Post by mlm828 on Jun 4, 2006 0:04:00 GMT -5
Episode 20: Eyewitness Identification
Day One
Scene One
“Hey, Jim!” A voice called from the fire station, interrupting Jim’s walk to the 8th Precinct from the subway.
Jim ordered Hank to stop and turned toward the voice. “Hey, Dean,” he replied.
“Got a minute?” Dean Bostic asked him. “I’ll buy you a cup of firehouse coffee.”
“Sure,” Jim agreed, ordering Hank to follow Dean across the bay and into the station.
As they climbed the stairs to the station’s second-floor kitchen, Jim asked, “How’re the repairs going on your building?”
“Slowly,” Dean replied. “I tell you, I’d rather deal with Russo than my insurance company.”
“That bad, huh?”
“Yeah.”
When they were both seated at the kitchen table with cups of coffee, Jim turned to Dean and asked, “How’s Pete doing?”
“Well,” Dean answered, “that’s the reason I wanted to talk to you.”
“Is he having problems on the job?”
“No, no, he’s doing a great job,” Dean assured him. “But, you know, he’s working the night shift, and two nights ago, he got mugged on the way to work.”
“Oh, no. Is he OK?”
“Not really. The guy smacked him pretty good – hit him with his gun, apparently, and knocked him out, and he’s kinda concussed. And – well, he hasn’t said anything about it, but I think his eyesight’s gotten worse since.”
Jim shook his head. “Damn. Is there anything I can do?”
“Actually, there is. Pete talked to a robbery detective, but from what Pete told me, it sounded like the guy was just phoning it in. He even told Pete there wasn’t much he could do, because Pete wouldn’t be able to ID the guy, even if they caught him.”
Frowning, Jim asked, “Who’s the detective? Did Pete give you a name?”
“Mike something – I think it’s an Italian last name.”
“Ciccone?”
“That’s it. Do you know him?”
“Yeah, I do. I’m surprised – he doesn’t seem like the type to just phone it in. I’ll talk to him. I’ll talk to Pete, too. Think he’d be up for a visit?”
“From you? Absolutely.”
“I’d better get going, then. Thanks for the coffee.” Jim stood and grasped Hank’s harness. “Stairs straight ahead?”
“Yeah, straight ahead, about ten feet,” Dean confirmed. Jim ordered Hank forward and took a few steps toward the stairwell, before Dean spoke again. “Jim?”
Jim stopped and turned toward him.
“Thanks.”
“Not a problem,” Jim replied as he started down the stairs.
Scene Two
“Mike?” Jim asked.
“Yeah, Jim, over here.” Mike Ciccone looked up from his computer when he heard Jim call his name. Dark-haired and short but powerfully built, he was a eight-year veteran of the force who had transferred to the 8th Precinct a few months before Jim was assigned there. Jim let Hank guide him through the maze of desks that made up the Robbery Detail, until they reached Mike’s desk. “What can I do for you?” the robbery detective asked when Jim was standing next to his desk.
“You caught a mugging a couple of nights ago,” Jim told him. “I know the victim – a blind kid, name of Pete Steckle. You getting anywhere with it?”
“Uh, sorry, Jim – not really. It looks like it’s part of a series of muggings that’ve gone down in the same area around 10th and Avenue A over the last couple weeks. We just caught another one last night. They all have the same m.o. – victim walking alone around midnight, perp comes up from behind, sticks a gun in their back, if they try to resist, he hits them with the gun, takes their money, and splits. It’s probably a junkie getting money for his next fix.”
“Yeah,” Jim agreed.
“Last night’s victim wasn’t so lucky. He tried to resist, apparently, and got shot. We don’t know if he’s going to make it or not.”
Jim frowned. “Son of a bitch,” he muttered. “Did you get anything useful from Pete?”
“Not really.” Mike paused and looked thoughtfully at Jim before continuing. “No offense, Jim, but it’s not like he’s gonna be able to ID the guy. And I gotta tell you, he didn’t seem all that sharp when I talked to him.”
Jim’s stomach churned. Keeping his expression impassive, he shook his head. “You’re wrong, Mike. He’s a bright kid. But he’d just been mugged and knocked out when you talked to him. I’ll talk to him – I’m going to check on him today anyway. Maybe he’ll remember something that’ll help.”
“Okay,” Mike replied doubtfully. “Let me know if you get anything.”
Scene Three
Karen looked up from her computer screen and saw Jim and Hank walking into the squad. “Mornin’, Jim. Where’ve you been?”
He took off his coat and draped it over the back of his chair before he sat down and answered her. “I stopped off at the fire station. Dean wanted to talk to me.”
“Dean Bostic?”
“Yeah.”
“What’d he want?”
Jim shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “You remember Pete Steckle?”
“Yeah, sure. What’s up with him?”
“He’s been working for Dean, at his car service – ”
Karen’s eyes widened. “You did that?”
Jim looked embarrassed. “Well. . . .”
“Sorry, Jim, I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Karen told him. “Go on.”
“Anyway, Pete’s been working nights at Dean’s car service, and he got mugged on the way to work two nights ago.”
“Oh, no. Is he all right?”
“I’m not sure. Dean said he had a concussion. If the boss can give me the time, I’m going to go over and check on him today.”
“Who caught the mugging?”
“Mike Ciccone.”
“Good. He’s a good guy,” Karen commented.
“Well,” Jim lowered his voice and leaned toward her. “That’s part of what Dean wanted to talk to me about.”
Karen rolled her chair toward him, looking around the squad room to confirm no one was nearby. “It’s OK,” she told him, “go ahead.”
“Pete felt Mike wasn’t going to do much with it, because – well, because Pete’s blind. Dean said he told Pete it wouldn’t do any good to catch the guy, because Pete couldn’t ID him. Mike said the same thing to me just now.”
“Oh.” Karen leaned back in her chair and rolled her eyes. Hadn’t the other detectives at the 8th learned anything in the past nine months? She knew Jim wouldn’t have shown any reaction to Mike’s comment, but hearing this kind of thing over and over had to get to him. She let it go. It would only embarrass Jim if she said anything.
Jim stood up and started toward Fisk’s office.
“Jim?”
He stopped and turned back toward Karen. “Yeah.”
“You want me to come to Pete’s with you?”
“No, but thanks.” He continued on toward Fisk’s office.
Scene Four
Jim knocked on Pete’s door. “Pete,” he called, “it’s Jim Dunbar.”
The door opened. “Detective!” Pete greeted him. “Come in, it’s good to see you.”
“I heard about the mugging,” Jim explained as he and Hank walked into the living room. “How you doin’?”
Pete answered as Jim found the couch and sat down. “I’m OK. I guess Dean told you about the mugging, huh? He told me he was going to talk to you.”
“Yeah, he did,” Jim confirmed.
Pete sat on a chair opposite the couch. “To tell you the truth, I’m going kinda stir-crazy,” he admitted. “I don’t want to be stuck here – I need to get back to work, and back to my training.”
“Yeah. How’s that going?”
“Great. My O & M instructor says I’m a really fast learner. . . .”
As Pete talked about his training, Jim reflected on how far Pete had come since they first met. Isolated, depressed, and denying his blindness, Pete had spent his days in his trashed apartment, believing his life was over. Jim was gratified to hear the pride in Pete’s voice at all he’d accomplished in such a short time. He usually avoided thinking about the first weeks and months after the shooting which had taken his sight, but Pete’s words took him back to the time when he began to realize he could do it, after all – he could learn to live with his blindness. Now Pete was learning the same thing.
When Pete finished describing his latest orientation and mobility lesson, Jim changed the subject. “You know, Pete, this isn’t just a social call.”
“I didn’t think it was, Detective. You want to know about the mugging, right?
“Right, and it’s ‘Jim,’ Pete.”
“Wha – oh, OK. But what’s the use?” Pete asked, in the same hopeless tone that Jim had heard in their first conversations. “The robbery guy basically told me he wasn’t gonna try to find the guy, since I can’t ID him.”
“Yeah, I know. He told me the same thing. But let’s go over it anyway. Maybe you’ll remember something that can help. You’re not the only one who’s been mugged by this guy, you know.”
“No, I didn’t know that.” Pete paused, thinking. “Well, I really didn’t see anything. Maybe, if it had been during the day . . . well, I’m not seeing much anymore, even during the day,” he admitted, “but my night vision is basically shot, you know?”
“Yeah, RP does that. Did you get any impression of the guy’s size?”
“About my height, I think. And when he grabbed me, and then when I tried to get away, he felt kinda skinny.”
“So – about 5'8", thin build?”
“Yeah, that sounds about right,” Pete confirmed.
“Did he say anything?” Jim asked.
Pete thought for a moment before answering. “Something like, this is a real gun, keep quiet and you won’t get hurt.” He paused, then continued. “He sounded like a black guy, but there was something. . . he didn’t sound like he was from around here. He had an accent – Southern, maybe.”
“That’s good,” Jim encouraged him. “Anything else?”
“Yeah, there is. When I was trying to get away, he was breathing real hard, kind of wheezing. I remember thinking maybe he was having an asthma attack, or something, and I could get away. But then he hit me, I guess with the gun . . . was it a real gun?”
“Yeah, it was,” Jim replied, thinking of the mugger’s latest victim. “Next time – if there is a next time – don’t try to be a hero, OK?” He stood up. “I have to get back to the squad. You’ve been a big help, Pete. Thanks.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really,” Jim confirmed.
He grasped Hank’s harness and ordered him forward, but Pete’s voice stopped him before he reached the door. “Can I ask you something, Det – uh, I mean, Jim?”
“Sure.”
“That robbery guy – he talked to me like I was some kind of dummy, you know, real loud and slow, like I’m stupid or something. And, you know, sometimes people talk about me like I’m not there.”
Jim sighed. “Yeah, I know.”
“You get that, too?”
“Sometimes.”
“What do you do when that happens?”
Jim shrugged, forgetting Pete couldn’t see the gesture. “Mostly, I try to ignore it.”
“It doesn’t get to you?”
“Yeah, it does, sometimes,” Jim admitted. “But, you know, Pete, when that happens, it doesn’t matter what you say. They aren’t going to hear you anyway.”
“I guess,” Pete replied, sounding a little doubtful.
Jim ordered Hank forward and started toward the door again. “Let me know how you’re doing, okay?”
“I will – and thanks.”
Scene Five
“Jim!” Jim stopped on his way to the elevator when he heard Mike Ciccone’s voice. “You find out anything?”
“Yeah, I did,” Jim answered, turning toward the Robbery Detail.
When he reached Mike’s desk, Mike spoke before Jim could tell him what he’d learned from Pete. “My boss just got a call from the hospital. Last night’s victim died about half an hour ago. So it’s Homicide’s case now.”
Jim felt a surge of anger at the victim’s senseless death, immediately followed by relief it hadn’t been Pete. “I better get upstairs, then. Can I fill you in later?” he asked as he headed toward the elevator.
“Sure.”
Karen saw Jim and Hank out of the corner of her eye and looked up from her computer. “We caught a new case while you were gone,” she told him.
“Yeah, I know,” he replied, “Mike told me, downstairs.”
“Marty and Tom went to the hospital. The boss wants us to go over the reports on the muggings and get up to speed.”
“OK.”
“How’s Pete doing?”
“Pretty good, considering.”
“Did he give you anything on the mugging?”
“Yeah, he did,” Jim replied as he reached his desk and sat down. He summarized what Pete had told him about the mugger, then asked, “How does that compare with what the other victims say?”
“It seems pretty consistent. But I gotta tell you, none of these people got a good look at the guy. We don’t really have a good description. And now he’s a killer.”
“Yeah,” Jim agreed, holding out a hand. “I’ll start on some of those reports. We need to get going on this.”
Scene Six
A half hour later, Marty and Tom returned to the squad. Fisk came out of his office when he saw them arrive. “What’ve you got?”
Marty crossed to his desk and sat down before answering. “Victim was Chris D’Elia, 34 years old. He was a nurse, worked the 3-11 shift on the surgical floor at Bellevue. He was on his way home from work when he got mugged.”
Tom picked up the narrative. “He had a GSW to the head, but believe it or not, he was awake and talking when they brought him in to the ER. What he told them fits the pattern – perp came up from behind, grabbed him, pushed a gun in his back, demanded his wallet. Chris tried to get out of the hold, the gun went off.”
“The guy was shot in the head, and he was talking?” Karen asked in disbelief.
“Yeah, it can happen sometimes – there’s like a delayed reaction or something. Ask your partner, he’s our resident expert,” Marty replied, jerking his head in Jim’s direction. “I’ll bet you, after he got shot, he gave a full statement on the way to the hospital.”
Fisk frowned in annoyance. Karen glared at Marty, then glanced over at Jim. She saw his jaw tighten, but he just shook his head and answered, “Nope.”
“So where do we go from here?” Fisk asked, anxious to get the discussion back on track.
Marty answered,“I’m thinking we re-interview the other mugging victims, see if we can get a better description of the perp. Or maybe there’s something they didn’t remember when Robbery talked to them.”
“Maybe visit the scenes, see if we can find anything,” Karen suggested.
“Crime scene didn’t go out?” Tom asked.
“For street muggings? Not likely,” Fisk replied. “Any ideas, Jim?”
“No.”
“OK,” Fisk told them, “hit it.”
After Fisk returned to his office, Marty headed for the locker room for a cup of coffee. Tom followed, closing the door behind them. Standing with his arms folded, he watched Marty pour a cup of coffee before he spoke. “You know, bro, you can be a real asshole sometimes.”
Marty set his coffee cup down and turned toward his partner. “What d’you mean?”
“What you just said to Jim. The guy got shot in the head and almost died, for chrissake, and woke up blind.”
“Dunbar’s a tough guy, he can take it,” Marty asserted.
“I know. He has to take shit all the time – from other people. He shouldn’t have to take it from us. You owe him an apology.”
“I don’t owe Dunbar a damn thing. C’mon, we got work to do.” Marty picked up his coffee cup and headed back to his desk. With an irritated frown, Tom watched him go.
Scene Seven
Mike Ciccone sprinted up the stairs to the homicide detectives’ squad room. “Jim,” he called out from the hall, “you’re not gonna believe this.”
Jim took out his earpiece and turned toward Mike, tilting his head.
“We got the mugger. He’s downstairs.”
“That’s great. How’d you collar him?”
“Oh, man, Christmas came early,” Mike said, sitting at the desk opposite Jim’s. “We were re-interviewing one of the victims, Lidia Hernandez. All of a sudden, she got real quiet. Then she pointed at a perp Narcotics was taking to Central Booking. She said, ‘That guy over there – he kinda looks like him.’”
Jim leaned back in his chair, looking deflated. “Let me get this straight. She sees a guy in handcuffs in the police station, and she says he ‘kinda looks like’ the mugger?”
“Yeah, that’s right. What, you think there’s a problem?”
“Does the guy look anything like the description she gave?”
“Well,” Mike replied slowly, “she didn’t give us much of a description. But I gotta tell you, Jim, the way she reacted when she saw him, I think he’s our guy.”
“Who is he?”
“Tyree Williams. He has a coupla collars for drug sales – that’s what they were taking him in for when she spotted him.”
Karen spoke up. “What’s he look like?”
“He’s black, about 6'1", muscular build, shaved head, lots of tattoos, mid-twenties.”
“Does that match the descriptions from any of the other mugging victims?”
“Well, none of them got a good look at him, because he came at them from behind, and it was dark.”
“Did you talk to him?” Jim asked.
“A little,” Mike answered. “He didn’t have much to say when he found out we were looking at him for a homicide.”
“Did you notice any kind of an accent?”
“Not really.”
“Can he account for his whereabouts last night?” Karen asked.
“He hasn’t said,” Mike told her. “Like I said, he isn’t saying much.”
“Did you find any of the mugging victims’ property on him?”
“No, but he only took cash, so – ”
Jim turned to Karen. “Let’s talk to the boss. Then we’ll have a conversation with Mr. Williams.”
Scene Eight
“Interview room two,” Karen told Jim as Mike escorted Tyree Williams into the squad.
As she stood up and started in the direction of the interview room, Jim raised a hand to stop her. “What does he look like?”
Karen stopped, wondering why he was asking her to repeat what Mike had just told them. “Basically what Mike said – he’s a pretty big guy, over six feet, looks like he’s been lifting weights.”
Jim frowned, knitting his brow.
“What?” Karen asked.
“Nothing,” Jim replied. “Let’s get in there.”
Jim followed Karen into the interview room. From his seat at the table, Williams stared at Jim as he trailed his hand along the wall, found the window sill to his right and leaned against it. Karen stood at the end of the table. “So, Tyree, you know the drill, right?” she asked. “We can do this the easy way, or we can do this the hard way. Why don’t you just tell us what happened last night?”
“I dunno what you talkin’ about. Nothin’ ‘happened’ last night,” Williams asserted.
Karen leaned over the table toward him. “Mugging a guy and shooting him – you call that ‘nothing’?”
“Dunno nothin’ ’bout that,” Williams repeated.
“You know, Tyree,” Jim spoke up from his place next to the windows, “you need to understand what you’re looking at here. The guy you tried to rob last night is dead. You kill someone during a robbery, that’s felony-murder – first degree. You’re never seeing the outside world again, unless you cooperate.”
Williams leaned back, his arms folded.
Karen walked to the side of the table across from Williams, pulled out a chair, and sat down. “You think you’re home free, is that it? You think no one can ID you? You better think again. We have a witness – an eyewitness.”
“Wasn’t me,” Williams insisted.
“OK,” she persisted, “so where were you last night around 11:30?”
“At my girlfriend’s.”
“Oh, you were at your girlfriend’s?” Karen rolled her eyes, not bothering to hide her disbelief. “Can she confirm that?”
“Sure.”
“This girlfriend, does she have a name?”
“Denisha. Denisha Robinson.”
Karen pushed the legal pad and pen toward Williams, indicating he should write down Denisha’s address and phone number.
As Williams wrote, Jim spoke up again, “What about two nights ago?”
“What about it?”
“You don’t remember mugging a blind guy?”
“What?” Williams asked, sounding shocked. “No way. I wouldn’t mug no blind guy. That’s low, man. You ain’t gettin’ me to go for that.”
Karen gave him a disgusted look. “OK, let me get this straight. You sell drugs to kids, but you wouldn’t mug a blind guy. Right.”
Williams glared at her. “Fuck this. I want a lawyer.”
“You sure about that?” Jim asked. “You want to help yourself, this is your last chance.”
“Yeah, I’m sure. I got nothin’ to say.”
Jim followed Karen out of the interview room. As he closed the door behind them, Fisk, Marty, and Tom emerged from the observation room. “Are you buying his alibi, boss?” she asked.
Before Fisk could answer, Marty scoffed, “He was with his girlfriend? I don’t buy it. They always claim the girlfriend or the wife or the mom can alibi them.”
“Yeah, I know,” Fisk told him. He turned to Karen. “But check it out anyway.”
Karen nodded. “OK, boss. Too bad we couldn’t get more out of him before he lawyered up.”
“Let me know what the girlfriend says,” Fisk ordered as he returned to his office.
Scene Nine
Their interview with Denisha Robinson completed, Jim and Karen headed back to the squad. From the driver’s seat of the car, Karen looked over at Jim as she waited for the light to change. “You know, Jim,” she began hesitantly. Jim turned toward her with a questioning expression. “Marty was way out of line – I mean, what he said about you getting shot.”
“It was just Marty being Marty.”
“No, really, I don’t know why he says stuff like that. It can’t have been pleasant, being reminded of what you went through.”
“What I ‘went through’?’
“Well, yes, after you were shot.”
“Don’t sweat it, Karen.”
She looked doubtful, but knew to drop the subject. “What did you think of the girlfriend?” she asked.
“She seemed pretty credible to me,” Jim told her.
“Me, too.”
“Maybe Tyree isn’t our guy,” Jim suggested.
“But the eyewitness – ” Karen began.
“I don’t know, Karen,” Jim interrupted. “She says she didn’t get a good look at the guy, then she sees someone in custody in the police station, and all of a sudden she can ID him? Besides, Tyree is too big to be the guy who mugged Pete, and Denisha says he doesn’t have asthma. And he’s a native New Yorker – no Southern accent. It doesn’t add up.”
“But, Jim, I have to ask . . . how much can we rely on what Pete told you?”
“Because he couldn’t see anything,” Jim said wearily, turning away from her.
“That’s not what I meant,” Karen told him firmly. He turned back toward her with a skeptical expression. “But Pete was under a lot of stress, getting mugged and all . . . I mean, did he really have the presence of mind to estimate the guy’s height, plus notice his accent and how he breathed? That’s got to take a lot of concentration. . .” Her voice trailed off, questioningly.
“It’s not that difficult.”
“If you say so.”
“I do. I’m gonna call the boss, then let’s call it a day.”
“OK.”
As Jim reported to Fisk on their interview with Denisha, Karen wondered about Jim’s reaction to her question about Pete. He seemed unusually touchy when people doubted Pete, almost as if he was taking it personally. Well, it was personal, she supposed. The same people who doubted Pete because he was blind would doubt Jim, too. It troubled her that Jim might think she was one of them. After working with Jim for nine months, she thought she’d freed herself from any preconceived ideas about blindness. But had she, really? She sighed and looked at him thoughtfully as he completed his report and closed his phone.
“Boss says we can pick this up in the morning,” he told her. “Can you drop me at the F train?”
Day One
Scene One
“Hey, Jim!” A voice called from the fire station, interrupting Jim’s walk to the 8th Precinct from the subway.
Jim ordered Hank to stop and turned toward the voice. “Hey, Dean,” he replied.
“Got a minute?” Dean Bostic asked him. “I’ll buy you a cup of firehouse coffee.”
“Sure,” Jim agreed, ordering Hank to follow Dean across the bay and into the station.
As they climbed the stairs to the station’s second-floor kitchen, Jim asked, “How’re the repairs going on your building?”
“Slowly,” Dean replied. “I tell you, I’d rather deal with Russo than my insurance company.”
“That bad, huh?”
“Yeah.”
When they were both seated at the kitchen table with cups of coffee, Jim turned to Dean and asked, “How’s Pete doing?”
“Well,” Dean answered, “that’s the reason I wanted to talk to you.”
“Is he having problems on the job?”
“No, no, he’s doing a great job,” Dean assured him. “But, you know, he’s working the night shift, and two nights ago, he got mugged on the way to work.”
“Oh, no. Is he OK?”
“Not really. The guy smacked him pretty good – hit him with his gun, apparently, and knocked him out, and he’s kinda concussed. And – well, he hasn’t said anything about it, but I think his eyesight’s gotten worse since.”
Jim shook his head. “Damn. Is there anything I can do?”
“Actually, there is. Pete talked to a robbery detective, but from what Pete told me, it sounded like the guy was just phoning it in. He even told Pete there wasn’t much he could do, because Pete wouldn’t be able to ID the guy, even if they caught him.”
Frowning, Jim asked, “Who’s the detective? Did Pete give you a name?”
“Mike something – I think it’s an Italian last name.”
“Ciccone?”
“That’s it. Do you know him?”
“Yeah, I do. I’m surprised – he doesn’t seem like the type to just phone it in. I’ll talk to him. I’ll talk to Pete, too. Think he’d be up for a visit?”
“From you? Absolutely.”
“I’d better get going, then. Thanks for the coffee.” Jim stood and grasped Hank’s harness. “Stairs straight ahead?”
“Yeah, straight ahead, about ten feet,” Dean confirmed. Jim ordered Hank forward and took a few steps toward the stairwell, before Dean spoke again. “Jim?”
Jim stopped and turned toward him.
“Thanks.”
“Not a problem,” Jim replied as he started down the stairs.
Scene Two
“Mike?” Jim asked.
“Yeah, Jim, over here.” Mike Ciccone looked up from his computer when he heard Jim call his name. Dark-haired and short but powerfully built, he was a eight-year veteran of the force who had transferred to the 8th Precinct a few months before Jim was assigned there. Jim let Hank guide him through the maze of desks that made up the Robbery Detail, until they reached Mike’s desk. “What can I do for you?” the robbery detective asked when Jim was standing next to his desk.
“You caught a mugging a couple of nights ago,” Jim told him. “I know the victim – a blind kid, name of Pete Steckle. You getting anywhere with it?”
“Uh, sorry, Jim – not really. It looks like it’s part of a series of muggings that’ve gone down in the same area around 10th and Avenue A over the last couple weeks. We just caught another one last night. They all have the same m.o. – victim walking alone around midnight, perp comes up from behind, sticks a gun in their back, if they try to resist, he hits them with the gun, takes their money, and splits. It’s probably a junkie getting money for his next fix.”
“Yeah,” Jim agreed.
“Last night’s victim wasn’t so lucky. He tried to resist, apparently, and got shot. We don’t know if he’s going to make it or not.”
Jim frowned. “Son of a bitch,” he muttered. “Did you get anything useful from Pete?”
“Not really.” Mike paused and looked thoughtfully at Jim before continuing. “No offense, Jim, but it’s not like he’s gonna be able to ID the guy. And I gotta tell you, he didn’t seem all that sharp when I talked to him.”
Jim’s stomach churned. Keeping his expression impassive, he shook his head. “You’re wrong, Mike. He’s a bright kid. But he’d just been mugged and knocked out when you talked to him. I’ll talk to him – I’m going to check on him today anyway. Maybe he’ll remember something that’ll help.”
“Okay,” Mike replied doubtfully. “Let me know if you get anything.”
Scene Three
Karen looked up from her computer screen and saw Jim and Hank walking into the squad. “Mornin’, Jim. Where’ve you been?”
He took off his coat and draped it over the back of his chair before he sat down and answered her. “I stopped off at the fire station. Dean wanted to talk to me.”
“Dean Bostic?”
“Yeah.”
“What’d he want?”
Jim shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “You remember Pete Steckle?”
“Yeah, sure. What’s up with him?”
“He’s been working for Dean, at his car service – ”
Karen’s eyes widened. “You did that?”
Jim looked embarrassed. “Well. . . .”
“Sorry, Jim, I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Karen told him. “Go on.”
“Anyway, Pete’s been working nights at Dean’s car service, and he got mugged on the way to work two nights ago.”
“Oh, no. Is he all right?”
“I’m not sure. Dean said he had a concussion. If the boss can give me the time, I’m going to go over and check on him today.”
“Who caught the mugging?”
“Mike Ciccone.”
“Good. He’s a good guy,” Karen commented.
“Well,” Jim lowered his voice and leaned toward her. “That’s part of what Dean wanted to talk to me about.”
Karen rolled her chair toward him, looking around the squad room to confirm no one was nearby. “It’s OK,” she told him, “go ahead.”
“Pete felt Mike wasn’t going to do much with it, because – well, because Pete’s blind. Dean said he told Pete it wouldn’t do any good to catch the guy, because Pete couldn’t ID him. Mike said the same thing to me just now.”
“Oh.” Karen leaned back in her chair and rolled her eyes. Hadn’t the other detectives at the 8th learned anything in the past nine months? She knew Jim wouldn’t have shown any reaction to Mike’s comment, but hearing this kind of thing over and over had to get to him. She let it go. It would only embarrass Jim if she said anything.
Jim stood up and started toward Fisk’s office.
“Jim?”
He stopped and turned back toward Karen. “Yeah.”
“You want me to come to Pete’s with you?”
“No, but thanks.” He continued on toward Fisk’s office.
Scene Four
Jim knocked on Pete’s door. “Pete,” he called, “it’s Jim Dunbar.”
The door opened. “Detective!” Pete greeted him. “Come in, it’s good to see you.”
“I heard about the mugging,” Jim explained as he and Hank walked into the living room. “How you doin’?”
Pete answered as Jim found the couch and sat down. “I’m OK. I guess Dean told you about the mugging, huh? He told me he was going to talk to you.”
“Yeah, he did,” Jim confirmed.
Pete sat on a chair opposite the couch. “To tell you the truth, I’m going kinda stir-crazy,” he admitted. “I don’t want to be stuck here – I need to get back to work, and back to my training.”
“Yeah. How’s that going?”
“Great. My O & M instructor says I’m a really fast learner. . . .”
As Pete talked about his training, Jim reflected on how far Pete had come since they first met. Isolated, depressed, and denying his blindness, Pete had spent his days in his trashed apartment, believing his life was over. Jim was gratified to hear the pride in Pete’s voice at all he’d accomplished in such a short time. He usually avoided thinking about the first weeks and months after the shooting which had taken his sight, but Pete’s words took him back to the time when he began to realize he could do it, after all – he could learn to live with his blindness. Now Pete was learning the same thing.
When Pete finished describing his latest orientation and mobility lesson, Jim changed the subject. “You know, Pete, this isn’t just a social call.”
“I didn’t think it was, Detective. You want to know about the mugging, right?
“Right, and it’s ‘Jim,’ Pete.”
“Wha – oh, OK. But what’s the use?” Pete asked, in the same hopeless tone that Jim had heard in their first conversations. “The robbery guy basically told me he wasn’t gonna try to find the guy, since I can’t ID him.”
“Yeah, I know. He told me the same thing. But let’s go over it anyway. Maybe you’ll remember something that can help. You’re not the only one who’s been mugged by this guy, you know.”
“No, I didn’t know that.” Pete paused, thinking. “Well, I really didn’t see anything. Maybe, if it had been during the day . . . well, I’m not seeing much anymore, even during the day,” he admitted, “but my night vision is basically shot, you know?”
“Yeah, RP does that. Did you get any impression of the guy’s size?”
“About my height, I think. And when he grabbed me, and then when I tried to get away, he felt kinda skinny.”
“So – about 5'8", thin build?”
“Yeah, that sounds about right,” Pete confirmed.
“Did he say anything?” Jim asked.
Pete thought for a moment before answering. “Something like, this is a real gun, keep quiet and you won’t get hurt.” He paused, then continued. “He sounded like a black guy, but there was something. . . he didn’t sound like he was from around here. He had an accent – Southern, maybe.”
“That’s good,” Jim encouraged him. “Anything else?”
“Yeah, there is. When I was trying to get away, he was breathing real hard, kind of wheezing. I remember thinking maybe he was having an asthma attack, or something, and I could get away. But then he hit me, I guess with the gun . . . was it a real gun?”
“Yeah, it was,” Jim replied, thinking of the mugger’s latest victim. “Next time – if there is a next time – don’t try to be a hero, OK?” He stood up. “I have to get back to the squad. You’ve been a big help, Pete. Thanks.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really,” Jim confirmed.
He grasped Hank’s harness and ordered him forward, but Pete’s voice stopped him before he reached the door. “Can I ask you something, Det – uh, I mean, Jim?”
“Sure.”
“That robbery guy – he talked to me like I was some kind of dummy, you know, real loud and slow, like I’m stupid or something. And, you know, sometimes people talk about me like I’m not there.”
Jim sighed. “Yeah, I know.”
“You get that, too?”
“Sometimes.”
“What do you do when that happens?”
Jim shrugged, forgetting Pete couldn’t see the gesture. “Mostly, I try to ignore it.”
“It doesn’t get to you?”
“Yeah, it does, sometimes,” Jim admitted. “But, you know, Pete, when that happens, it doesn’t matter what you say. They aren’t going to hear you anyway.”
“I guess,” Pete replied, sounding a little doubtful.
Jim ordered Hank forward and started toward the door again. “Let me know how you’re doing, okay?”
“I will – and thanks.”
Scene Five
“Jim!” Jim stopped on his way to the elevator when he heard Mike Ciccone’s voice. “You find out anything?”
“Yeah, I did,” Jim answered, turning toward the Robbery Detail.
When he reached Mike’s desk, Mike spoke before Jim could tell him what he’d learned from Pete. “My boss just got a call from the hospital. Last night’s victim died about half an hour ago. So it’s Homicide’s case now.”
Jim felt a surge of anger at the victim’s senseless death, immediately followed by relief it hadn’t been Pete. “I better get upstairs, then. Can I fill you in later?” he asked as he headed toward the elevator.
“Sure.”
Karen saw Jim and Hank out of the corner of her eye and looked up from her computer. “We caught a new case while you were gone,” she told him.
“Yeah, I know,” he replied, “Mike told me, downstairs.”
“Marty and Tom went to the hospital. The boss wants us to go over the reports on the muggings and get up to speed.”
“OK.”
“How’s Pete doing?”
“Pretty good, considering.”
“Did he give you anything on the mugging?”
“Yeah, he did,” Jim replied as he reached his desk and sat down. He summarized what Pete had told him about the mugger, then asked, “How does that compare with what the other victims say?”
“It seems pretty consistent. But I gotta tell you, none of these people got a good look at the guy. We don’t really have a good description. And now he’s a killer.”
“Yeah,” Jim agreed, holding out a hand. “I’ll start on some of those reports. We need to get going on this.”
Scene Six
A half hour later, Marty and Tom returned to the squad. Fisk came out of his office when he saw them arrive. “What’ve you got?”
Marty crossed to his desk and sat down before answering. “Victim was Chris D’Elia, 34 years old. He was a nurse, worked the 3-11 shift on the surgical floor at Bellevue. He was on his way home from work when he got mugged.”
Tom picked up the narrative. “He had a GSW to the head, but believe it or not, he was awake and talking when they brought him in to the ER. What he told them fits the pattern – perp came up from behind, grabbed him, pushed a gun in his back, demanded his wallet. Chris tried to get out of the hold, the gun went off.”
“The guy was shot in the head, and he was talking?” Karen asked in disbelief.
“Yeah, it can happen sometimes – there’s like a delayed reaction or something. Ask your partner, he’s our resident expert,” Marty replied, jerking his head in Jim’s direction. “I’ll bet you, after he got shot, he gave a full statement on the way to the hospital.”
Fisk frowned in annoyance. Karen glared at Marty, then glanced over at Jim. She saw his jaw tighten, but he just shook his head and answered, “Nope.”
“So where do we go from here?” Fisk asked, anxious to get the discussion back on track.
Marty answered,“I’m thinking we re-interview the other mugging victims, see if we can get a better description of the perp. Or maybe there’s something they didn’t remember when Robbery talked to them.”
“Maybe visit the scenes, see if we can find anything,” Karen suggested.
“Crime scene didn’t go out?” Tom asked.
“For street muggings? Not likely,” Fisk replied. “Any ideas, Jim?”
“No.”
“OK,” Fisk told them, “hit it.”
After Fisk returned to his office, Marty headed for the locker room for a cup of coffee. Tom followed, closing the door behind them. Standing with his arms folded, he watched Marty pour a cup of coffee before he spoke. “You know, bro, you can be a real asshole sometimes.”
Marty set his coffee cup down and turned toward his partner. “What d’you mean?”
“What you just said to Jim. The guy got shot in the head and almost died, for chrissake, and woke up blind.”
“Dunbar’s a tough guy, he can take it,” Marty asserted.
“I know. He has to take shit all the time – from other people. He shouldn’t have to take it from us. You owe him an apology.”
“I don’t owe Dunbar a damn thing. C’mon, we got work to do.” Marty picked up his coffee cup and headed back to his desk. With an irritated frown, Tom watched him go.
Scene Seven
Mike Ciccone sprinted up the stairs to the homicide detectives’ squad room. “Jim,” he called out from the hall, “you’re not gonna believe this.”
Jim took out his earpiece and turned toward Mike, tilting his head.
“We got the mugger. He’s downstairs.”
“That’s great. How’d you collar him?”
“Oh, man, Christmas came early,” Mike said, sitting at the desk opposite Jim’s. “We were re-interviewing one of the victims, Lidia Hernandez. All of a sudden, she got real quiet. Then she pointed at a perp Narcotics was taking to Central Booking. She said, ‘That guy over there – he kinda looks like him.’”
Jim leaned back in his chair, looking deflated. “Let me get this straight. She sees a guy in handcuffs in the police station, and she says he ‘kinda looks like’ the mugger?”
“Yeah, that’s right. What, you think there’s a problem?”
“Does the guy look anything like the description she gave?”
“Well,” Mike replied slowly, “she didn’t give us much of a description. But I gotta tell you, Jim, the way she reacted when she saw him, I think he’s our guy.”
“Who is he?”
“Tyree Williams. He has a coupla collars for drug sales – that’s what they were taking him in for when she spotted him.”
Karen spoke up. “What’s he look like?”
“He’s black, about 6'1", muscular build, shaved head, lots of tattoos, mid-twenties.”
“Does that match the descriptions from any of the other mugging victims?”
“Well, none of them got a good look at him, because he came at them from behind, and it was dark.”
“Did you talk to him?” Jim asked.
“A little,” Mike answered. “He didn’t have much to say when he found out we were looking at him for a homicide.”
“Did you notice any kind of an accent?”
“Not really.”
“Can he account for his whereabouts last night?” Karen asked.
“He hasn’t said,” Mike told her. “Like I said, he isn’t saying much.”
“Did you find any of the mugging victims’ property on him?”
“No, but he only took cash, so – ”
Jim turned to Karen. “Let’s talk to the boss. Then we’ll have a conversation with Mr. Williams.”
Scene Eight
“Interview room two,” Karen told Jim as Mike escorted Tyree Williams into the squad.
As she stood up and started in the direction of the interview room, Jim raised a hand to stop her. “What does he look like?”
Karen stopped, wondering why he was asking her to repeat what Mike had just told them. “Basically what Mike said – he’s a pretty big guy, over six feet, looks like he’s been lifting weights.”
Jim frowned, knitting his brow.
“What?” Karen asked.
“Nothing,” Jim replied. “Let’s get in there.”
Jim followed Karen into the interview room. From his seat at the table, Williams stared at Jim as he trailed his hand along the wall, found the window sill to his right and leaned against it. Karen stood at the end of the table. “So, Tyree, you know the drill, right?” she asked. “We can do this the easy way, or we can do this the hard way. Why don’t you just tell us what happened last night?”
“I dunno what you talkin’ about. Nothin’ ‘happened’ last night,” Williams asserted.
Karen leaned over the table toward him. “Mugging a guy and shooting him – you call that ‘nothing’?”
“Dunno nothin’ ’bout that,” Williams repeated.
“You know, Tyree,” Jim spoke up from his place next to the windows, “you need to understand what you’re looking at here. The guy you tried to rob last night is dead. You kill someone during a robbery, that’s felony-murder – first degree. You’re never seeing the outside world again, unless you cooperate.”
Williams leaned back, his arms folded.
Karen walked to the side of the table across from Williams, pulled out a chair, and sat down. “You think you’re home free, is that it? You think no one can ID you? You better think again. We have a witness – an eyewitness.”
“Wasn’t me,” Williams insisted.
“OK,” she persisted, “so where were you last night around 11:30?”
“At my girlfriend’s.”
“Oh, you were at your girlfriend’s?” Karen rolled her eyes, not bothering to hide her disbelief. “Can she confirm that?”
“Sure.”
“This girlfriend, does she have a name?”
“Denisha. Denisha Robinson.”
Karen pushed the legal pad and pen toward Williams, indicating he should write down Denisha’s address and phone number.
As Williams wrote, Jim spoke up again, “What about two nights ago?”
“What about it?”
“You don’t remember mugging a blind guy?”
“What?” Williams asked, sounding shocked. “No way. I wouldn’t mug no blind guy. That’s low, man. You ain’t gettin’ me to go for that.”
Karen gave him a disgusted look. “OK, let me get this straight. You sell drugs to kids, but you wouldn’t mug a blind guy. Right.”
Williams glared at her. “Fuck this. I want a lawyer.”
“You sure about that?” Jim asked. “You want to help yourself, this is your last chance.”
“Yeah, I’m sure. I got nothin’ to say.”
Jim followed Karen out of the interview room. As he closed the door behind them, Fisk, Marty, and Tom emerged from the observation room. “Are you buying his alibi, boss?” she asked.
Before Fisk could answer, Marty scoffed, “He was with his girlfriend? I don’t buy it. They always claim the girlfriend or the wife or the mom can alibi them.”
“Yeah, I know,” Fisk told him. He turned to Karen. “But check it out anyway.”
Karen nodded. “OK, boss. Too bad we couldn’t get more out of him before he lawyered up.”
“Let me know what the girlfriend says,” Fisk ordered as he returned to his office.
Scene Nine
Their interview with Denisha Robinson completed, Jim and Karen headed back to the squad. From the driver’s seat of the car, Karen looked over at Jim as she waited for the light to change. “You know, Jim,” she began hesitantly. Jim turned toward her with a questioning expression. “Marty was way out of line – I mean, what he said about you getting shot.”
“It was just Marty being Marty.”
“No, really, I don’t know why he says stuff like that. It can’t have been pleasant, being reminded of what you went through.”
“What I ‘went through’?’
“Well, yes, after you were shot.”
“Don’t sweat it, Karen.”
She looked doubtful, but knew to drop the subject. “What did you think of the girlfriend?” she asked.
“She seemed pretty credible to me,” Jim told her.
“Me, too.”
“Maybe Tyree isn’t our guy,” Jim suggested.
“But the eyewitness – ” Karen began.
“I don’t know, Karen,” Jim interrupted. “She says she didn’t get a good look at the guy, then she sees someone in custody in the police station, and all of a sudden she can ID him? Besides, Tyree is too big to be the guy who mugged Pete, and Denisha says he doesn’t have asthma. And he’s a native New Yorker – no Southern accent. It doesn’t add up.”
“But, Jim, I have to ask . . . how much can we rely on what Pete told you?”
“Because he couldn’t see anything,” Jim said wearily, turning away from her.
“That’s not what I meant,” Karen told him firmly. He turned back toward her with a skeptical expression. “But Pete was under a lot of stress, getting mugged and all . . . I mean, did he really have the presence of mind to estimate the guy’s height, plus notice his accent and how he breathed? That’s got to take a lot of concentration. . .” Her voice trailed off, questioningly.
“It’s not that difficult.”
“If you say so.”
“I do. I’m gonna call the boss, then let’s call it a day.”
“OK.”
As Jim reported to Fisk on their interview with Denisha, Karen wondered about Jim’s reaction to her question about Pete. He seemed unusually touchy when people doubted Pete, almost as if he was taking it personally. Well, it was personal, she supposed. The same people who doubted Pete because he was blind would doubt Jim, too. It troubled her that Jim might think she was one of them. After working with Jim for nine months, she thought she’d freed herself from any preconceived ideas about blindness. But had she, really? She sighed and looked at him thoughtfully as he completed his report and closed his phone.
“Boss says we can pick this up in the morning,” he told her. “Can you drop me at the F train?”