Page 6 of NYPD Red 7: The Murder Sorority

“Hell, no. I raced down nine flights of stairs. I’m an accountant. Going up there is your job, man.”

I nodded. I was going up there. But I sure as hell wasn’t going alone.

CHAPTER 4

There were at leasta hundred cops on the street. Kylie saw the one she was looking for. “Captain!” she yelled.

He turned and glowered at her. This man was not used to being barked at.

“Sir,” she said, “Detectives MacDonald and Jordan from Red.”

Red was the magic word. He walked toward us, the scowl fading rapidly.

“Sir, we believe the shot came from the roof of this building. Can we get some backup?”

“What do you need, Detective?”

“A team to cover the lobby. Nobody comes in. Anybody wants to leave, they get searched. Afloor-by-floorcanvass and another team to accompany us up to the roof.”

Within seconds, dozens of uniformed police poured into the building. Six got in the elevator with us. We drew our guns, got off on the eighth floor, and took the stairs to the roof.

Kylie and I weren’t wearing vests, so two of the uniforms took the lead.

The rooftop door was open. “The screamer’s been disabled,” one of the cops said, pointing at the wires dangling from the alarm.

Whoever killed Warren Hellman had silenced the security system, found his position on the roof, and taken the shot from here. Odds were, he didn’t stick around for the cops to show up, but we weren’t taking any chances.

My adrenaline kicked up a notch. I split the eight of us into four teams andhand-signaledthe game plan to breach the roof. On my go, we charged through the door and fanned out in our assigned directions. The shooter was gone.

“Okay, guys, let’s shut it down and wait for Crime Scene to get here,” I said. I radioed Central to let them know that the roof was clear.

One by one, the cops went back into the building.

“Zach,” Kylie called out. She was standing on the east side of the roof, looking out at the courthouse.

“What have you got?” I said.

“Look at this,” she said. “There’s a clean line of sight from this spot to the podium where Hellman was standing. Dryden can verify it with a laser, but the evidence is starting to mount up. There’s no security, the building is easy to get in and out of, the rooftop alarm was cut, and the guy in the dentist’s office one floor below heard the shot loud and clear. This has to be it. And our shooter was a pro—along-distancesniper who was smart enough to take the shot, disassemble the weapon, and leave without a trace.”

“Yo!Dee-tee.Dee-tee.”

Hearing the street slang for “detective,” we both looked around.

“Yo!Dee-tee. Up here. The Tombs.”

Directly across the street from where we were standing was the Manhattan Detention Complex, better known as “the Tombs” because the original structure built in the nineteenth century was inspired by a picture of an Egyptian tomb.

Today it has been replaced by two towers that house close to a thousand male inmates, most of them awaiting trial at the courthouse. One of those men was desperately trying to get our attention. He was on the top floor of the jail, three barred windows in from the corner of White Street.

“I saw him take the shot,” he hollered.

Kylie pointed to a spot on the parapet.

“No. Not there. Over more.”

She started to her right.

“No. The other way.”

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