Джеймс Паттерсон - NYPD Red 6

TARU confirmed that the cameras had been taping everything and that Dodd could have watched it all remotely from around the corner or from halfway around the world.

McMaster had told us that Dodd was more street smart than book smart, but he had stalked Erin Easton with all the cunning and proficiency of a criminal mastermind who knew how to stay ahead of his prey, her security team, and, now, the cops.

The case was still shrouded in secrecy, but by midmorning we knew we had to put Dodd’s name into the national criminal database. We also knew we couldn’t do it without clearing it with our boss.

We went to her office.

“Captain, we want to put Bobby Dodd’s name into the NCIC database,” I said. “We won’t connect him to the Easton kidnapping. We just want to register him as a criminal wanted for a major felony who should be apprehended on sight.”

We watched her consider the suggestion.

“Boss,” Kylie said, “don’t think about the upside. We don’t expect anything to come of it. Think about the downside. If we don’t do it and he gets stopped for a traffic violation in Jersey and let go, all our careers are going to take a sharp nosedive.”

She nodded. “Cover Your Ass 101,” she said. “Do it.”

Her phone rang, and she looked at the caller ID. “Chief of Ds. Don’t go away,” she told us. “I’m sure he’s got questions about the kidnapping.” She picked up. “This is Captain Cates. Good morning, Chief.” A long pause, then she said, “Yes, sir, they’re right here in my office now.” She picked up a pen and started writing. Thirty seconds later, she said, “Yes, sir, they’re on their way.” She hung up. “The chief wants the two of you uptown at a home invasion,” she said.

“You’re kidding,” Kylie said. “Why didn’t you tell him that we’re neck-deep in this kidnapping, and we’re running on fumes as it is?”

“Because I don’t question every order that comes down from my commanding officer, MacDonald. You should try it some time.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Do you have a ransom demand?” Cates asked.

“Not yet.”

“Then your team can muddle along without you for a few hours.”

“Did the chief happen to say why he picked us?”

“He didn’t pick you. The order came down from a higher authority.”

“The PC?”

“Elected official,” Cates said.

“Captain,” Kylie said, “I realize it’s good politics for the squad that Mayor Sykes has adopted me and Zach as her pet cops, but someone should tell her we can’t handle every case that comes down the pike. This should be assigned to a precinct detective. Why does a home invasion need Red?”

“MacDonald, do you really think that nobody along the food chain thought to ask that?” Cates said. “This isn’t the mayor’s idea. She’s just another pawn on the chessboard. The woman who was robbed is Bunny Ogden. Do you know who that is?”

“Never heard of her.”

“Perhaps you’ve heard of her nephew, the governor of the state of New York. It doesn’t get any redder than that.”

CHAPTER 22

IF WE NEEDED to know just how important Bunny Ogden was, we didn’t have to look any farther than the blue-and-yellow New York State Police car parked outside her Fifth Avenue apartment building.

“Really?” Kylie said. “The governor wouldn’t send out troopers if Tiffany got robbed, but Aunt Bunny—I guess she rates.”

“Jordan, MacDonald.”

I looked up and saw the familiar face of Sean Kennedy, a sergeant with the Nineteenth.

“Hey, Sarge,” I said. “What have you got?”

“I’ve got half a dozen cops interviewing tenants and canvassing the neighborhood, but so far nobody remembers seeing anything except for the ambulance.”

“What ambulance?”

“Two perps wheeled up in what looked like a legitimate private bus, but we ran its name, and it was a phony,” Kennedy said. “They told the doorman they got a 911 call for Mrs. Ogden, went upstairs, tied up the old lady and her nurse, came down fifteen minutes later, told the doorman she was okay, and took off. The nurse managed to get herself loose after an hour, called it in, and once the department found out the vic’s connection to the governor, it turned into the crime of the century, which I’m guessing is why you’re here instead of looking for Erin Easton.”

“What about video surveillance?” Kylie asked.

“You gotta love rich people,” Kennedy said. “They have a few cameras in the elevator, the garage, and some of the nooks and crannies where the staff might goof off, but nothing out there on the street where it might do us any good. I talked to a Mr. Paul Aronson, president of the co-op board, and he says they frown on security cameras. Apparently ‘they’re ugly, they make the building look unsafe, and our residents’ comings and goings is none of anybody’s business.’ ”

“Doorman?”

“His name is Ed Carter. Nervous as hell. Already called his union rep. He’s afraid the building managers are going to can him. I told him the best way to get back in their good graces is to help with the investigation. I asked him to put together a list of visitors Mrs. Ogden has had in the past three months. I don’t know if it’ll help, but it’s a place to start.”

The lobby door opened, and a man wearing a gray uniform and a Stetson with a leather strap and a purple band around it strode out.

“Looks like you guys have a new best friend,” Kennedy said. “You deal with him. I’ll see you back at the house.”

The sergeant walked off as the state cop approached us. “John Hollowell,” he said. “You the team from Red?”

He had a pair of gold oak-leaf clusters on his shirt.

“Yes, Major,” I said, and we introduced ourselves. “Are you part of the investigation?”

“Only if you ask me to be. Albany wanted me to stop by, check on Mrs. Ogden, and reach out to local law enforcement.” He handed me his card. “If there’s anything the state can do for you, call me twenty-four/seven. Have a good day.”

He gave us a crisp nod and walked toward his car.

“ Albany sent him—a major,” Kylie said.

“Maybe not all of Albany,” I said. “Probably just the one guy who lives in the governor’s mansion on Eagle Street. I think it’s his subtle way of letting us know that we’re on his radar. Let’s go see if the doorman can help us find out who robbed Aunt Bunny.”

Mr. Carter was ready for us with a list of names going back to January. “Mrs. Ogden doesn’t get a lot of visitors,” he said. “Family, friends, the physical therapist—that’s about it.”

“How about deliveries, service people, or anyone else who isn’t in the inner circle?”

“All packages go to the concierge, who takes them upstairs personally. If the cable guy comes, the super goes up there with him. He doesn’t do that for everyone, but Mrs. Ogden’s son pays him extra. She doesn’t get any strangers, except maybe for this one guy. He’s black, in his forties, well dressed. His name is Maurice. That’s all I know. Just Maurice. He comes once a week. He asks for Mrs. Ogden, but my best guess is he’s really there for Lydia.”

“Who’s Lydia?”

“The nurse.”

“Why do you think he’s there for her?”

“I don’t know. She’s pretty good-looking. He usually stays an hour. I figure that gives him plenty of time to case the joint and still get in a little afternoon delight.”

CHAPTER 23

THE NYPD ORG chart reads like alphabet soup, but those of us in the know can tell a lot about the priority of a case by which letters of the alphabet are assigned to work it.

The Ogden case was a low-level robbery that should have been handled by ECT. The Evidence Collection Team is made up of uniformed cops who, as the name implies, gather evidence and go. No analytical skills are required. But when we got to the apartment, we saw that CSU had been dispatched, and Chuck Dryden, our crime scene unit’s most meticulous forensic investigator, was busy at work. He’d changed his shirt and tie since we’d last seen him in Erin Easton’s dressing room, but that didn’t necessarily mean he’d gotten a decent night’s sleep.