around, and she had the fleeting thought she should have addressed him as “Detective.” Back home, uniformed officers called detectives by their first names—titles were reserved for the brass only—but she didn’t know how things worked here.
“I don’t know,” he said, giving no indication she’d slipped up. “Shouldn’t I be asking you?”
“Yeah, the dispatcher would have radioed me about it,” she admitted, adding, “It’s strange no one heard anything.”
“It’s possible the next door neighbors weren’t home or that someone heard something but didn’t report it,” he said. “We’ll find out from the canvass.”
“Or maybe the perp used a suppressor?” she offered, referring to the device commonly referred to as a silencer. But that was a TV term.
“Maybe,” said Kreeger.
If the perp had used a suppressor, it gave even more credence to her theory that this was no ordinary burglary. Suppressors weren’t so easy to acquire on the street. They were specialized pieces of hardware used mostly by the military.
“That’s an interesting thought,” Kreeger reiterated, jotting something down in his notebook. “But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We need to get back to the sequence of events. So he fires at Serena and thinks he’s killed her with that first shot to the neck. Then what?” He paused, considering his own question.
“One theory would be that he headed upstairs to look for the loot,” offered Anna.
Kreeger shot her a look. “But I take it you don’t like that theory?”
“Another thought is that the husband comes into the kitchen unexpectedly, sees what’s happening and starts to run away…” She paused, realizing how that the made the poor dead husband come off as a bit of a coward. But she’d never actually been face-to-face with the muzzle of a gun before, so she wasn’t really in a position to judge.
Kreeger finished her thought. “…And the perp chases him upstairs and puts a bullet in the back of his head. Then he grabs the jewelry from the closet.” He shook his head. “Logically that makes sense, because the burglary motive isn’t working for me. I don’t know many burglars who kill. They break into homes when they know the owners are away.”
She nodded vigorously. “I was thinking the same thing. Plus, the timing’s weird for a burglary. He broke in smack in the middle of dinnertime.”
“Boring old four to midnights,” said Kreeger lightly. “I remember.”
Anna smiled at his reference to the shift known as a “four to midnight,” when the police take most of their burglary calls from people who came home from work to find they’d been robbed. It wasn’t as bad as the overnight shift, but it was an unpopular one all the same, involving plenty of paperwork and frustrated homeowners.
“The four to midnights I did in Brooklyn weren’t so boring,” she blurted, immediately wishing she could take it back. She felt like she’d just issued a playground challenge, something her four-year-old son might do.
But Kreeger didn’t seem to notice, just looked at her in surprise. “You were N.Y.P.D.?”
“Yeah,” she nodded, feeling the familiar old pride bubble up. Her eyes darted to Gene, who’d fortunately resumed his work and was no longer looking in her direction.
“Where?” said Kreeger
“I started out at the seven-three then moved to the Upper East Side. The 19 th .”
Kreeger smiled. “I worked the two-four, but that was a long time ago.” He looked at her. “You were probably just a kid at the time.”
It was Anna’s turn to be surprised. Kreeger was N.Y.P.D.? He was so unassuming. But his old Harlem beat was certainly no cake walk. Clearly there was much more to him than he let on.
“How long have you been on the job?” he asked.
“Three years. How ‘bout you?”
“Twenty-five. I’ve been out here eighteen years now.” He added, “I came for the schools. You?”
Anna hesitated, reluctant to share her
“I don’t know,” he said, giving no indication she’d slipped up. “Shouldn’t I be asking you?”
“Yeah, the dispatcher would have radioed me about it,” she admitted, adding, “It’s strange no one heard anything.”
“It’s possible the next door neighbors weren’t home or that someone heard something but didn’t report it,” he said. “We’ll find out from the canvass.”
“Or maybe the perp used a suppressor?” she offered, referring to the device commonly referred to as a silencer. But that was a TV term.
“Maybe,” said Kreeger.
If the perp had used a suppressor, it gave even more credence to her theory that this was no ordinary burglary. Suppressors weren’t so easy to acquire on the street. They were specialized pieces of hardware used mostly by the military.
“That’s an interesting thought,” Kreeger reiterated, jotting something down in his notebook. “But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We need to get back to the sequence of events. So he fires at Serena and thinks he’s killed her with that first shot to the neck. Then what?” He paused, considering his own question.
“One theory would be that he headed upstairs to look for the loot,” offered Anna.
Kreeger shot her a look. “But I take it you don’t like that theory?”
“Another thought is that the husband comes into the kitchen unexpectedly, sees what’s happening and starts to run away…” She paused, realizing how that the made the poor dead husband come off as a bit of a coward. But she’d never actually been face-to-face with the muzzle of a gun before, so she wasn’t really in a position to judge.
Kreeger finished her thought. “…And the perp chases him upstairs and puts a bullet in the back of his head. Then he grabs the jewelry from the closet.” He shook his head. “Logically that makes sense, because the burglary motive isn’t working for me. I don’t know many burglars who kill. They break into homes when they know the owners are away.”
She nodded vigorously. “I was thinking the same thing. Plus, the timing’s weird for a burglary. He broke in smack in the middle of dinnertime.”
“Boring old four to midnights,” said Kreeger lightly. “I remember.”
Anna smiled at his reference to the shift known as a “four to midnight,” when the police take most of their burglary calls from people who came home from work to find they’d been robbed. It wasn’t as bad as the overnight shift, but it was an unpopular one all the same, involving plenty of paperwork and frustrated homeowners.
“The four to midnights I did in Brooklyn weren’t so boring,” she blurted, immediately wishing she could take it back. She felt like she’d just issued a playground challenge, something her four-year-old son might do.
But Kreeger didn’t seem to notice, just looked at her in surprise. “You were N.Y.P.D.?”
“Yeah,” she nodded, feeling the familiar old pride bubble up. Her eyes darted to Gene, who’d fortunately resumed his work and was no longer looking in her direction.
“Where?” said Kreeger
“I started out at the seven-three then moved to the Upper East Side. The 19 th .”
Kreeger smiled. “I worked the two-four, but that was a long time ago.” He looked at her. “You were probably just a kid at the time.”
It was Anna’s turn to be surprised. Kreeger was N.Y.P.D.? He was so unassuming. But his old Harlem beat was certainly no cake walk. Clearly there was much more to him than he let on.
“How long have you been on the job?” he asked.
“Three years. How ‘bout you?”
“Twenty-five. I’ve been out here eighteen years now.” He added, “I came for the schools. You?”
Anna hesitated, reluctant to share her
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