Page 94 of NYPD Red 7: The Murder Sorority

An hour later wewere back at 1PP, this time sitting at a console while Detective Noah Hirschfeld hunched over the keyboard of Natalie Brinsmaid’s laptop.

Before he was a cop, Noah was a victim. When he was eight years old, he was dragged into a van, taken to a basement apartment in Long Island City, and sexually abused for three days until he surprised his assailant by jamming a rusty screwdriver through the man’s larynx.

Twenty-fiveyears and 250 pounds later, Noah was working for the Special Victims Unit, luring pedophiles online by posing as an underage boy or girl.

Hirschfeld finished typing and swiveled in his chair. “Ask me if I feel sorry for this Natalie chick,” he said.

“I’m going to take a wild guess and say you don’t have a single ounce of compassion for her,” I said.

“Spot-on, bro. She’s like Madame Defarge inA Tale of Two Cities—evil to the core, secretly knitting the names of her victims and letting others do the dirty work for her.”

“Noah, has anyone ever told you that you’re more literate thanninety-ninepercent of the cops in this department?” I said.

“I hear theninety-ninepercenta lot. But it’s alwaysfatter than. As for my literary prowess, thanks for noticing, but I should point out that Charles Dickens is required reading for most high school sophomores. If you really want to get me going, buy me a pitcher of beer, give me a couple of hours, and I’ll take you through Gabriel García Márquez’sOne Hundred Years of Solitude, one generation at a time.”

He looked back at the computer. “Here’s my take on this BeenThere2 character who’s been messaging Natalie. White, female,mid-thirties, physically and sexually abused by a drunken father. Daddy is out of the picture now, probably with a little help from his loving daughter, and now she’s trolling the dark side, looking to rescue other women from a similar fate. I’d categorize her as astay-at-homeserial killer. She has someone else—a male, maybe a relative or a friend she trusts—shoot her victims. I just composed a message thatNatalie—a.k.a. yours truly—is going to send to her.”

“Let’s hear it,” I said.

“Dear BeenThere2, just a quick note to say I met a woman online whose story is as devastating as ours. You inspired me to help her. I only hope I can be as good at this as you are.”

“That sucks, Noah,” Kylie said.

Hirschfeld knows Kylie well. “Okay, to hell with mytwelve-yearcareer working sex crimes. I’m sure you have a better way of putting it. Let’s hear it.”

Kylie cleared her throat. “Dear Fuckface, you’re going to regret the day you put a hit out on Kylie MacDonald’s boyfriend, because she’s going to nail your raggedy ass and put you in prison with a bunch of horny psycho bitches who will make your father look like a paragon of parenthood.”

Hirschfeld laughed out loud. “Once a street cop, always a street cop, eh, MacDonald?”

“You know what they say, Noah. Hell hath no fury.”

“I feel your pain, but trust me, I’m a professional.Natalieis going to send my version of the message to BeenThere2, along with this picture.”

He clicked his mouse, and the screen was filled with the bloodied, brutalized face of a woman in her twenties.

“Is that real or Photoshop?” I asked.

“If a detective first grade has to ask, then I’ve done my job,” Hirschfeld said. “If you don’t like her, I’ve got at least a hundred more. My photo file looks like Freddy Krueger’s wallet.”

“And do you think BeenThere2 will reach out to Natalie and offer to help?”

“Doesn’t matter. There’s a Trojan horse embedded in the file. As soon as she clicks on the picture, I’m inside her computer.”

“Send it,” Kylie said.

Hirschfeld poised a finger over the return key. “I just have totriple-check,” he said. “Tell me one more time that you have a warrant for this.”

“We do,” Kylie said. “Judge Hahn signed it in less than two minutes.”

Hirschfeld poked the key, and the gratifying whoosh of data hurtling through cyberspace confirmed that the deed was done.

“Now we wait,” Kylie said.

“Not long, I’d bet,” Hirschfeld said. “Based on heralmost-immediateresponses to Natalie’s messages, our perp is never far from her electronic link to the outside world.”

As if on cue, his desktop beeped.

“We’re in,” he said. “We are now the masters of her domain. Why don’t you guys hustle over to the coffee room for a couple of minutes and let me look around?”

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