NYPD Red

“Hey, Hilary,” he said. “Remember me? The jerk at the bar? Not anymore, baby.”

Not. Any. More.

Chapter 28

The command center was crammed to capacity, including Kylie, Cates, the commissioner, the mayor, and Irwin Diamond, the deputy mayor in charge of damage control.

“I invite half of Hollywood to visit the fine film production facilities of New York City,” His Honor said, “and on Day One we’ve got two dead and another one circling the drain? How is that possible?”

Like Reitzfeld had said earlier at Silvercup, shit floats up. The commissioner fielded the question. “This guy is good, sir. He’s a master of disguise, he knows how to blend in, he’s planned every killing, including his exit strategy, and he’s got balls the size of Brooklyn. We had a hundred cops looking for him, and he sweet-talked his way right into the middle of them, and rode out on a Kawasaki.”

“And in case you missed it on the West Coast, it’ll be on the news at eleven, and on YouTube forever.” The mayor pounded his fist on the console. “What’s his goddamn motive? Why is he doing this to us? To me?”

Kylie, never afraid to speak, spoke. “He works in the business, sir. He’s obviously got some kind of a grudge.”

“A grudge? No, Detective,” the mayor said. “A grudge you take to the union. This guy is a madman, and his mission is to single-handedly put New York City out of the film business.” He turned to his deputy mayor. “Where do you net out on this shitstorm, Irwin?”

Diamond was much older than his boss. In fact, he was the oldest of all the mayor’s advisers. Those who knew him said he was also the wisest. And those who saw him in action said the calmest.

“Actually, Stan,” Diamond said, “I think Detective MacDonald is right. Whoever is doing this does have a grudge. If you don’t like the word ‘grudge,’ call it a ‘major hard-on.’ But he’s not angry at New York. He’s fed up with the entire fakakta Hollywood system. And there’s nobody he can bitch to because nobody did anything wrong to him. All they did was ignore him. Reject him. And now he’s getting revenge.”

Heads nodded. It made sense.

The commissioner jumped in. “Irwin is right, sir. This guy is a loser who’s been chewed up and spit out by the whole ugly LA film business. He’s only using New York as his venue because we happened to conveniently gather a lot of primo targets in a small space in a short time. But this is all about Hollywood.”

The mayor pressed his fingertips to his temples and weighed the input. “So our position with the press is that a madman followed these Hollywood people to New York? What’s that supposed to mean? It’s not our fault? It won’t fly, Ben. People got killed on our watch.”

The commissioner didn’t respond. Diamond held up his hand. “Stan, people die in hospitals all the time. Is that the hospital’s fault? Would they have survived if they stayed at home?”

“Don’t get all Talmudic on me, Irwin,” the mayor said. “No matter how you serve it up, NYPD is going to get skewered in the press-especially by the LA Times and all those Hollywood rags. Don’t quote me, but the best thing that can happen is this lunatic follows them back to California, offs a few more of them, and by next week this time the LA cops are taking the heat.”

“That’s not going to happen, sir.” It was Kylie.

“You’re saying he’s not going to bother following them back to LA?” the mayor said. “Why? Because he only likes killing people in New York?”

“No, sir,” Kylie said. “He’s not going to LA because we’re going to catch him before he ever leaves town.”

And just like that, my new partner, on her first day on the job, promised the mayor of New York that in less than seventy-two hours, we would track down and capture the worst serial killer to terrorize this city since the Son of Sam.

Irwin Diamond laughed warmly and gave Kylie a thumbs-up. “Talk about balls the size of Brooklyn,” he said.

Chapter 29

First they watched the video, ate the pizza, and drank the champagne. All of it. Then they made love-gentle, sweet, innocent-more like teenagers exploring the mysteries of sex than a pair of cold-blooded serial killers.

When it was over, they lay naked in each other’s arms and played their favorite game. Acting out the worst cliche-ridden movie scenes they could invent.

“Oh, Professor Cunningham,” Lexi said in her thickest southern drawl. “Ours is a forbidden love. Whatever shall we do if we get caught?”

“We shan’t get caught, my Fair One,” Gabriel said with mock British earnestness. “Unless…”

“Unless what, my darling?” Lexi pleaded. “Unless what?”

“Unless I’m dumb enough to give you an A in Eighteenth-century Lit. People see that-they’ll figure the old prof must be shagging young Pamela Ward.”

They laughed their asses off, filled their champagne glasses with beer, unmuted the TV, and surfed the news channels.

“Holy shit,” Gabriel said. “CBS, NBC, ABC, Fox, CNN-it’s all us all the time. Let’s see if we’re on ESPN.”

“Wait, wait, the mayor is coming on,” Lexi said.

They were tuned to ABC Eyewitness News, and the director cut away from the anchor to a shot of the mayor standing at a podium in front of the NYPD command post. The police commissioner stood to his right.

“Who’s that behind them?” Lexi said.

“Those are the two cops from Silvercup. He’s Detective Jordan and she’s Detective MacDonald. They’re the ones who ignored me. I don’t know the black chick in the uniform. I think she could be one of their bosses.”

“Detective MacDonald looks like she’s kind of a bitch, but Detective Jordan, he’s kind of cute,” Lexi said.

“Shh,” he said. “You wanna hear the mayor or not?”

“A vicious and violent crime was committed on the streets of our city tonight,” the mayor said, “and our hearts go out to Brad Schuck’s family and fans. Mr. Schuck is in a coma at the Burn Center of New York Hospital, and I have no further news on his condition other than that it is critical.”

“Mr. Mayor!” a reporter shouted.

“Let me finish,” the mayor snapped. “NYPD has mounted its most elite task force to track down the person or persons responsible for this hideous crime, and we in New York are saddened not only by the injuries inflicted on Mr. Schuck, but because this has marred what should have been a celebratory event tonight here at Radio City, where New York has opened its heart and its doors to the Hollywood filmmaking industry.”

“What a crock of shit,” Gabe said.

“Let me assure our colleagues from Los Angeles,” the mayor continued, “that while this may well be a hate crime targeted at the Hollywood community, it happened here on our watch, and the city of New York and the NYPD will not rest until the perpetrators are brought to justice. Thank you.”

He started to walk off camera.

“Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor!” a chorus of reporters called out.

“Now is not the time for questions,” the mayor said.

“Is this connected to this afternoon’s shooting of Ian Stewart and the sudden suspicious death of producer Sid Roth this morning?”

The mayor stopped in his tracks, said something in private to the police commissioner, and returned to the podium. “NYPD is in the middle of a criminal investigation. We can’t elaborate on what we’ve learned so far, and we can’t speculate about whether any of the incidents you cited are in any way connected to the brutal attack on Mr. Schuck. But the commissioner has assured me that the department is working around the clock to prevent any