Chapter 3

December 24, 1989
5:30 p.m.
Robby arrived at Columbia Presbyterian Medical Center in his crisp police academy recruit uniform. He had been excused early once his Official Company Instructor received word that Robby’s brother had been shot. When he arrived at the trauma ward, he saw his mother in conversation with a young doctor holding a clipboard in her hand.
“. . . just below his left ear and exited through the right ocular cavity,” the doctor was saying. She put a gentle hand on the older woman’s deflated shoulder. “The right eye and optic nerve have suffered intense trauma and are inoperable, and there’s damage to the medulla oblongata, the cerebral cortex, and along the temporal lobe. In addition, circulatory trauma has caused hypoxia to several regions of the brain, and if we cannot correct this, which is what we’re trying to do right now, the condition could become anoxic. The situation, I’m afraid, is grave.”
“Is . . . is he dead?” StephanieRobby’s mother, asked.
“No, not exactly,” the doctor said. “He’s in a coma and brain activity is very low. And if anoxia occurs . . .”
“You mean he’s brain dead,” Robby said, taking up his mother’s hand and standing beside her.
The doctor looked at Robby. Average height, lean and athletic, his handsome features wracked with concern, his smooth dark brown complexion now sallow. “In a manner of speaking, yes,” She said.
“Jesus,” Robby said. The situation felt surreal, the world around him was suddenly unfamiliar. “Will he recover? I mean, will he be all right? Eventually?”
The doctor pursed her lips. “I don’t think so. In situations like this, where there has been such extensive damage to the brain, there’s just nothing of him left. There’s only enough brain tissue intact to maintain the operation of some bodily functions. Some, not all. He’s being kept alive right now on life support.”
Stephanie closed her eyes and shook her head.
“My God,” Robby gasped. “Mom, how the hell did this happen? Where was . . .”
“Your father’s talking to the police right now,” she answered. She pointed blindly at a hall leading off the main corridor. “He’s over there.”
“Will you be all right?”
“Go. I want to finish talking to the doctor.”
“But…”
“Go,” she said firmly.
Robby gave her hand a last squeeze and then dashed around the corner to where his father, the Rev. Arthur W—, was talking to a pair of men in dark suits and trench coats, detective badges hanging from their breast pockets. “Dad?”
“Robby!” said Arthur through a stream of tears. He hugged his son desperately.
“Are you Robert W¾? David W¾’s brother?” one of the detectives inquired. He was tall and square shouldered, and had striking ice blue eyes that contrasted with his curly salt and pepper hair.
Robby Pulled away from his father. “That’s me.”
“My name’s Tim Murphy, I’m the Detective’s Endowment Association union delegate for the Three-four Squad, I also caught this case. First let me tell you how sorry I am for this tragedy, if there’s anything I can do . . .”
“Actually, you could start by telling me what the hell happened,” Robby interrupted, more abrasively than he’d intended.
“I’ll tell you what I know so far,” Murphy said, showing no sign of offence at Robby’s tone. He flipped pages in his scratch pad. “David has a girlfriend who lives on Academy Street and Sherman Avenue, yes?”
“Yeah, her name’s Lisette, she lives somewhere in Washington Heights.”
“You don’t know her last name, do you?”
“No, I don’t.”
“All right. Well, it looks like David was walking up Post Avenue, we’re guessing on his way to visit Lisette, when a shooting occurred across the street. One bullet struck him in the back of the head. There’s nothing to indicate that David was an intended target in the shooting, looks more like he was a collateral victim.”
Robby wanted to know so much but couldn’t begin to form a single coherent question. Instead, he just asked, “Why?” A tear welling in one onyx eye.
“You mean, what was the shooting about?”
Robby wasn’t sure what he meant, but he nodded anyway. The tear dashed down his cheek.
“Nothing concrete, but we’re pretty sure it was drug-related.”
The words “drug-related” sent a chill through Robby’s body. Drugs had killed his brother. The cleanest, nicest, brightest kid you’d ever meet. The kind of hip square who’d never even experimented with marijuana, and still drugs had found him and killed him. Had turned him into a fucking statistic. Robby wanted to throw up.
Murphy continued. “There’s been some turnover on the block recently, anonymous calls coming in with information on a particular drug crew leading to numerous arrests. All from the same informant. Narcotics has no idea who this guy is…I don’t suppose you think David might be in a position to have that kind of information?”
It took Robby a second to comprehend what the detective was asking. “What, you think David was the informant? A second ago you called him a collateral victim.”
“I was just curious if you thought he might…”
“David thinks weed is what gardeners pull up and crack is what you find in old concrete,” Robby said, unable to keep the outraged from his voice. “No way he knows anything about some friggin’ drug crew in the heights.”
“Okay, okay, I had to ask.” He looked up from his pad. “Robby…can I call you Robby?”
Robby clenched his jaw, and said, “Yes,” with forced patience.
“Robby, I gotta explore every possibility, likely and unlikely, simple and complicated, benign and unpleasant. That’s how we’re gonna catch the guys who did this. But bear in mind, I don’t know David. You do, which is why I’m talking to you. I’m makin’ no judgments about David, I’m just tryin’ get to know him, so we can understand what happened, and catch the pieces of shit that did this to him, okay?”
“Okay…I’m sorry…”
“No need to apologize, I understand completely. You need a soda or something before we go on here?”
Robby shook his head. “No, I’m good.”
Murphy returned his attention to his pad. “Eventually this crew I’m talking about disappeared and another one took its place. My guess is a turf war over the vacant territory caused the incident. It was very bloody: two guys shot inside a building, one of them set on fire, a third guy shot trying to escape in a car. We think that’s when your brother was hit.”
“Are there any¬—”
“Suspects? No, not yet,” Murphy interrupted.
“—witnesses,” Robby finished.
“Oh, witnesses. Yeah, I’m sure there were plenty. Will any of them come forward? I’ll be honest, probably not. At least, not willingly. I’ll contact Manhattan North Narcotics and ask them to have a team come down and do some buy and bust in the area. We’ll debrief the prisoners and see what we can find out.” He put away his scratch pad and took out his wallet. Thumbing through a number of business cards, he selected one and offered it to Robby. “Listen, this is a card from the police chaplain’s office. You and your family’ll be going through a difficult time right now, and if you need anyone to talk to, try giving them a call. It’s free and completely confidential.”
Robby took the card and stared at it blankly. It occurred to him that he couldn’t remember what David’s face looked like. But…he had just seen him yesterday, hadn’t he? David had been laughing about something. Was that the last time he would ever laugh?
“Your union delegate should be on his way, and he’ll put you in touch with Employee Relations so your family is taken care of. Your father also has my card. Call me if you have any questions, or for anything at all. I’ll keep you posted if anything breaks. Also, I’ll probably have some more questions later on, but for now why don’t you go and be with your family. Are the numbers on your 10-card up to date?”
Robby thought, then nodded.
Murphy and the other detective looked at one another, then walked off. Robby hardly noticed. He was lost in this strange, unreal world. A world where White veteran detectives treated him with respectful kid gloves, where his chatty mother was silent and still, where his proud father wept, and where his funny, sweet, geeky brother . . . well, there’s just nothing of him left.
Drugs.
They were the gateway to this hellish world, had admitted millions of families like his into it.
He was disgusted by it all. But not passively. A rage began to burn within him; a rage he would unleash against this all-corrupting enemy. David’s life would not go cheaply. There would be a heavy price paid.
And Robby would collect it.