Page 83 of NYPD Red 7: The Murder Sorority

“He said at the end of the first one to give him a minute,” I said. “But according to the metadata, he shot this next one six days later.”

I hit play. The desk was back in position, but this time Sheffield entered the frame wearing along-sleevedplaid shirt that was badly in need of ironing.

He sat down, his face showing the strain of the task ahead. But I could feel the determination. “I went back over what I already shot, and I was going to tell you about Vancouver. I got more notes this time.”

He picked up his yellow pad. “One day, Mother called me and said I got a contract from a biker gang in Canada—the Lords of Agony. The target was the gang’s former president. The cops in Vancouver nailed him ondrug-traffickingcharges. He was looking attwenty-fiveyears, so they offered him a deal. Give up everything he knew—not just the suppliers and the stash houses, but the cops, the judges, and the politicians on the payroll—and in return he would get immunity and a new identity. No prison time.”

He looked up from the pad. “Theo, that is one big fucking lifeboat they floated to this guy. So you can imagine how much dirt he had. His testimony would have put away more than a hundred of them.”

He went back to his script. “The Vancouver PD was stashing this dude in afive-starhotel—I can’t remember the name. I got a job washing dishes in the kitchen for two weeks beforehand. I found out what room he was in right away. All I had to do was wait for aroom-serviceorder and poison everything before it went up. It didn’t matter if a few cops died, as long as he did. I’d be gone before anyone knew what happened.

“A week went by, and the fuckers never ordered. They had all their food sent in from the outside. Two days before the trial, Mother sent Carol up to Vancouver. He checked into the hotel across the street. A day goes by, and Carol still can’t get a clear shot. The clock is ticking, so what does he do? He goes up to the roof and takes out the fucking biker dude with a grenade launcher to the bedroom. It blew afifteen-foot-widehole in the side of the building, which is not exactly his signature shot, but it’s gonna look great in the movie.”

Sheffield clapped his hands together, enjoying the story as if he were hearing it for the first time. “Quick as a wink, Carol disassembles the grenade launcher and packs it up. But instead of getting his ass out of there, he pulls out his camera, takes a bunch of pictures of the mess he made, and sells a bunch of them to AP. Cool shit, right? Couldn’t have done it without Mother.”

I hit pause. “Carol is a photographer,” I said. “He has credentialsand equipment cases big enough to hide a howitzer.”

“Or a .50-caliberBMG,” Kylie said.

“Now we know why there were only four of them in the picture on the fishing boat,” I said. “Carol was behind the camera.”

“Excellent,” Cates said. “As soon as we’re done here, I’ll call DCPI and have them reach out to whoever handles press for Vancouver PD.”

“There’s less than a minute left,” I said, hittingplay.

“I’ve got one last thing,” Sheffield said, looking at the yellow pad. “Let’s talk about theeight-million-dollarelephant in the room. Mother handles all the business arrangements. Whatever I earn goes to her. She gives me whatever I need, which isn’t a hell of a lot. The rest she invests. Until I had my lawyer check my bankaccounts, I had no idea she’d socked away eight million dollars for me.

“I didn’t come by that money in a noble way, Theo. But it’s my legacy, and I’m leaving it to you because I trust you to do the right thing with it. It’s not going to buy me redemption, but I can tell you this: I’ll be the happiest son of a bitch burning in hell knowing you’re up here doing a whole world of good for a whole lot of people. Go get ’em, kiddo.”

The video ended.

I looked over at Theo. He was smiling now. But tears were streaming down his face.

CHAPTER 56

Within minutes, the manhunt for Carol was underway.

Cates called her friend Captain De León at DCPI, told him about the Lords of Agony trial in Vancouver, and the murder of the key witness, and asked for a list of every American journalist who applied for a Canadian press pass to cover it. As soon as she said it was connected to the Hellman murders, the request, which would normally have taken days, skyrocketed to the top.

“Give me an hour,” De León said. “I’m going to loop in the deputy commissioner.”

Ten minutes later, Cates’s phone rang. It was Vera Parnell, the deputy commissioner herself.

The top brass almost never get involved in theday-to-day, but Parnell’s office was spitting distance from the PC’s, so she’d be as invested in finding Warren Hellman’s killer as he was. With her permission, Cates put the call on speaker.

“I reached out personally to my counterpart at Vancouver PD,” Parnell said. “It happened six years ago. The hotel was the Tourmaline, and VPD lost two cops in that explosion, so this is personal for them. They’ll email you a list of every American reporter who covered the trial. And of course, I promised them a quid pro quo.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Cates said. “I’ll keep them up to speed going forward.”

“Thank you, Captain,” Parnell said, and hung up.

“Bosses talking to bosses,” Kylie said. “It sure gets shit done fast.”

My phone rang. It was Rich Koprowski, who was heading up the team searching Barbara’s apartment.

“What have you got so far?” I asked.

“Bubkes,” he said. “No electronics, no computer, no TV—he probably got his news off his phone. He’s got one drawer full of medical scrubs, all dark purple, and another withT-shirtsand jeans, all black. The bathroom has one toothbrush, one razor, one towel; the kitchen has one place mat, some coffee, sugar, and a collection oftake-outmenus, plastic utensils, and packets of salt, pepper, ketchup, and soy sauce. The guy was a total loner.

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