challenge the philosophy of a total stranger. He never actually talked one-on-one with another person. He always needed a third ear as an audience for his wit.
He lifted the glass slowly and took a sip. He could feel their eyes slipping off him, sense the cadence in their talk change as their conversation turned elsewhere.
The inquest had begun one month after the heist. The letters summoning them to the IGâs office were hand delivered by courier to the captainâs office, then distributed by Kearney as the crew signed in the next morning. Twenty-one in all were questionedâten officers at the front door mags, three officers at the back door security post, one each at the Pearl Street and Worth Street entrances, and the six assigned to the courtroom. The union rep called a meeting, told them all that they were obligated to tell exactly what they knew. A union lawyer would be present outside the hearing room to advise them beforehand, but could not go in for the questioning. Sounds like a grand jury investigation , McQueen had quipped. I suppose it does , said the union rep.
The inquest lasted five days, two witnesses in the mornings and two in the afternoons. He and Foxx were the last two before the IG and her crew would travel uptown to question Gary in the rehab center. By then, everyone pretty much knew the Q&A routine. Officer, did you know that a valuable art object was in the courthouse that day? Officer, were you instructed to be especially vigilant that day? Officer, what measures did you personally take to keep the courthouse secure that day?
He and Foxx walked downtown from the courthouse that afternoon. It was a gray, blustery day, one week before Thanksgiving. The IGâs office was on the tenth floor. Foxx went in first. In the waiting room, the union lawyer had leaned in close to McQueen and asked if he had any questions.
Iâm good , heâd answered.
Foxx came out after twenty minutes. Walked past, said nothing, met McQueenâs eyes only as the elevator doors closed.
Last chance , said the union lawyer.
Iâm good , said McQueen.
He expected something heâd seen in many movies about the militaryâhim alone in a chair facing a squad of inquisitors stretched out across a wide table. Instead, the hearing room was cramped with a desk and table in T formation. The IG sat behind the desk, a stenographer on a stool to her right. Six chairs lined the table, three facing three. One was pulled out slightly, and the IG pointed for him to sit there. It still felt warm from Foxx.
The Q&A proceeded like a litany, the general questions heâd heard about in the locker room, then the specific questions tied directly to him. What did you see when you let that associate into the courtroom? What exactly did Judge Johnstone say about the doors being locked? Do you remember anything about the gunman before he slugged you?
He answered the questions to the best of his knowledge. He held nothing back. The IG turned the last page in her script. She leaned back and pressed her fingers in front of her face.
Iâm sorry to hear that you were injured that day.
McQueen nodded. The IG closed her file folder. The stenographer broke down her machine. McQueen got up and politely pushed his chair back under the table. As his hand gripped the doorknob, the IG called his name. She had one more question.
Did you do anything to provoke the gunman who fired the shot?
No.
He turned and went out the door.
The pint came back into focus, untouched except for that initial sip. He wondered now, as he wondered then, if he had turned away from the IG too quickly.
*Â Â Â *Â Â Â *
Gary stayed at the computer, poring over the security feeds, until he was certain that Ursula would not drop by after her evening shift ended. Ursula was spending more time at the apartment these last few months, but she had not crossed the line of actually moving in. Her imprint was more subtle: a corner cleared,
He lifted the glass slowly and took a sip. He could feel their eyes slipping off him, sense the cadence in their talk change as their conversation turned elsewhere.
The inquest had begun one month after the heist. The letters summoning them to the IGâs office were hand delivered by courier to the captainâs office, then distributed by Kearney as the crew signed in the next morning. Twenty-one in all were questionedâten officers at the front door mags, three officers at the back door security post, one each at the Pearl Street and Worth Street entrances, and the six assigned to the courtroom. The union rep called a meeting, told them all that they were obligated to tell exactly what they knew. A union lawyer would be present outside the hearing room to advise them beforehand, but could not go in for the questioning. Sounds like a grand jury investigation , McQueen had quipped. I suppose it does , said the union rep.
The inquest lasted five days, two witnesses in the mornings and two in the afternoons. He and Foxx were the last two before the IG and her crew would travel uptown to question Gary in the rehab center. By then, everyone pretty much knew the Q&A routine. Officer, did you know that a valuable art object was in the courthouse that day? Officer, were you instructed to be especially vigilant that day? Officer, what measures did you personally take to keep the courthouse secure that day?
He and Foxx walked downtown from the courthouse that afternoon. It was a gray, blustery day, one week before Thanksgiving. The IGâs office was on the tenth floor. Foxx went in first. In the waiting room, the union lawyer had leaned in close to McQueen and asked if he had any questions.
Iâm good , heâd answered.
Foxx came out after twenty minutes. Walked past, said nothing, met McQueenâs eyes only as the elevator doors closed.
Last chance , said the union lawyer.
Iâm good , said McQueen.
He expected something heâd seen in many movies about the militaryâhim alone in a chair facing a squad of inquisitors stretched out across a wide table. Instead, the hearing room was cramped with a desk and table in T formation. The IG sat behind the desk, a stenographer on a stool to her right. Six chairs lined the table, three facing three. One was pulled out slightly, and the IG pointed for him to sit there. It still felt warm from Foxx.
The Q&A proceeded like a litany, the general questions heâd heard about in the locker room, then the specific questions tied directly to him. What did you see when you let that associate into the courtroom? What exactly did Judge Johnstone say about the doors being locked? Do you remember anything about the gunman before he slugged you?
He answered the questions to the best of his knowledge. He held nothing back. The IG turned the last page in her script. She leaned back and pressed her fingers in front of her face.
Iâm sorry to hear that you were injured that day.
McQueen nodded. The IG closed her file folder. The stenographer broke down her machine. McQueen got up and politely pushed his chair back under the table. As his hand gripped the doorknob, the IG called his name. She had one more question.
Did you do anything to provoke the gunman who fired the shot?
No.
He turned and went out the door.
The pint came back into focus, untouched except for that initial sip. He wondered now, as he wondered then, if he had turned away from the IG too quickly.
*Â Â Â *Â Â Â *
Gary stayed at the computer, poring over the security feeds, until he was certain that Ursula would not drop by after her evening shift ended. Ursula was spending more time at the apartment these last few months, but she had not crossed the line of actually moving in. Her imprint was more subtle: a corner cleared,
Similar Books
