Patterson Array - NYPD Red

“Get him fast,” I repeated. “You’re starting to sound like our boss.”

Kylie’s cell rang.

“It’s Karen Porcelli from Central Records,” she said.

“At this hour?” I said.

“Right after you and I spoke, I left a message for Sergeant Porcelli to call me as soon as she got in. I want her to do background checks on the special effects guys Spence gave us. I’ll be right back.”

She stepped outside to take the call.

“She’s one dedicated cop,” Cheryl said. “And a terrific person to boot.”

“You’re not so bad yourself, Doc. Thanks for the insight. Sorry to sandbag you with all this crap so late last night.”

“Don’t apologize. In my job, I live for sociopaths. Of course lovesick cops are my bread and butter,” she said playfully. “You and MacDonald will make a great team. If there’s anything I can do to help you get rid of that old baggage you’re hanging on to, just give me a buzz.”

“I’ll do that,” I said. “Maybe we can start with a little opera therapy.”

Gabriel fondled the Walther. He now realized it was too hot to ever use again, but it was like an ancient hound dog. Too old to hunt, but he loved it too much to get rid of it. He put it back in his closet, then tucked the Glock into his backpack.

“Where you going?” Lexi said. She was still in bed.

“Out.”

“You need a partner in crime?”

“I thought we had a deal,” Gabriel said. “Coproducers work on the script, supervise wardrobe and makeup…”

“Sleep with the director,” she said. “I thought maybe because the sex has been so good, you’d change your mind.”

He sat down on the bed, rested one palm on her breast, and kissed her lips softly. “The sex was so incredible, I just want to think of you lying here naked while I’m out,” he said.

“You’re full of shit,” she said, “but I love you for it. When will you be back?”

“A couple of hours.”

Excellent, she thought. The longer you’re gone, the better.

He left, locking the door behind him. She listened as the elevator arrived at their floor, the doors closed, and she could hear the whir of the motor as it descended to the lobby. Then she tiptoed to the window and watched him walk out the front door and down the street toward the subway.

She knew there was no way he’d let her go to Mickey’s with him, but she had to ask. If she didn’t ask, he’d get suspicious. That was her character. Now that he was gone, she was ready to become her new character.

She hadn’t been able to decide whether to call herself Pandemonia or Passionata, so she opted for both. She was Pandemonia Passionata, Satan’s beautiful lover.

She had found the perfect outfit in a thrift shop on Mulberry Street-a dull-looking gauzy black silk dress, trimmed with lace and velvet ribbon. It was at least fifty years old, and cost all of eighteen bucks. For another twelve she bought some jet-black beads and a little black ostrich feather hat with a black veil. She pinned her hair up, then carefully put on her makeup. The final touch was the lipstick-the brightest red she could find. Without that, she thought, the whole scene could have been shot in black and white.

She checked her watch. She still had plenty of time to get uptown and find a good spot.

She looked in the mirror.

Perfect. All she needed now was one last prop.

She went to Gabriel’s closet and took down the Walther.

Kylie and I went to the office and tried to figure out where Benoit might strike next.

It was only Day Three of Hollywood on the Hudson week, which meant the city would be chock-full of potential victims between now and the time they all headed west on Friday.

We called Mandy Sowter, the public information officer, at home and told her to fax us a list of everyone who was invited, and to flag the targets with the highest profiles. We also asked for the schedule of events.

“You realize that the PI office will only have access to the official schedule they get from the film commission,” I said. “There’s probably going to be fifty more private meetings, lunches, and cocktail parties that aren’t on her list.”

“And Shelley Trager will know about every one of them,” Kylie said. Without missing a beat, she speed-dialed Spence and asked him to get us the names, times, and venues of every event, big or small, that Trager was aware of.

Ten minutes later, Spence phoned back. I could hear only Kylie’s end of the conversation. “Okay, okay, tell him we’ll be there.”

“What was that all about?” I asked.

“Spence called Shelley. He’s happy to help, but he also told Spence to remind us that the memorial service for Ian Stewart is this morning, and he expects to have police presence there.”

“That actually sounds like a good idea,” I said.

“Glad you agree, because even if you didn’t, I’d have to go as Mrs. Spence Harrington,” Kylie said.

Ten minutes later, Karen Porcelli called from Records. Kylie put her on speaker.

Anybody who handles explosives has to register with NYPD, so Porcelli had no trouble tracking down all six men on the list.

“You’re going to love this,” Porcelli said. “One of them was just released from the Adirondack Correctional Facility in Ray Brook. His name is Mickey Peltz.”

“What was he in for?” Kylie asked.

“He siphoned off some of the studio’s money earmarked for explosives, bought cheap crap, and blew off somebody’s arm. They had him on grand larceny and assault one, but he pled it down to assault two and took four years.”

“Any connection to Benoit?” Kylie asked.

“They’ve worked on at least half a dozen different productions together. No record of Benoit visiting him in prison.”

“Where do we find Mr. Peltz?”

“I checked with Corrections. They have him at 33–87 Skillman Avenue in Long Island City. Fifth floor. I’ll email you his PO’s contact info along with last known addresses on the other five special effects guys, but based on Peltz’s prior, I’d put him at the top of your list.”

“Thanks, Karen. I owe you one,” Kylie said and hung up.

“And I guess I owe Spence one,” I said. “We’ll pick up Peltz on our way back from the memorial service.”

Cates didn’t arrive till after eight. Even on an easy day, she’s there by six.

“Sorry I’m late,” she said, “but I really needed to treat myself to a mani-pedi this morning.”

Bullshit. She must have spent the morning being chewed out by the mayor, the commissioner, or both.

“What did Cheryl Robinson think?” Cates said.

“She thinks Benoit is crazy and you’re smart,” I said.

“It’s nice to know somebody thinks I’m smart. Did she happen to mention why?”

“She likes your he’s-writing-a-script theory, and she agrees that he’s probably planning something bigger than anything we’ve seen,” I said. “We have a list of possible targets and venues.”

“We also have a lead on someone who might have helped Benoit build that Molotov cocktail,” Kylie said.

We told her about Mickey Peltz.

“Zach and I are just leaving for the memorial service for Ian Stewart,” Kylie said. “Once it’s over we’ll swing around to Long Island City and bring Peltz in for questioning.”

“I’d rather telescope the time,” Cates said. “I’ll send some uniforms to pick up Mr. Peltz.”

“That’s okay,” Kylie said. “We can get him. It won’t take that long.”

“Relax, Detective MacDonald,” Cates said. “I’ll just have the uniforms bring him in and put him in an interrogation room. I’m not going to ask another team to question him. I’ll keep him on ice until you two get back.”