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I checked the digital clock on the wall against the time on my phone. They matched. I looked at Sharone and said, “And you were here with him the entire time?”

“I’m required to read the documents aloud so no one can claim they didn’t understand what was going on. It almost always takes forty-five to fifty minutes.”

I was already up and out of my chair, heading for the door, as I thanked Sharone Baxter-Tate. “I’ll get back to you and explain everything one day soon. Please keep all that original paperwork secure.”

I didn’t hear her response as I hustled out the door.

CHAPTER 89

I’D GATHERED A fair amount of evidence that pointed to Rob Trillingnotbeing the Longshot Killer. I still wasn’t sure what to do with the information. In the back of my mind, I was worried command staff might relieve me and put someone else in to investigate the sniper. They would have a fair argument. I had now prioritized actively looking to exonerate Rob Trilling over the rest of the case. That’s not exactly what homicide detectives do.

Walter Jackson called me while I was still at One Police Plaza. “The report on the casing found in Trilling’s car came in and I’m emailing it to you now.”

I opened the email on my phone and quickly read the report while Walter was still on the line. The report said there was no usable DNA or fingerprints on the casing. Not even a partial print.

“Who wipes a bullet down before they put it in a rifle?” Ithought about it and said to Walter, “Unless the casing was planted.” I paused, trying to wrap my head around the possibility that someone might have tried to frame Rob Trilling for the sniper murders.

Walter asked, “Who would do something like that?Whywould they do it?”

“Good questions. I have no answers.” The frustrating part was that I knew I had all the information in my head to figure this out. I just needed to organize it and then worry about articulating it.

I thought about it for a few moments, then said, “One key question for me is, where did someone plant the empty casing in Trilling’s car? It would’ve had to be in the FBI parking lot or possibly even the NYPD parking lot near One Police Plaza. If we could figure out where it happened, it might lead us to the more important question ofwhoplanted the casing.” I added, “Maybe someone was trying to take the heat off themselves. That means we might have to consider another suspect who works in law enforcement.”

“That means your original theory could still be true. The killer could be a straight arrow who doesn’t like the fact that criminals are not being punished.”

“And it has to be someone with access to police files and the inner workings of a criminal investigation.”

Then it hit me. How could I have been so focused on one suspect? There was another suspect. Another sniper. Also a cop. I recalled speaking with the former NYPD sniper now on desk duty: Joe Tavarez.

CHAPTER 90

I DIDN’T SHARE my epiphany with Walter Jackson on the phone. I trusted Walter completely. But I didn’t want to put him in an awkward position. If I ended up accusing a different person after first suggesting it was Rob Trilling, the fallout could be harsh. Especially if I was wrong. Command staff could move me to some distant precinct to write traffic tickets until I retired. I didn’t want Walter to catch any of the blowback, so I didn’t tell him what I was doing.

This was going to be a difficult concept to sell. After accusing one cop, I was now saying I was wrong. And I would be accusing a different cop. But I wasn’t sure if there was any alternative.

In fact, if I wasn’t careful, I could end up ruining the reputations of three different cops on this case: Rob Trilling, Joe Tavarez, and me. I slipped back into personnel to speak with Sharone Baxter-Tate again. It took me about five minutes to verify that JoeTavarez had been off duty during each of the five sniper murders. That in itself didn’t mean anything. And I recalled talking to his wife, Cindy, some days ago, to verify his alibi for one of the nights in question. She had backed him up, with details about what they’d had for dinner too.

Then I texted Sergeant Jeff Mabus, the ESU supervisor I’d talked to about Trilling. He was on his way to One Police Plaza and agreed to meet me in the back parking lot at the exact same spot where we had spoken last time.

Today, Mabus was dressed more like an NYPD officer. He wore a blue, long-sleeved T-shirt with an NYPD insignia on the chest. He still looked impressive physically.

We both leaned against an unmarked Chevy Tahoe the ESU team used to move around the city unnoticed.

After a quick greeting, I wasted no time. “How well do you know Joe Tavarez?”

“I know him pretty well since we were on the team together for about three years. Very stable and reasonable guy. Why? Are you going to pile on him like everyone else? He saved a young woman’s life by making an incredibly difficult shot and hitting an armed man before the perp could kill the victim. Now he’s being punished, rotting away as some kind of analyst for doing the right thing—exactly what he was supposed to do as a sniper on the special-ops team.”

“I’m not disputing that. I’m just trying to piece together some information. What kind of rifle did he use when he made the shot?”

Now Mabus gave me an odd look. “It was a Remington 700, the SPS Tactical. Why?”

“Because I am trying to figure a few things out, and you’re theguy with the knowledge to help me. Was Tavarez angry he was relieved of active duty?”

Mabus considered this question. Finally he said, “Who wouldn’t be? You train for one job, do it right, and still get crucified for it. And it’s not just Tavarez. Any police sniper who takes a shot is treated about the same way.”

I wasn’t sure what to say. Now wasn’t the time to get into political discussions, and Mabus had a point. “Can police snipers do anything to change that policy?”

Mabus shrugged. “You know the saying: There are two things cops hate. The way things have always been done, and change.”

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