New York City Murders

by W. D. Frolick

  They showed their badges, and confusion registered on the woman’s face.

  “Is Brian in some sort of trouble? Gee, I hope he`s not involved in some kind of Ponzi scheme.”

  “No. It`s nothing like that. I`m sure your investments are safe. If you see Brian before we do, please don’t say we were here,” Kristie said. “We need to speak with him. It’s police business.”

  “You can count on me. I won’t say a word.”

  Quickly, the woman ducked back inside her apartment and locked the door.

  Buck glanced at his watch––three forty-five. “Let’s wait in the car,” he said.

  Parked half a block down the street, they had an unobstructed view of the entrance to Hubert’s apartment building.

  Five thirty came and went, and there was no sign of Brian Hubert.

  At six o’clock Kristie said, “I wonder where he could be?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine.”

  “I’ve got an idea,” Kristie said.

  She pulled out her cell phone and dialed.

  After three rings, a man’s voice said, “What a pleasant surprise, I never thought I’d hear from you again.”

  “This isn’t a social call. It’s police business. Do you still work at Marshall World Investments?”

  “Yes, I do. What’s this about?”

  “Does a Brian Hubert work at your firm?”

  “Yes, he does. He’s one of our portfolio managers.”

  “We’re trying to locate him. Would you happen to know where he is?”

  “Brian’s on vacation. He took a week off. He said he was going to visit his dad in Buffalo.”

  “Do you happen to know his father’s address?”

  “Sorry, I don’t. Why do you want to find Brian?”

  “As I said, police business. Thanks for your help, Trent. Goodbye.”

  “Sounds like that was your ex. You two still talk?”

  “We parted on good terms. That’s the first time I’ve called Trent since our divorce.”

  “That’s one huge coincidence. Hubert and your ex-husband working at the same firm.”

  “Yeah, weird, huh.”

  “We’re wasting our time sitting here,” Buck said. “Let’s go back to the squad room and see if we can find out where in Buffalo Hubert’s father lives.”

  The search turned up three different addresses with the last name Hubert in Buffalo.

  Buck laughed. “Thank God his name isn’t Smith or Jones.”

  Next, they met with Captain Robertson and received her approval to go to Buffalo.

  They were on the road by nine. Kristie took the first shift behind the wheel. Buck tilted his seat back and was sound asleep within minutes, snoring loudly.

  Halfway to Buffalo, Kristie felt a sharp pain in her head, and her vision began to blur. She pulled over and took two more headache tablets. She jabbed Buck in the side with her elbow, and he woke with a start.

  “What? What’s happening?” he asked still half asleep.

  “I’m getting tired. It’s your turn to drive.”

  Woods shook his head, got out, and stretched before getting behind the wheel.

  By the time they arrived in Buffalo at 2:15 a.m., Kristie’s headache had eased, and her vision was back to normal.

  The three Hubert addresses had been programmed into the car’s GPS. The first two addresses turned up nothing, but at the third address on William Street, they hit paydirt. Brian Hubert’s black Lincoln Navigator sat in the driveway of a well-maintained older Cape Cod-style home.

  “That’s his car. The make and license plate check out,” Kristie said.

  “Good timing. Hubert and his dad should be sleeping. We can take him by surprise,” Buck said.

  Captain Robertson had given Buck a number to call as soon as they found the correct address. She had made arrangements to have a SWAT team ready on short notice to back them up.

  Buck pulled out his cell phone and dialed. After a brief conversation, he hung up and turned to Kristie. “The SWAT team should be here soon. We’d better put on our vests and night goggles. I don’t want to take any chances. Hubert could be armed.”

  When they were geared up, they sat in the car and waited. A half-hour later, a black SWAT vehicle pulled in behind them.

  They left the car and met the SWAT team leader as he got out of the van. He was fit-looking, about forty, and stood just over six feet tall.

  Buck extended his hand. “Hi, I’m Detective Buck Woods, NYPD homicide, and this is my partner, Detective Kristie Karlsson.”

  “Pleased to meet you both. I’m Lieutenant Jack Morgan, Buffalo PD.”

  “Did Captain Robertson fill you in on why we’re here?” asked Buck.

  “Yes, she did. Captain Robertson said you were here to arrest a suspect for attempted murder. She asked me to provide backup.”

  “That’s right,” Buck replied. “We’re glad you’re able to help.”

  “What’s the plan?” Morgan asked.

  “Now that you and your men are here, this is what I propose we do. Send a few of your men around back to guard the door in case he tries to bolt. Bring a battering ram, and you and the rest of your men join Detective Karlsson and me at the front door. Our suspect is here visiting his father. He will probably be sleeping in a bedroom by himself. If we’re fast, we’ll catch him by surprise and arrest him before he knows what hit him.”

  After dispatching two men to watch the back of the house, Lieutenant Morgan said, “Okay, let’s do this.”

  The man with the battering ram crashed the door open, and everyone rushed inside, night goggles on and weapons ready for action.

  In the master bedroom, Lieutenant Morgan and two of his team members found Brian Hubert’s father sitting up in bed, half asleep, a startled look on his wrinkled face.

  In the next bedroom, hearing the commotion, Brian Hubert jumped out of bed and was headed for the door when Buck and Kristie blocked his exit. He froze in his tracks. Buck flipped on the light, and Kristie waved the warrant.

  “Brian Robert Hubert, you are under arrest for the attempted murder of an NYPD police officer,” Kristie said.

  She read Hubert his rights, allowed him to get dressed, snapped cuffs on him, then marched Hubert out to the car.

  Their mission completed, just before leaving, Buck shook hands with Lieutenant Morgan.

  “Thanks again for your help, Lieutenant, we really appreciate you and your team backing us up.”

  “No problem, Detective. We were glad to assist. Please say hi to my aunt, Shelia, for me. Give her my best regards and love.”

  A surprised look crossed Buck’s face. “Sorry, I didn’t know Captain Robertson is your aunt?”

  “Yeah, she’s my mother’s sister.”

  “Okay, Lieutenant. Will do,” Buck said.

  “I’m curious, who was the person your suspect tried to murder?”

  Buck smiled. “Me.”

  Before Lieutenant Morgan could reply, Buck turned, got into the car, and with Kristie behind the wheel, they waved and drove away.

  After stopping for breakfast and a few bathroom breaks, they arrived back at the precinct seven hours later.

  Brian Hubert was booked, fingerprinted, and photographed, after which he was placed in a holding cell. Two hours later, Hubert was put in a lineup with four other men. Three witnesses from Starbucks had been summoned to the precinct, and all three identified Brian Hubert as the man who did the shooting.

  After viewing the statements of the witnesses, Hubert’s attorney, Stephen Stokes, a short, stocky man in his mid-forties, talked privately with his client for fifteen minutes. When he returned to the interrogation room, he said, “After consulting with my client, we would like to propose a plea bargain. If you can get the DA’s office to reduce the charge from att
empted murder to assault with a deadly weapon, my client is willing to plead guilty to that charge. If not, we’re prepared to fight the attempted murder charge in court.”

  “All we can do is present your request. Hopefully, we’ll have an answer later today or sometime tomorrow,” Buck said. “We’ll be in touch as soon as we know their decision.”

  Stokes handed Buck his business card and said, “Thank you, Detective. I look forward to hearing from you.”

  After Stokes had left, they met with Captain Robertson. She agreed to take the request to the DA’s office along with sworn statements from the witnesses identifying Brian Hubert as the shooter.

  “Since you didn’t get any sleep last night, take the rest of the day off. Go home and get some rest. I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow.”

  “By the way, Captain,” Buck said, “your nephew said to say hello. He sends his regards and love.”

  “Thank you, Detective. I’m very proud of my nephew, he’s an outstanding young man.”

  “I agree, Captain, Lieutenant Morgan, and his team did an excellent job.”

  The next morning at ten, the DA called Captain Robertson with a decision. He agreed to reduce the charge and later that same afternoon, at his arraignment, Brian Robert Hubert pleaded guilty to first-degree assault with a deadly weapon––a class “B” felony.

  Two days later, after taking into consideration that Hubert had no prior convictions, the judge sentenced him to ten years. He was transferred to Sing Sing prison on the east bank of the Hudson River in Ossining, New York, thirty miles north of New York City. With good behavior, Hubert could be up for parole in five years.

  CHAPTER 20

  A few days after their return from Buffalo, Kristie and Buck went out for an early morning jog in Bronx Park. Without warning, Kristie began to feel nauseous. She stopped, bent over, placed her hands on her knees, and took a few deep breaths. Suddenly she blacked out and fell forward onto the ground.

  Woods had been about ten yards ahead of Karlsson. Not hearing her footsteps, he glanced over his shoulder and saw Kristie lying on the pathway. His heart sank. He rushed back and knelt by her side. Kristie’s eyes were closed, and she appeared to be unconscious.

  “Kristie, can you hear me?”

  No response.

  Woods placed two fingers on Karlsson’s neck. Her pulse was weak, and she was breathing slowly. He whipped out his cell phone and dialed 911.

  After one ring a female voice answered, “911, what is your emergency?”

  “I need an ambulance immediately. We were jogging, and my partner collapsed. She’s unconscious, her pulse is weak, and she is barely breathing.”

  “What is your address, sir?”

  “I don’t have an address. We’re in Bronx Park near Frisch Field,” Buck said calmly. “Please hurry.”

  “Yes, sir. Help is on the way.”

  The fifteen minutes it took for the ambulance to arrive seemed like an eternity. As the vehicle squealed to a stop, two paramedics jumped out and rushed to Kristie’s side where Buck was kneeling.

  “Please move aside, sir,” the male paramedic said.

  Quickly, they went to work checking Kristie’s vital signs. The female paramedic placed an oxygen mask on Karlsson’s face. Once her breathing started to improve, they gently lifted her onto a gurney and wheeled Kristie to the ambulance. The young female paramedic and Buck got into the back, and with the siren screaming, they sped away.

  “Can you tell me what happened?” the paramedic asked.

  “We were jogging. I turned around and saw my partner on the ground,” Buck said. “I’m NYPD Detective Buck Woods, and my partner is Detective Kristie Karlsson.”

  “Do you have any idea why she might have collapsed?”

  Buck explained how Kristie had hit her head on the metal table support after tackling a suspect in Starbucks.

  “Was she examined after the incident?”

  “No. Kristie insisted she was all right and refused to be examined. I suspect she’s been having headaches and has been taking pills for the pain.”

  “Not getting examined after her accident was not a wise move,” the paramedic said.

  “You’re right. It’s my fault, I should have insisted that Kristie got checked out.”

  They rode in silence the rest of the way to New York-Presbyterian Hospital.

  Woods introduced himself to the emergency room doctor who said her name was Dr. Sally Swift. She was slim, pleasant-looking and in her mid-forties. Swift stood about five feet three, had short brown hair, a turned-up nose, thin arched eyebrows, and almond colored eyes.

  “Can you tell me what happened?”

  Buck repeated the same story he had told the paramedic.

  After examining Kristie, Dr. Swift turned to Buck and said, “I suspect she may have a TBI.”

  Buck looked confused. “What’s a TBI?”

  “TBI stands for traumatic brain injury. I’m sending her for an MRI to see what we’re dealing with. I’ll contact Dr. Scott, one of our best neurosurgeons, and have him review the results. In the meantime, Detective, please take a seat in the waiting room. We`ll update you as soon as possible.”

  “Thanks, Doc.”

  While sitting in the waiting room, Buck tried to read a magazine, but he couldn’t concentrate. His mind was occupied with thoughts of Kristie. Every few minutes he glanced at his watch. An hour had passed without any word on her condition. Just as he was about to go and search for Dr. Swift, she appeared, accompanied by a tall, middle-aged man wearing green hospital scrubs.

  “Detective Woods, this is Dr. Jeremy Scott, the neurosurgeon I told you about.”

  Dr. Scott had a long, slim face, short, gray hair and a neatly trimmed salt-and-pepper beard.

  The two men shook hands, and Dr. Scott got right to the point.

  “I just reviewed Ms. Karlsson’s MRI. She has what we call a secondary brain injury. The complication occurs as a result of the body’s response to the initial injury. Nutrients and extra fluid build up in an attempt to heal the injured area. This is good in other parts of the body because it helps the body to heal. However, brain inflammation can be dangerous because the rigid skull limits the space available for the extra fluid and nutrients. When the brain swells, it increases the pressure inside the head. The swelling happens gradually and can occur up to five days after the injury. The fluid is causing pressure on Ms. Karlsson’s brain, and that’s not good. We need to operate as soon as possible to relieve the pressure. The procedure is called a craniotomy. It requires opening her skull to drain the fluid. The longer we wait, the more fluid will build up, increasing the chance for permanent brain damage. I suggest we get started immediately.”

  Buck stood there in stunned silence. He could hardly believe what he had just heard. It all seemed like a bad dream––actually, more like a nightmare. His heart pounded, and fear snaked through him like a slithering python. Finally, he asked, “What are Kristie’s chances for a full recovery?”

  Dr. Scott paused for a few seconds then calmly said, “Provided there are no complications Detective Karlsson should make a complete recovery. If her speech is affected, she may need some post-op speech therapy. I hope that doesn’t happen. We’ll just have to wait and see and deal with things one step at a time.”

  “How long will the operation take?” Buck asked.

  “That’s hard to say. Depending on what we encounter, it could take between two and four hours. Try not to worry, Detective, I’m sure your partner will come through with flying colors. When the operation is over, I’ll come back and speak with you. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’d better go get scrubbed up.”

  Dr. Swift, who had been listening to their conversation, asked, “Does Detective Karlsson have any next of kin who can sign the consent form?”

  “Kristie’s parents are deceased. Her only sibling is a
brother with the Marines in Quantico, Virginia.”

  “Since Ms. Karlsson is unable to sign the form and there isn’t any next of kin available, would you be willing to sign it for her?”

  “No problem, I’ll sign it.”

  “Thank you, Detective.”

  After the form was signed, Dr. Swift asked, “Will you be notifying Ms. Karlsson’s brother of her situation?”

  “I don’t have his number, but I can get it from information,” Buck said.

  “I would appreciate if you would give him a call, Detective.”

  Five minutes later he had the number and dialed.

  After a few rings, Buck heard, “Lieutenant Karlsson.”

  Buck went on to identify himself and to describe what had happened to Kristie. When he had finished, Jake said, “I’ve got some vacation time coming. We’ll leave our son Simon with friends. Janet and I will be on the road within two hours. It’s about a five-hour drive. We should be there in about seven hours. Do you know the prognosis?”

  “I’m sorry, Jake, I don’t really know. The neurosurgeon said he would give me an update when the operation is over.”

  “Let’s pray that everything goes well.”

  “I’m sure it will.”

  Buck gave Jake the name and address of the hospital, and they exchanged cell phone numbers.

  After saying goodbye, Buck was craving a coffee. At the reception desk, he asked and received directions to the cafeteria. He glanced at his watch. It was 9:13 a.m.

  Buck brought his coffee back to the waiting room and tried to relax, but he was having a hard time getting Kristie off his mind. Dr. Scott’s words kept running through his head. He closed his eyes, took several deep breaths, and gradually slowed his mind and heart rate down. Shit, he thought, I completely forgot to call Captain Robertson. She must be wondering where the hell we are.

  Captain Robertson was shocked to hear the sad news. She asked Buck to call back with an update as soon as Kristie’s operation was over.

  Once more, Buck closed his eyes and tried to relax. The next thing he knew, he felt someone shaking him. Slowly, he opened his eyes and saw Dr. Scott looking down at him. Scott’s face showed signs of exhaustion, but he managed a weak smile. Buck glanced at his watch. It was one thirty. He couldn’t believe he had slept for four hours.