Page 14 of NYPD Red 7: The Murder Sorority

“You know that, and I know that, Delia, but the average New Yorker watching the five o’clock news doesn’t. Blakely is on the warpath, and she doesn’t have a judge to reel her in. She said NYPD should have Belmont at the very top of their list of suspects. They should treat him like someone who had a bitter grudge against Warren Hellman, and not sweep it under the rug because he has a badge.”

“Sir,” Cates said, “Red has treated this case like any otherhigh-profilehomicide. We always have been, and will continue to be, thorough and totally impartial.”

“Seen and noted, Captain. And in the interest of thoroughness and impartiality, I want Red to interview Belmont.”

“Yes sir. I’ll assign a team immediately,” Cates said.

“You already have the best team right there,” the PC said. “I’m confident that Detectives Jordan and MacDonald would never let their personal relationships interfere with their professional responsibilities.”

“Yes, sir, but they were sitting with Evan Belmont when the verdict was read. Blakely knows they’re close friends with him. She’ll accuse us of treating him with kid gloves.”

“And if Ms. Blakely were the police commissioner, she could decide who interviews Belmont. But the last time I looked, I was still the boss.”

“Absolutely, sir.”

“Zach, Kylie,” the PC said. “I know this is not what you want to do, but someone has to interview Evan Belmont.”

“We’re on it, sir,” I said.

“Thank you. Keep me posted.”

I was about toyes-sirhim again, but he hung up.

Cates shook her head. “I agree with Commissioner Radcliffe on one thing. You are the best team we’ve got. Where we disagree is that I would rather you were out there looking for the killers than wasting your time interviewing Evan Belmont just to check a box that any rookie detective on the job could check. But like he said, he’s the boss.”

“It’s not going to be pretty suggesting to Evan Belmont that he might be guilty of murder,” Kylie said, “but it’s got to be done. And better us than Internal Affairs. They’re witch hunters. They’d crucify him.”

My phone rang. I didn’t recognize the number. “Detective Jordan,” I answered.

“Hello, Detective. This is Ted White, head of security at UPS.”

“Mr. White, thanks for getting back to us so fast.”

“When Colin Radcliffe calls, I drop everything. How soon can we meet?”

“Immediately, sir. Where’s your office?”

“Forget my office. I’ll meet you on WestTwenty-SeventhStreet between Eleventh and Twelfth Avenues.”

“What’s there?”

“I found your truck.”

CHAPTER 10

NYPD has Secret Squirrelsall over the city. One of them is the Lower Manhattan Security Initiative. Shortly after the September 11 attacks, NYPD blanketed the Financial District and much of the southern tip of Manhattan with thousands ofhigh-techsurveillance cameras. Over the years, the network has expanded, and today they can tap into any one of eighteen thousand cameras around the city.

As soon as Elroy told us that the shooter was driving a UPS truck, Cates called a detective at LMSI, who pulled screenshots from multiple cameras in the vicinity of 139 Centre Street, recorded the truck number, and quickly passed the information straight to the PC’s office.

When Kylie asked the commissioner if he had a guy at UPS, she had no idea she was lobbing a softball right over the plate. We found out later that Ted White wasn’t just “a guy.” He and the commissioner met at the Academy back in the ’80s, became friends, partnered up for five years, and each went on to have stellar careers with the department. White, who had recently retired as a deputy chief, dropped everything as soon as his old buddy Colin Radcliffe called.

Theodore Francis White was a decorated cop who now headed up security for UPS’s Northeast Region. I’m sure the job has some kind of lofty title attached to it, but when Cates, Kylie, and I arrived on WestTwenty-SeventhStreet, he introduced himself with a simple “Hi, I’m Ted.” He was tall, lanky, with a firm handshake and an equally firm grasp of police procedure.

“This is truck numberone-zero-one-two-seven-zero,” he said, pointing at the big brown box on wheels that fit in perfectly with the rest of the commercial vehicles parked along the street. “It was out of service this morning, so we didn’t know it was missing till we got the call. That’s the problem when you have a worldwide fleet of over a hundred thousand trucks. It’s like trying to keep track of every damn crawly creature in an ant colony. It’s easy for any one of them to slip through the cracks.”

“How did this one disappear?” Kylie asked.

“I don’t know yet, but my best guess is that someone in a brown uniform who knew a little bit about how we operate just walked into the garage and took it. The keys would have been in the ignition for their convenience. I know it sounds counterintuitive, but if the keys are always in the truck, they’re never going to wind up on the D train to the Bronx in some driver’s pocket.”

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