by J. R. McLeay
Joe rested his arms on the table and leaned forward.
“I'm all ears, Miles. At this point, I'm willing to do just about anything to bring this guy to justice.”
Miles couldn't have known how literally Joe meant what he said.
“Okay. I have this quirky hobby—building and flying drones. The technology has gotten pretty sophisticated over the last couple of years. Their payload capacity has increased quite a bit, and you can maneuver them fairly easily using your smartphone. You said your suspect appeared to bring the rifle into the building then left without it. What if he flew it off the building instead of carrying it out?”
Joe blinked at Miles and paused to process what he said.
“But it would still have to land somewhere, right? Wouldn't it be obvious to just about anyone who saw a strange rifle flying through the air?”
“Not if it took off high enough above the ground and landed in a remote location. The roof of the Ritz-Carlton is forty floors above the street. You confirmed the suspect's location at the time of the shooting in Liberty State Park across the Hudson. A rifle flying five hundred feet above the river might just look like a large bird. If it landed in a park that early in the morning, it could easily go unnoticed.”
Joe paused for a few seconds then he began to nod.
“Okay, let's say there's something to this crazy idea of yours. We'd still need video proof or an eyewitness to place him at the scene. If nobody saw the rifle do its bird trick, there's an equally good chance nobody noticed the sniper retrieve it.”
Miles smiled.
“You've got video of him entering a store in the Liberty State Park area around the time of the ferry shooting, right? Maybe some of the store's customers or their staff saw a strange object landing in the area around the same time. Another CCTV in the vicinity might have captured it on video. The last time you were there, you were only looking to confirm your suspect's alibi. Now you've got something else to look for.”
Joe looked out the tall glass windows of the atrium toward the park. Something still didn't add up.
“So what if somebody can corroborate this story? The sniper obviously got away with the rifle. How do I track it to him?”
“You don't need to. You just need to prove that he was present when and where the gun landed. That should be enough to issue an arrest warrant. Then you can search his known hangouts to locate the weapon. He might have hidden it, but at least you'll have him locked up while you build your case.”
Joe's mind was already racing ahead.
If he could place the sniper at the scene of the murder weapon, he could release his photo and place him at other crime scenes while enlisting the public in locating the murder weapon.
Or he could simply take matters into his own hands. No one would miss the sniper if he just disappeared.
Joe stood up and kicked his chair back.
“Miles, if this pans out, I'll pick up the tab for a more expensive meal of your choosing next time. I hope you don't mind if I skip out on lunch while I follow up on this. Every second matters with this madman on the loose.”
Miles nodded.
“Do your thing, Joe. Nothing would make me happier than to have you put me out of business for a little while. Good luck—check back soon.”
Three hours later, Joe raced out of the 7-11 store near Liberty State Park with a smartphone in his hand. One of the store's customers had heard the drone's engine around the time of the ferry shooting and taken video footage of the strange UFO. It clearly showed a rifle-shaped object landing in a wooded section of the park where Weir was placed on the morning of the ferry shooting.
Maybe Joe wouldn't have to bypass the law after all.
40
7 New York Avenue, East Flatbush, Brooklyn
July 16, 9:00 p.m.
Joe and Hannah stood on opposite sides of Todd Weir's apartment door and listened for any sign of movement. Surrounding them were ten heavily armed Emergency Services cops with assault rifles. With arrest warrant in hand, Joe wasn't taking any chances being blindsided by the cornered sniper. The detectives had monitored the building for the last three hours to watch for any sign of the shooter. Weir's truck wasn't in the underground garage or within a mile radius of the building. They'd hoped to make a clean arrest, but it seemed nothing the sniper did was simple.
With dusk rapidly approaching, it was time to act. Either Weir was quietly holed up in his apartment, or he was hiding out in an unknown location. This time the NYPD would tear the place apart and take everything they found back to the station for forensic testing. If Weir wasn't here, Joe would post a twenty-four-hour guard to catch him when he returned.
Joe crouched to the bottom of the door and snaked a cable cam under the sill. The apartment was pitch black. Everyone’s eyes were glued on the connected monitor, washed in fluorescent green from the infrared sensor on the cam. Joe twisted the cable in his fingers and turned the cam to pan the room. There was no sign of Weir or his dog. He turned the audio sensor to maximum and listened for any sounds.
A door opened two units down, and a noisy couple stepped into the hall. One of them looked in the direction of the ESU team poised outside Weir's door and froze. The ESU team leader held up his hand and placed his finger on his lips then hastily motioned for them to go back inside.
Joe looked up at Hannah and shook his head. He pulled the cam back from under the door and placed it beside him on the floor. Then he motioned to the two ESU cops who were standing in front of the door with a steel battering ram. He held up his index finger and made a knocking motion with his knuckles in the air. The ESU cops nodded and prepared to ram the door.
Joe reached out and rapped three times on the door.
“Mr. Weir!” he called out. “Todd Weir! This is Detective Bannon with the NYPD. We have a warrant for your arrest. Open the door immediately.”
Joe only waited five seconds before he gave the ESU officers his signal. The cops holding the ram swung it back and slammed it against the door with all their strength. Joe and Hannah pulled out their pistols and prepared to follow the ESU team into the unit.
A gigantic explosion suddenly blew out into the hall as the door flew open. The ESU officers in front of the door were thrown against the opposite wall, immediately rendered unconscious from the blast. Joe and Hannah were blown in opposite directions and crumpled to the ground. The last thing Joe remembered before he blacked out was how the sniper had outwitted him again.
As a wailing alarm filled the empty hall, a dozen bloodied officers lay still outside Weir's apartment unit.
41
New York Methodist Hospital, Brooklyn
July 17, 8:00 a.m.
Hannah woke up with an excruciating headache the morning after the Weir apartment raid. Her ears were ringing, and she felt sick to her stomach. She turned her head and saw her husband Ryan sitting in a chair beside her bed. He stood up when he saw she was awake and came to her side.
“Hey, baby,” he said, reaching out to hold her hand. “How are you feeling?”
Hannah grimaced in pain.
“Uh...I've felt better. Where am I? What happened?”
“You're at Methodist Hospital in Brooklyn. There was an explosion at your suspect's apartment last night. Apparently, it was a set-up. Joe's outside with your folks and the kids. He can fill you in on the details.”
“An explosion? That explains why my head is spinning.” Hannah forced a smile. “Am I going to live?”
Ryan chuckled.
“The doctor said it's just a bad concussion. You may need a few days to recover, but it could have been a lot worse. One of your fellow officers was killed.”
Hannah's head snapped toward her husband.
“Is Joe okay?”
“He was knocked unconscious, but the doctors have cleared him. They want you to stay under observation for another day.”
Ryan squeezed Hannah's hand gently.
“Maybe this rest will give you an opportunity
to think about that career change we've been talking about.”
“And miss all this excitement? I'd be bored to death as a prosecutor.”
“At least it would be a slow and predictable one, unlike with this job. You'd still be putting bad guys away. You know how I worry when you strap on that gun and walk out the door every day.”
Hannah looked at her husband and squinted her eyes.
“We'll talk about it later. For now, there's a case I need to close. Can I have a few minutes with Joe before the kids come in? I'd like to get filled in on the incident last night.”
Hannah's husband shook his head.
“I was hoping this shock might knock a little sense into you. But I see you're just as hardheaded as ever. I'll fetch Joe. Just promise me you won't go knocking down any more doors for a while.”
As her husband retreated into the hall, Hannah looked around the room. There was an assortment of flower bouquets arranged on tables on either side of the bed. The sickly aroma made her gag.
God, I hate hospitals, she muttered.
Joe entered the room carrying a bouquet.
“Hey, beautiful. I know you hate these things, but someone left this for you at the desk.”
Hannah motioned for Joe to place it on the bedside table.
“Place it over there with all the other memorials,” she sighed. Her expression suddenly turned serious. “What happened, Joe? The last thing I remember was the battering ram...”
“Me too. That bastard had it all set up. It was a dirty bomb. Fertilizer and gasoline, loaded with nails and ball bearings. He meant to inflict as much physical harm as possible.”
“Ryan said one of our guys didn't make it?”
Joe nodded solemnly.
“Bruno, from the ESU unit. One of the nails penetrated his carotid and he bled out before the medical team arrived.”
“But how—”
Joe read his partner's mind.
“There was a tripwire attached to the door. Forensics found it over the top rail. That’s why the cable cam didn't see it...”
Joe’s eyes trailed off to the bedside window, and Hannah placed her hand on his arm.
“Don't blame yourself for this, Joe. You did everything you could. No one could have predicted—”
“I'm beginning to think we can't predict much of anything with this killer. And now he's disappeared. How the hell are we supposed to stop this guy, Han?”
Hannah sat up in her bed and looked at Joe resolutely.
“They always screw up eventually. Don't worry, Joe. We’ll find him.”
“It's the eventually part that bothers me. We're losing somebody new every day. Now the mayor's putting himself in the line of fire.”
Hannah turned her wrist to look at her watch.
“I almost forgot. That's only four hours from now.” She swung her legs to get out of bed. “I'm not letting you do this alone.”
Joe grabbed her arm and pressed her back onto her pillow.
“Hold up, girl. The doctors say you need a few more days to recover. I'll be fine. No one else knows about this besides us and a few television producers. Besides, you’ve already seen that the sniper's bullets can't touch me.”
Hannah rolled her eyes.
“Okay, Superman. Just make sure our spotters keep an eye on the rooftops. That way at least you'll know when to throw your body in front to the mayor if the shooter shows up.”
Joe smiled and leaned over to kiss Hannah on the forehead.
“Don't worry, partner. I'll come back later today with an update. In the meantime, feel free to watch the live address on the local news. Thankfully, the mayor will be the talking head this time.”
“Just make sure he keeps his head—and yours—will you?”
“Not to worry,” Joe said. “Catch you later.”
As Joe left the room, Hannah reached over to read the cards from her well-wishers. Two minutes later, her children bounded into the room to greet their mother and she suddenly felt the need to throw up.
42
Union Square
July 17, 11:30 a.m.
Joe paced nervously over the plaza of Union Square looking for anything unusual. Lieutenant O'Neill had appointed him the point person in charge of coordinating final security arrangements for the mayor's public address. With only thirty minutes until the speech was scheduled to begin, the detective was feeling increasing concern about the exposure of the site.
The mayor's speaking platform was installed in front of the George Washington statue in the south section of the park. In front of the platform was two hundred feet of open courtyard with an unobstructed view from three sides. All around the plaza rose high-rise buildings from which anybody carrying so much as a peashooter could rain down fire.
Joe looked up at the tall buildings on each side of the Square. He knew police spotters and sharpshooters were in position, scanning the rooftops of every structure that had a clear sightline to the platform. He pulled out his two-way radio and pressed the talk button.
“Spotter-south—report,” he said.
“All clear,” his radio returned.
“Spotter-east?”
“All clear on the east side.”
“West?”
“Just a couple of nude sunbathers soaking up some rays in their rooftop garden.”
Joe was in no mood for playful banter.
“What about the windows?” he said.
“We've scanned the open ones. We'll be on the lookout for any new openings in the next half hour.”
Joe nodded, satisfied that the obvious sniper nests had been checked. But he still wanted to take every precaution.
“Powder residue from earlier shootings indicates that the barrel doesn’t necessarily protrude from the face of the building. Be sure to search inside open windows also.”
“Copy that,” the east side acknowledged.
“Will do, Joe,” said the west side.
“Ten-four,” reported the south spotter.
Joe placed the radio in his pocket and began walking the perimeter of the one-square-block park. Barricades had been erected on the sidewalk lining the Square and patrol cops stood in ten-foot intervals to prevent anyone entering the grounds.
Not that they were needed, Joe thought, looking around the Square.
There was a scattering of young people scurrying in and out of cafes along the edge of the park. A lone customer of the Best Buy store at the corner of Broadway and 14th Street tripped over a homeless person camped outside its entrance. An old man on crutches walked out of the MTA station and disappeared into a building on the west side of the Square. Joe wondered how the mayor hoped to build public confidence with a virtual ghost town as his backdrop.
By the time he'd circumnavigated the Square, a convoy of trucks with tall antennae and network television logos emblazoned on their sides had taken up position on the south edge of the park. Cameramen with big boxes on their shoulders were already recording soundbites from reporters holding microphones. Joe recognized one of the reporters as the correspondent from the Today Show who’d interviewed the stock trader during Joe's television appearance a few days ago.
“This is Elizabeth Porter, reporting from Union Square,” she spoke into the camera. “We're expecting an important announcement at noon today. There are no further details, but judging by the extraordinary security in the park, we're expecting it to be a prominent public official.”
The cameraman panned around the plaza then zoomed in on one of the patrol officers talking into his shoulder radio. Joe checked the other reporters and camera operators. The sniper had shown a preference for shooting from above, but the detective wasn't taking any chances. The throng of television crews with their heavy equipment and cables could easily disguise a man with a gun in the crowd.
At least they don't yet know the mayor will be speaking, he thought. Maybe we can avoid a disaster in this circus after all.
Someone tapped Joe on his shoulder, and he swung aroun
d. It was Lieutenant O'Neill.
“Whoa, Joe,” O'Neill said. “No need to be so jumpy. Everything looks secure from my vantage point. Have you noticed anything out of place?”
Joe exhaled slowly and shook his head.
“Just the usual hipsters and a few old folks. I guess the only ones showing their faces in public these days are those who think they're invincible or those who don't care anymore.”
“And those with big egos,” the lieutenant said, seeing the mayor approach them with the commissioner at his side.
“Good Morning, Mr. Mayor,” O'Neill said. He nodded toward the commissioner. "Commissioner."
“Is everything in order, Lieutenant?” the commissioner asked.
“Yes, sir. We've secured the perimeter and have men stationed around the Square to prevent any unauthorized personnel from entering the grounds.”
“What about the high ground?”
“We have sharpshooters on the rooftops looking for suspicious movement on all three sides. It's all clear so far.”
The mayor looked at the barricades and the wall of uniformed cops lining the park.
“It looks like a war zone out here, Lieutenant. Not exactly confidence-inspiring.”
O'Neill glanced at the commissioner before addressing the mayor.
“We were asked to do everything within our power to ensure your safety, Your Honor. I believe you're as safe as one can possibly be under the circumstances.”
O'Neill motioned to the armada of cameras taking up position in front of the platform. The statue of George Washington riding his horse with his hand elevated in triumph appeared prominently above the stage.
“It looks like all the cameras will be pointed toward you. I think you'll have a suitably inspiring backdrop for your speech.”