Page 71 of Paranoia

Apparently, Trilling had surprised Doyle on the sidewalk after Doyle crawled out of the SUV through the shattered sunroof. Somehow Doyle had knocked Trilling’s pistol out of hishand. Now the two were engaged in a tense standoff with fists raised.

Trilling threw a right that Doyle blocked easily. Then Doyle stepped in and used his forearm to smash Trilling across the jaw, knocking him back against the ruined Mercedes.

Doyle stepped farther away and Trilling rushed him, then ducked and made Doyle throw a punch over his head. Trilling launched two hard kicks that left Doyle doubled over in pain. But he straightened up quickly and drove his head directly into Trilling’s chin.

I didn’t like the way Trilling swayed backward and crumpled onto the sidewalk. Now I was on wobbly feet but starting to regain my senses.

Doyle took one look at me and realized immediately I wasn’t a threat. He could see I was barely upright. I couldn’t get my left eye to focus. Doyle looked past me up the street, searching for his target, Jaime Nantes. He was a professional. I wasn’t sure if he wanted to fulfill his contract or just get away. It didn’t matter.

Doyle dashed through the spot where his SUV had been parked. He started to run. I thought he was running toward me; in fact, he was runningpastme. I couldn’t let that happen. I didn’t care how I felt.

I acted completely and utterly on instinct. I’d never had any training from the NYPD to do what I did next. Maybe it was my years watching the NFL. As Doyle ran past me, I stuck out my left arm and managed to clothesline him.

I was just the right height, and his chin caught perfectly under my elbow. It snapped his head back and pulled his feet from under him all at the same time. He slammed onto the asphalt with his head hitting last. It was as satisfying a sensation as I had ever felt.

As I looked down at the semiconscious suspect, my knees started to give out. I dropped to the asphalt and tried to make it look like I was doing it on purpose. I still had enough brainpower to reach over and snatch the pistol from Doyle’s belt holster.

About that time, Trilling was back on his feet. He stepped around the wrecked SUV, holding his chin and shaking his head. Blood had crusted along his lower lip and seeped out of his nose.

Trilling calmly said, “You okay?”

All I could manage was a nod.

Now I noticed the crowd of onlookers watching this drama unfold in the middle of the street. It had been free entertainment.

Trilling checked Doyle’s eyes to see how badly he was injured. I guessed his assessment was positive because he then immediately rolled the suspect onto his side and handcuffed him behind his back. It was a professional and nicely performed maneuver.

All three of us sat in the middle of the asphalt as two patrol cars screeched to a halt on either side of us. Trilling and I both raised our hands to make sure there was no confusion.

I recognized the sergeant who stepped out of the car to my right. She smiled at me and said, “I knew, when I heard your voice on the radio, shit was about to go down.”

I looked up at her. “Hello, Audrina. Do you think you could help us clean up this mess?”

“I’ll call in some help. And you probably need to see a paramedic.” She paused for a moment and added, “Youallneed to see a paramedic.”

It was like a weight had been lifted off my chest. I laughed and nodded in agreement.

CHAPTER 106

WE WERE TAKING no chances with Kevin Doyle. After the paramedics cleared all of us to leave the scene, we raced directly back to our office with our suspect. Because our squad is housed in an office building, we weren’t supposed to bring handcuffed prisoners up the elevators. Which made things a little tricky because there was no way we were going to take the handcuffs off a guy like Doyle. Not after the way he’d knocked Trilling around.

We simply draped a windbreaker over his wrists. It looked like he was carrying a jacket behind him. He didn’t seem to mind. Doyle seemed to have resigned himself to the situation, but he was smart and hadn’t really said anything. He answered our basic questions with yes or no but hadn’t offered anything else. We got him settled in the conference room, handcuffing his left wrist to a rolling desk chair and queuing up our recording equipment.Trilling added an extra shackle on his ankle, connected to the heavy, wooden chair at the end of the table. We also made sure someone was sitting with him every second.

After I read him his rights and offered him some food, I figured it was time to get down to business. Walter Jackson was furiously working on Doyle’s background. I had no doubt that Walter would find some detail we could use in the interview. We just needed to give him a little time. Doyle hadn’t asked for an attorney yet, so we were free to keep maneuvering and asking ques-tions.

We tried a couple of friendly questions but got nowhere. I decided it was time to start swinging a little harder. I looked directly at Doyle and said, “Looks like you’ve killed a lot of retired cops.”

That seemed to hit home a little bit. Doyle looked down at the faux-oak conference table.

I kept up the pressure. “I would’ve thought someone with your background would understand service and duty. It’s not like you’re some crazy kid thinking you’re fighting fascism by killing cops. You know what it means to sacrifice. You’re a veteran, for Christ’s sake.”

Doyle nodded his head slowly. But still didn’t say anything.

“We found your thumbprint on Roger Dzoriack’s kitchen faucet. That’s how we were able to identify you. Can you explain why you were in a retired NYPD detective’s apartment just before he supposedly committed suicide?”

Doyle shook his head. But the revelation obviously shook him. He seemed a little more agitated. His left index finger started tapping on the chair where he was handcuffed. When he looked up, he was biting his lower lip.

I said, “You can’t explain away your print in his apartment. You’re a smart guy. You gotta realize you’re all done. The only question is, are you prepared to spend the rest of your life in prison, or will you tell us why you killed these cops? Was it personal? Or did someone hire you?” I didn’t bring up the dead drug dealers yet. I still wanted to appeal to his sense of duty.

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