“Margaret, call the Chief of D’s and put us out of the city,” he said, breaking their silence.
“Yes sir, Lieutenant, anything you say.”
“All right, Margaret, what’s the attitude for?” He knew full well what was wrong, but decided to let her air it out.
“There’s nothing wrong. I’ll make the call right now.”
“C’mon, let’s not let personalities get in the way of this.”
“Personalities!” she exploded. “‘You can call me anytime. My home number’s on the back,’” she said, mimicking Andrea Gerhard’s voice. “The bitch! She doesn’t even belong in a police facility, and she has you kissing her ass.”
“I was not kissing her ass. We needed her to write the warrant. Without it, we had nothing. Sometimes you have to play ball.”
“She wanted you to play ball, all right.” Margaret folded her arms and stared out the passenger-side window.
“Margaret, if that upset you, I’m sorry.” He reached over and touched her shoulder. She gave him a side-long glance and brushed his hand away. Silence returned as Driscoll gave her a moment or two to cool down.
Margaret finally spoke. “I don’t think you should let the Chief of D’s know we’re out of the city. If you do, Santangelo will want to know why. Are you ready to let him in on this?”
“You’re right. He’ll just screw things up. We’d be better off running silent until we know exactly what we have.”
They were moving onto the Southern State Parkway from the Cross Island when the car phone rang.
“Lieutenant, it’s Liz. The railroad cops have the train stopped at Lynbrook. I had the conductor make an announcement that there was trouble on the track ahead, and that it should be cleared in a few minutes. What do you want us to do?”
“Stand by, Liz, we’re only a few minutes out. Hold everybody till I get there.”
“There’s a railroad police captain here. He wants to know what’s going on.”
“Tell him you don’t know, and that your boss is on his way and will explain things when he gets there.”
“OK, Lieutenant. I’ll hold him off as long as I can. Cedric’s reinforcements are here, and Danny just pulled up in the van.”
“That’s good. I’m just passing Exit 14 on the Southern State. We’re five minutes out.” Driscoll hung up and pulled off the parkway onto Franklin Avenue, heading south. He made his way to the Long Island Railroad parking lot on Sunrise Highway, where he killed the lights and pulled up beside the TARU van. Margaret and he then got out of the cruiser and climbed the stairs to the platform.
Liz and Luigi were talking to a team of Long Island Railroad uniforms when Driscoll approached.
“Captain, this is Lieutenant Driscoll, my boss,” said Liz. “Lieutenant, this is Captain Warner of the LIRR police.”
“What’s this all about?” asked Warner.
Driscoll motioned for the captain to walk away so that they could talk privately.
“Cap, we think we may have a homicide suspect on the train. We’re not sure what he looks like, and I think the uniforms might scare him away. He’s got our victim’s cell phone, so what I planned on doing was put my people in every car, dial the number, and see whose phone rings. He has no idea that we know about the phone, so he has no reason not to answer it.”
Warner was silent a minute, twisting his walrus-like mustache with his right hand. “OK, that sounds like it’ll work. I’ll keep my men on the perimeter in case anything goes wrong. Try not to kill anybody on my train, will ya?” Warner did an about-face and headed toward his men. Driscoll looked skyward and thanked God there were still some reasonable men left in other police departments.
The Lieutenant then gathered his people around him and assigned each team one of the four cars. He was about to tell Margaret to dial the number when Danny O’Brien appeared with what looked to be a satellite antenna with two prongs sticking out of its middle. On his head, he wore a pair of headphones.
“Lieutenant, I’m triangulating him now. He’s on the phone.” O’Brien passed the first two cars and stopped at the third.
“He’s in here. In here!” O’Brien said, desperately trying to keep his voice down.
Liz Butler and Luigi Vittaggio took the front door, and Driscoll and Margaret, the back. On Driscoll’s signal the conductor opened the doors, and all four detectives entered the car. There in the middle of the car sat an unkempt-looking white male with his feet on the seat in front of him, talking on a cell phone. O’Brien pointed excitedly.
Butler and Vittaggio approached from the front, and Driscoll and Margaret closed in from behind. Liz Butler stood before him and said, “Hi.” As he looked up, Vittagio stuck his gun in the man’s ear, and Driscoll grabbed both of his arms.
“Police,” they all screamed at once.
Driscoll and Butler got the man’s hands behind his back and cuffed him. Margaret took the phone and pressed the button that displayed the phone’s cell number.
“Bingo!” she said. “We got him.”
“Wait! Wait!” The man protested. “It’s OK. It’s my girlfriend’s phone.”
“Get him out of here,” said Driscoll, staring down an assembly of alarmed passengers. “Liz put him in my car and sit with him. Margaret, grab his stuff and meet me at the car.”
Margaret picked up the bag next to the once-occupied seat and walked out of the car.
“We’re gonna search your belongings,” said Driscoll.
“OK, OK. Whatever.”
Driscoll found Warner at the end of the platform and walked over to him. “Thanks, Cap. I appreciate all your help.”
“Like hell you do. You appreciate me staying out of your way. I wasn’t born a Captain, Lieutenant. I was a detective in our Robbery Squad for many years before I climbed the ranks.”
Driscoll reached out and shook his hand. “Well then, thanks for understanding.”
“No problem. Nothing worse than having someone poke his nose in where it doesn’t belong.”
Driscoll smiled at Warner, then turned and hurried down the stairs, leaving the captain to clean up whatever mess the NYPD had created.
Chapter 29
As Driscoll walked back to his car, he was torn as to what to do. If he called Santangelo, that meant press, and nothing but interference from the top. If he didn’t call, it would probably be the end of his career. As he reached for the door handle to the Chevy, in which Liz Butler and the suspect were seated, he decided he would rather go out a winner than to have that glory seeker foul things up and perhaps ruin the case.
He opened the cruiser’s door, and Liz Butler stepped out of the car.
“I don’t think he’s our guy.”
Driscoll had learned over the years that Butler’s instincts were good, and he took her opinions seriously. “Why not?”
“He just doesn’t feel right. He keeps insisting that it’s his girlfriend’s phone, and that all we have to do is call her. I don’t think he even knows she’s dead.”
Driscoll could feel his prior exhilaration slipping away.
Margaret walked over to them. “He’s got a bag full of Ecstasy, some dirty clothes, and two cans of beer in that sack,” she said.
“Ecstasy?” said Driscoll.
“Yeah. You know, the clubgoers’ sex drug. All the rage among the metrosexuals.”
Driscoll scowled. “Liz, you and Luigi meet me back at the house. Margaret, you drive.”
Driscoll knew that one of the best detective tricks was simply the employment of a long drive back to the squad room. People, even people in handcuffs, naturally wanted to talk during a long excursion. It always seemed more like a conversation than an interrogation.
As the car pulled onto Sunrise Highway, Driscoll spoke. “What’s your name, son?”
“McGowan, Officer. Mike McGowan. Please call Amelia. It’s her phone. I know I shouldn’t have taken it, but I didn’t think she’d call the cops on me. I only meant to borrow it. I was gonna bring it back.”
“Why do you think she called us, Mike?”
“We had a fight. I wanted to go to the Hamptons for this major party, and she wouldn’t go with me. I got mad and took the phone. I needed it to, you know, to keep in touch. I didn’t think she’d flip out like this on me.”