Page 35 of Delusional

“I’m right in the middle of a case. Technically, two cases.”

“You’re always right in the middle of a case. You’re not the only law-enforcement officer in the greater New York City area. I’m sure you can slip away for a few days.”

I considered her words but didn’t say anything.

Mary Catherine continued: “If I was in the hospital, you’d have no problem dropping work to come sit by my side. I’ve seen it before.”

“You’ve got me there. I told Rob that I’d talk to Harry in the morning. I’ll see how he feels about it.”

Which was why I made a phone call to my lieutenant at 6:30 a.m. If I woke him, Harry didn’t acknowledge it. He said in his usual gruff tone, “What’s up?”

I explained that Trilling was having personal problems back home in Bozeman and needed my help.

As usual, Harry didn’t beat around the bush. “Let me get this straight. First you let your junior partner head out to some godforsaken place out west without running it by me. Now you want to go as well? I’m no math genius, but it sounds like you’re leaving me with no one working on the bombing case. Am I wrong?”

I had to think on my feet. “That’s not completely accurate, Harry. Walter Jackson is doing a ton of background work, and the ATF agent, Maggie Chin, is following up on leads. Terri Hernandez has been briefed on the case and can help if needed. Besides, I don’t intend to be gone more than a couple of days.”

“And I only intended to be married one time. You know how that worked out.”

I laughed. “Think of it this way: You’ll have a lot fewer hassles if I’m not in the office.”

“But if you’re not here, I have to listen to all of Walter’s puns.”

That was two jokes Harry had cracked in less than a minute. I chose to interpret it as a positive sign. “Harry, if you order me to stay, there’s not a lot I can do about it.” I was met by a very long silence on the other end of the line.

Finally, my boss let out a sigh and said, “Don’t get all high-strung on me. You know I’ll work with you as best I can. Give me the ATF agent’s number and give her mine. Explain to her that I would like an update toward the end of every day. Also explain that I might be calling her if someone from One Police Plaza wants an immediate update.”

“I can do that, easy.”

Harry added, “It may not be a bad thing if you leave town for a few days anyway. Might make it harder for IA to interview you about the incident in Queens.”

I chuckled. “That’s hardcore, Harry.”

“Actually it’s more old-school. Back in the day, problems sometimes went away if we ignored them. It worked for a long time. Probably will work for a few days at least in this case. Just get your ass back here as quickly as possible.”

I knew I’d done nothing wrong. But I definitely didn’t want to get anyone else in trouble. Especially one of Trilling’s roommates. They’d been through enough. And their living arrangement was shaky at best. God knew what would happen if an immigration officer looked into it a little closer. They could end up in exactly the kind of facility that Trilling was trying to keep them out of.

I sent a detailed email to everyone on the case, explaining what was happening. Even though it was early in the morning, Maggie Chin wrote me back immediately to tell me she’d handle anything that came up. Then, a few minutes later, Walter Jackson said essentially the same thing.

I started to feel better about my trip to Montana.

CHAPTER 41

I’D BEEN SURPRISED to find I had a choice of a few direct flights to Bozeman from New York. I booked one leaving a little before noon out of JFK that would get me there around 3 p.m., Mountain time.

Once aboard, I finally had a chance to catch my breath. If I was lucky, I might catch some sleep as well. Nothing like a late-night call and a frantic arrangement of plans to keep you going until an adrenaline crash.

I slept so soundly on the ride west that only the jolt of the tires hitting the tarmac in Montana woke me up. I was sitting nestled between a giant Portuguese businessman in the window seat and a tiny elderly woman in the aisle seat, who was also asleep, with her head resting on my shoulder.

The landing didn’t wake her immediately. I sat there in awkward silence while this woman continued to snooze soundly, with her head remaining on my shoulder. I could see little bits of pink scalp through her wispy gray hair. Then I felt like I might need to sneeze. I pinched my nose and held my breath. It was a desperate struggle. I didn’t want to wake this woman. My sneezes were not usually quiet, dignified affairs.

Then the woman seemed to pop awake. There was no lag time, no fluttering her eyes and slowly adjusting to the world around her. One moment she was snoring softly, the next she was sitting up straight in her seat.

She turned and said to me with a soft Southern accent, “I’m so sorry. I must have dozed off.”

I waved off her concerns, finally managed my sneeze, and a few minutes later had my first look at the clean and efficient Bozeman airport. It might not have been the JFK of the West—it was more along the lines of the Long Island MacArthur Airport of the West—but the fact that I’d traveled more than two thousand miles across the country in such a short time after getting the call from Trilling gave me a certain satisfaction.

The Bozeman Yellowstone International Airport had two stories, two concourses, and ten gates. A few rental car vendors were lined up on the way to the exit. The crowd mainly comprised people with ski equipment. I overheard a group of private-school kids who’d been on my flight chatting excitedly about skiing far bigger mountains than they’d previously done in Vermont.