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Authors: James Patterson
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looking for a buyer for some hot jewelry. He tried to keep it vague, but that lasted until he was pressed for a description, and he all but held up a picture of that diamond necklace that was on the front page of the morning paper. Raymond’s done two stretches for armed robbery, so if I were a betting man, I’d say he was your shooter.”
“Do you know where we can find these two?” Kylie said.
“No, but I bet you’ve got someone down at One P P who can help you out.”
That got a laugh. “Wiseass,” she said. “We can take it from here. Thanks. You got anything else?”
“Not for NYPD. But I might have something for you. Something more…personal.”
Q Lavish might joke with me about working the night shift with Kylie, but he’d never get smarmy with her. He was too much of a gentleman. Plus, the look in his eyes said he was dead serious.
“Go ahead,” Kylie said.
“I heard you’re looking for your husband.”
“Jesus, Q,” she said. “I know you’re wired, but how did you—”
“I have clients in the TV business. They talk. I listen. I don’t know where he is right now, but I know he’s been over the edge. It’s not my place, but if you need an extra pair of eyes and ears…”
“Oh God, yes. Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet. Just tell me whatever you think might help.”
She recapped the last few days since Spence went missing. Q didn’t say anything until she told him about our run-in with Baby D.
“Drug dealers are the worst,” he said. “And that pretty boy is as bad as the rest of them. He wouldn’t call you if Spence came over to his house and shot his mother. Giving him your card was just a waste of paper. But now that I know he’s one of your husband’s contacts, I’ll keep him on my radar.”
Kylie stood up, shook his hand, and thanked him again. Even if Q didn’t come up with a single lead toward helping us find Spence, she knew that his offer was genuine. And if he ever reached out to her for help getting one of his overprivileged clients out of a jam, she’d reciprocate in a nanosecond.
In the New York criminal justice system, it’s all part of the circle of life.
CHAPTER 20
As reliable an asset as Q Lavish might have been, the State of New York didn’t think he was reliable enough. We couldn’t arrest Davis and Ryder solely on the word of an informant. We needed an arrest warrant, and finding a judge to sign one at this hour of the night would take time. Time we didn’t want to waste.
Parole officers, on the other hand, had a lot more latitude than cops. They could show up at a parolee’s house anytime. No warrant. No warning.
“Call RTC and find Davis’s PO,” Kylie said as she barreled up Third toward the One Nine.
The Real Time Crime unit worked out of One Police Plaza, and they could tell you in a heartbeat just about anything you needed to know about anyone in their databases. I called them, and in under a minute, I had Davis’s address and the cell number of Brian Sandusky, his parole officer.
My next call was to Sandusky. “Brian,” I said, “this is Detective Zach Jordan. One of your boys, Raymond Davis, was fingered as the shooter in the robbery-homicide at the Ziegfeld Theater last night, and I need you on scene to get me inside so I can bypass a warrant.”
“Davis? Elena Travers?” Sandusky said. “Holy shit, count me in.”
Some POs hate being dragged out at night to make a house call, but Sandusky was young and eager to help out on a high-profile case. I told him to meet us at the precinct.
Then I called Cates, gave her a top line, and asked her to call in an ESU team to help us bring in Davis and Ryder.
Seventy minutes after we left the Kimberly Hotel, Kylie and I were in our car, followed by two Lenco armored trucks from Emergency Service Squad 1, in lower Manhattan. PO Sandusky was in the backseat.
“Fourteen heavily armed cops in full body armor ready to take down two bungling low-level criminals,” he said as
“Do you know where we can find these two?” Kylie said.
“No, but I bet you’ve got someone down at One P P who can help you out.”
That got a laugh. “Wiseass,” she said. “We can take it from here. Thanks. You got anything else?”
“Not for NYPD. But I might have something for you. Something more…personal.”
Q Lavish might joke with me about working the night shift with Kylie, but he’d never get smarmy with her. He was too much of a gentleman. Plus, the look in his eyes said he was dead serious.
“Go ahead,” Kylie said.
“I heard you’re looking for your husband.”
“Jesus, Q,” she said. “I know you’re wired, but how did you—”
“I have clients in the TV business. They talk. I listen. I don’t know where he is right now, but I know he’s been over the edge. It’s not my place, but if you need an extra pair of eyes and ears…”
“Oh God, yes. Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet. Just tell me whatever you think might help.”
She recapped the last few days since Spence went missing. Q didn’t say anything until she told him about our run-in with Baby D.
“Drug dealers are the worst,” he said. “And that pretty boy is as bad as the rest of them. He wouldn’t call you if Spence came over to his house and shot his mother. Giving him your card was just a waste of paper. But now that I know he’s one of your husband’s contacts, I’ll keep him on my radar.”
Kylie stood up, shook his hand, and thanked him again. Even if Q didn’t come up with a single lead toward helping us find Spence, she knew that his offer was genuine. And if he ever reached out to her for help getting one of his overprivileged clients out of a jam, she’d reciprocate in a nanosecond.
In the New York criminal justice system, it’s all part of the circle of life.
CHAPTER 20
As reliable an asset as Q Lavish might have been, the State of New York didn’t think he was reliable enough. We couldn’t arrest Davis and Ryder solely on the word of an informant. We needed an arrest warrant, and finding a judge to sign one at this hour of the night would take time. Time we didn’t want to waste.
Parole officers, on the other hand, had a lot more latitude than cops. They could show up at a parolee’s house anytime. No warrant. No warning.
“Call RTC and find Davis’s PO,” Kylie said as she barreled up Third toward the One Nine.
The Real Time Crime unit worked out of One Police Plaza, and they could tell you in a heartbeat just about anything you needed to know about anyone in their databases. I called them, and in under a minute, I had Davis’s address and the cell number of Brian Sandusky, his parole officer.
My next call was to Sandusky. “Brian,” I said, “this is Detective Zach Jordan. One of your boys, Raymond Davis, was fingered as the shooter in the robbery-homicide at the Ziegfeld Theater last night, and I need you on scene to get me inside so I can bypass a warrant.”
“Davis? Elena Travers?” Sandusky said. “Holy shit, count me in.”
Some POs hate being dragged out at night to make a house call, but Sandusky was young and eager to help out on a high-profile case. I told him to meet us at the precinct.
Then I called Cates, gave her a top line, and asked her to call in an ESU team to help us bring in Davis and Ryder.
Seventy minutes after we left the Kimberly Hotel, Kylie and I were in our car, followed by two Lenco armored trucks from Emergency Service Squad 1, in lower Manhattan. PO Sandusky was in the backseat.
“Fourteen heavily armed cops in full body armor ready to take down two bungling low-level criminals,” he said as
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