“His gun’s legal,” Erin announced.
“No way,” Vic said.
“Yeah. Legitimate concealed carry permit. Serial number’s on file, everything looks clean and aboveboard.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen that in all my years on the Job,” Vic said. “Doesn’t matter, though. He still shot a guy with it.”
“Okay,” Erin said. “Let’s see what he’s got to say about it.”
“I’ll watch,” Piekarski said. “This should be good.”
“Keep an eye on Rolf for me, would you?” Erin asked. It was better not to take a K-9 into an interrogation room.
“Sure thing.” Piekarski scratched the K-9 between the ears.
Erin and Vic went in. Ian looked at them with a cool, calculating stare. Erin had the feeling he was gauging distances, trajectories, and potential threats. He was a young man, but a very experienced one, every inch a soldier.
“What’s your name?” Erin asked, for the record
“Thompson, ma’am. Ian F.” No smartass answer, no hint that they already knew each other.
“Age?”
“Twenty-six.”
“Occupation?”
“Personal assistant and driver.”
“To whom?”
He paused just a moment. “Mr. Carlyle, ma’am.”
“What were you doing tonight?”
“I was asked to give someone a ride.”
“Who?”
“A friend of Mr. Carlyle’s.”
“What’s the name of this friend?” Vic interjected.
Ian cocked his head slightly. “I didn’t ask, sir.”
“Where were you taking her?” Erin asked, using the female pronoun deliberately.
“Airport, ma’am.”
“Which airport?”
“JFK.”
“What flight was she getting on?”
“I don’t know, ma’am.”
“Why’d you start popping off rounds?” Vic demanded.
Ian turned his attention back to the Russian. “I’d heard there might be trouble, sir. I wasn’t able to get out of the way of the police vehicle. When my vehicle was disabled, the airbag deployed. I deflated it with my knife and assessed the situation. The police were containing the threat on my three. I saw a Tango on my nine, in the process of engaging the officers from a flanking position, so I engaged him. Range was about fifteen meters. I fired twice, neutralizing the threat.”
Vic glanced at Erin. Neither of them had ever had an interrogation go quite this way before.
“You’re saying you shot him because he was aiming at us?” Erin asked.
“At you, ma’am. You were in cover behind your vehicle, but open to the flank and rear. He was on your five, in your blind spot.”
“Hold it,” Vic said. “You claim you shot and killed a man to protect the NYPD?”
“To protect Detective O’Reilly, sir,” Ian clarified, angling his head toward Erin.
“You know O’Reilly?” Vic asked.
“We’ve met previously, sir. In her professional capacity.”
“You shoot a lot of people?”
“Not anymore, sir.”
“Not since when?”
“Since my discharge.”
“You shoot a lot of guys before then?”
Ian’s face didn’t change. In fact, it went completely rigid, as if it was carved out of stone. “Some.”
“You like doing it?”
Ian didn’t answer.
“I asked you a question, punk,” Vic said.
Ian looked straight ahead, not making eye contact with Vic. “No opinion,” he said. Erin considered how those words could express a very strong opinion, depending on the context.
“Who told you to take Finneran to the airport?” Vic demanded.
Ian didn’t answer.
“Did Carlyle tell you to?”
Ian continued to stare at a point on the interrogation room wall. Except for a slight tightening of his jaw, he gave no sign he’d even heard.
Vic stood up and leaned forward, planting his hands on the table, putting himself right in Ian’s face. “Look, asswipe, you may think you’re some hotshot Marine. But you’re not a soldier now. You’re a goddamn civilian, in my city, and you don’t get to go around blowing people away just because you feel like it. This isn’t Iraq, you know that?”
Ian blinked slowly and looked at Vic as if noticing him for the first time. “No,” he said quietly, “it’s not Iraq.”
“Your war hero bullshit doesn’t carry any weight with me,” Vic continued. “You got that? Here, now, you’re just another asshole with a gun. You’re going to prison, buddy.”
Ian’s face went still again.
Vic shook his head. “We’re wasting our time,” he said to Erin. “Numbnuts here doesn’t know what’s good for him.” He went to the door and opened it.
After a second, Erin stood up and followed him.
“Vic, what the hell was that?” she snapped, turning on him the moment the interrogation room door closed.
“Huh?” Vic looked genuinely startled. “What’re you talking about?”
“Were you trying to pick a fight with him?”
“Of course I was. I was trying to rattle his cage, shake him up. We do that all the time in interrogation, Erin. Sheesh. What’s your problem?”
“The war hero thing isn’t bullshit, Vic. You’ve read his file. It’s the truth.”
“So what? That doesn’t mean he gets a pass to come back all screwed up in the head and murder people!”
“This wasn’t murder!”
“He shot a man in downtown Manhattan!”
“A man who was gunning for cops! A man who was about to shoot me!”
“Says him!”
“I saw the gun, Vic! The same guy tried to kill me a couple hours ago!” Erin held up her bandaged hand. “That’s how close he came!”
“I can’t believe you’re defending this guy! He’s one of them!”
“He didn’t commit a crime!”
They stared at each other. In the momentary pause, a woman carefully cleared her throat. The detectives turned to see Piekarski and Rolf peering around the door of the observation room. Rolf’s head was cocked to the side, with his enormous Shepherd ears comically tilted.
“Uh… should I go somewhere else?” Piekarski asked.
“Nah, it’s okay,” Vic said. “Erin’s right. Thompson’s gonna walk. I just… Jesus, he shot a man! You think that’s the only guy he’s killed since he came home?”
“I don’t know,” Erin said quietly. “But we can’t nail guys for what we think they might’ve done.”
“It’s been a long night,” Piekarski said. “You two just need to blow off some steam. In my squad, Logan says everyone gets a freebie after a hard shift.”
“What kind of freebie?” Vic asked.
“A do-over,” she said.
