Chapter 25: Tall Challenges
The scent of sweat and liniment assailed Mike's nostrils as he maneuvered awkwardly through the metal doors and into the gym. He was a little rusty at walking on crutches, but it was coming back to him - along with some painful, decades-old memories of an incident caused by his drunken mother that had left him with a broken leg and an empty summer.
Fortunately, this time he wouldn't be on the crutches for that long. Long enough, though, he mused, a frown darkening his features.
A whistle sounded, and the 10 men scrimmaging on the court stopped and turned toward Coach Hunter. "OK, guys, take a break," he told them.
As the men sauntered to the bleachers and the cooler full of water bottles, Goren was the first to spot his glum teammate hobbling toward them.
"Hey, Mike!" Bobby hollered, trotting over. "What did the doctor say?"
The rest of the team wasn't far behind, and as they gathered around, Mike shook his head.
"Not what I wanted to hear, but I guess it could be worse," he replied morosely. "It's a mild sprain. The doc said I should be 100 percent for the championship game if I sit out this week. If I play, I could mess it up worse and be on these damn crutches for a month."
Cursing and muttering greeted the news.
"Man, we're going to need your outside shooting to beat the Port Authority," Kramer said. "They'll pack their zone in tight and force us to shoot jumpers all night. And we don't have another shooter like you."
"All right, all right. The negativity stops now!" Hunter said firmly. "We'll get the shots we need. We'll hit some from outside and some from inside. We'll pass and pass and pass until their zone breaks down, and then we'll sneak it in on them. And Nick, Slim and Bobby are going to get every rebound if they have to. Whatever it takes, we're going to win Friday night. We have a date with destiny, and the Port Authority isn't going to stop us!"
The coach's fiery words brought several nods and grunts of assent. Downcast eyes rose, with sparks showing.
"OK, then," Hunter said with a grin. "Grab some water and let's get back to work."
Walking toward the bench, Mike looked at Bobby quizzically. "I'm surprised you're here tonight. I thought you and Alex would be in interrogation, wrapping up your case."
"Well, we hit a little roadblock. We've got everything ready to lay out for Carver, but he was stuck in court until late. So we got pushed back until tomorrow. It'll probably be Wednesday before we actually bring Saunders in. We're hoping for an early morning wakeup call, with both search and arrest warrants."
"Blitz attack, huh? Sounds like fun. I always like waking up a perp to bust him – turning his sweet dreams into nightmares."
Bobby smiled and took a swig of water as the coach blew his whistle again. He trotted back out on the court, and Mike settled on the bench to watch.
"Keep your head in the game, Mike," Hunter said around his whistle. "If you spot anything useful, let me know."
The scrimmage resumed, with the first team on offense and the second team in a tight 2-3 zone.
"Penetrate and dish, Frankie. Penetrate and dish," Hunter urged. "If Jimbo's not open, get it to Goren. Bobby, go strong to the hoop. Muscle up on them. That's the way!"
At their next water break, Mike called Lester aside. "Frankie, can you throw a lob?"
"Yeah, but Kramer doesn't like 'em. He dunks off the rebound or the dribble."
"I was thinking of Goren."
Lester looked startled. "Goren," he mused, a smile slowly spreading across his face. "Can he jam?"
"I'm not sure he knows."
Lester grinned. "Well, maybe we can find out."
Sauntering over to Bobby, Lester put on his best conspiratorial tone. "Next time Kramer strays out of the paint toward Jimbo, duck inside your man real fast and I'll hit you for an easy bucket."
"I'll try, but it may not be so easy," Bobby said.
A few minutes into the next scrimmage session, Lester brought the ball up and faked to his right. Kramer edged out, and his man followed, leaving a small opening at the back of the defense. Bobby got his shoulder inside his man and darted for the hoop. Lester flipped him a pass – but not at all what he expected. Instead of chest high, it was above the rim. Bobby leaped and managed to get his fingers on it. He tapped it onto the glass, and it fell in for two points. The whistle shrilled.
"What the hell ..." Bobby and Coach Hunter said almost at the same time.
"C'mon, Bobby, dunk the damn thing!" Mike yelled from the bench.
Bobby scowled and reddened. "Damn it, Frankie. I thought you were going to feed me for a layup."
"Looks like I did. It worked. But you coulda jammed it."
Bobby rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm not sure …"
"You can do it, Goren. Give it a shot," Mike hollered.
Their teammates were staring at Bobby curiously. Coach Hunter looked thoughtful.
"I-I uh, I uh …" embarrassed, Bobby stopped trying to form words and began studying the floor at his feet.
Frankie took a couple of steps toward him. "Goren," he said softly. Bobby looked up and met his eyes. "You're above the rim. You've been there for the past two games. You can do it."
Hunter joined them at Bobby's elbow. "He's right. You're up there. You're just always looking for the glass instead of the rim. But you've got the hands for it – with both size and dexterity. That block you guided to Lester in the last game and the layup just now on a lob you didn't expect show that."
Bobby gave the coach a guarded look.
"No pressure. Just let it happen naturally," Hunter told him. "Sometime when you're up there, just go straight for the rim. When you feel it, do it."
Bobby looked uncertain, but he nodded his head.
"OK, five minutes of full court," Hunter said, turning to the rest of the team. "Let's go straight 23 defense and alternate the 12 and 13 offenses. The last minute we'll press."
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It was almost 6 on Wednesday morning, and Bobby and Alex sat quietly in the SUV, drinking coffee and watching faint pink streaks lighten the deep gray sky. Two squad cars from Glen Cove and one from Manhattan, specially requested to transport Saunders back to 1PP after the search, waited along the road, flanking the home.
A smile played at the corners of Bobby's mouth as he thought about the teamwork that would go into this morning's operation. Rarely did he feel like one of the team at NYPD. He was used to being out of step, used to the stares of other cops, the whispers, the shakes of the head. For so long it had seemed that only Alex … and then Mike and Carolyn … felt comfortable around him.
But basketball was changing that. For the past two days, almost every time he had ventured out into the halls or stopped in another department at 1PP, someone had thrown a compliment or encouragement his way. Cops he barely knew were smiling and asking about the Port Authority game or the anticipated matchup with Brooklyn's Finest for the championship. It felt good to be accepted, good to have teammates, on and off the job.
Even this morning, he had been reminded of that when the patrol car rolled up at headquarters for the mini-caravan to Glen Cove. He had known it would be a 2-7 car; that was 1PP's home precinct, and it provided street support when needed. But when the driver's door opened and Slim Barnett stepped out, Bobby had been startled.
"Slim, what are you doing here?" he had blurted out.
With a wide grin for Bobby and Alex, Barnett had replied, "Lookin' out for you. Can't take a chance on you gettin' hurt this close to the championship game. When our sergeant announced yesterday that Goren and Eames needed patrol help on an arrest this mornin', I volunteered my partner and me. Good thing we're early risers."
The light in Bobby's eyes had shown his appreciation, and recalling the moment, that glint returned. As if reading his mind, Alex reached over and covered his hand with hers. She smiled, and he grinned back. "We've got a good team today," she said. "No worries about whether our backup will be paying attention."
"Yeah, and I think it's about time for the team to swing into action," Bobby replied, turning his hand palm up and giving hers a squeeze. "The bathroom light just went on. One groggy suspect, coming up."
Alex nodded, and simultaneously they opened their doors and stepped out onto the road. Quietly they pushed the doors to, and the other cops followed suit. They crept up the driveway, and a pair of Glen Cove officers slipped around each side of the house to cover the back. No one was really expecting Saunders to bolt, but these things had to be done by the book, just to make sure.
As Alex and Bobby reached the porch, a downstairs light went on. Alex knocked and announced, "Police! Open the door!"
Hands on their weapons, Bobby and Alex flanked the door and waited. Footsteps, then the door swung open. Jake Saunders stood there in a purple bathrobe and brown slippers, hair askew, blinking and rubbing his eyes. "Wha-what?"
Bobby pushed past him and into the foyer as Alex yanked a search warrant from her pocket and shoved it into Saunders' chest. "We have a warrant to search the premises."
Stacy Saunders, looking frightened but a bit less disheveled than her husband, appeared at the top of the staircase. "Jake, what's going on?"
"Sorry to disturb you, Mrs. Saunders, but we need to conduct a search," Alex said, moving past their suspect and into the middle of the foyer. Bobby was already in the living room, and Slim and his partner had each taken a side wall, alertly scanning for surprises. "Is there anyone else in the house?"
"No, just us. Richard won't arrive for another half-hour," she said, descending the stairs. "What is this about?"
"It's about the murder of Leslie Kensington Leonard. We also have an arrest warrant for your husband," Alex told her.
"What? How dare you accuse me!" Jake shouted, taking a menacing step toward Alex.
Bobby, hearing the threat in his tone, bolted out of the living room, but Barnett had imposed his 6-6 frame between Jake and Alex. "Sir, it's going to take awhile to search the area and then transport you back to Manhattan. I can handcuff you now if you can't control yourself, but that's going to make it a very painful morning for you."
Jake paled and took a step back, and Alex turned away from him to hide a smirk. She too headed to the living room, and in a voice quiet enough that only Bobby could hear, she said, "It's already a painful morning for him."
Four hours later – an exasperating four hours for Jake and Stacy Saunders – the NYPD officers were on their way back to Manhattan with a few telling items in the SUV and one very uncomfortable item sitting in the back seat of Barnett's car.
After Saunders was processed, he was deposited in a holding cell to await the arrival of a lawyer hastily rounded up by Stacy Saunders. Meanwhile, Bobby and Alex holed up in their conference room, added their new evidence to the multitude they had previously collected and began going over their interrogation strategy.
Lunch came and went as the detectives awaited the arrival of Ron Carver from his trial. He had asked them to hold off questioning Saunders until he could observe. They didn't mind; it meant the suspect would have more time to sweat.
A little after 3, Ross poked his head in the conference room to tell them Carver was on his way. Eames ordered that the suspect be brought to interrogation. A half-hour later, Saunders and his lawyer were seated at the metal table in the small cinder block room, and Ross, Carver, Goren and Eames were in the observation area.
Bobby smiled to himself and rubbed his hands together in anticipation. He particularly liked the strategy he and Eames had planned and was looking forward to taking their smooth-talking, narcissistic opponent apart.
Just then the door opened and Mike Logan hobbled in. "Is it showtime yet?" he asked with a lopsided grin.
"You want to watch?" Ross asked, a bit surprised.
"Captain, I haven't done a damn thing all day except paperwork, thanks to these crutches. Desk duty is no fun at all."
"But a Goren and Eames interrogation is," Ross said with a hint of a smile.
"Well, if they could pull a rabbit out of a hat today, it would be nice," Carver said. "But I admit, I have some doubts here."
"What do you mean, counselor?" Alex asked in a slightly annoyed tone.
"With all due respect to the two of you and your gift of gab, if I were Saunders, I wouldn't say a word," Carver replied. "Gregory Hamilton, his lawyer, is as charming a courtroom tap dancer as I've ever seen, and he no doubt understands that we have a very strong but circumstantial case against his client. If I were him, I wouldn't talk about anything except a plea bargain for manslaughter."
"Manslaughter!" Bobby said, his voice rising in sharp surprise. "This is a clear case of premeditated murder."
"By the time Hamilton gets done explaining away every piece of evidence you've got, he'll have half the jury on his side and the other half completely confused. He knows that without a confession, I'll probably have to plea bargain. And he's not going to let his client confess."
"We'll see about that, Mr. Carver," Bobby said determinedly. "It may not be easy getting a confession, but that's OK. We like a challenge."
He cut a glance toward Eames and was pleased and not at all surprised to see a glint in her eyes and a confident smirk on her lips. He grinned at her and then turned to give Ross a quick nod. "We're ready."
Neither noticed the thoughtful tilt of Mike's head as he watched them walk out the door and turn toward the interrogation room. "Pretty sure of themselves, aren't they?" Mike mused after the door shut behind them.
"They always are," Carver noted, and Ross agreed with a nod before adding, "And they're usually right."