Page 76 of NYPD Red 7: The Murder Sorority

“I’ve got his case open right here,” Edlund said, looking at his computer screen. “He was picked up less than two hours later.”

“It wasn’t exactly a citywide manhunt,” Kylie said. “The bodega was only three blocks from X. L.’s mother’s apartment. The patrol guys immediately recognized him from the surveillance video, so they parked outside Mom’s place and waited. X. L. showed up, and they arrested him. But he didn’t have the gun.”

“Yeah, but he knows what happened to it,” Edlund said.

“Right. When Zach and I caught the Upton homicide, ballistics connected the murder weapon to the same gun that shot the clerk. So we reached out to X. L. We told him that his gun had been used recently. He wasn’t a suspect, and if he told us what he did with the gun after the bodega job, we could help him out with the DA.”

“He should have grabbed the deal,” Edlund said. “But I see that he clammed up, wouldn’t cooperate. Why the hell not?”

“He hadn’t gone to trial yet for shooting the clerk,” I said. “We think his lawyer told him if he gave us the whereabouts of the gun, it would hurt his case.”

“He should have gotten a better lawyer,” Edlund said. “I’ve got an update. X. L. had his day in court, and he went down in flames. It took the jury less than half an hour. He’s now doing ten in Green Haven.”

“Green Haven,” Kylie repeated, a smile spreading across her face. “X. L. is kind of the fragile type. Not at all cut out for maximum security. I’ll bet he’s sorry he didn’t take our offer when he had the chance.”

“He still knows what happened to that gun,” Edlund said. “This might be a good time for you guys to give him a second chance.”

“We can’t reduce his sentence,” I said. “But I’m sure he’d feel much happier showering in Otisville.”

“I know you guys are swamped,” Edlund said. “How soon can you find the time to do it?”

“You’re in luck,” I said. “A team from our squad is on the way to court as we speak. They’re applying for a warrant to search the residence of the perp we just took down. So we’re on a lull between mass murderers. Kylie and I know the deputy warden at Green Haven. It’s less than ninety minutes away. We can pay X. L. a visit right now.”

“That’s a home run,” Edlund said. “I’ll be waiting by the phone.”

As soon as he hung up, Kylie pumped a fist in the air and let out a whoop. “First Barbara, and now this. Our day just keeps getting better and better.”

It wasn’t exactly a Hollywood ending, but I could almost hear the upbeat music as we drove out of the airport.

CHAPTER 51

Two hours later, Kylie and I were sitting in anattorney-clientconsultation room at the Green Haven Correctional Facility in Stormville, New York. A guard led X. L. Gaston in, sat him in a chair, shackled him to the cuff bar on the table, and left the room.

X. L. looked around, clueless why he was there. His face was bruised and swollen; his eyes were red and filled with terror.

“Hello, X. L.,” Kylie said. “It looks like prison agrees with you. And you still have nine years and three hundred andforty-ninedays left to enjoy it.”

“Whatever it is, I swear I didn’t do it,” he whined.

“That’s what you said the last time. ‘I didn’t do it.’ And yet the jury seemed to think otherwise.”

“Last time” was a clue, and he stared at us, trying to remember where he had encountered us before. It had been only three months since we sat down with him and offered him a deal, but the blows to his head had taken their toll on his brain.

“Do you remember us?” I asked.

“Cops,” he said.

“Yeah, cops. I’m Detective Jordan, and this is my partner, Detective MacDonald. We visited you at the Tombs back in April, when you were awaiting trial. We offered to go to bat for you with the DA if you came clean about what happened to the gun you used to shoot the bodega clerk.”

That sparked his memory. “Oh, yeah,” he said, a smile of recognition spreading across his face. It was the same smile he’d given us when he turned down our offer. Only now there were fewer teeth.

“I shoulda took the deal,” he said, “but my lawyer was a fucking moron. He told me if I copped to the gun, it would hurt my chances in court. That’s what they call ineffective assistance of counsel. I know my rights. I’m appealing the verdict.”

“X. L.,” Kylie said, “it took the jury less than thirty minutes to lock you up for ten years. You can’t chalk that up to bad lawyering. Even if you do appeal, you’ll be lucky to get a hearing before your ten years are up.”

“Is that why you’re here?” he said. “To tell me that I’m fucked?”

“No. That gun has been used in a couple of homicides since you last saw it. We’re looking for it. If you help us track it down, we may be able to help you find more pleasant accommodations.”

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