Rick Mofina - Every Second

Darden stared at the photos, shaking his head in awe.

“That’s one hell of a firefight, Sean.”

“The investigators say it all went down in four or five seconds. It’s all there in the report.”

Darden turned to the next folder and Baylor continued his story.

“She surrendered her weapon, homicide took over and all procedures were followed to the letter with regard to a police-involved shooting.”

The next reports showed that Wallace took leave with pay and underwent counseling.

“The district attorney’s office called it a righteous shooting and Wallace was cleared of any wrongdoing,” Baylor said.

Reports showed that five months later, Wallace returned to patrol with a new partner but had trouble concentrating on the job.

“One day, they were backing up other units, pursuing a suspect reportedly armed with a gun after a domestic. Wallace had taken a point at the side of the house. When they called on her to move, she didn’t respond. She just froze. They found her on her knees, sobbing and calling out Rowland’s name. She took another leave from duty after that.”

Wallace underwent more intense therapy, according to the files. The next reports showed that her posttraumatic stress after Rowland’s murder was more severe than first thought. The final document showed that she’d resigned from the department.

“It was a shame because she was about to make detective,” Baylor said. “To help get her life back together, her husband sought a transfer and accepted a post with the branch in Roseoak Park in Queens. They wanted a fresh start. He helped Lori get a job investigating fraudulent claims at Dixon Donlevy Mutual Life Insurance.”

Darden read the glowing letter of recommendation Santa Ana’s police chief had written to the company on her behalf.

Flipping back through the files he shook his head, stopping to reread her psychological reports detailing how she was grappling with survivor’s guilt and guilt over the killing of the twenty-five-year-old suspect, Malcolm Jordan Samadyh.

“Do you have anything on the shooter?” he asked.

“Blue folder,” Baylor said.

Darden studied Samadyh’s file. He had a long criminal record. When he was twenty, he was sentenced to three years for robbery at Tehachapi, the state prison in Southern California’s Cummings Valley.

His mother, an English teacher, had been born in a war-torn tribal region of Afghanistan where she’d met Malcolm’s father, an American aid worker from Los Angeles. They’d moved to California, gotten married and she became a US citizen. She’d given birth to Malcolm soon after and then his younger brother.

According to his file, Malcolm had been fourteen when his dad was killed in a traffic accident. Apparently he’d never gotten over it-instead he’d gotten into trouble, joining a gang, which led to crime, prison and, eventually, his death.

Just as he was closing the binder, Darden stopped cold. He’d almost missed it.

Flipping back through the shooter’s file, he found the records showing that, while in prison, Malcolm had taken his mother’s family name. Malcolm’s father’s name was Andrew Blaine.

Malcolm’s little brother was Jerricko Titus Blaine.

Darden reached for his phone.

Manhattan, New York

Dan Fulton’s in the vault, opening his briefcase, unfolding a duffel bag, filling it with bricks of cash then leaving the bank. Now he’s walking hurriedly to his Ford Taurus in the near-empty parking lot, driving out of the west exit.

“Run it again, Steph,” Varner said.

Agent Stephanie Transki, the New York FBI’s forensic video expert, clicked her mouse, replaying the security video taken inside SkyNational Trust Branch 487. They’d received it at the FBI’s New York division some thirty minutes earlier from the bank’s security team. The recording was packaged with footage from exterior cameras monitoring the building.

The contrast was good, the images clean and sharp. The exterior recording had captured two parked cars in the lot belonging to the tellers who’d opened the bank, but no other movement or individuals.

No new leads here, Varner thought.

“Okay, thanks, Steph. We’re still working on getting you video from the businesses nearby.” Varner checked his watch. “We don’t have much time for you to get this segment ready for the media at the press conference.”

“Don’t worry, Nick, I’ll have it ready.”

Varner headed for his floor. He stopped off at the cafeteria for a coffee. He’d missed lunch and grabbed an apple, biting into it in the elevator on his way to the twenty-eighth floor. Leaving the elevator, Varner went down the main reception hall, past the framed photos of executive agents. He glanced at the display nearby honoring agents killed in the line of duty as the result of a direct adversarial force, the “Service Martyrs.”

Entering his section, he saw that most members of his squad were at their desks, working the phones and studying data. As he began making notes to prepare for the press conference, he found a story in the online edition of the New York Post .

Mob Link to Queens Bank Heist Investigated: Source

The story alleged that the robbery of a bank in Queens had to do with “bad blood” between the branch manager and a businessman with ties to the mob. It reported that bank manager Dan Fulton robbed his own branch after telling “shocked bank staff” his family had been taken hostage, according to an “inside source.”

Varner cursed to himself after digesting the story.

What a load of BS.

Maybe the source was from the NYPD’s 115th Precinct, or maybe a disgruntled employee, or one of Luca Bazerinni’s competitors was spreading this bull.

It doesn’t matter who it is. This kind of crap hurts us.

Varner didn’t have time to dwell on it. He had to focus on the facts.

Jerricko Titus Blaine was their suspect.

His were the only prints tied to the crime. But he couldn’t have acted alone. The FBI and NYPD were working their confidential informants for any intel from the street as to who was behind the robbery. So far, nothing had surfaced. It could’ve had something to do with the fact that Blaine was in his early twenties, had no criminal record.

And, he’d left a print, suggesting he was not an experienced criminal.

Something’s out of place here.

Varner opened Blaine’s photo.

Looking at it, he recalled how one NYPD detective had raised the suspicion of a terrorist connection. Varner, being a member of the New York’s Joint Terrorism Task Force, the JTTF, had not ruled that out. There were JTTFs in over one hundred cities in the US, made up of an array of local, state and federal agencies, all monitoring possible threats in their jurisdictions. New York City had the largest JTTF, and as a member, Varner had access to many resources that were shared nationwide.

One of them was Guardian, a database holding information about threat reports, questionable incidents and other intelligence information. Members entered suspicious activity reports, which could be viewed or searched immediately by all of Guardian’s authorized system users. Once Blaine’s name had surfaced, Varner took the precaution of submitting it and a summary of the case to Guardian.

He logged in to check for any results.

Nothing.

He logged out.

Apart from Guardian, Blaine’s name had also been submitted to a spectrum of national security databases, watch lists and no-fly lists.

Nothing had emerged. He was clear.

Something’s up with this one. What am I missing?

He repeated the question to the framed photo of his wife, Jennifer.