In this case, it was working to my advantage. I had left the high school yearbook photograph of my suspected hit man, Diego, with the security people near the libraries Jimmy Hilcox had mentioned. It was only a matter of time before someone noticed the young man. That was based on the assumption that he actually studied at the libraries occasionally.
Then I got a call from Todd Schupper, a former financial-crimes supervisor who said he never wanted to look at another ledger book or calculator for the rest of his life. Columbia offered him a job strolling around the campus, and he jumped at it. They also allowed him to take one class per semester for free, and he figured by the time he was seventy he would’ve earned his degree in Asian history. A subject that had fascinated him since he was a kid.
I made my way to Columbia’s main library, known to most as Butler Library. It was actually on 114th just west of Amsterdam, and it was spectacular. The building looked like a Greek temple, with its massive columns in front. Inside, the soaring ceilings, heavy chandeliers, and tall windows had cost a fortune to build, especially in the Depression, when the building went up.
I met my buddy, who was standing near the information desk and chatting with a sharp-eyed reference librarian who looked like she had been there since the building opened.
Todd, heavier than I remembered him, greeted me in a low tone. “Mike, how are you?”
I shrugged. Everyone knew the story about Brian, and I didn’t want to go into it again. I just said, “Where’s the kid?”
Todd pointed toward the study area, furnished with ten broad wooden tables between shelves of reference books. I saw Diego, alone, at one of the far tables.
I watched him. I hoped that this was not our killer. He looked like a kid. He had neatly trimmed dark hair and the thin build of a distance runner. The way he stuck his tongue out while he concentrated reminded me of Brian.
Todd said, “You need backup?”
I shook my head. I was already committed to this, no matter what common sense told me about talking to a potential killer by myself.
I said, “I’ll be fine.”
Todd smiled. “That’s what everyone says just before they screw up.”
Chapter 24
No one was sitting near Diego as I approached. A coat and backpack were slung across the back of the chair next to him. I slid into the chair directly across from him. The way he raised his eyes from the book told me that he immediately realized I was a cop.
He said, “Am I not supposed to be here?”
“I don’t know what the exact rules are for studying in the library, but you seem to be following them.”
I reached across and lifted the cover of his book from the table. Biology of Humans by Judith Goodenough.
I smiled and said, “Tough subject, but a great name for an author.”
“The book costs, like, seventy bucks, but I can read it here or over at the O’Malley library for free.”
“I went to Manhattan College. Spent a lot of time at O’Malley. Should’ve spent more.”
Diego looked at me a second time and said, “Aren’t you a cop?”
“You’d be surprised. A lot of cops go to college.”
“I didn’t mean it that way. I’m sorry, sir. What did you study?”
“Philosophy.” I paused for a moment, then said, “I guess that doesn’t set me up for a lot of jobs other than being a cop.”
I didn’t see how there was any way this young man was tied up in the drug business. Let alone capable of doing what I had heard he did.
“My name is Mike Bennett. I work out of the Manhattan North Homicide Squad. Your name’s Diego, right?”
He nodded but didn’t seem particularly nervous. “Why would a homicide detective come into the library to talk to me? I’m a high school student. I live in the projects north of here.”
“I’m just trying to do my job. Probably been some sort of mistake, but I thought I would sit and talk with you for a few minutes before the mistake turned into something worse.”
He closed the biology book and shoved it to one side. Then he took a paperback from the table and stuck it in the backpack sitting on the chair next to him. “I brought that with me into the library.”
I raised both hands. “I didn’t say anything.”
“I just wanted you to know I’m straight up.” He twisted his head in every direction to make sure no one could hear us, then said, “What did you want to talk to me about?”
“I heard you might be working with a group. A group that can be pretty tough. A group that moves dope through the city and is brutal to the people who sell it for them. That’s just what I hear. I wanted to see what you had to say.”
“Who says I work for any group? I go to high school. I want to be a doctor.”
I studied his face and couldn’t see any hint of deception. He looked me right in the eye and kept that calm, polite tone.
“It doesn’t matter who says you’re in the group. I’m interested in knowing about what you do in your free time. If you ever travel to any of the high schools close by. How you can afford to buy a customized Wenger backpack and a Vineyard Vines peacoat.” I looked at the chair next to him with the jacket neatly hung across the back and the backpack open, facing him. “Those are the kinds of questions I’d like answered.”
It worked. I could see the change in his face. I was betting he had three-hundred-dollar sneakers on as well. But he kept his calm.
Diego looked at me and said, “Do you get questioned every time you buy something nice? I don’t think it’s right that I get singled out for having a couple of nice things. What exactly do you think I did?”
“Does the name Gary Mule mean anything to you?”
The kid caught me by surprise. It was such a casual move. No telegraph, no stress. He just leaned over and reached into his open backpack.
That’s when I saw the gun.
Chapter 25
I may have been caught by surprise, but experience and training had taught me not to let it linger. There was no way I could reach the Glock on my hip in time to keep Diego from putting a round into my face. Instead I braced myself and shoved the table as hard as I could. It was heavy and knocked him back, then it started to tip over.
He sprang back, but he still had the gun in his hand. Now I had an overturned table to duck behind as he fired a round. I felt the impact on the heavy wood.
The sharp blast in the hushed silence of the library was startling. Nothing like this had ever happened before in Butler Library. The effect was immediate. I heard screaming and saw students starting to scatter.
Now I had my pistol in my hand, and I shouted for everyone to hear, “Police, get down. Get down.” I crawled to the end of the table and peeked around quickly with my pistol in front of me. Diego was already running away.
There were more screams. I had to trust that the security guard, Todd, was already on the phone calling for help. Right now it was my job to make sure no bystanders got shot, but I couldn’t let this kid get away, either. He wasn’t just a killer: he was the key to breaking this drug ring and stopping the killing.
I got up from behind the table and started to sprint in the same direction Diego had run. I caught a glimpse of him turning to the right into the stacks of books. Each shelf went eight feet into the air and was loaded with thick reference books. It was like a maze, and he had spent a lot more time here than I had.
Then I lost sight of him completely. I was worried about stumbling into an ambush. That’s what I would do—stage an ambush—if I were as desperate as Diego was. I paused at the end of a long line of books. I took in a couple of breaths and focused. I turned quickly to charge up the aisle and immediately saw someone right in front of me.
I raised my pistol and shouted, “Don’t move.”
I heard a squeal and realized I had stumbled into a student. She was sobbing as she hit the floor, but she somehow managed to say, “There’s a man with a gun at the end of the aisle.”
I said in a quieter voice, “Run to the front. Do it now.” She sprinted past me, and now I could hear other people running away. That was good. At least from my perspective. Tactically. The fewer people I had to worry about the better.
I crept forward with my gun out in front of me, then I saw movement to my right. I froze and dipped down slightly and realized I could see between the tops of the books and the shelf above them. Diego was in the next aisle, and he was waiting for me.
I crouched down lower and continued to move forward until I was just about even with where I saw Diego in the next aisle. My heart was thumping in my chest, and sweat poured off my forehead. This was not something anyone expected to happen inside the library of an Ivy League school.
I listened but gained no advantage. Then I realized what I could do. I was sure he was still on the other side of the bookshelf, so I stood up quickly and shoved hard against the books just above the level of my head. They pushed through the shelf and started to topple down on the other side of the aisle. I heard someone squawk.
I took the opportunity to bound three steps ahead and turn into the next aisle. My gun was up and on target, and I could see Diego on the ground. But he had anticipated what I was going to do and had his pistol up. He fired one round, which went slightly to the left and struck the shelf right next to my head.
Instinctively I squeezed the trigger twice at the target directly in front of me. It was a simple double tap. Bang, bang. For an instant, I could see the look in Diego’s eyes. Then he fell back and dropped the gun onto the floor.
I immediately holstered my pistol and dropped to my knee. I reached down and pulled his thick T-shirt up over his stomach and chest to see two wounds just above his sternum. Blood was already starting to pump out. I placed my palms over each hole, hoping to stem the blood flow.
The young man made a gurgling sound and tried to lift his head off the floor.
I yelled out, “I need some help here.” A few seconds later, Todd appeared at my side.
He said, “Fire and rescue is on the way. What do you need me to do?”
“Help me stop the bleeding on one of these wounds.”
Todd didn’t move. He put his hand on my shoulder instead. “Mike, it’s over. You did what you had to do.”
I looked down and saw that Diego was perfectly still. I felt for a pulse at his chest and then at his neck. No more blood was pumping out of the wounds. He was dead.
I flopped back, and my shoulders hit the bookshelf. I sat there staring down at the teenager I had just shot dead.
From the end of the aisle a woman’s voice said, “You murdered him.”
My head snapped in that direction. It was a young woman, and she was staring at me. A young man joined her and said, “You shot him for no reason?”
Before fire and rescue and more cops could show up, a small crowd gathered, and they all picked up a similar theme. They thought I had acted rashly and fired my weapon without provocation. They thought I was some kind of monster.
Once someone was there to secure the scene and Todd was leading me toward an office where I could gather my thoughts, I kept hearing people say, “Murderer.” “Killer.”
Todd kept his arm on my shoulder and said, “Don’t worry about these ignorant morons. One thing I’ve learned working here is that I’m never surprised to see smart people acting like idiots. They have no idea you just saved their asses.”
At the moment their taunts didn’t bother me. The fact that I had to shoot a kid around Brian’s age was enough to make my legs weak. Once we got in the office, all I could do was drop my face into my hands.
Chapter 26
It didn’t take long to get the scene secured and order restored in the library. Harry Grissom, the lieutenant who ran our squad, showed up and sat with me for a while. Even though he asked me a few questions, I realized he was carefully avoiding asking why I had been interviewing a potential homicide suspect alone without telling anyone where I had gone.
Harry was a veteran and had seen more than most cops should. Someone had told him that the crowd had immediately turned against me after the shooting, and he took a minute to talk to me about it.
He rubbed his cheek where a hint of gray stubble was poking through. “You know, Mike, people say stupid things without thinking. They think they know what police work is like from watching TV, but they have no idea. They don’t know the risks we take or the satisfaction we feel when we make an arrest. We’ve already recovered the gun the kid had, and crime scene is digging a bullet out of the bookshelf and table. The security guard saw everything, and so did the librarian. For all the bullshit these assholes are spewing, not one of them witnessed anything. So you gotta let it roll off your back.”
All I could do at this point was just nod my head weakly.
Harry said, “What can I do for you, Mike?”
“I need to tell his mother.”
“What? Are you insane? We’ll have someone go talk to her.”
“I just feel like it’s something I need to do.”
It took some persuading, and it was way outside any guidelines Homicide had, but forty-five minutes later, I found myself at Diego’s apartment, near 127th Street. This time I had the lieutenant and a detective named Susan Ruiz with me. We climbed the hard concrete stairs, and I knocked on the door I had visited a few days earlier.
The same woman answered the door and immediately recognized me. She smiled and said, “Diego is studying. But I told him about your offer to leave the charter school.”
I held up my badge and said, “I’m afraid I misled you. I’m a homicide detective with the NYPD.” I had intended to just tell her what had happened, but when I saw her face, I had to take a moment.
The woman said, “I no understand. Why did you lie? Why do you want to speak to my Diego?”
A couple of kids gathered behind her to see who was at the door. She stepped forward slightly, and I could see how worried she was.
I said, “I’m afraid I have some bad news.”
“What? What is it?”
“Diego was shot and killed by the police on the Columbia campus.”
She stumbled back a little bit, but quickly gathered herself. “What? Why did the police shoot my boy?”
“It wasn’t just the police, ma’am. Diego pulled a pistol and fired at me. He left me no choice. I had to shoot him.” After a few seconds of silence, I said, “And I thought it was the right thing to do for me to come here and tell you what happened.”
I felt Lieutenant Grissom and Detective Ruiz slide in close to me for support.
A woman came behind Diego’s mother and wrapped an arm around her just as she started to cry. Then she started to wail.
I just stood there wondering why I had thought this was important.
Then, without warning, she looked me in the eye and slapped me hard right across the face. My left cheek burned with the blow. I had to hold up my right hand to keep Detective Ruiz from stepping between us.
Then Diego’s mother said in a very calm voice, “Get out. Get out of here. You’ve done enough. You’re a liar and a killer. God will punish you for what you’ve done.”
Even after the door slammed, I just stood there for a few more moments.
Chapter 27
I tried to stay upbeat with the kids when I got home. Of course they knew what had happened. It was on the news, and there was the usual string of phone calls and friends from the office who stopped by to check on me. It was a police ritual carried out across the country after an officer is involved in a fatal shooting. Shootings are tricky: they can have their effect psychologically days or even weeks after the tragedy.
It wasn’t until after dinner, when I had a few minutes to think, that it really hit me hard.
I had shot a teenager. That was not something a few drinks and a baseball game would wash from my brain. I kept seeing Diego and hearing him make that horrible sound as I tried to stop the blood from pumping out of the two bullet wounds I had put i
n his chest.
I had a phantom pain on the left side of my face where his mother had slapped me. Harry Grissom had told me she was out of line, but I knew she wasn’t. She was a mother who’d lost her son. I understood all those mothers who went on TV and told people how great their children were even after they’d been caught doing terrible things.
One young man, shot by a security guard, was seen on video shooting a young mother in front of her infant. And that night the robber’s mother was on TV talking about what a good boy he was and how he could never do anything like that.
I got it. No parent ever wanted to admit that his or her child had some horrendous character flaw. Who knows what led Diego down a different path? I couldn’t figure out why Brian felt like he needed to sell drugs, either. In that sense, I shared a lot with Diego’s mother.
I helped Bridget with a project about the Civil War, which of course she enhanced by making an interactive map, complete with pop-up paper cannons. It was a pretty good representation of Pickett’s Charge at Gettysburg. She had facts and figures written behind pull tabs on the map. And right at the Union line she had written “The high-water mark of the Confederacy.” That was the exact phrase I had been taught as a child in school—it means the farthest north Robert E. Lee had led his army.
Then I tried to help Trent with a book report on Jackie Robinson. I had felt the book might’ve been targeted for kids older than he was and was pleasantly surprised at how well he’d understood it. I sometimes worried that he would lose touch with his African American heritage after being raised in an Irish American household. However, he clearly understood the importance of Robinson’s entrance into major-league baseball. He also learned about the struggles that Robinson went through and the raw, naked hatred he endured.