Ambush

Chapter 8

After I talked to Mary Catherine and Seamus, Harry Grissom came into the room. The lanky lieutenant looked like he could’ve been a gunfighter in the Old West. His weather-beaten face gave no hint that he’d worked in New York City for the past twenty-five years, though his Brooklyn accent did. His droopy mustache hid a knife scar only longtime colleagues knew about.

I knew his presence meant that he was worried about me, but like the professional he was, he got right to the important questions.

“Who gave you the tip?”

I shook my head. “Antrole took the call.”

“Why didn’t you call for backup?”

I shrugged. What was I going to do? Throw my late partner under the bus? Finally I said, “It didn’t seem like a great tip at the time. You know how it is.”

Thank God he’d worked the street and really did know how things happened, what good cops had to do just to make a case. If you went by the book on everything, nothing would get done.

Harry shook his head. “This whole thing’s screwed up. Your suspect, Emmanuel Diaz, was dead hours before you got there. Two of the shooters are dead, and one is in the ICU with a couple of bullet wounds and shrapnel from the grenade.”

“So it was an ambush?”

“We’re not sure. Who knows what went on? You might have interrupted a rip-off, and they were searching the apartment. To be on the safe side, the NYPD is not releasing any details about you or Antrole. The hospital staff know to keep things quiet.”

“I like the sound of that.”

“It might keep the media circus away from you for a few days.”

Then the swinging door to my room opened, and I had a quick peek at an attractive young woman with a baby in her arms, holding the hand of a little boy in the hallway. I recognized Antrole Martens’s wife, a Wall Street banker, and their two young children from photos on his desk.

Antrole’s world revolved around his family. It hurt to know what they were going through right now.

I wanted to call out to her, but the door closed. All I could do was lie there in silence.