewalk in the surrounding area remained quiet and deserted. Joe knew the sniper was attempting his getaway.

  That's right, run, you little bastard. We'll get you—if not now, soon enough. We always do.

  A cacophony of sirens filled the block as scores of flashing police cars surrounded the hotel. Joe motioned to Hannah, and the two detectives jumped in their car to join their colleagues. If anyone knew what they were looking for, they did. Joe didn't want Weir slipping through his grasp once more.

  27

  NBC Studio 1A, Rockefeller Plaza

  July 12, 6:45 a.m.

  Detective Bannon and Commissioner Pope sat on high stools next to television host Doug Morrison preparing for their interview on the Today Show. Joe had been prepped by the commissioner and the show's host regarding how the interview would proceed and the type of questions to expect. This was Joe's first major media appearance, and he was definitely not comfortable with the idea of speaking in front of millions of viewers.

  An early morning phone call from the mayor hadn't helped ease his feeling of unrest. The mayor thought it would be a good idea to introduce the lead detective on the sniper case to put a more relatable face on his media outreach. Joe knew more about the details of the case than the commissioner, and the mayor felt he would be able to provide more actionable intel to enlist public support in catching the sniper.

  Joe wanted to mention Todd Weir as the primary suspect, but the mayor and the commissioner were adamant that it was legally untenable. There wasn't enough evidence to arrest Weir or even declare him as a person of interest. They simply wanted Joe to share the relevant facts of the case and demonstrate confidence that the force would catch the killer soon.

  Joe shifted uncomfortably on his stool, fidgeting with his hands and feet, unsure where to rest them.

  Morrison noticed Joe’s unease.

  “Place your feet on the footrests at the base of the stool and clasp your hands in your lap. Relax—we're just going to ask you some questions about the latest developments in the sniper case and how the public can support your efforts. That's your area of expertise, right?”

  Joe nodded and swallowed hard as the stage director began counting down the five seconds to live feed with pumping hand gestures.

  “Good morning,” Morrison announced, looking at the main camera as the red light flashed on.

  “New York City remains under siege today by an unknown assailant, with three more assassinations of innocent civilians in as many days. The latest victims include a ferry passenger, a letter carrier, and a schoolboy. The unidentified sniper is continuing to pick off unarmed citizens seemingly at will.

  “We are joined today by Police Commissioner Pope and the lead detective in the sniper case, Joe Bannon, who hopefully can shed some new light on what progress is being made to capture this vicious killer. But first, we're going to check in with our street correspondent, Elizabeth Porter, who’s standing by with impressions from average New Yorkers.”

  The camera cut to a young woman standing on a quiet street corner holding a microphone. A middle-aged man was standing next to her, his eyes nervously darting up and to his sides.

  “Liz,” Morrison addressed the correspondent, “it appears the streets of New York are nearly deserted as we approach rush hour. Where are you standing right now?”

  “I'm at the corner of Wall and Broad Street in the heart of the financial district,” the correspondent nodded. “Normally, at this hour the streets are bustling with pedestrians on their way to work, beginning their morning routine. The streets have gotten progressively quieter since the rooftop sniper began his rampage seven days ago.”

  The correspondent motioned to the man standing beside her.

  “Now, only a few hardy souls like this gentleman standing beside me seem willing to venture outdoors in broad daylight,” she said.

  “What's the prevailing sentiment concerning the sniper situation?” Morrison asked.

  The correspondent turned to address the man beside her and pointed the microphone toward his mouth.

  “Sir, can you tell us how safe y
ou feel traveling about the streets of New York?”

  The man frowned and shook his head.

  “It feels like a battlefield out here. You never know where the next shot is going to come from. I feel like I'm taking my life into my hands whenever I step outside.”

  The correspondent nodded.

  “What brings you out this morning? Is this part of your normal routine?”

  “Unfortunately, I still have a job to do. I'm a floor trader on the New York Stock Exchange and it requires me to be physically present five days a week.”

  “Are you taking any extra precautions traveling to and from work?”

  “I'm walking a lot faster, that’s for sure,” the man said. “My route to work takes me mostly underground via the subway. But I still have five blocks of no-man’s-land to pass through from the subway station to my office building every day.”

  “What about during the lunch hour? Do you ever go outside to grab a meal?”

  “No way. Everyone I talk to is scared to be outside any more than they have to. Most non-essential personnel are working from home or calling in sick. The few who still come to work pack a lunch, so they spend the minimum amount of time outside.”

  The correspondent turned back to the camera, and the man quickly disappeared from her side.

  “There you have it, Doug. It looks like this sniper has got a lot of New Yorkers running scared. Whatever his agenda, he's made this city feel like a war zone. New York, known for its vibrant street life, has become a near ghost town.”

  The camera cut back to Morrison, who turned to Commissioner Pope.

  “Commissioner, when you were last here you said it was only a matter of time before you apprehended this killer. Are you any closer to capturing the sniper?”

  Pope paused for a few seconds.

  “Since we last spoke, our investigative team has captured new video footage of his movements and fleshed out his profile. We have a clearer picture of who we're looking for and where we might find him. We're closing the net and narrowing the list of suspects. We'll catch him soon.”

  Morrison looked at the commissioner skeptically.

  “What new insights about his profile have you uncovered? What kind of monster indiscriminately kills pregnant women and young children?”

  Pope had anticipated the interview questions would be tougher this time. It was time to turn the spotlight over to Joe.

  “I think it's best if the detective leading the investigation answers that question. He can share more details of the case and paint a clearer picture of who we're looking for.”

  Commissioner Pope looked at Joe and nodded. Joe stared blankly at the host.

  “Detective Bannon,” Morrison said, inviting Joe to speak. “Thank you for joining us today. This case certainly appears to have confounded your investigative team so far. You must have collected plenty of evidence after eight straight days of killings. Why is it proving so difficult to catch a killer who strikes so predictably every day?”

  Joe could feel his pulse pounding in his head and the hair standing up on the back of his neck. Far from asking straightforward questions, the host was directly challenging his competence. Part of him wanted to blurt out everything he knew about the sniper. But in the back of his head, he could hear the mayor and his lieutenant's admonitions about revealing unsubstantiated information.

  At least he could start by setting the record straight.

  “Technically, it's been seven days. Yesterday was the first day in a week without a killing.”

  Morrison wasn't ready to stop stirring the pot. A fallible protagonist made for a more interesting story.

  “But there was another sniper shooting yesterday, correct? Eyewitnesses saw what appeared to be sniper fire in the vicinity of 6th Avenue and 44th Street. One of our viewers submitted video footage that suggests you were the intended target.”

  Joe’s eyes narrowed and he stared at Morrison icily. He was no longer surprised by how mobile technology had increased the transparency of the police department's business. He took a deep breath and chose his words carefully.

  “It's unclear exactly who or what the shooter was targeting yesterday. No one was struck or harmed.”

  “Has your ballistics department confirmed the bullets were fired from the same rifle as with the previous killings?”

  “Yes—”

  “The footage shows you provoking the shooter...”

  Morrison turned to a monitor by his side, where a shaky video replayed the confrontation outside Gregory's Coffee Shop from the day before. Joe was seen standing his ground while the sniper took potshots around him.

  “Can you explain why the sniper appears to be targeting you and why you chose to respond as you did?” Morrison asked.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Joe could see the commissioner shift uncomfortably in his seat.

  “I can only surmise that the shooter knew my partner and I were covering the case and that he was sending me a warning.”

  “What kind of warning? Will this force you or the department to change tactics?”

  Commissioner Pope suddenly turned toward Morrison.

  “The NYPD will never be cowed by acts of violence or threats directed toward its personnel,” he said. “Every officer puts him or herself in the line of fire every day knowing this risk is part of the job. We will defend the safety and security of our citizens to our dying breath.”

  Morrison paused, recognizing the NYPD's courage in the line of duty was an unimpeachable subject after 9/11.

  “This seems to be an extraordinarily calculated risk, though. Why would any officer intentionally put himself in the line of fire?”

  The commissioner looked at Joe and cocked his head as if to say 'fair question.'

  Joe hesitated for a moment before responding.

  “The first shot struck many feet to my side. Based on the accuracy of the sniper's previous attacks, I determined that he did not mean to harm me.”

  “That takes a lot of—gumption—if I do say, Detective.”

  Joe was rapidly gaining confidence in front of the cameras.

  “As you said Doug, it was a calculated risk. I felt if I could hold the shooter in place long enough by distracting him, that we might have a better chance at triangulating his position. Then we’d be in a stronger position to capture him.”

  Morrison pursed his lips, impressed by the detective's courage under fire.

  “Did it work?” he asked. “Did you apprehend the shooter?”

  Joe hesitated, hating to admit another failure catching one of the most feared serial killers since Jack the Ripper.

  “No. He slipped away once again. We weren't able to get to him in time.”

  Morrison looked briefly toward Commissioner Pope then changed his mind and turned back toward Joe. The detective had an impressive command of the facts, and the host recognized when a good story was unfolding.

  “I understand you have new video coverage of the shooter. Don't you know what he looks like? How does a known perpetrator repeatedly escape police custody from a pinpointed location carrying a large rifle?”

  “This shooter is crafty,” Joe continued. “We have reason to believe that in at least one instance, he may have fired the rifle remotely. If anyone sees a suspicious person or any unattended weapon, please notify the department immediately.”

  Morrison leaned forward in his chair, focusing all of his attention on Joe, ignoring the commissioner.

  “What else should the public be looking for, Detective Bannon? You mentioned earlier that the department's made progress fleshing out the sniper's profile.”

  Joe parsed his words, remembering Lieutenant O'Neill's warning about not yet pointing to any one suspect.

  “Our profile suggests the sniper may have been abandoned by his natural mother at an early age. He very likely moved between foster homes before eventually being adopted. We can't match his profile to anyone with a military record, so there's a good chance he developed his shoo
ting acumen as a hunter. We also believe that the beards he's worn in the surveillance footage may be disguising some kind of facial deformity.”

  Morrison nodded, impressed with the new disclosures.

  “That's a fair amount of new detail from the profile provided previously. May we share the video footage you've brought of his latest movements?”

  “Absolutely.”

  The feed cut to blurry images of the sniper entering and exiting the Battery Park Ritz-Carlton and the public housing complex opposite PS 132 in the Bronx.

  “These videos aren't much clearer than the last footage,” Morrison said. “The shooter seems to be aware of the camera position and keeps his head turned just enough so we don't get a clear shot of his face. Is there anything else you can share with our viewers to help them help you find and apprehend this killer?”

  Joe paused for a moment.

  “This shooter is a deeply disturbed individual. He scurries from one hiding place to another, killing innocent people from a safe distance. He's afraid to reveal himself in public with his facial deformity. He shouldn't be hard to pick out in a crowd. Anyone who sees someone matching his description should notify me or any branch of the police department immediately.”

  Joe glared directly into the camera lens.

  “This man is a coward. Eventually, he will make a mistake, and we will find him. Then he will face justice commensurate with the pain he has inflicted upon others.”

  Ten miles away at his apartment in Flatbush, Todd Weir watched the live broadcast with intense interest. His eyes flashed when he heard Detective Bannon's cutting remarks. As he packed up his belongings, his next target suddenly became clear.

  28

  Lieutenant O’Neill’s office, 18th Precinct

  July 12, 10:00 a.m.