“Good luck,” Bree said and kissed me on the cheek.
The journalist gestured to a chair across from her. I mirrored her posture, sitting on the first third of the chair, back straight, chin up, and facing her with my hands relaxed, open, and resting on my thighs. Two small spotlights lit us. King put on reading glasses.
“You’re on,” one of the camera operators said.
The morning news anchor got right to it and pulled no punches, noting that the introduction of the video in court the day before had to have been a devastating blow.
“Understandably, we weren’t happy about it, Gayle,” I said. “But we’re confident the video’s been doctored and we intend to prove it.”
“How many times have you drawn and fired your service pistol in the course of your career, Dr. Cross?”
“Norman Nixon says at least thirty-four times, counting this case,” I said.
“And killed eleven now in the line of duty?”
“In all those cases, I acted in accord with proper police protocol. Until the shootings I’m on trial for, I had never pulled the trigger first. But I was at close quarters in that situation. When I saw the guns, I gave them one chance to drop them and then fired to save my own life.”
“You still maintain the three victims were armed?”
“I do.”
King said, “The prosecution paints you as an ‘out-of-control’ cop.”
I controlled my temper, said, “Every time an officer fires his weapon in the course of duty, there’s a diligent investigation. I’ve gone through the process more than most officers, but in every instance I have been cleared.”
“What do you say to those who characterize those earlier cleared cases as having been whitewashed?”
CHAPTER
58
I LOOKED DIRECTLY in the camera with the red light glowing and said, “Read the investigative documents yourself, Gayle. I’ll give them to you, and you can post them on the CBS website where anyone can read them. I’m confident that you’ll agree with the shooting boards’ assessments.”
“I like that,” King said, and she paused. “Are you above the law, Dr. Cross?”
I had to fight not to let my hands curl into fists and said, “No, Gayle, I am not above the law, and I’m frankly insulted at the characterization. I have spent my life in service to the law as a homicide cop and an FBI agent. I have more than twenty meritorious citations for my actions with both agencies and not one reprimand for excessive violence or any other disciplinary action. Not one.”
King’s eyes locked on mine. She said, “Did Gary Soneji deserve to die ten years ago?”
I thought about that and said, “Personal opinion?”
“Is there any other kind?”
“Then my opinion is yes.”
King’s eyes went wide. “Yes?”
“Soneji bombed people with impunity. He kidnapped and tortured others. He used a baby as a human shield while trying to bomb Times Square. I chased him into the New York subway system when he was wearing an explosives vest. He tried to kill me. I did everything I could to make sure the vest did not go off, including killing him. So, yes, if I’ve ever met someone who deserved to die, it was Gary Soneji.”
“Are you obsessed with him?”
“No more than you’ll be obsessed with me when you move on to your next story. Look, being a detective is my job, not a crusade or a vendetta. I do my best. I move on.”
“‘I do my best. I move on.’ I like that,” she said, and she smiled and took off her glasses. “Virginia Winslow and Leonard Diggs. Did they deserve to die?”
“No,” I said. “But they made decisions that led me to make decisions as a police officer that ended their lives. I still don’t have a crystal-clear rationale for their actions other than their wanting to frame me.”
“In the video, none of your victims are seen carrying guns.”