Blindside (Michael Bennett #12)(13)

I said, “Did you find out anything about the guy named Tight?”

“Could be I know him. Skinny as me. A little shorter. Dude’s wrapped way too tight. That’s how he got his street name.” He ran a hand over his close-cropped hair, then scratched it. He dug in his ear, too. I waited as he inspected whatever had come from his ear.

I said, “Real name?”

He shrugged his narrow shoulders. “Who knows?” His brown eyes took another look around the green space. “I seen him around. He likes the pills just like me. He hit ’em a lot harder than I do. Says it’s his medicine.”

I didn’t think I had to add that technically it was medicine. It was just that people like him had ruined a useful tool for people in pain.

I said, “You know anything that could help me find this Tight?”

Flash shook his head.

We stood in an awkward silence until he said, “Ain’t you goin’ to ask me about the kid you shot? Ronald Timmons Junior?”

“Nope. Separate investigation. I’m just a subject in that one.”

“The Reverend Caldwell sees it different. He’s got everyone in the Bronx thinking you just kilt that boy. I knew RJ. He wasn’t a bad kid.”

“He made a bad choice.”

“The good reverend says you’re a killer.”

I thought, At least I’m not dead. It was hard for anyone to understand a police shooting. Cops make mistakes. They’re human. But they also have to deal with something like fifty thousand assaults a year. How many of those would result in police fatalities if not for training? No one would ever convince the Reverend Caldwell of that line of reasoning.

I walked out of Convent Garden feeling down again.





CHAPTER 17





HARRY GRISSOM WAS curt on the phone. He said he’d pick me up at my apartment in twenty minutes. I told him I needed forty-five to get ready. Really, I needed to race home and act like I hadn’t done any unauthorized investigations today.

Harry was his usual gruff self when I slid into the front seat of his Suburban. “No questions. No smart-ass comments. And show some respect.”

I had to ask, “Where are we going?”

“What did I just tell you? Enjoy the ride.”

“That’s what they used to tell inmates on their way to Sing Sing.”

“That’s a good metaphor. Even if you just made it up.”

That didn’t make me feel any better as we drove south on West Street. Like a little kid, to make sure I didn’t ask stupid questions, I tried to occupy myself. I guessed where we were going. We had passed the building that housed the DEA, which eliminated one choice.

Of course One Police Plaza was the most likely stop. That’s where the big brass could really lay into me if they thought it might help their position. The public opinion shift on cops was slow to sweep over the profession. But now that it had, some politically minded managers would do anything to make the department look better. That could mean sacrificing a detective like me. Oh, they’d say it was based on facts and evidence, but I’d know better. And there would be little I could do about it.

This line of thought raised my anxiety. A lot. Now I was nervous.

Then Harry turned east on Chambers Street and I knew we were headed to One Police Plaza. All the thoughts I’d just had seemed to be coming true. Then he surprised me by taking a right on Broadway and pulling into the City Hall complex.

“What’s going on, Harry?” I could tell he was considering what he should tell me. “I feel like I’m headed to a firing squad.”

We passed through security and Harry pulled into a spot right by City Hall. He turned to me and said, “You’re going to be cleared on the shooting. We’ve got the suspect’s pistol and two casings. We have security video from the bodega that shows everything. Forensics all check out. Plus, everyone knows you’re not a rookie. But IA and the officials here wanted to make sure everything was done right and covered properly.”

I felt like a weight had been lifted off my chest. I wanted to kiss Harry right on the cheek. I didn’t care what kind of stubble he had.

I said, “That’s great. When can I get back to work? I’ve got a lot to catch up on.” Tight was the main thing on my mind. I had to find the skinny psychopath and get the truth about the murder of the nurse and her daughter. The image of the crime scene was burned into my memory. And Mrs. Evans breaking down and crying at her sons’ apartment would never leave my head. It was the best motivation a cop could have.

“Can you run me by the office to get my car?”

“Slow down, Mike. It’s a complicated situation. The mayor’s office has some concerns about how the public would view a return so quick.”

“You mean it’s politics.”

“You can call it anything you want, but we have a meeting in here right now. You’re going to talk to the mayor himself.”

“The LFP! No shit.”

“If I get the sense you’re even thinking of saying the words ‘little fat prick,’ I will personally throw your kids’ cat off the balcony and let you deal with the chaos.”

“You’d do that to Socky?”

“After I did it to you.”

Normally I’d think that was kind of a funny comment. Coming from Harry Grissom it felt more like a realistic threat.