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ROB TRILLING AND I wasted no time in rushing up the stairs to the fourth-floor apartment listed on Antonio Deason’s ConEd statement. There was always a chance he didn’t really live in the apartment. This is what slows down police work—leads that don’t go anywhere. But it is all part of the job.

We didn’t run into any other residents as we wandered down the fourth-floor hallway, looking for apartment 406. We found the door, knocked, then automatically moved to flank it. Tactical thinking isn’t something you can turn on and off. Even for an interview like this, there is always a risk. Too many cops had been shot through doors for me to spend any time in front of one after I knocked.

The door opened almost immediately. The young man in front of us was tall and handsome. I immediately recognized him from his driver’s license as Antonio Deason. His hair was cut in a trendy fashion, and he wore a button-down shirt and nice slacks. He looked more like he was ready to go out for the night instead of lounging around his apartment.

Clearly, we had taken him by surprise. He looked at both of us and said, “May I help you?”

I wasted no time. “I’m Michael Bennett. This is Rob Trilling.” I stuck out my hand to see if he’d shake it. He didn’t hesitate. He looked me in the eye and gave me a firm grip.

Then Deason asked, “And you are …?”

“With the NYPD. We were wondering if you had a few minutes to talk with us.”

He looked at each of us again. “How did you get into the building?”

I didn’t want to give him time to think. “Can we come inside and talk?”

“I have nothing to say.”

“You don’t even know what we want to talk about.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

I said, “We’re just trying to clear something up. We were hoping you might be able to help.”

Deason folded his arms. “Am I under arrest or am I free to go back into my apartment?”

“No, Mr. Deason, you’re not under arrest.”

“Good.” He shut the door, and I could hear the dead bolt slide into place as soon as it closed.

I looked at Trilling and said, “I guess the easy option is off the table.”