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Chapter 26
It didn’t take long to get the scene secured and order restored in the library. Harry Grissom, the lieutenant who ran our squad, showed up and sat with me for a while. Even though he asked me a few questions, I realized he was carefully avoiding asking why I had been interviewing a potential homicide suspect alone without telling anyone where I had gone.
Harry was a veteran and had seen more than most cops should. Someone had told him that the crowd had immediately turned against me after the shooting, and he took a minute to talk to me about it.
He rubbed his cheek where a hint of gray stubble was poking through. “You know, Mike, people say stupid things without thinking. They think they know what police work is like from watching TV, but they have no idea. They don’t know the risks we take or the satisfaction we feel when we make an arrest. We’ve already recovered the gun the kid had, and crime scene is digging a bullet out of the bookshelf and table. The security guard saw everything, and so did the librarian. For all the bullshit these assholes are spewing, not one of them witnessed anything. So you gotta let it roll off your back.”
All I could do at this point was just nod my head weakly.
Harry said, “What can I do for you, Mike?”
“I need to tell his mother.”
“What? Are you insane? We’ll have someone go talk to her.”
“I just feel like it’s something I need to do.”
It took some persuading, and it was way outside any guidelines Homicide had, but forty-five minutes later, I found myself at Diego’s apartment, near 127th Street. This time I had the lieutenant and a detective named Susan Ruiz with me. We climbed the hard concrete stairs, and I knocked on the door I had visited a few days earlier.
The same woman answered the door and immediately recognized me. She smiled and said, “Diego is studying. But I told him about your offer to leave the charter school.”
I held up my badge and said, “I’m afraid I misled you. I’m a homicide detective with the NYPD.” I had intended to just tell her what had happened, but when I saw her face, I had to take a moment.
The woman said, “I no understand. Why did you lie? Why do you want to speak to my Diego?”
A couple of kids gathered behind her to see who was at the door. She stepped forward slightly, and I could see how worried she was.
I said, “I’m afraid I have some bad news.”
“What? What is it?”
“Diego was shot and killed by the police on the Columbia campus.”
She stumbled back a little bit, but quickly gathered herself. “What? Why did the police shoot my boy?”
“It wasn’t just the police, ma’am. Diego pulled a pistol and fired at me. He left me no choice. I had to shoot him.” After a few seconds of silence, I said, “And I thought it was the right thing to do for me to come here and tell you what happened.”
I felt Lieutenant Grissom and Detective Ruiz slide in close to me for support.
A woman came behind Diego’s mother and wrapped an arm around her just as she started to cry. Then she started to wail.
I just stood there wondering why I had thought this was important.
Then, without warning, she looked me in the eye and slapped me hard right across the face. My left cheek burned with the blow. I had to hold up my right hand to keep Detective Ruiz from stepping between us.
Then Diego’s mother said in a very calm voice, “Get out. Get out of here. You’ve done enough. You’re a liar and a killer. God will punish you for what you’ve done.”
Even after the door slammed, I just stood there for a few more moments.
Chapter 27
I tried to stay upbeat with the kids when I got home. Of course they knew what had happened. It was on the news, and there was the usual string of phone calls and friends from the office who stopped by to check on me. It was a police ritual carried out across the country after an officer is involved in a fatal shooting. Shootings are tricky: they can have their effect psychologically days or even weeks after the tragedy.
It wasn’t until after dinner, when I had a few minutes to think, that it really hit me hard.
I had shot a teenager. That was not something a few drinks and a baseball game would wash from my brain. I kept seeing Diego and hearing him make that horrible sound as I tried to stop the blood from pumping out of the two bullet wounds I had put i
n his chest.
