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To authorize a tactical takedown, a lieutenant or higher was required. Captain Joe Malloy still had no clue about the clandestine 522 operation, so Rhyme called Sellitto, who grumbled but agreed to call Bo Haumann and authorize an ESU op.
Amelia Sachs had joined Pulaski and the team at Williams's house, where they'd learned from Search and Surveillance that only Williams was inside, not 522. There, they deployed to take the killer when he arrived to plant the evidence. The plan was tricky, improvised on the fly--and obviously hadn't worked, though they'd saved an innocent man from being arrested for rape and murder and perhaps had discovered some good evidence to lead to the perp.
"Anything?" she asked Haumann, who'd been conferring with some of his officers.
"Nope."
Then his radio clattered again and Sachs heard the loud transmission. "Unit One, we're on the other side of the highway. Looks like he's rabbited clean. He must've made it to the subway."
"Shit," she muttered.
Haumann grimaced but said nothing.
The officer continued, "But we've followed the route he probably took. It's possible he ditched some evidence in a trash can on the way."
"That's something," she said. "Where?" She jotted the address the officer recited. "Tell them to secure the area. I'll be there in ten." Sachs then walked up the steps and knocked on the door. DeLeon Williams answered, and she said, "Sorry I haven't had a chance to explain. A man we were trying to catch was headed to your house."
"Mine?"
"We think so. But he got away." She explained about Myra Weinburg.
"Oh, no--she's dead?"
"I'm afraid so."
"I'm sorry, real sorry."
"Did you know her?"
"No, never heard of her."
"We think the perp might've been trying to blame you for the crime."
"Me? Why?"
"We have no idea. After we investigate a little more we may want to interview you."
"Sure thing." He gave her his home and mobile numbers. Then frowned. "Can I ask? You seem pretty certain I didn't do it. How'd you know I was innocent?"
"Your car and garage. Officers searched them and didn't find any evidence from the murder scene. The killer, we're pretty sure, was going to plant some things there to implicate you. Of course, if we'd gotten here after he'd done that, you'd've had a problem."
Sachs added, "Oh, one more thing, Mr. Williams?"
"What's that, Detective?"
"Just some trivia you might be interested in. Do you know owning an unregistered handgun in New York City is a very serious crime?"
"I think I heard that somewhere."
"And some more trivia is that there's an amnesty program at your local precinct. No questions asked if you turn in a weapon . . . Okay, you take care. Enjoy the rest of your weekend."
"I'll try."
Chapter Eleven I'm watching the policewoman as she searches the trash can where I dumped the evidence. I was dismayed at first but then I realized I shouldn't have been. If They were smart enough to figure out about me, They're smart enough to find the trash.
I doubt They got a good look at me but I'm being very careful. Of course, I'm not at the scene itself; I'm in a restaurant across the street, forcing down a hamburger and sipping water. The police have this outfit called the "Anti-crime" detail, which has always struck me as absurd. As if other details are pro-crime. Anti-crime officers wear street clothes and they circulate at crime scenes to find witnesses and, occasionally, even the perps, who have returned. Most criminals do so because they're stupid or behave irrationally. But I'm here for two specific reasons. First, because I've realized I have a problem. I can't live with it so I need a solution. And you can't solve a problem without knowledge. I've already learned a few things.
For instance, I know some of the people who are after me. Like this redheaded policewoman in a white plastic jumpsuit concentrating on the crime scene the way I concentrate on my data.
