Shawn followed her.
Sure enough, just as she was turning the handle, she heard:
“All right.”
Geri smiled slightly, not letting Morales see, then turned back toward her.
“Okay, whatever, I’ll tell you everything.” Morales looked and sounded like she was about to cry. “But you better get the son of a bitch—fast.”
They sat with Morales and finally got a full account of what had transpired the other night. Morales had been about to enter her building when she’d heard a gunshot. She’d seen the victim on the sidewalk and a man—in his early twenties, about five ten, medium build, wavy dark hair down to his shoulders, in a black leather jacket—standing near a double-parked car. She even gave a description of the car—a light blue economy car.
“What about the driver?” Geri asked. “Did you see him?”
“No, I didn’t see anybody else, I swear.”
Geri believed her.
“But the guy with the gun,” Morales continued. “He saw me. He shot the guy again, I guess to make sure he was dead, then after he got in the car, right before he drove away, he looked out the window, right at me. I feel like such an idiot. I don’t know why I stood there; why didn’t I run into my building? If I went right in he wouldn’t’ve seen me. I don’t know why he didn’t shoot me right there. I mean he could’ve shot me, but instead he just smiled. I’ll never forget that smile—it was so calm, so relaxed, like it was a summer day and he was passing by, smiling at a pretty girl on the street. But now he knows what I look like and he knows where I live.”
Morales was crying.
“Think of it this way,” Geri said. “Now we can get him before he has a chance to hurt you.”
“Yeah,” Shawn said. “And maybe you’ll save somebody else’s life too.”
Geri asked Morales if she would come to the station and describe the shooter to a sketch artist.
“Do I have to?” she asked.
“If you want us to make an arrest as fast as possible, yes, you do,” Geri said.
Morales agreed to come back to the precinct. While Geri and Shawn were waiting in the hallway for her to get ready to go, Shawn said, “Nice one, Rodriguez,” and Geri said, “How about you congratulate me after we get the guy?”
They drove Morales to homicide on Broadway and 133rd. Geri and Shawn hung around until the artist arrived and then stayed in the room while Morales described the suspect. It took almost an hour, but when the composite was completed Morales looked at it and said, “Oh my God, that’s him. It’s amazing, how did you do that?”
“You did it, not us,” Geri said.
“What happens next?” Morales asked.
“We’ll get the sketch to our officers and to the public and continue our investigation.”
“We’ll do our best,” Geri said. “In the meantime, we’ll have an officer outside your apartment, twenty-four-hour protection.” Geri could tell Morales was concerned, so she grabbed her hand and said, looking right into her eyes, “You did the right thing.”
Morales managed to nod.
Geri and Shawn got right to work on the case. Shawn put out a bulletin on a suspect to precincts around the city while Geri updated Dan McCarthy, her CO on the case. Dan was a ruddy, burly guy who always seemed to be sweating, even on frigid days in the middle of winter. He was on the phone when Geri entered, probably talking to his wife because he sounded rude, saying, “I told you I don’t wanna talk about that.” In Geri’s experience, people were at their rudest and most disrespectful when they were talking to their spouses; another reason why she intended to never get married.
Geri was about to leave when Dan held up his hand like a stop sign and Geri waited at the door while Dan said, “I got somebody in my office … I said, I got somebody in my office,” and hung up.
Not making eye contact with Geri, looking for
Sure enough, just as she was turning the handle, she heard:
“All right.”
Geri smiled slightly, not letting Morales see, then turned back toward her.
“Okay, whatever, I’ll tell you everything.” Morales looked and sounded like she was about to cry. “But you better get the son of a bitch—fast.”
They sat with Morales and finally got a full account of what had transpired the other night. Morales had been about to enter her building when she’d heard a gunshot. She’d seen the victim on the sidewalk and a man—in his early twenties, about five ten, medium build, wavy dark hair down to his shoulders, in a black leather jacket—standing near a double-parked car. She even gave a description of the car—a light blue economy car.
“What about the driver?” Geri asked. “Did you see him?”
“No, I didn’t see anybody else, I swear.”
Geri believed her.
“But the guy with the gun,” Morales continued. “He saw me. He shot the guy again, I guess to make sure he was dead, then after he got in the car, right before he drove away, he looked out the window, right at me. I feel like such an idiot. I don’t know why I stood there; why didn’t I run into my building? If I went right in he wouldn’t’ve seen me. I don’t know why he didn’t shoot me right there. I mean he could’ve shot me, but instead he just smiled. I’ll never forget that smile—it was so calm, so relaxed, like it was a summer day and he was passing by, smiling at a pretty girl on the street. But now he knows what I look like and he knows where I live.”
Morales was crying.
“Think of it this way,” Geri said. “Now we can get him before he has a chance to hurt you.”
“Yeah,” Shawn said. “And maybe you’ll save somebody else’s life too.”
Geri asked Morales if she would come to the station and describe the shooter to a sketch artist.
“Do I have to?” she asked.
“If you want us to make an arrest as fast as possible, yes, you do,” Geri said.
Morales agreed to come back to the precinct. While Geri and Shawn were waiting in the hallway for her to get ready to go, Shawn said, “Nice one, Rodriguez,” and Geri said, “How about you congratulate me after we get the guy?”
They drove Morales to homicide on Broadway and 133rd. Geri and Shawn hung around until the artist arrived and then stayed in the room while Morales described the suspect. It took almost an hour, but when the composite was completed Morales looked at it and said, “Oh my God, that’s him. It’s amazing, how did you do that?”
“You did it, not us,” Geri said.
“What happens next?” Morales asked.
“We’ll get the sketch to our officers and to the public and continue our investigation.”
“We’ll do our best,” Geri said. “In the meantime, we’ll have an officer outside your apartment, twenty-four-hour protection.” Geri could tell Morales was concerned, so she grabbed her hand and said, looking right into her eyes, “You did the right thing.”
Morales managed to nod.
Geri and Shawn got right to work on the case. Shawn put out a bulletin on a suspect to precincts around the city while Geri updated Dan McCarthy, her CO on the case. Dan was a ruddy, burly guy who always seemed to be sweating, even on frigid days in the middle of winter. He was on the phone when Geri entered, probably talking to his wife because he sounded rude, saying, “I told you I don’t wanna talk about that.” In Geri’s experience, people were at their rudest and most disrespectful when they were talking to their spouses; another reason why she intended to never get married.
Geri was about to leave when Dan held up his hand like a stop sign and Geri waited at the door while Dan said, “I got somebody in my office … I said, I got somebody in my office,” and hung up.
Not making eye contact with Geri, looking for
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