Red Alert(NYPD Red #5)(16)

“Zach, don’t get defensive. I didn’t call to ask why you haven’t solved a major crime twelve hours after it happened. All I need right now is for you to get this cocksucker off my back.”

One of the first things you learn as a cop is that if it’s important to your hook, it’s important to you. And there are not too many better hooks than the woman who runs the city. Defusing Arnie Zimmer shot straight to the top of my things-to-do list.

“Where can I find him?” I asked.

“He’s rounded up the other two partners. They’re at Princeton Wells’s place. They’re expecting you.” She hung up.

Fifteen minutes later, Kylie and I pulled up to a magnificent brick and limestone beaux arts facade on Central Park West. In a city full of ridiculously expensive real estate, there aren’t many private homes that can be called mansions. “Princeton Wells’s place,” as the mayor had called it, was one that could.

I rang the doorbell, expecting to be greeted by a butler wearing a proper black morning coat, gray striped trousers, and a white wing-collar shirt. Instead, Wells himself came to the door, dressed like he was ready to pose for the cover of the J. Crew catalog.

“Sorry about this,” he said, shaking his head. “Arnie is on a tear.”

“It’s understandable,” I said, using some of the language they taught me in NYPD Red charm school. “He may just be getting over the shock of last night.”

“I doubt it,” Wells said, walking us through a sprawling foyer and up a sweeping marble staircase. “Arnie is a notorious micromanager. It ain’t soup unless he’s stirred the pot.”

“The mayor said he’s not happy with the way we’re handling the case. We’ll do what we can to reassure him that—”

“Save your breath,” Wells said. “Arnie already tore the mayor a new one. You’re just here so he can vent to the cops.”

Kylie gave me a subtle nod. One of the qualifications for joining a police force dedicated to working with the uber-rich is being able to put up with their verbal abuse while you’re busting your ass to help them. It’s the shit part of the job, and I’m much better at it than Kylie is. The nod was a message. It was my turn to stand between her and the bullets.

On the other hand, one of the best parts of the job is getting a taste of the mind-boggling creature comforts that unlimited wealth can buy. But this time, we hadn’t been invited to soak up the grandeur. We were there to take our lumps.

“They’re in my office,” Wells said when we got to the second floor. He opened a mahogany door, and we stepped into a vast room with wood-paneled walls, a soaring ceiling, leather furniture, and all the trappings of an old-school private men’s club. I took a few seconds to fantasize what it must feel like to sit down at the end of a tough day and enjoy a well-earned snifter of single malt whiskey. The fantasy fizzled as soon as Wells made the introductions.

I’d done a quick background check on the players before we got there. Nathan Hirsch was a thousand-dollar-an-hour banking and finance attorney with an Ivy League pedigree and a blue-chip résumé. He was a lot less impressive in person. Overweight and straining the good graces of his designer suit, he smelled of cigar. His handshake was clammy, and his eyes never made contact with mine. My cop radar kicked in, and I wondered if he was still reeling from last night, or if he had another reason to be twitchy.

Arnie Zimmer, who owned the Zim Construction Group, was taller and thinner and wasted no time taking on the mantle of designated bully. “Do you know how much I gave to Muriel Sykes’s election campaign?” he asked, ignoring my extended hand.

“No, sir,” I said.

“Enough money so that I shouldn’t be paying for hind tit. If Sykes expects a nickel out of me when she runs for reelection, she better put the two of you on this case 24/7.”

“Sir, we’re sorry for the loss of your friend, but we are on the case. We haven’t slept since the bomb exploded.”

“Don’t bullshit a bullshitter. I’ve got friends in the department. You’re splitting your time between a page one terrorist attack and some page thirty-seven sex crime.”

“Mr. Zimmer, we understand your frustration, but I can assure you that Mayor Sykes has made this our number one priority. And we’re not working alone. The FBI has already helped us identify the person who built the bomb.”

“I don’t care if Lockheed Martin built the fucking bomb. Your job is to figure out who set it off. Del was in construction. Did it ever dawn on you that contractors use explosives? Why don’t you start there? It was probably some pissed-off asshole who lost out on one of Del’s jobs.”

And with that, the pissed-off asshole left the room.

“Meeting adjourned?” I asked Wells.

He smiled. “Arnie called it; Arnie gets to pull the plug on it. I’ll tell the mayor you represented her admirably.”

“I’d much rather you just gave Mr. Zimmer my phone number,” I said, holding out my card.

“Detective, you saw what he can be like. Are you sure you want him badgering you?”

“Anytime—as long as he stops badgering the mayor.”

He took the card reluctantly. “Nathan and I will do what we can to keep him at bay, but Arnie’s a pit bull. He’s going to give you problems.”