Джеймс Паттерсон - NYPD Red 6

“Good morning, Detectives,” Dryden said. “I see that you too have been recruited by the Department of Overkill.”

“Once again, politics triumphs over good judgment,” Kylie said. “What have you found so far?”

“Cat hair. Mrs. Ogden owns an orange tabby, so we may be looking at an inside job.”

Kylie laughed, which I’m sure made Chuck’s day.

A woman in pink scrubs entered the living room. “Officers,” she said. “I’m Lydia Humphries, Mrs. Ogden’s nurse. She’s expecting you.”

“Why don’t you tell us what happened first,” I said.

“It was all so fast,” she said. “Two men dressed like EMTs came to the door—one white, one brown, probably Latino. They said they got a call that Mrs. Ogden was in distress. I didn’t buy it. I was going to call her son, but they pulled a gun. Then they tied us up—both of us. I told them she was ninety-two years old, but they didn’t care.”

“Can she talk to us?” I said.

Lydia grinned. “Can she talk? Mrs. O. has heart problems, which is why I take care of her. But she can talk a blue streak. The hard part is getting her to stop.”

Lydia walked us into a large bedroom that looked like it belonged to Marie Antoinette. A ponderous ivory and gold armoire with two matching dressers lined one wall, cherubs frolicked in the clouds on another, and an ornately carved four-poster canopy bed dominated the center of the room.

Mrs. Ogden was sitting on a tufted love seat facing two windows that had an unobstructed view of Central Park. She stood up when we entered the room and extended a hand. I’d expected a little old lady, but Ogden was big, close to six feet. “I’m Bunny,” she said. “You gonna catch these fuckers?” Her language wasn’t exactly what Miss Manners would call ladylike.

“Yes, ma’am,” Kylie said. “We’ll need a little help from you, but we’ll catch them.”

“Lydia saw their faces, but by the time they got to me, they had put on surgical masks, so all I can tell you is the guy in charge was white, the other was Spanish. Both had brown eyes. The white guy puts a gun to Lydia’s head and tells me I have ten seconds to show him where I keep the money and the jewelry. Hell, I don’t need ten seconds. The safe is in the closet, I say, and I give him the combination.”

“What did they take?” I asked.

“Fifty thousand in cash. I could have lived with that, but then they saw my jewelry, and they got greedy. I said, ‘You take the money, and you’ll probably get away with it, but you touch my family heirlooms, and I will hunt you down.’ The white bastard laughed and says, ‘I’m doing you a favor, lady. You’ll be dead soon enough. I’m going to help your heirlooms find a new family.’ ”

“How much was the jewelry worth?”

“It’s insured for one point eight million dollars. But I don’t want the money. I want my mother’s necklace back, and my grandmother’s ring, and the black pearls my husband gave me for our thirtieth wedding anniversary. That’s why I called my nephew and told him I want the two of you.”

“You asked for us?” I said.

“Damn straight I asked for you. I read the papers, Detective Jordan. You’re the rock-star cops in the elite unit. These two sons of bitches are smart. It’s not easy getting past the guards at the gate, but they came up with the perfect scam. I need cops that are smarter than they are, and that’s you.”

“Okay,” Kylie said, “this was not a random hit. They targeted you, which means it may be someone you know. So let’s start with a question: Who is Maurice?”

“Oh, shit. Who told you about Maurice? Eddie the doorman? Maurice is Lydia’s brother. He’s a minister. He comes here once a week, and we drink tea while I bitch and moan about politics and sports and how this city is going into the crapper. And Maurice, who has the voice of an angel and the soul of a philosopher, talks me down off the ledge, and I’m good for another week. Finding him is one of the best things that ever happened to me, so please go back downstairs and tell the doorman to come up with a white suspect, because the black guy didn’t have anything to do with it.”

“Can we get an itemized list of all the jewelry that was taken?” I asked.

“With pictures,” Ogden said. “I’ll have my insurance agent messenger it to your office.”

“Don’t forget about my money,” Lydia said.

“He took your money too?” I said.

“No, not really mine. My purse was on the table, but they didn’t touch it. The family leaves me two thousand dollars a month for expenses that might come up where I have to pay cash. There was sixteen hundred and eighty-four dollars left in the envelope. They took that.”

“Was that in the safe too?” Kylie asked.

“No. It was in a drawer in the dining room,” Lydia said. “But it’s like they knew. The white guy said, ‘Where’s the cash they leave for you to take care of the old lady?’ I wasn’t going to say, but Mrs. O., she told him where it was. Cursed up a storm while she’s telling him. They laughed, tied us up, and put tape on our mouths.”

My phone rang, and I stepped out of the bedroom to take the call.

“Detective Zach Jordan?” the voice on the other end said.

“Yes. Who’s this?”

“It doesn’t matter who this is. What matters is I have something you want. Erin Easton. And if you want to see her alive, you have half an hour to get your cell phone to her husband.”

“Who is this?” I repeated. I had a pretty good idea, but I didn’t want Dodd to know that we’d ID’d him.

“The time is now eleven forty-two, Detective. You have thirty minutes.”

The line went dead.

CHAPTER 24

I WENT BACK into the bedroom, stepped behind Kylie, and poked her three times—code for Let’s get out of here . “You’ve both been very helpful,” I said, giving Mrs. Ogden and her nurse my card. “Call us if you think of anything else.”

“You’ve been through a lot,” Kylie said, handing over her card as well. “Are you sure you don’t need any medical attention?”

“Positive,” Ogden said. “Besides, I think Lydia, the doorman, and I have seen all the EMTs we can handle for one day.”

We laughed at her joke, politely declined her offer to stay for tea, and promised her we’d be in touch. As soon as we were in the hallway Kylie pounced. “What’s going on?”

“Bobby Dodd just called me.”

“He called you? At the office?”

“No! On my personal cell phone.”

“Well, somebody’s popular. First the governor asks for you, now Bobby. What did he want?”

“He’s calling back in thirty minutes, at which point he wants my phone in Jamie Gibbs’s hand, or else.”

We got in the elevator, and I called Benny Diaz at TARU, explained what happened, and told him to trace the last call that came in to my cell. Then I called Rich Koprowski, one of the cops assigned to sit on Jamie Gibbs.

“Rich, it’s Zach. Where’s Gibbs right now?”

“His apartment, on Riverside, just south of Ninety-Fifth. He’s in apartment ten E. I’m outside in the command post.”

“Get up there and prep him one more time. He’s got a ransom call coming in … ” I looked at my watch. “In twenty-five minutes.”

“We’re ready for him,” Koprowski said. “We’ve got every one of his phones covered.”

“Too bad you didn’t have mine covered. That’s the one the kidnapper called.”

“Damn,” Koprowski said. “He had a key to the back door of the dressing room, he set up surveillance cameras—this guy is really good.”

“You sound like a fanboy. Maybe you can get his autograph when we collar him. Kylie and I are on the way.”