Джеймс Паттерсон - NYPD Red 3

“And now they’re at the mercy of Mama Cates. This goes way beyond forensics, Dr. Dryden, but I’m sure the detectives appreciate the fact that you tried to cover their asses.”

Chuck gave us a shrug and left.

“Captain,” I said.

“Save the explanations for another day,” Cates said. “I’ve learned my lesson with you two. Let the infractions pile up until we close the case. Then I can waste my time trying to figure out how to get you two to play by the rules.”

Her cell phone rang, and she jumped into her car so she could be heard over the howling wind.

Kylie and I just stood there.

“I have no regrets,” she said.

“You never do.”

“What’s your problem?” she demanded.

“Nothing.”

“Zach, there’s only one person who can tell us what we need to know to charge Hunter Alden with a crime, and that’s Tripp. So, yeah, I made the call to chase after him instead of hanging around here until some asshole from IA could tell me that I haven’t been drinking. I didn’t twist your arm to go with me, so don’t give me the same old thou-shalt-not-break-the-rules crap I’ve heard a dozen times from Cates and every CO I ever worked for.”

“Kylie, I’m cold, I’m wet, and I feel like shit because I left the scene to chase a ghost instead of staying behind and finding that camera case. But seeing as you saved my life tonight, I’ll spare you the sermon, and just say thank you for shooting Madison before he shot me.”

She was quiet for a few seconds, and then a small smile crept across her face. “All that wind and snow... It was a hell of a shot,” she said. “Did I ever mention I was first in my class at the academy?”

I couldn’t stop myself from smiling back. “Not since last night.”

The car door opened, and Cates leaned out. “Get in,” she said.

We did, and her driver headed out of the park.

“That was Patrice Chevalier,” Cates said. “I had left him a message that we found Peter, and he called back to thank me.”

“Where are we going now?” Kylie said.

“Back to the house.”

“Captain, with all due respect, we’re trying to find Tripp Alden. Sitting around the office isn’t the best way to get that done.”

“Tripp Alden is meeting us there,” Cates said. “Dr. Chevalier is bringing him in.”

In a rare moment of self-restraint, Kylie sat there and didn’t say another word for the rest of the ride.

I read Tripp Alden his Miranda rights, and as soon as I got to “You have the right to consult an attorney,” he cut me off.

“Yeah, I want one. I called my grandfather before I turned myself in. He’s sending a guy.”

The guy turned out to be Dennis Woloch, known in legal circles as the Warlock because of his uncanny ability to cast a spell over juries. Woloch only took on two types of clients: the filthy rich, who could afford his astronomical fees, and the dirt poor, for whom he’d work pro bono just so he could dominate the six o’clock news with his litigating brilliance.

Grandpa Alden wasn’t taking any chances. He’d sent a flamethrower to a marshmallow roast.

“Detectives,” Woloch said, “are you charging my client with anything?”

“Your client was the victim of a crime,” I said. “One which we believe we’ve resolved. But we have a few questions about the kidnapping.”

Woloch nodded and allowed Tripp to recount what we’d already heard from Gittleman and Lonnie. When he got to the part where Augie showed up, I asked the obvious. “Why would you stun-gun your rescuer and then take off?”

“Don’t answer that,” Woloch said. “And you, Detective, should not be asking a boy who was traumatized by a madman to explain his reaction when a total stranger walked into his prison cell and supposedly rescued him. At that point my client trusted no one. Move along.”

“After you left the school, you didn’t call your family,” I said. “Instead you decided to call your kidnapper. Then you met him at a diner, where he killed Silas Blackstone.”

“That’s not a question,” Woloch said. “And even if it could ever lead to one, it’s irrelevant, because you have your facts wrong. My client did not call his kidnapper. The man who abducted him wore several disguises and only spoke through a voice modifier. That is not who Tripp called. No, in his fear and desperation he reached out to the one person he felt he could turn to: his mentor, Ryan Madison.”

“Do you know anything about the murder of Peter Chevalier?” Kylie asked.

Tripp shook his head.

“Tell us about the flash drive you gave him.”

Warlock slapped both palms on the table. “This interview is over.”

“Not if we charge him with assault on a school employee engaged in the performance of his duties,” Kylie said, lobbing her last marshmallow at the roaring flamethrower.

The Warlock laughed loud and hard. “I thought I was talking to the Red team — an elite unit trained to resolve issues for people of wealth and influence,” he said. “And you plan to slap the heir to the Alden fortune with a misdemeanor? That smells like the Brown team to me. Write the boy an appearance ticket, Detective, and we’ll be on our way.”

He stood up. Tripp didn’t move.

“Come on,” Woloch said. “I’ll drop you at your grandfather’s house.”

“Just a minute,” Tripp said. He looked at us. “You caught him, right? Madison — is he...?”

“We tried to take him alive,” I said. “But we couldn’t.”

“Thank you,” he said. “He killed Peter, and I know I was next. Thanks.”

He stood up and followed Woloch out of the room.

Cates had watched it all from behind the two-way. She walked in as soon as they left. “Dr. Chevalier asked me to thank you as well. He’s flying back to Haiti as soon as the snow lifts in the morning.”

“Did you hear the last thing Tripp said?” Kylie asked.

“He thanked you for saving his life,” Cates said.

“Hunter Alden told us that he agreed to pay Madison. The plan was to wire the money to him tomorrow.”

“So?”

“So why would Tripp think Madison was going to kill him if his father was a day away from paying the ransom?”

“I don’t know,” Cates said. “What I do know is that you wrecked a million-dollar car and you caught a murderer. On balance I’d say you had a good day.”

“Not good enough,” Kylie said. “Hunter Alden is dirty, and we’re trying to figure out at what.”

“Welcome to Red,” Cates said. “Some of our best customers are dirty, but your job is to be there for them when they’re victimized, not spend your time trying to figure out what felonious and immoral shit they’re doing under the radar.”

“Wow,” Kylie said. “That’s...”

“Cynical?” Cates said. “Yeah, that happens to a lot of cops. The system has a way of beating you down. But don’t worry, MacDonald. You’re immune.”

“Why’s that?”

“You can’t get frustrated by the rules if you refuse to play by them.”

“I need food and alcohol, not necessarily in that order,” Kylie said as soon as Cates left. “You game?”

I’ve arrested a lot of smart people for doing stupid things, and sometimes I want to grab them and say, “What the hell were you thinking?” But I already know the answer. People don’t always think.

Which is why twenty-four hours after Cheryl walked out of my apartment, and fifteen hours after Gerri warned me that Kylie was playing fast and loose with her marriage and my libido, I decided that a third night of drinking with my ex-girlfriend was just what the doctor ordered.