Page 75 of NYPD Red 7: The Murder Sorority

“How about Rayborn?” Kylie asked. “He was convinced he was going to be fired.”

“He was right. Management is always looking for a scapegoat when the shit hits the fan, and Rayborn was at the top of Asher’s hit list.” He paused. “However, I reminded Mr. Asher that Rayborn didn’t hire Drucker. The hospital did. And as soon as Rayborn found out that the man was a dangerous killer, he worked in concert with NYPD so that the final shootout was in a public space, not the corridors of Elmhurst Hospital.”

“So Rayborn is now a hero,” Kylie said.

The PC shrugged. “I know I’m stretching the truth here, but that’s the way the hospital will spin it, and a man who gavethirty-sevenyears to this department will get to keep his retirement job. Now, where are you on the man who killed Warren Hellman?”

“Closing in,” Kylie said, stretching the truth herself. “The lives of the five hit men in the Sorority are intertwined. Martin Sheffield, the old man in assisted living, led us to the funeral director, Eldon Winstanley. Winstanley led us to Nurse Barnett Drucker.”

“Like dominoes,” the PC said.

“Yes sir,” Kylie said. “And now we’re going after the next domino—the man they call Carol.”

“Good. Keep me posted.”

We thanked him yet again, and the two of us stepped out of the command center.

Three of Horvat’s men were still at the bloodmobile taking pictures, sifting for evidence, probing for anything that would prove I should be drummed out of the department for shooting the poor oldwhite-hairednurse whose lifeless body was still hanging out of the windshield.

One by one, they looked up and glared as Kylie and I walked across the apron to our car.

The vultures were still circling. But they could tell by thekiss-my-assgrins on our faces that they would go hungry today.

CHAPTER 50

As soon as wegot back to the car, both of our phones chirped with a text. It was from Steve Edlund at theFour-One.

Major progress on the Shane Talbot shooting. Call me.

Within seconds, we had Edlund on FaceTime.

“You guys are all over the airwaves,” he said, a grin on his face. “Congratulations on taking another killer off the streets.”

“Thanks,” Kylie said. “What’s your big news?”

“We just got ballistics on the bullet Dr. Lu removed from Shane. The same gun was used in two recent homicides.”

Neither of us said a word, but he could read our reaction. The man who shot Shane had now been upgraded to a serial killer. This was a game changer.

“It gets better,” Edlund said. “The two previous vics are Greg Upton, the radiotalk-showguy who was shot at a bookstore signing back in April, and Troy Silvers, an Upper East Side dentist who was gunned down on a tennis court in Central Park.”

“Holy shit,” Kylie said. “Those are both our cases.”

“I know. That’s why I’m calling you. The same gun was used in all three shootings. There’s no doubt about it. Ballistics said it was a perfect match. We can’t be certain it’s the same shooter, but the MO is identical. Lone gunman. White male, mid- to late thirties. Public place. One bullet to the chest.”

“Does Captain Graham know this yet?”

“He’s the one who told me to call you. Whoever shot Shane is probably the same killer you and Zach have been looking for. You’ve got a learning curve. Graham said we’d be crazy to run separate investigations.”

“You know he told me to keep my distance because of my connection to Shane.”

“Yeah, but that’s out the window. Now he’d like you to team up with me and McDaniel and work this case together. You game?”

“Am I game to hunt down the scumbag who shot my boyfriend? Hell, yeah.”

“Great. There’s one more weird wrinkle. According to ballistics, the same gun was used in a botched bodega robbery. The perp’s name is X. L. Gaston, but he’s not a suspect in the homicides, because he was already behind bars.”

“Getting himself locked up is X. L.’s superpower,” I said. “He was ahalf-assedchain snatcher who decided he was ready to move up in the world and try his hand at armed robbery. So he walks into a bodega, points a gun at the clerk, but his hand is shaking like a willow in a windstorm. The clerk grabs the gun, it goes off, shoots the clerk in the foot, and X. L. races out the doorempty-handed.”

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