Page 4 of NYPD Red 7: The Murder Sorority

“Yes.”

“Thank God for that,” Blakely said.

“So you backed away from the assailant, sat down in your chair, pleaded with the man not to shoot you, but he kept advancing toward you, so you opened that bottom right drawer, pulled out the gun, and shot him,” Kylie said. “Is that basically it?”

“Yes,” Hellman said. “That’s exactly it.”

“Detective, I think you got what you came for,” Blakely said. “My client has cardiac issues. He’s been through enough stress for one night.”

“Absolutely,” Kylie said. “Your client’swell-beingis our primary concern. If you give me your card, someone from the District Attorney’s Office will want to speak to you tomorrow. I think it best if Mr. Hellman finds another place to spend the night. Our crime scene people will be here for several hours. Thank you so much for your help.”

Blakely handed over a business card, and Kylie and I returned to Hellman’s office.

“Your client’swell-beingis our primary concern? Thank you so much for your help?” I said. “What happened to thenasty-asscop I used to work with?”

“Have no fear,” Kylie said. “She’s back, and she’s going to nail that dirtbag’s balls to the wall.” She bared her teeth. “One at a time.”

She wiggled a finger at Chuck Dryden, who has anot-so-secretcrush on my blond,green-eyedpartner, and he came right over, thrilled to be the man she wanted, even if it was strictly professional.

“Chuck, tell Zach what you told me,” she said.

“Well, this is strictly preliminary. Nothing official,” he said, giving his standard disclaimer. “The weapon that killed Detective Belmont is a Glock 9mm Model 43. The bullet penetrated his head, just above the left eyebrow at about aforty-five-degreedownward angle. The autopsy will give us the exact trajectory.”

“Which means that Hellman, who is at least eight inches shorter than Jonas, could not have been sitting in his chair pointing the gun up at him,” Kylie said. “He was standing up, aiming down. My best guess is, Hellman pulled the gun, and Jonas bent down to retrieve his from his ankle holster.”

“He never got to it,” Dryden said. “Detective Belmont’s weapon, a Smith & Wesson .38 special, is still in the holster.”

“But Hellman said that Jonas pulled a gun from his waistband and came at him with it,” I said.

“That would be the Taurus .357 Magnum Model 65 that was found next to the body. It hadn’t been fired,” Dryden said, “and I would be surprised if Detective Belmont had it in his waistband. It’s a heavy gun, and he wasn’t wearing a belt that would secure it.”

The story that Warren Hellman and his attorney had slapped together was full of holes, and three days later the DA’s Office decided they had a strong case against him, and he was charged with murder two.

He spent one night in jail and the next ten months confined to his home, an electronic monitor strapped to his ankle. The trial took three weeks, and the jury was out for almost another five days.

Nearly a year had passed since the deaths of Vivian and Jonas Belmont, and as Kylie pulled the car into an illegal space two blocks from the courthouse, I was more than ready for the verdict.

What I wasn’t ready for was the shitstorm that would follow it.

CHAPTER 3

The trial had blossomedinto a media circus. The private tragedy that had befallen the Belmont family had turned into a public spectacle. Centre Street was lined with satellite trucks, and Collect Pond Park, the tranquil urban green space that sits directly opposite the courthouse, had given up its serenity for as many as fifty camera crews, all jostling for position to get the best shot of the key players as they entered the building for their day of reckoning.

The first row of the gallery on the prosecutor’s side was reserved for family and friends, and Kylie and I sat down next to Jonas’s son anddaughter-in-law, Evan and Trish. Next to them were five cops, all retired—Jonas’s crew from back in the day.

Normally, fewer than half a dozen court officers are on hand. Today, I countedtwenty-eightlining the walls, and there was another contingent in the hallway outside.

Every seat was filled. Noticeably absent was Warren Hellman’s brother Curtis. Three years ago, Curtis was also responsible for the death of a young actress. According to TMZ, he picked up the woman at a party in LA and invited her to drive with him to his house near Joshua Tree National Park.

Starstruck and high on coke, she said yes. Two hours later, Curtis pulled over onto the side of a dark desert highway, yanked her out of the car, and sped off. Her body was found the next morning. Cause of death: snakebite.

The rest of the details were sketchy because he paid her family three million dollars for their silence, but the smart money says that he wanted sex, she said no, so he dumped her on the side of the road because nobody says no to the king.

It was Sonia Blakely’s decision to keep Curtis out of the spotlight. During the trial, she had painted a grim picture of Jonas. He was a failed father whose daughter grew up to be a hopeless junkie—agun-happycop who would rather settle a dispute with a bullet than with a law book. The last thing Sonia needed in the courtroom was for Curtis to show up and remind the jury of the evil that coursed through the Hellman family bloodlines.

Instead, she made sure that the gallery was peppered with Hollywood’s biggest and brightest. The entourage changed daily, and it had to have an effect on the jury. If these superstars support Warren Hellman, how bad can he be?

The bailiff announced, “All rise,” and the assemblage stood as Judge Mark Hollander entered the room.

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