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I said, “They ignored gunshots coming from the building?”
“These two were dope dealers. They were bullies, too. Everyone in this building is just relieved they don’t have to worry about them anymore.”
Roddy pointed across the room and said, “The guy on the floor is Willie Perez.”
He brought up a booking photo of Perez on his cell phone. Then he brought up a photo of the other man.
Roddy said, “The dead man on the couch is—”
I mumbled, “Julio Laza.”
“That’s right. How’d you know that?”
I looked at the younger detective, with his sharp suit and his reputation for following policy to the letter. I had done nothing by the book. I should never have cut a deal with someone who tried to shoot me. I wondered if this would be the last conversation I’d ever have as a detective with the NYPD.
I could see Roddy was angry, so I led him out of the apartment, away from the cops working the scene.
At the far end of the hallway, I had to sit on the stairs as I filled him in on my conversation with Julio and the fact that he and his cousin had tried to shoot me.
Roddy rolled his eyes. “Are you trying to tell me this is all part of your assassin conspiracy? The woman from Colombia who no one in New York ever seems to see coming? Give me a break, Bennett. I think you’re starting to go senile.”
“I wish it was as simple as that. But I have a couple of years of experience, Roddy. I do something the book never tells us to: I follow my gut instincts sometimes. Maybe you should try it.”
“Maybe, but I get good results, and I’ve never been disciplined. Can you say that?”
“Is a letter in your personnel file that important? I know I’m doing what’s right.”
“Cutting a deal with killers? That’s not right. Our job is to arrest assholes like that.”
“Our job is to protect and serve. All you seem to be protecting is your reputation.”
After a few moments, Roddy said, “I’d say for a hot-shit homicide dick, you really screwed this one up.”
Finally I said, “Look, Roddy, I’ve got a lot of reasons to stop this Colombian woman. Not just because of Antrole or that she’s trying to kill me. Someone went after my son in prison. She might be able to lead me to the person who ordered it.”
“Does Lieutenant Grissom know about all this?”
I didn’t answer. I didn’t want Harry in trouble, too.
Now Roddy was showing his outrage. “Do you guys understand anything about best practices? I know you laugh at me because I follow procedures on everything, but those procedures were created for a reason. We don’t stop and frisk anymore because some officers took it too far. We have our cars inspected so often because some detectives never kept up with maintenance. And we don’t get involved in cases with a personal connection because it could affect our judgment and it’s a conflict of interest.”
I was about to rebut his argument, or at least ignore him, when I realized he was right. That hurt.
I mumbled, “Any fool can make a rule, and every fool will mind it.”
Roddy said, “What’s that?”
“Henry David Thoreau.” It was a quotation I used to live by, thanks to my philosophy degree.
Roddy said, “Henry who?”
“That Syracuse education of yours didn’t include philosophy?”
Roddy’s surly look told me all I needed to know.
I sighed, stood up, and said, “You going to tell IA about my trek off policies and procedure?”
Roddy glanced down the hallway to make sure no one was close enough to hear anything. The longer he took to answer, the tighter the knot in my stomach became.
