NYPD Red 6 - James Patterson Page 0,62

the same gun.”

My cell phone rang. It was the chief of detectives. “Jordan,” he said.

That was it. Just my name. But the way he said it sounded more like he’d been chewing on it, hated the taste, and was spitting it out.

“Yes, sir.”

“Meet me at the golf course where we put down the chopper. You and MacDonald. Now.” He didn’t wait for a response. He hung up.

I turned to my partner. “The old man wants to see us.”

“About what?”

“He didn’t say.” I headed toward the door. “But the phrase dead man walking comes to mind.”

CHAPTER 54

THE COP WHO had been assigned to drive Chief of Detectives Doyle met us at the golf course.

“They set up a temporary office for your boss inside the clubhouse,” he said. “He told me to have you wait for him there.”

We followed him into the building. “The manager apologized for the lousy accommodations,” he said, “but they’re in the middle of painting the place.”

As we approached Doyle’s loaner office, I could smell the fresh paint. And then the cop opened the door and flipped on the light.

“I can’t believe it,” Kylie said as soon as the cop left.

Neither could I.

There’s a running joke in the department: if your boss calls you into his office, and there’s plastic on the floor, the odds are you’re going to get whacked.

The first thing Kylie and I saw when we entered the room was the plastic tarp on the floor.

“Hey—they’re painting the place,” I said.

“I don’t care what they’re doing, Zach. It’s a bad omen. A really bad omen.”

The only seat in the room was a desk chair. We remained standing.

Five minutes later Doyle walked in.

“So, Detectives,” he said. “How is your day going?”

“Fine, sir,” I said.

“I’m so glad to hear that,” he said. “Funny thing … when I heard that Ms. Easton was safe and in custody, I thought my day would go well too. But, alas, I was sadly mistaken.” He slid into the chair and rested his arms on the desktop. “Would you like to know why my day is going so badly, Detectives?”

“Yes, sir.”

“My day went into the crapper—in public, mind you—because you, Detective Jordan, and you, Detective MacDonald, fucked up royally.”

Some bosses are screamers. When they’re angry, they want every cop in the borough to feel their wrath. Doyle’s voice was calm, devoid of emotion. In fact, he spoke so softly I had to strain to hear every punishing word.

Very passive-aggressive. Very effective.

“You were the leads on this case,” he said. “You made the call to keep Dodd’s identity under wraps. I believe the argument you used was something like ‘We want him to think it’s safe to walk among us.’ Your captain signed off on it. Her boss signed off on it. We all signed off on it. Why? Because we had faith that you knew what you were doing, and you’d catch the bastard.

“Well, he did walk among us. He brought his assassin’s rifle into our city and walked past God knows how many of our smartest cops, none of whom were looking for him, and then he shot and killed one of our most influential citizens. Only then did you release his name and picture. Is that correct?”

“Yes, sir,” Kylie said.

“A few hours later, he was dead, and the press put two and two together and asked how long we’d known Dodd was our primary suspect. I sidestepped with the usual ‘I can’t comment on an ongoing investigation,’ but they didn’t let up. They asked how I felt about the fact that this … this celebrity … this woman who is famous for what she wears, where she shops, and who she bangs was able to save herself when the elite NYPD Red Squad couldn’t. I assured them that everyone in the department was relieved to know that Ms. Easton was safe and sound, and that was all that mattered.

“And as I looked across the room, I could see that every one of them was thinking the same thing: Doyle is full of shit.”

He sat back in his chair. “But enough about my day,” he said. “Tell me about yours. Did you determine if Dodd had any accomplices?”

“It doesn’t appear that way, sir,” I said, “but we can’t yet rule it out.”

“So then the answer to my question is: ‘We haven’t solved that one either.’ Maybe you should get some help from Ms. Easton. She seems to be good at bailing you out.”

“We spoke to her briefly, sir, but she was