Page 89 of NYPD Red 7: The Murder Sorority

Shane grabbed another bottle of wine, and the four of us adjourned to the living room. Twenty minutes later, Theo called us back in.

“This is the HHNF site,” he said. “Natalie Brinsmaid isn’t on here—at least, not by name. But look at this post from CPA1040.”

We read it. It was everything she’d said on Facebook, only ramped up to make Shane sound like a heartless monster, and Natalie like his innocent, tormented victim. It was meant to fuel the flames of hatred and incite retaliation. The responses were even more toxic than the original post.

“Shut it down,” Kylie said after we’d read the first handful. “We’ll have TARU go through them all first thing in the morning.”

Theo tapped on the keyboard, and the computer went dark.

So did Shane. He lowered his head and stared into his wineglass. “What a fucking cesspool. The sick thing is, they all believe her. I wonder how many more of them want to kill me?”

“Don’t think like that,” Kylie said. “She put that post up a month ago. Almost all the comments went up in the firsttwenty-fourhours. A lot of people read these, get off on joining the chorus, and then move on. Only one of them acted on it. He’s done it twice before, but this time Zach and I are going to nail him.”

“Why is this time any different?”

“Because this time we’re going to come down hard on the sicko who got him going. Natalie Brinsmaid, woman scorn’d.”

CHAPTER 59

The next morning, Kylie,Shane, Theo, and I drove to One Police Plaza in Lower Manhattan. It’s an austerethirteen-storybrick-and-steelbox that was designed for function over fashion. And while it may be architecturally uninspired, for cop junkies like Theo, it’s sexy as allget-out.

I got a rush knowing I was there to watch him get his first look at the nerve center of the largest police department in the country.

“Monumental,” he said. “Iconic.”

A fitting reaction, I thought. So much better than the predictable teenage “cool” and “awesome.”

We went through security and walked to the elevator bank.

Shane was nervous. He was there to describe the man who shot him to a police sketch artist, and he was afraid that after four days, his memory wouldn’t retain enough detail.

“You’ll be fine,” Kylie said. “The artist will show you a bunch of eyes, ears, noses, and lips, so it’s not just about what you remember. It’s what you recognize.”

An elevator arrived, and a uniformed cop with a German shepherd stepped out. The patch on his left pocket said, “Emergency Service Canine.” The patch on the right pocket had his name, Lowery, and his badge number.

Theo lit up, thrilled to see a working police dog up close and personal.

And then it got really personal. The dog started barking and sat down in front of Theo, blocking him. Lowery gave a verbal command in German, and the dog stopped. The handler turned to us. “She’s trained for firearms.”

“There’s a lot of cops around here carrying guns,” Kylie said. “She’s going to be busy.”

“Detective MacDonald,” he said, reading her name off the ID card clipped to Kylie’s lapel. “She’s trained to sniff out spent gunpowder. Did you guys just come from the range?”

“No, and she doesn’t seem interested in us. She’s focused on him,” Kylie said, gesturing toward Theo. “And he’s a civilian.”

“Did you toss him?” Lowery asked, his voice all business.

“He went through security,” Kylie said.

“Yes. Metal detectors,” Lowery said. “But they’re looking for guns. Jinx is looking for gunpowder.”

I jumped in. “Zach Jordan, Red Unit. Give me a minute here, Lowery,” I said. I motioned Shane to step back, and then I turned to Theo. “What do you have on you?”

He was dumbstruck. “Nothing.”

“Jinx doesn’t react to nothing,” Lowery said. “Son, have you fired a weapon in the past few days?”

“No, sir.”

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