BESTSELLERS & BEST FRIENDS
My book publishing blog, with murder mysteries woven through it.
If this is your first visit, be sure to start with “1. Let’s do it!”
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As you know, I called, then went to see, Detective Rocco. I had my suspicions about Aaron.
She thought those suspicions were legit.
So that night at Randy’s old loft with Aaron, was my idea. I’d get him there, I’d get him to talk, and then the police would jump out and arrest him.
Seemed like a good plan. See this blog post from a couple of days ago. Rocco agreed.
That afternoon we ran a few tests to determine that she could, indeed, hear and record from the secret room.
She also placed another officer in the bedroom, and another down the hall pass the elevator.
I assumed Aaron and I would just talk, and Rocco would listen. I did NOT expect he’d pull a gun on me, shoot the aquarium, and come up with a fake Brallier-jumps-out-of-a-window scenario. That one threw me.
But as you know, when I entered the secret room, I suddenly, and purposely, fell to the floor and Aaron was shot and killed by Rocco. What you don’t know, and what has been bugging the fuck out of me since, is that Rocco never gave Aaron any sort of warning. She didn’t yell “Police!” Or “Hands up!” or “Drop it!” She just immediately shot him. It felt like an execution.
I confronted her minutes later, “What the fuck? You never warned him. You just shot him.”
“Yes I did warn him. You just don’t remember.”
“No, no,” I said, “Check the recording and—”
“That won’t happen,” she interrupted. “At the moment of the warning and shooting the recording shut down due to technological problems.”
The two other cops looked at me and nodded, in both agreement and warning.
“Listen, Jess,” Rocco said, “It’s simpler this way. Saves us time, saves you time in court. The guy was guilty as hell. He admitted to murder.”
I didn’t say a thing.
“And come on! He was seconds from killing you!” The steady and deliberate Rocco yelled for a first time, “ Jesus! What’s wrong with you!”
“Fuckin’ asshole,” muttered one of the other cops.
I still said nothing.
“Listen and listen carefully,” she got into my face, “You write this on your blog in any other way than how we said it went down, your life will be hell. We’ll get you. Jaywalking, pot, whatever it takes. Your life will be hell. Then we’ll get you to Rikers. You won’t last 30 minutes there.”
New York City's Rikers Correctional Center
I nodded to the cops, turned, and walked out of that loft for a last time.
I talked it through with Sally, and David and Bill, and with Moon. And, as you’ve just read, I made a decision.
Now, god willing, I have to live with that decision. If New York’s finest allow me.
Tomorrow: One last update