Джеймс Паттерсон - NYPD Red 4

“No problem. Zach and I can handle it,” Cates said. “I’m glad to hear he’s doing better.” The phone rang and she grabbed it, grateful for the interruption.

“Send her to my office,” she said to the caller. Then she hung up and turned to us. “Speak of the devil.”

“Mayor Sykes is here?” Kylie asked.

“I didn’t say the mayor,” Cates said, smiling for the first time that morning. “I said the devil.”

A minute later, Annie Ryder walked in. She looked twenty years younger. The gray hair had been colored, her makeup was flawless, and her dress and coat were a far cry from the grimy pants and Rutgers sweatshirt she had on the last time we saw her. I introduced her to Cates.

“Annie, you look fantastic,” Kylie said.

“I know. Lavinia Begbie had her people give me a makeover. I’m going to be a guest on her cable show tonight. Also, now that we’re doing a book together, she doesn’t want me to look like a bag lady.”

“You’re writing a book?”

“ Jewelers to the Stars. Lavinia is writing it. I’m supplying the juicy details. I didn’t mean to interrupt your meeting. I just came to thank you and to say good-bye.”

“Where are you going?”

“Vegas. Me, Teddy, and my late husband. Buddy always wanted to move there. We could never afford it, but Bassett’s insurance company agreed to pay me the two hundred and fifty thousand reward money for recovering the stolen necklace.”

“I guess they had to,” Cates said, “but they must have been pretty upset to cough up that much for a fake.”

“Hell, no,” Annie said. “Now that they can prove the Bassetts set up this scam, they’re going to help the other insurance companies reopen the prior claims and sue the estate for nineteen million. I’m their star witness, so I’ll be getting a piece of the action.”

That was more good news than Cates could handle. “Sounds like you’re going to have a grand time in Vegas,” she said, coming around her desk and ushering Annie to the door.

“I’d have a much grander time if I could become a blackjack dealer,” Annie said, “but they have a thing about people with a criminal record. That really pisses me off.”

“Then why go?” Cates said.

“Nice weather,” the old con artist said with a wink. “And suckers with money.”

Irwin Diamond was a legend in New York politics. For forty years he had cut through red tape, party lines, and political bullshit to get things done. The press referred to him as the Fixer, the Deputy Mayor in Charge of Damage Control, and the Jewish Godfather.

At the moment, the legend was sitting in the precinct’s roll-call room, arms folded across his chest, head resting against the back of the chair, eyes closed.

Cates and I exchanged a knowing smile. Irwin, who was a master of the five-minute power nap, was charging his battery for his head-to-head with the mayor.

The alarm on his cell phone beeped, his eyes popped open, and his entire body sprang to life. He was geared up and ready for action. He looked at the clock on the wall. It was 6:17.

“The mayor is not usually this late,” Cates said, half apologizing for something that was out of her control.

“She’ll be here in three minutes,” he said.

“And you know that how?” Cates demanded. Not many people could openly challenge Irwin Diamond’s pronouncements, but over the years, the fortysomething African American cop and the septuagenarian investment banker — political adviser had spent enough time in the same foxhole to become close allies.

“Because she’s afraid if she keeps me waiting a half hour, I’ll walk, but she’s pissed at me for backing Spellman in the election, so she’s sending me a message. She’s in, I’m out.”

“Ha!” Cates said. “You may have retired when Sykes took office, but you will never be out. ”

“Thank you, Delia. Don’t get me wrong. Muriel Sykes was a damn good U.S. attorney, but she knows bupkis about politics. She’s only been mayor for a hundred days, and it shows. She’d have been smarter to get here before I did. It might not have thrown me off my game, but it would have let me know she doesn’t think like a rookie.”

“On the other hand,” Cates said, “if she had your political savvy, you wouldn’t be here helping her out of a jam.”

I sat there quietly soaking up their camaraderie.

At exactly 6:20, Mayor Sykes entered the conference room, her dutiful husband at her side, a large chip on each shoulder. She sat at the far end of the table.

“Madam Mayor,” Irwin said politely.

“Mr. Diamond,” she said. “Detective Jordan thinks you can help. I’m all ears.”

“Let me see if I can sum up your unfortunate dilemma,” he said.

She hardly needed a summary, but the old political warhorse wanted to send a message of his own. You need me more than I need you.

“Some bad guys stole a lot of expensive medical equipment from your most prestigious hospitals. Very embarrassing. So your hubby recruited your elite police force to quietly catch the bad guys, who turned out to be good guys, which was even more embarrassing. As an officer of the court, you want justice, but as the fledgling mayor of our fair city, you are afraid that you’ll look like a complete ass in the court of public opinion. As they say in political parlance, you, Madam Mayor, are in deep shit.”

Irwin gave her his best payback’s-a-bitch smile. “Have I got it right so far?” he said.

“Cut to the chase, Mr. Diamond,” she said. “How do I prosecute?”

“You don’t. Not unless you want to be a very unpopular one-term mayor.”

“That’s your answer? Do nothing?”

“Did I say do nothing? No. I said don’t lock up a bunch of do-gooder war heroes for trying to help their less fortunate comrades. Instead, I suggest you give them what they want.”

“Which is what?”

“They want a state-of-the-art, fully funded ambulatory health-care facility for the men and women who put their lives on the line for this country. And you, Madam Mayor, should lead the charge to see that they get it.”

“How am I supposed to—”

“For starters,” Irwin interrupted, “the city should generously give them the land. Trust me: you have plenty just sitting around doing nothing. Then you should call the heads of all the hospitals that were robbed and ask them to donate all the equipment that was stolen and to kick in a few million apiece to put up some bricks and mortar.”

“They’d hang up on me,” Sykes said.

“They didn’t hang up on me,” Irwin said. “I’ve called seven since yesterday, and here’s what they’ve pledged so far.” He handed her a sheet of paper.

“Twelve million dollars?” Howard said, looking at the list over her shoulder.

“Howard, you of all people should know what these institutions spend each year on advertising. A couple of million is chump change to these guys. And if you position this as a joint venture between the city and the private sector for the benefit of veterans, I guarantee you that every hospital — whether they were robbed or not — will want to be on the list of donors.”

“Very creative thinking, Mr. Diamond,” the mayor said, “but these people broke the law.”

“I spoke to the district attorney, who also doesn’t want to be the bad cop in this scenario. He’s willing to offer them a long-term community-service commitment. I’m sure they’d rather work at the new medical facility than pull jail time. What do you think, Madam Mayor? Would you like to be the one who helps these heroes get what they fought for?”

For the first time since I’d met him, Howard Sykes went on record before his wife had a chance to react. “I think it’s brilliant,” he said. “Muriel is only three months into her first term, but you’ve given us a boatload of bullet points and photo ops for her reelection campaign.”