‘Crosshairs’ Chapters 1-10

I looked out the open French doors. The apartment was on a bend in the road that allowed a view of the balcony from at least five different buildings. I tried to get an idea where the shot had come from. I was at a loss. My boss, Harry, had texted me that he already had cops canvassing the area. Maybe someone heard or saw something.

I walked through the apartment by myself. I could see the family had built a life here. Young kids, good job, the American dream. I hoped the victim had had enough sense to appreciate his family and situation. I’d seen many a Wall Street financial manager work so hard they forgot they had a life outside of lower Manhattan.

The other thing I realized as I stared at the wound on the right side of Adam Glossner’s head: I was not used to homicides like this. I generally dealt with killers who get up close and personal. Even with firearms. Most people feel more confident the closer they get.

Clearly that wasn’t true of this killer.

 

Chapter 5

I’D GOTTEN A decent sense of the crime scene. Now it was time to toughen up and do my least favorite assignment in a case like this: interview the grieving. I nodded to the crime-scene techs filing into the victim’s apartment as I walked out and then down the hallway to the neighbor’s place.

The door was open. I saw a young female patrol officer sitting on the couch next to Victoria Glossner. The officer had a little boy in her lap as the mom rocked back and forth with a girl I judged to be about six years old.

Mrs. Glossner was a very attractive, fit woman of about thirty-five, probably six or eight years younger than her husband. I don’t even notice teary, bloodshot eyes anymore on this job. But I saw how she clutched her daughter and how both the kids looked completely confused. It hit me like a sledgehammer. I remembered talking to my kids when their mother was dying of cancer.

We’d had months to prepare for the eventual shock. What do you do when your whole world changes in just a moment?

The patrol officer looked up and saw me. I nodded. Then I tilted my head to the left and the sharp young officer stood up with the little boy still in her arms. She said to the little girl, “Let’s see if we can find something for you guys to drink.”

Mrs. Glossner released her daughter to walk with the officer into another room. I sat across from her in an antique, uncomfortable chair. I introduced myself and told her how sorry I was. It wasn’t an act. I am always sorry in a situation like this.

She said she was okay to talk. “I watch so many of the police reality shows that I know how important the first forty-eight hours of a homicide investigation can be. I don’t know what I can tell you. But I’ll answer any questions you have.”

I handed her a tissue from a box on the table next to the couch. She nodded her thanks and dabbed at her eyes. She explained to me that she had gone into the bedroom around nine and had talked to her sister on the phone for about forty minutes. Afterward, she’d quickly drifted o! to sleep. Her husband had not come to bed by that time.

I asked, “Is it usual for him not to come to bed at the same time as you?”

She nodded. “He liked to clear his head. He loved to look at the river from our balcony. He did it almost every night. He usually came to bed somewhere between ten and eleven.” She sniffled and looked like she was about to sob again. Then she gained control of herself.

Victoria Glossner said, “It’s just not fair. We had so many plans. We’d been through so much. We were talking about having another baby. How could this have happened?”

I asked all the usual questions. The ones about her husband’s friends and associates. If she knew of anyone who might want to harm him. I held off on the questions about potential drug use and gambling. It’s surprising how often one of those two vices is behind a homicide in an area like this.

She answered no to all of those questions.

I said, “You said you’d been through so much; was it anything that would’ve made someone angry enough to do this?”

She quickly shook her head and said, “Just some rough spots in his business. Nothing we were too worried about now. That’s what I’m saying. Our life was really good. Or at least about to become really good.” She started to cry. Then it turned into a flood of tears.

I waited silently, wanting to expand on what sort of business problems Adam Glossner had been experiencing. Before I could speak again, a tall, well- dressed woman came to the door.

When a patrol officer tried to stop her, she snapped, “I’m going in to get my daughter and I don’t care who doesn’t like it.”

The officer looked at me, and I just nodded. As the new woman marched toward the couch, Victoria Glossner looked up and then moaned, “Oh, Mom. Thank God.” She jumped up and hugged her mother.

Her mother said, “Get the kids, and let’s go to my apartment.

We need to get you and them away from here.”

Victoria said, “I was just answering a few questions for this detective.”

Her mother didn’t even bother to look in my direction. She said, “That can wait until later.” Then she took her daughter by the hand and started calling for the kids.

They were all out of the apartment in less than a minute.

 

Chapter 6

VANESSA WRIGHT, A new detective with our squad, brought me the neighborhood canvass summary. She wasn’t quite my height of six foot three, but she stood well over six feet and could look me in the eye as she gave me the report.

Vanessa said, “We tried to hit all the buildings to the north, where we think the shot came from. Now we’ll swing south for a building or two. Does that sound thorough enough for you?”

I said, “Vanessa, I know you haven’t been in our unit for too long, but I’m not used to getting a professional report without some kind of a prank.” I saw her wide grin and beautiful, straight teeth. I added, “Someone told you to prank me, didn’t they?”

“I won’t say who, but it was suggested that I should tell you everyone went to get breakfast and would start again sometime around lunch. I knew better than to even joke about that.”

I smiled and nodded, letting her know I wasn’t an officious prick. I like pranks and I’ve played plenty during my career. Instead, I asked her about the canvass they had just completed.

Vanessa handed me a sheet of paper and said, “A couple of people thought they might have heard something. Maybe a pop or a bang sometime around 10:15 last night. One elderly man in a building to the north said he’d only talk to the boss. Claimed he had important information.”

Even the neighbor next door to the Glossners hadn’t heard or seen anything unusual. It wasn’t until she heard a commotion in the hallway this morning that she even looked out and saw the police officers. She knew Mrs. Glossner and the children. “That’s why she took them in while everything was going on.”

As we came out the front door of the building, I saw Lois Frang still standing there. I had to admire that kind of persistence. She yelled out, “What do you got, Bennett?”

I called back, “I have a slight sciatica problem and arthritis in my hip!”

“When am I going to get a straight answer out of you?”

“When I’ve got something worth saying.”

Detective Vanessa Wright led me to a building nearby, to the third-floor apartment of Walter Cronin, the elderly man who’d claimed to have information. When he opened the door, he was clearly happy to see Vanessa again. Despite having asked to talk to the boss, he didn’t care too much about me either way.

I said, “I heard you have some information that might be useful, Mr. Cronin.” I spoke a little louder than I normally do. I don’t know why — I just assumed an elderly man would have poor hearing.

“You bet I do.” He motioned us all the way into his lovely apartment. The eighty-six-year-old retired dentist had apparently had a very lucrative practice. After he made us sit on the sofa, he pulled out a notebook and said, “I’ve been detailing the shenanigans going on with this building for years. The fees this place charges are outrageous. There’s so much fraud going on I don’t know where to start.”

I held up my hands and said, “Excuse me, Mr. Cronin, but we’re not here about fraud. We’re in a homicide unit. A man across the street was shot from somewhere around here. The killer used a rifle.”

“Yes, yes, yes, I know. I was just trying to give you some bonus information as well.”

“Do you have any information at all about the shooting?”

“Aside from hearing the shot before I fell asleep last night, I don’t know anything.”

“You’re sure you heard a gunshot?”

“You’re too young to remember this, but we used to have a draft in this country. I did two years in the Army and heard plenty of gunfire. I know the sound of a high-powered rifle when I hear it. There are no car backfires anymore. There were no sonic booms. Just a single gunshot, not long before I fell asleep.

Probably around 10:15 or 10:30.”

“Did you investigate the source of the gunshot?”

“Why on earth would I do that? I don’t have a gun. What happens if I find a man with a gun? I doubt you’re the right man to look into the fraud of this building anyway. Investigate the gunshot.” Mr. Cronin just shook his head as I finished up my notes.

 

Chapter 7

AFTER THE CRIME scene was secured and I’d done all I could to talk to relevant witnesses, I headed to the office. I knew there’d be a lot of questions from my bosses, and I had names and information I wanted to pass on to our squad’s criminal intelligence analyst. His name is Walter Jackson, and he’s an absolute wizard with computer databases. Give Walter a name and a few minutes, he can tell you every neighbor they’ve ever had as well as their cell phone carrier, their main bank, and what credit card they use.

I took the elevator up in the unmarked building that housed Manhattan North Homicide. It had been my home within the NYPD for so long I couldn’t imagine reporting to a precinct or to One Police Plaza.

It’s always comforting to see my lieutenant, Harry Grissom, sitting in his office with the door open. He oversees three staff assistants, two criminal intelligence analysts, and nine detectives, plus a rotating group of detectives trying to get broader experience. And he does it all without losing his temper, getting frustrated, or being petty. In short, Harry Grissom is an awesome boss.

I gave Harry a quick rundown on what I’d learned.

Harry stared at me across his desk without saying a word. It lasted maybe five seconds, but it felt like a week. This is why I never play in Harry’s poker games. He seems like he’d be unbeatable.

Absently smoothing his mustache, Harry asked in a quiet tone, “How did the wife seem?”

“The usual. Distraught, near shock. She answered a few questions before her mother swooped in and told me I could talk to her later.”

“Did she say anything useful?”

“I did get an odd vibe. It’s hard to describe. It’s more about what she didn’t say. It felt like she wasn’t telling me everything about their current circumstances. I don’t know if it was a marital strain or something else. But I’ll have it in my head if I need to talk to her again.”​

“You think she was unhappy with her husband and figured a way to have someone shoot him, do you?”​

“I don’t think so. But maybe. I guess it’s possible. Although it did cross my mind that if someone was really smart, they could use the cover of the sniper to have a person shot from a long distance. But I don’t think that’s the case here.”​

Harry gave me a folder with some information on the other two homicides involving the sniper. Harry said, “I heard someone call the shooter ‘the Longshot Killer.’ I guess that’s as good a nickname as any.”​

Harry told me to grab the complete reports o! the computer and said I could consider myself the lead detective on all three cases. That might not make me too popular with the other homicide detectives already working them, but I knew better than to say anything. Harry doesn’t much care for whining or complaints.His philosophy is simple: We’ve got a job to do, so let’s go do it.

Frankly, it does make the work environment here in our off-site office much more pleasant without people bitching constantly about everything.

Harry said, “What kind of help do you need? Besides the usual analytical assistance and help with interviews?”

“I’m glad you asked. As I was standing on the balcony where the victim was shot, I realized I don’t know much about snipers. I’m pretty good with figuring out trajectories and bullet wounds inflicted from a drive-by a few feet away, but these long-distance angles and the whole sniper mindset is new to me. Do you think we’ve got anyone who can help me with that sort of stuff?”

Harry chuckled. Or as close to a chuckle as he ever came.

“Mike, this is the NYPD. We got someone who can help you build a plane. Leave it to me.”

 

Chapter 8

LESS THAN AN HOUR later, Harry Grissom forwarded an email to the whole squad. Someone new was going to be around the office for a while. Command staff was sending over Rob Trilling, a sniper from the Emergency Service Unit, to help me on the case. He’d be on temporary duty until we made an arrest, or until I didn’t need him anymore. That was about all I could ask for.

As a trained investigator, I like to have as much information as possible before I start anything new. That includes knowing who I’m working with. As soon as I had the chance, I went over to Walter Jackson to get the scoop on this sniper from ESU.

As I stepped into Walter’s office, he turned his computer screen slightly so I could see a photograph of a mountain with someone working at the top of it.

I said, “Okay, I’ll bite. What’s that?”

“Mount Rushmore just as they were starting construction on the monument.” A huge smile spread across the big man’s face. He had to add, “The beauty of the mountain was un-president-ed.”

I groaned. Then I said, “Aren’t your daughters making you put a dollar into a jar for every pun you make?”

“Not anymore. I made them another bet. I told them if they could keep a straight face and not groan or laugh at my latest pun, I’d keep doing the pun- jar payments.”

“So I take it they lost that bet?” I asked. “Since you’re going to tell me anyway, what was the pun?”

“What happened when two artists had a competition?”

I shrugged.

“It ended in a draw.”

I gave him a look, not a groan, and said, “Okay, I’ll admit that was pretty good.” I could envision his little girls giggling at that one. “But the real reason I stepped in here was not to hear more of your puns. I need some information.”

“On your new partner?” It wasn’t really a question. It was a statement, and it made me realize how transparent I could be.

All I could do was smile and say, “Yes, that’s exactly what I’m looking for.”

“I was curious myself. Vanessa was the last one to come on the squad, and we vetted her like she was going to the White House. The weird thing is, I can’t bring up this guy’s NYPD personnel records, but I did get into his military record. I have a contact with DOD who forwarded his electronic file to me.”

“Why can’t you get his NYPD records?”

“That’s like asking me why we don’t get HBO on the squad TV. I don’t know the specifics; I just know we don’t have access to them. This guy Rob Trilling’s file is locked. But I know he’s on an FBI task force, so that might have something to do with it.”

“I thought he was on our ESU as a sniper.”

“A couple of quick phone calls to my contacts tells me he hasn’t been in ESU since midsummer and has been over at the FBI fugitive task force since then.” He turned the screen a little more and motioned me to sit in the chair in front of his desk. He brought up the electronic file he’d received from the Department of Defense.

Before I could even understand what we were looking at, Walter let out a whistle. He said, “Damn, this guy has seen some shit. An Army Ranger. A tour in Afghanistan. He even received a Bronze Star for protecting a medical unit under ambush.”

“How the hell did he end up in New York?”

Walter shrugged, never taking his eyes off the screen.

I said, “Was he a sniper in the Army?”

“You’d think, right? I don’t see where he was sniper qualified. But if you look at his last fitness report, it lists his rifle and self defense skills as ‘outstanding.’ ”

“Is that outstanding compared to the general population or compared to other Rangers?”

Walter whistled again and said, “I’m betting it’s against other Rangers. That makes him a certified badass.” He looked me in the eye and added, “You won’t like this part.”

“What?”

“Rob Trilling is only twenty- four years old.”

“Then how long has he been with the NYPD?”

Walter said, “I told you, I can’t get into his NYPD file. But if he was in the Army and is only twenty-four, he can’t have been with us for very long.”

A voice just outside Walter’s office said, “A little over nineteen months.”

My head snapped toward the door, where I saw a dark- haired young man dressed in a nice button- down with a blue tie that looked like the one I’d worn to my prom.

The man said, “Hi, I’m Rob Trilling.”

 

Chapter 9

I TURNED AND stared at the young man standing just outside Walter Jackson’s door. It wasn’t just that Rob Trilling had surprised us in the middle of discussing his service record. It was that he did look incredibly young. He looked like he could’ve been one of my kids. Age-wise, he actually could have been.

It was quite a blow to an active cop who tries not to think of himself as getting older.

It was Walter who saved me. While I just sat there with my mouth open, Walter slid out from behind his desk and extended his hand. I was still trying to get my head straight and say something intelligent. I couldn’t even really judge Trilling’s height because six- foot- six Walter towered over him, like he did over most people.

Finally I stood and introduced myself.

“Nice to meet you, sir.”

“Please call me Mike.”

Trilling nodded but didn’t say anything else.

I said, “We’ll be working together.”

“Yes, so I’ve been told.”

“I’m looking forward to it. I could use a perspective on long-range rifle shots.” I took a moment to study the young man as we all stood there. I guess I’d expected him to say something in response, but he just stood there quietly.

Walter suggested I introduce the new guy to the lieutenant and the other detectives on the squad. It didn’t take long to walk him around the office. I noticed he had extremely good manners and didn’t say much. He used “sir” and “ma’am” a lot but generally waited for people to ask him questions before he said anything.

When all the introductions were done, I led Rob Trilling to our conference room. I shut the door so we would have some privacy. I brought over a folder with reports giving a broad outline of all three cases and what had been determined so far about where the shots had originated.

I tried to put Trilling at ease and said, “Can I get you some coffee?”

“No thank you, sir.”

“Call me Mike.”

Trilling just nodded again. He wasn’t at attention, but it was close. There are a lot of former military members who continue their public service as officers with the NYPD, but it’s usually not this easy to spot them. They typically slip into a more relaxed, civilian mode. This guy seemed like he was still a Ranger.

“Why don’t you tell me about yourself?”

“Not much to tell. I was in the Army and now I’m with the NYPD. That sums things up pretty well.”

“Are you from this area originally? I can’t place your accent.”

“I’m from just outside Bozeman, Montana.”

“How on earth did you end up in New York City?”

The young man just shrugged and didn’t say anything.

I stood there in awkward silence with this twenty-four-year-old former Army Ranger. After almost a minute of dead air, I had to say something.

I said, “Look, I moved us in here so we could have some privacy. I’m getting the sense that you don’t like the idea of working on this case with me. Talk to me, cop to cop. Nothing either of us says will leave this room. What’s going on?”

It took almost a full ten seconds before Trilling looked me in the eye and said, “It feels like I’ve been assigned here so you can keep an eye on me. I don’t need a babysitter.”

“No one said you did.”

“That’s the problem with the NYPD. No one says anything. They move you around or send you someplace new, but no one ever explains why they do it.”

“I’m not sure I follow.”

“The military lets you do your job. If you screw up, they tell you. Here, it seems like they dance around issues, and it doesn’t help with accomplishing the mission.”

“What do you think our mission is?”

“To protect people.”

I couldn’t argue with that.

 

Chapter 10

I SAT AT my desk after Rob Trilling had left. I was at a loss. My initial meeting with my new partner had been a little tense and awkward. Altogether less than spectacular. Less than encouraging, even. Veteran cops have a natural inclination to want to help younger cops along. Pass on some advice, maybe a few decent quotes. It makes you feel like you’ve done your part.

Rob Trilling was not making me feel that way. He’d seemed happy to scoot out of the office and grab the gear he needed from the FBI task force. I’d told him we’d start early the next morning. I hadn’t given him a time on purpose. I wanted to see what his idea of “early” would be, what kind of a work ethic the young man had.

But he’d left me with a number of questions. Questions that made me uncomfortable but I had to get answered. You can’t be with one agency for as long as I have been and not have a list of contacts that could fill up three phones.

I wasted no time jumping on my phone. I was able to reach exactly who I was looking for. Sergeant Alane Eubanks was an old friend who was now working as some kind of liaison to the federal agencies and a task force coordinator. It was a desk job after she’d been ambushed by young men claiming to fight fascism. They’d fired sixteen shots at her and hit her three times. The three bullets had put Alane in the hospital for more than two months. She’d fought her way back on the job. The shitheads had taken a generous plea officer and were now in jail upstate.

Alane sounded like her usual cheerful self when she answered the phone. “Bennett, you old dog, how’s it hangin’?”

I couldn’t hide my smile, hearing her sound like her old self again.

Alane made me fill her in on the family. She’s one of the few people who can remember the names of all ten of my kids. I remembered how Alane once told my daughter Bridget that the next time a particular boy started to pester her, she should punch him right in the nose. No boy is going to admit that a girl clocked him hard in the face, Alane said. But she’d left out one detail: she’d forgotten to tell Bridget not to do it in front of a teacher. Bridget may have scared away a bully, but she spent a week in detention for it. Secretly I was still proud of her.

After we made it through the family roundup, I was finally able to ask Alane, “How are you feeling now?”

“Not bad. Few aches and pains. One of the bullets damaged my bladder and I feel like I have to pee all the time. I guess it’s better than the alternative.”

I set her up for one of cops’ oldest jokes. “What’s the one thing you never want to hear anyone say again?”

“ ‘It comes with the job.’ I swear to God I will punch the next asshole who thinks being shot is part of a cop’s job description.” Every cop hears that every time they’re punched in the face or stabbed or shot. Then Alane said, “So what prompted this call out of the blue?”

“I got assigned a new partner named Rob Trilling. Most recently he was over at the FBI fugitive task force.”

“The really young guy? I remember him. Good-looking too.”

“That’s him. I was just wondering if you had any insight into why he’s been shuttled around even though he’s been on the force less than two years.”

“The FBI says he’s a real go-getter. They like him.”

“He made it sound like he had been sent here as a punishment.” I noted the long silence on the other end of the phone.

Finally Alane said, “I know they pulled him from Emergency Service a couple of months ago and sent him to the FBI. Our command staff had put him into ESU without the usual time in grade, and enrolled him in sniper school immediately. He got moved to the FBI without much notice.”

“Do you know why?”

“No, not really.”

“Can you guess?”

Alane had a slightly harsher tone when she said, “You’re the devil, Michael Bennett. I’m trying to be a professional.”

“And I’m trying to make sure I’m not being saddled with a problem partner who could get me killed.”

She started slowly. “Okay, this is only conjecture. Command staff must be worried about him for some reason. Either some kind of complaint or a weak allegation against him. It’s easy to shuttle someone o! to a simple task force. Looking for fugitives. What could go wrong?” There was a pause before Alane asked, “Why the hell is he working in Homicide?”

I explained the case and his expertise.

She said, “That makes sense. He’d be the right guy to talk to. I can tell you, all his assessments are very good. But you know how people around One Police Plaza get nervous and overreact about every little thing.”

I really did know.

 

We hope you enjoyed reading the first 10 chapters of Crosshairs, the latest thriller in James Patterson’s Detective Michael Bennett series, published February 2024. An earlier book in this series, Chase, is available online in its entirety from AARP Members Only Access.