JULY 9, 1977
BROOKLYN, NEW YORK
This was it, it had to be.
Delgado sat in her customary position somewhere in the midpoint of the 65th Precinct’s main briefing room while, around her, her fellow detectives filed in and took their own seats. It was a Saturday, and although Delgado’s shift had her working anyway, after a few minutes it became very clear that Captain LaVorgna had canceled everybody’s weekend. As the detectives filled the available seats, more kept arriving. Delgado recognized members of Sergeant Connelly’s night shift, forced to stand at the back and around the edges of the room.
This was it.
Delgado braced herself to hear what her partner had been set up for. She turned in her chair, catching Harris’s eye, gesturing like she didn’t know why the room was so full. “Maybe they finally caught Sam,” Harris said before he buried his nose in his coffee.
Captain LaVorgna’s arrival drew the rumble of conversation to a halt. The briefing room had a lectern at the front, which the captain rarely used in his addresses, leaving the more detail-oriented briefings to Sergeant McGuigan. But this morning was different. The captain strode to the lectern, placed a folder on it, then squeezed the sides of the wooden top with both hands. He looked up at the assembled officers, then back down at his file.
“At oh-two-hundred hours this morning, officers from this precinct attended a shooting homicide in South Slope. Two victims were found at the scene, both of whom were informants known to be working with detectives at this precinct. A search of the scene uncovered a discarded weapon identified as police-issue. Ballistics analysis was carried out immediately at the central crime lab, confirming the weapon was the one used to kill the two victims.”
Delgado felt her face flush. She sat in place, unmoving, staring at the captain as he gave further details of the crime scene. It felt like any reaction at all would somehow give the game away.
But, boy, this was bad.
The captain paused in his summary and glanced across the room. Delgado risked a slight movement, turning a little toward Harris. He was sitting two chairs along, shaking his head. Delgado saw other officers looking at each other.
The captain cleared his throat, regaining the attention of the room.
“The weapon is registered to Detective James Hopper.”
At this, a collective gasp filled the room. The captain looked up again as officers began asking questions. He held his hand up, and the room fell quiet.
“Detective Hopper has not reported for duty in more than twenty-four hours, despite being on shift, and we believe he is on the run. As such, James Hopper is currently our prime suspect for the double homicide. All leave is canceled until further notice. Sergeants McGuigan and Connelly will further brief their shifts.”
The captain opened his mouth again, then closed it. Then he sighed, and rubbed the bridge of his nose.
“Listen,” he said, “I know this looks bad, and believe me, it is bad. But we don’t know what happened yet. So I suggest we get on with our work and solve this case, no matter what the outcome. We have a duty to this city and I expect each and every one of us to carry out that duty. Do I make myself clear?”
There was a murmur of assent. Delgado didn’t join in, and when she looked back at Harris, she noticed that several of the other detectives were now watching her.
“That is all,” said the captain. “Sergeant McGuigan, please.”
McGuigan peeled off from the wall where he had been standing, and the captain clapped a hand on his shoulder as the two passed each other. Delgado watched the captain leave the briefing room as her sergeant began his own briefing.
“Okay, folks, listen up, and listen good, because none of us are going anywhere until we get this cleared.”
As the detectives and uniforms settled in for the extended emergency briefing, Delgado opened her notebook and began to diligently record the sergeant’s key points, keeping her head down, her eyes on the paper, and trying very hard to hope her partner really knew what he was doing.