He smiled. CU46. His favorite text of them all: See you for sex. It would have to be fast. He was only 242. If Lexi paid a little more attention to the script, she’d know that by the end of the day he was planning on being 343.
Chapter 19
“EFFECTIVE IMMEDIATELY, AND until further notice, the entire unit is operating RTC,” Captain Cates said. “Repeat—all of NYPD Red is on duty round the clock. You can shower in the gym, and if you insist on getting any sleep, we’re setting up cots on the fourth floor.”
It was 5:00 p.m., and we were all back in the briefing room. The mood was a lot more somber than it had been nine hours ago.
“Since this morning we’ve had two high-profile homicides,” she said. “Sid Roth, an LA producer in town for Hollywood week, collapsed and died at breakfast at the Regency Hotel. The lab found traces of sodium fluoroacetate in Roth’s juice glass, and the ME just confirmed that the same poison was found in much greater quantities in Mr. Roth. We have a primary person of interest—a male, Latino, about thirty, who was dressed as a busboy. That’s a vague enough description to start, and because the suspect was in disguise, it’s also possible he was using theatrical makeup to cover up the fact that he’s white. There were no prints on the carafes that were handled by the suspect, and the only prints on the glass belonged to the victim.
“A few hours after Roth was murdered, Ian Stewart was shot dead at Silvercup Studios with a gun that was supposed to have been loaded with blanks. There were approximately a hundred and fifty people working on that soundstage, any one of whom could have switched the blanks for bullets. For the record, sixty-three of them are women, but I’m not ready to eliminate anyone because of age, race, or gender. Also, there’s no guarantee that someone didn’t walk in from another part of the lot. So far, statements from the cast and crew taken at Silvercup have added up to one big fat zero. And if you’re thinking of how many of those people have restaurant experience, the answer is a hundred of them are film extras—so, all of them.
“Based on what we can pull up so far, there’s no obvious connection between Roth and Stewart. They never worked together, but operating on the Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon theory, it’s not hard to imagine that somebody worked with each of them and hated them enough to kill them both on the same day.
“There were no signatures linking the two killings, but with two dead bodies on Day One of Hollywood week, I don’t care if there’s a connection or not. We’re acting as if somebody out there is going after these high-profile targets and is not planning on stopping.
“As I said to the mayor just a few minutes ago, there’s no way that this unit could have prevented a bogus busboy from slipping poison into someone’s juice, or someone on a crowded soundstage from putting real bullets in a prop gun,” Cates said. “He didn’t like hearing that, but he accepts that it’s true. However, we are now on high alert, and we can—we must—prevent any more attacks. There’s a major red carpet event at Radio City Music Hall tonight. It’s the big celebrity-packed kickoff to Hollywood on the Hudson week. The mayor will be there, the governor will be there, the paparazzi will be there, the fans will be there, and we will be there.
“We were already scheduled to work the event, but now we’ve been beefed up with reinforcements. We’ve got metal detectors and screeners at every door, K-9 will be out there with bomb sniffers, we’ll have air coverage, and we’ll have another three hundred uniforms on the streets. Detective Jordan will be in charge of the Command Center on Sixth Avenue. The rest of you will be in plainclothes working the crowd. Except you, Detective MacDonald. I want you in not-so-plainclothes working the theater from the inside,” Cates said. “I assume you were going to be there anyway.”
“Yes, Captain,” Kylie said. “My husband and I are invited.”
“Good,” Cates said. “Then the department doesn’t have to spring for a dress. All right, people. There’s a madman loose out there. Go find him. Dismissed.”
Chapter 20
THE CHAMELEON LAY spread-eagle on top of the crumpled sheet. He had positioned the floor fan at the perfect angle and the perfect speed for a gentle breeze to softly caress his naked body.
He stared up at the ceiling, closed his eyes, and focused on his breathing. He inhaled deeply, exhaled slowly, trying to get his brain to stop ruminating about his upcoming scene. Meditation was not his strong suit.
He was almost there when his cell rattled against the birch veneer of the Ikea nightstand.