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He said, “Shucks, that was too easy.”
CHAPTER
39
It happened at four a.m.
I learned about it at seven a.m. after I checked my email and opened the attachment from Milo titledCase Closedand garnished with a mass of happy, sun-yellow emojis.
Footage from the body cam worn by Detective Sean Binchy.
Entry to Conrad Deeb’s apartment complex had come via a master key provided by GJS Properties, the owner/managers.
No persuasion necessary; Deeb was three months in arrears on his rent, eviction proceedings had begun, and per the company’s attorney GJS was more than happy to“cooperate with law enforcement provided the arrest be carried out as discreetly as possible with due consideration to other tenants.”
Milo had clipped and pasted that onto another email sent at six a.m. via his personal account. Followed by an emoji with a protruding tongue and, “Oh, sure, that was our main consideration.”
—
I triggered the video.
Multiple footsteps amplified by the body cam’s audio recorder sounded like a distant cattle stampede.
The screen bounced in time with Sean’s rapid walk.
Sean’s breathing was regular but rapid and a bit shallow, made raspier by the cam’s speakers. Like the rhythmic whoosh that fills your head when snorkeling or scuba diving.
No conversation during the climb up three flights of stairs.
Long view of a hallway. Lit dimly. Thrifty owner/managers.
Milo’s deep voice: “Three eleven.”
Sean: “Got it, Loot.”
More hoof-clopping, then silence.
Sean’s left arm extended. Fist at the end of it.
Knock knock knock.
“Police. Open up.”
Silence.
Sean, louder. “Police, Mr. Deeb. Open up.”
Milo: “Do it, kick it ajar and wait.”
Sean’s right arm inserted the key.
—
Nothing for five seconds.
Milo said, “In,” and a louder stampede punched through the cam’s speakers.
Seven people, I learned later. Milo, Sean, Reed, Alicia, three uniforms, everyone in Kevlar vests.
