CHAPTER 40

Theo and I stopped at a bodega and loaded up on snack food, soda, cereal, and assorted microwaveable delicacies of dubious nutritional value. I also picked up a couple of burner phones. The tab ran to over two hundred bucks.

“Is the department paying for all this?” he asked.

“Oh, yeah,” I said. “We have a slush fund for dumbass kids who need protective custody because they thought they were smarter than a trained killer.”

He grinned. “In that case, hand me another box of those Yodels.”

“I live in a one-bedroom apartment,” I said once we were back in the car.

“No problem. I’m cool with crashing on your sofa. The only thing I care about is that you have a couple of serious locks on the front door.”

Cheryl was waiting for us when we got home. “Hungry?” she asked after I’d introduced them.

“Zach bought me some stuff,” he said.

She looked in one of the bags. “Oh, God. I mean real food. We’ve got a bunch of take-out menus in the kitchen. What are you in the mood for?”

I didn’t catch his answer, because my phone rang. It was Rich Koprowski, one of the detectives from Red who stayed at the funeral home after Kylie and I were summoned by the mayor.

“The ME just made it official,” he said. “Martin Sheffield was murdered—asphyxiated.”

“Anything turn up in his room?” I asked.

“He didn’t leave behind a whole lot of worldly goods,” Koprowski said. “Clothes, shoes, books, and not much else. The only thing of interest was an ammo box full of photos, letters, personal papers, and military memorabilia.”

“Send the photos to the facial recognition unit. Kylie and I will go through the rest of it in the morning.”

“He also left handwritten instructions to notify his lawyer upon his death. His name is Forrest Nivens. I called his cell. Small problem: the paperwork is in his safe at the office, but he and his wife are on a cruise ship in the middle of the Atlantic.”

“Get somebody else from the law firm to open it now,” I said.

“There is no somebody else. Nivens is a one-man band. The ship docks the day after tomorrow. The first thing he has to do when he gets back to New York is track down the primary beneficiary.”

“Did he give you a name?” I said. “We can save time by doing it for him.”

“It won’t take long. The bulk of Sheffield’s estate was left to Theo Wilkins.”

“You’re kidding me.”

“Nivens said he can’t hand over the will until he files it with the probate court, but considering the circumstances, he said he’ll let us read the contents, which is all we really need.”

“Good job, Rich.”

“There’s more. Sheffield left a sealed envelope for Theo. Since it’s not mentioned in the will, Nivens can legally hand it over immediately.”

“Did he say what’s in it?”

“He has no idea. He said Sheffield never told him and he never asked.”

My call waiting beeped.

“Rich, I’ve got Kylie on the other line. Thanks for everything. Talk later.” I took the incoming call.

“Zach, are you near a TV set?” she said.

“Yeah. I’m in my apartment. Theo is safe, sound, and about to be fed.”

“I’m at the hospital with Shane. We were watching the news, and just before they cut to the commercial, the announcer says, ‘When we come back, Megan Rollins will bring us her exclusive on the Hellman murders.’ Where the hell did she get an exclusive?”

“I have no idea,” I said. “She stormed out of the hospital pissed as hell at us. The only thing I can think of is, she went up the food chain.”

“Turn on the TV and stay on the phone with me,” Kylie said.

I grabbed the remote and flipped to the channel. They were mid commercial.

Cheryl and Theo came in. She had a menu in her hand. “We’re ordering Greek. What’s going on?” she said.

“Kylie’s on the line,” I said, holding up my cell. “Megan Rollins is about to go on the air with some bogus exclusive about our case. I have no idea what it is, but I’ll bet when she’s done, the weather guy comes on and warns the NYPD to brace themselves for a shitstorm.”

The commercial ended, and I raised the volume on the TV as Megan’s face filled the screen.

“New York City is under siege,” she said. “It began two days ago when a sniper snuffed out the life of Warren Hellman only minutes after a jury of his peers found him not guilty of charges brought against him by the district attorney. Less than an hour later, his brother Curtis was brutally murdered in broad daylight as he was peacefully jogging along the Hudson River Greenway.

“Mayor Sykes and Police Commissioner Radcliffe tried to comfort an understandably frightened citizenry by assuring us that these assassinations would be assigned to—and resolved by—NYPD’s elite Red Unit, ostensibly the finest of New York’s Finest. Two days have passed, and now the people behind these vicious crimes have struck again and again with two more murders, the most terrifying of which I witnessed firsthand.”

A video of the funeral home parking lot popped on the screen. I watched as the front door opened.

“This is Eldon Winstanley,” Megan said, her tone reverent, making the white-haired man who tried to kill my partner and me seem almost saintly. “This afternoon, surrounded by more than fifty armed police officers—including the aristocracy of the Red Unit—he was the victim of yet another sniper’s bullet.”

The video froze just as Winstanley lifted his head to the sky.

“I will spare you the poor man’s horrifying final moments,” Megan said as the camera judiciously cut back to her. “But I will not spare you my frustration as a journalist. I have done my best to get more information from the police. I’m not asking them for critical details, which I understand should be kept under wraps. All I want from the NYPD is a progress report—something that will reassure my viewers that this investigation is in capable hands. But I have been stonewalled at every turn.

“Not only are the police refusing to give me any answers, they have made it clear that they don’t even want me asking any questions.”

A picture of Kylie appeared on the screen behind Megan.

“Oh, fuck,” Kylie breathed over the phone.

“This is NYPD Red Detective Kylie MacDonald,” Megan said. “What you are about to hear is an audio clip of Detective MacDonald doing her best to stop me in my quest for the truth.”

Kylie’s voice came on the air. As she spoke, her words were superimposed across the screen. “Megan, the best place for you to go is home.”

Megan looked thunderstruck, as if she were just hearing it for the first time. And just in case once wasn’t damning enough, Kylie’s voice came back again, this time on a loop.

Megan, the best place for you to go is home. Megan, the best place for you to go is home. Megan, the best place for you to go is home.

Megan pointed an accusatory finger at the camera. “I will not go home, Detective MacDonald. You will not suppress the First Amendment. You can try to shut me up, but you can’t silence our viewers.”

“I don’t believe this,” Kylie said in my ear.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I need your support,” Megan said, leaning in. “If you’ve been living in fear these past two days because you have no idea where these serial assassins will strike next, I want you to reach out to the mayor and the police commissioner. Their emails and phone numbers are on the screen. Let them know that Megan Rollins has questions. And the people want answers. Thank you, be safe, and have a good night.”

She stared defiantly into the camera. Her audience would see her as the resolute reporter determined to bring them the news. But I knew better. That look was meant for Kylie and me, and the message was loud and clear.

This is what you get when you fuck with Megan Rollins.