NYPD Red

Chapter 12

Kylie waited till we were in the car before she said a word.

“For a couple of homicide detectives, we didn’t do a lot of detecting,” she said.

“Technically, there’s nothing to detect yet. The only guy who confirmed that it’s a homicide writes crime fiction for a living. Chuck Dryden knows it’s poison, but he won’t commit till he’s back in the lab with a test tube full of proof.”

“Give me a break, Zach,” she said. “He could have made the call right there on the scene. If you ask me, some cops are too damn thorough.”

“You’re faulting him for being thorough? Kylie, the guy is more scientist than cop. His job is all about being…”

She grinned. At least it started out as a grin, and then it blossomed into a full-blown stupid girly-girl giggle. “Gotcha,” she said. “Do you really think I have a problem with cops who do their jobs by the book?”

“Sorry, but you do have a reputation for working off the reservation.”

“That was the old me. The new me is practically a Girl Scout. My mission is to play by the rules, impress the hell out of Captain Cates, and get to ride with you for the next couple of years.”

And not get pregnant.

I turned east onto 59th Street, drove past Bloomingdale’s, and crossed Third Avenue. The 59th Street Bridge to Queens was straight ahead.

“Clearly we’re not going back to the office,” Kylie said.

“Cates called. There was a shooting at Silvercup Studios.”

“Oh my God. Spence is there.”

When I first saw Spence Harrington’s picture on Kylie’s cell phone back at the academy, he was a struggling television writer and her ex-boyfriend. Ten years later he’s an executive producer with a hit cop show that he shoots right here in New York.

I wish I could tell you I hate his guts, but Spence is a decent guy. Kylie had dumped him back then because she had a career in law enforcement, and he had a daily coke habit. But Spence wasn’t about to give her up that easily. Without saying a word, he entered rehab. Twenty-eight days later, he showed up, detoxed and desperate, and asked Kylie to give him one last chance. She did, and the transformation was remarkable. A year later they were married.

As soon as I told Kylie there was a shooting at Silvercup, she went from tough cop to anxious wife.

“Sorry, sorry,” I said. “The vic is Ian Stewart. I didn’t realize Spence was working at Silvercup.”

“He’s developing a new series,” she said as the tension drained from her face. “It’s another cop show, and a damn good one. He’s screening the pilot for the Hollywood glitterati on Wednesday night. It’s all part of the joys-of-shooting-in-New-York attitude the mayor is trying to hawk.”

“The mayor is in deep doo-doo,” I said. “The joys of shooting in New York just took on a new meaning.”

She pulled out her cell phone and hit the speed dial. “Hey, babe, it’s me. Are you okay?”

I didn’t have to be a detective to know who babe was.

Kylie turned to me. “Spence is fine.”

I nodded. “Say hello for me.”

“Zach says ‘hi.’ Did you know there was a shooting at the studio?” Pause. “Then why didn’t you call me so I wouldn’t worry about you?” Longer pause. “Oh, I didn’t check my email. Next time, call. Zach won’t mind.”

“I won’t mind what?” I said.

“Spence didn’t call because it’s my first day on the job, and he didn’t want to bother us.”

“No bother, Spence!” I called out.

“Zach and I are in the car,” she said. “We’re on the bridge. Are you ready for this? We caught the Ian Stewart shooting.”

There was a long pause while Spence did the talking.

“Good advice,” Kylie responded. “Thanks. I love you too.” She hung up.

“What kind of good advice did Spence give you?” I asked.

“He said the buzz is all over the lot that the shooting was an accident, but he doesn’t buy it.”

“Why not?”

“He said assholes like Ian Stewart don’t get shot by accident.”