NYPD Red(15)

“How can I help?” he said.

“The armorer says somebody got to the gun and switched the blanks for live ammo,” I said. “For starters, we’ll need the names of everyone on the set. And I know they’re on the clock, but I’ll have to ask you not to release anybody till we get statements from every one of them.”

“Done,” he said immediately. “What else?”

“We’re told the shooting was all caught on film,” Kylie said. “We need to see it.”

He took a little longer on this one. Finally, he said, “Under one condition. NYPD and nobody else. When you’re done, I want the footage locked up. God forbid it should show up on YouTube.”

“Thank you,” Kylie said.

“I heard you arrested Dave West,” Shelley said. “Is it really necessary? The poor guy’s got a sick wife.”

“We had to,” I said. “I doubt if the DA will be tough on him, but it would help if he had a lawyer.”

“I’ve already hired one,” Shelley said. “Perry Keziah—you know him?”

I nodded. Everybody knew Perry Keziah. He wasn’t just a lawyer; he was the best of the best. Dave would be home in time for dinner.

“Excuse me,” Trager said.

He walked onto the set and stood over Ian Stewart’s body. Everything else stopped. Nobody on the stage moved. Nobody talked. All eyes were on him.

He lowered his head and mouthed a silent prayer.

Then he walked back and stood face-to-face with Kylie and me.

“This is a tragedy,” he said. “But if what they’re saying about the death of Sid Roth is true…” He paused, as if speaking the words out loud would make them real. “If what they’re saying about the death of Sid Roth is true,” he said, dropping his voice to a whisper, “then it’s a conspiracy.”





Chapter 17



KYLIE AND I stood there and let Trager’s words sink in. A major producer is found dead in the morning—probable homicide. An above-the-title actor is shot a few hours later—probable homicide. It’s a pretty big coincidence, and homicide detectives don’t believe in coincidences.

“I hit a hot button, didn’t I?” Trager said.

Kylie stared at him. “What do you mean?”

“You’re both lousy poker players. I can tell by looking at the two of you that Sid Roth, who was ten years younger and in ten times better shape than I am, did not suddenly keel over and die of a heart attack on the first day of Hollywood on the Hudson. The rumors are true. He was poisoned, wasn’t he?”

“Shelley, you know we can’t answer that,” Kylie said.

“Fine. The mayor can. I’m the guy who helped him deliver a thousand Hollywood big hitters to New York. I’m the first guy he’ll call if he thinks the other nine hundred and ninety-eight are at risk.” He took out his cell phone.

“Put it away,” Kylie said. “We’re waiting for the lab results, but it looks like Sid Roth was poisoned.”

“Son of a bitch,” Trager said. “Are we talking about a serial killer?”

“Not yet,” I said. “There’s no pattern. Except for the fact that both men were in show business, there’s no link between the two of them. We have to investigate each case separately.”

“Which means we have to talk to Edie Coburn,” Kylie said.

“Give her a break,” Shelley said. “She’s in shock.”

“That’s what happens to people who witness a murder,” Kylie said. “We know how to talk to her.”

“She’s in her trailer,” Trager said. “I’ll take you there.”

Edie Coburn was in a lot less shock than advertised. She was smoking a cigarette and sipping clear liquid out of a tall water tumbler. I doubted it was Evian. Shelley introduced us as Detectives Jordan and MacDonald from NYPD, but he left out the part about his connection to Kylie through Spence Harrington. He told her we had a few questions about the “unfortunate accident.”

“I didn’t know the gun was loaded,” she said. Actually, she didn’t just say it. She delivered it. It was like she’d rehearsed the line all afternoon, and the camera started rolling as soon as the cops walked in.

“You know that’s a line from a song,” Trager said.

She smiled. Of course she knew.

“We’re sorry for your loss, Ms. Coburn,” I said. “Can you talk about what happened on the set?”

“Let’s not pretend,” she said. “I was a naughty girl. I held up production all morning because I was furious at Ian. He’s a serial adulterer. I ought to know—the first time I slept with him he was married to someone else. So I married him with my eyes wide open. He cheats; I look the other way. But this one was too much. Did he really have to fuck the girl the two of us would be doing a scene with? And worse than that, the bitch told everybody. All proud of herself, like it was some sort of big conquest, like Ian was the Holy Grail.”