ONCE WE WERE back outside in front of the Vega house, I took a moment to look up and down the street. I
focused on each house for a moment. They were all similar sorts of homes. Many of them were obviously from the
same builder. None particularly stood out to me.
Maggie understood I was doing something. She just didn’t know what.
“Talk to me. What did he say that caught your interest? I know it had something to do with parking the cruiser in the
driveway,” she said.
I turned to look at her. That was an impressive insight. I went back to glancing up and down the street as I said,
“Someone in this neighborhood noticed the cruiser. They knew a cop lived here. And they either told someone or
planted the bomb themselves.” I pictured some disaffected young man holding a grudge against the police, maybe
trying to be a hero to a certain segment of society.
Maggie nodded slowly. “That’s a pretty damn good theory.”
“Theories don’t stop killers. We need to find a way to prove the theory.”
Maggie asked, “Any ideas?”
“I’m wondering if we should canvass this neighborhood.”
“What are you going to do? Knock on doors and ask if anyone in the house hates the police? Or maybe you can try
to read their minds.”
I held up my hands. “Okay, okay, you make a good point. What would you have us do?”
“I still think checking out the security cameras to see who was trying to watch the explosion in lower Manhattan is a
better use of our time.
Someone may have cut the security feed for the Office of Technology and Innovation, but maybe a business close
by picked up something.”
Our discussion was interrupted by the theme to Green Acres. I answered
the phone quickly.
On the other end of the line I heard Harry Grissom’s voice. “What happened in Queens this morning?”
“What do you mean? We’re over here working on the bombing case.”
“And you had time to beat some guy’s ass?”
“What?”
“Some jerk-off named Ronald Pittman says that the NYPD beat him up and you were the only name he got.”
Then it clicked. I explained to Harry what had happened with Juliana and the Pakistani women, though I left out the
fact that they were Trilling’s roommates. I just said it was Juliana helping a group of young women.
Harry said, “Normally I wouldn’t care about erroneous complaints. The problem is this Pittman guy claims he’s
already called IA, and he’s given a couple of statements to the media. This might become a real issue.”
“Harry, the only issue is how slow of a news day it is. This guy sexually assaulted a woman and now wants to cry
about getting the shit kicked out of him by a bunch of other women standing up for her. The d epartment had nothing
to do with his injuries.”
Harry sighed and moved on. “Anything new on the case?”
“We feel confident we can eliminate the victim’s ex-boyfriend, Jimmy Pinter, as a suspect. We also just got done
interviewing Sergeant Vega’s widower. In fact, we’re standing in front of the Vega residence right now.”
“How’d that go?”
“About as you’d expect. But I might have picked up on something.
We’re looking into it now. I’ll ke ep you updated as things develop.”
I watched as a blue Ford Taurus pulled up to the curb behind my city- issued Impala, and I mumbled, “Oh, shit,”
when I saw who was driving the car.
“What is it?”
“Harry, I need to deal with something. Let me call you back in a while.”
I didn’t wait for a response. I hung up and tucked my cell phone back into my pocket.
Next to me, Maggie asked, “Who’s that?”
“The devil on Earth.”