NYPD Red(44)

“His girlfriend.”

“Do you know her last name?”

J.J. shook his head. “No. It’s just the one name, like she’s so famous that she doesn’t need a last name. Like Oprah. Except most people know it’s Winfrey.”

“Is Lexi still here?”

“No. She never lived here. But I bet he’s with her. They go everywhere together. You know what I think?” he said, gesturing with the cigarette hand.

“Tell me.”

“I think Gabriel doesn’t have to be locked up in a place like this. I think he only came here to shoot scenes for his movie.”

“I’m surprised they let him bring a camera in here,” Kylie said.

J.J. looked at her like she was nuts. “There’s no camera,” he said. “It’s all in here.” He tapped his forehead.

“The movie…” Kylie took a second to reprocess the information. “The movie is in his head?”

J.J. shrugged. “Hey, I told you—the guy is crazy.”





Chapter 49



LEXI HAD FOUND his hiding place months ago. It was in the desk. His desk—the one piece of furniture he had brought to her apartment.

She had been looking for the stapler, opened the bottom drawer too fast, and pulled it out completely. The drawer was half the length of the others. It had a false back.

And there they were, stashed in his secret space. Letters. Lots of them.

Obviously they had to be from other women. Gabe had girlfriends before he met her. Still, it pissed her off that he had saved them, and worse yet, hid them from her.

She put the drawer back. The letters were none of her business. She made a vow never to read them. That lasted about ten minutes. She came up with a compromise. She’d read two or three just to get the flavor of the other girls. Maybe see how she stacked up. That would be enough. Unless any of them were written after she and Gabe were a couple. Then there would be hell to pay.

She pulled out the drawer and grabbed a handful of envelopes. They weren’t from women. They were business letters. From movie studios, television networks, production companies, directors, actors. She read a half dozen.

Dear Mr. Benoit,

Thank you for your recent submission. However, at this time we are sorry to say…

Unfortunately, your story is not one we would like to pursue at this…

Regretfully, our production schedule for next season has already been…



They were all the same—thanks but no thanks. Rejection letters. Hundreds of them, some more than ten years old. How sad.

In the months that had passed, she hadn’t said a word. She wished she could talk to him about the letters, maybe make him feel better about himself, but that would mean admitting she had read them.

And now, she had made his life even more miserable. She bungled the robbery scene. She so much wanted to be a part of his movie, and as soon as he said yes, she screwed up.

She had to make it up to him. She would make it up to him. And then, sitting at her computer, surfing the best sites for the latest Hollywood dirt, it hit her. Inspiration. Brilliant actually, because this would completely tie in to the rest of the movie.

She clicked on Microsoft Word, opened a new document, and began typing.





ALT. SCENE:





Chapter 50



CAPTAIN DELIA CATES sat in silent meditation with her right elbow digging into the arm of her desk chair, her mouth and chin resting on the knuckles of her right hand. It’s the classic pose of Rodin’s statue The Thinker, which also happens to be the squad’s favorite nickname for her.

And when the boss lady is in statue mode, everyone else in the room shuts up and gives her time to think. Which is exactly what Kylie and I were doing.

“He’s making a movie,” Cates said for the third time. “Without any camera equipment.”

“He’s making it in his head,” I said, also for the third time.

“That’s the part I’ve been wrestling with. It doesn’t make sense.”

“The man is crazy, boss,” I said. “We can’t expect sense from a guy whose last known address is a loony bin.”

“What about the Ian Stewart murder and the Brad Schuck bombing?” Cates said. “That’s not in his head. Both of those are on film.”

“Yeah, but for the most part he’s acting everything out live.”

“That’s called a play, Zach, not a movie.”

“We will happily point out the difference to Mr. Benoit when we arrest him.”

“And when will that be?” Cates said. “You’ve got his name, you’ve got his photo, you’ve got a lead on his girlfriend—how long before you nail this maniac?”

“Captain, we’re working on it around the clock, but he’s smart.”