Red Alert(NYPD Red #5)(31)

“Worst-case scenario, this may be the tip of the iceberg,” Cates said. “If Davenport made one hidden-camera video of her having sex with an unsuspecting man, there may be more. And whoever is doing the blackmailing is going to go after every one of them. Have you looked at all her video files?”

“Yes and no,” I said. “Her computer is missing. Her assistant told us that she uploaded everything to the cloud, and he gave us total access. But there were no sex videos. Not even the one we just saw of the judge.”

“Then you better come up with that computer in a big hurry.”

“We’ve got people looking for it,” Kylie said, “but maybe the best way to find the computer is to find the blackmailer who’s using it.”

“And how do you propose doing that?”

“The plan the blackmailer laid out for the drop is smart,” I said. “We won’t be able to pay him off in phony money or dye packs. So first we have to get the DA to sign off on fronting the hundred thousand.”

“I’ll give Mick Wilson a call,” Cates said. “He wouldn’t put up that kind of cash for Joe Citizen, but what prosecutor doesn’t want a sitting judge to owe him one?”

“Thanks. Once we know we’ve got the money, all we have to do is convince Judge Rafferty to deliver it. Then we surround the drop zone with undercover cops and wait for someone to make the pickup.”

“Do it,” Cates said.

We started to leave.

“One more thing,” Cates said. “How old is this old coot, anyway?”

“Seventy-five and change.”

“I thought the retirement age is seventy.”

“It is,” I said. “But Rafferty is a supreme court justice, and he can get three separate two-year extensions if a panel of appellate judges decides his services are needed and a doctor thinks he can still do the job.”

“It wasn’t pretty,” Cates said, “but it looked to me like His Honor was getting the job done.”

“Another testimony to the miracle of performance-enhancing drugs,” I said.

“Well, somebody should warn him that Viagra can play fast and loose with his blood pressure,” Cates said. “At his age, the only performance-enhancing drug he should be using is Metamucil.”





CHAPTER 30



“So you’re telling me she’s not from the escort service?”

“No, Your Honor,” I said. “She’s not.”

“Conniving bitch. She said she was my Christmas present.”

We were in Judge Rafferty’s chambers. He was sitting behind his desk in a leather armchair that looked to be at least as ancient as he was. Kylie and I were standing. Once again she’d asked me to do the talking.

“I’m not sure I understand, Your Honor. What do you mean she was your Christmas present?”

He tipped back in his chair and rested a pair of large, craggy hands on the substantial paunch that hung over his belt. “It was Christmas Eve last year. The courthouse was cleared out for the holiday. I was just sitting here, nursing a twenty-five-year-old single malt when she knocked on my door.”

“How did she get through security?”

“How the fuck should I know, Detective? She could have come in with the rest of the Great Unwashed anytime during the day. What difference does that make? Because if you’re trying to hang my court officers out to dry—”

“I apologize, Your Honor,” I said. “It was a stupid question.”

It was especially stupid since I knew that an attractive woman paying an after-hours call to Judge Rafferty would be quietly waved through security. Even if the guards had noticed a camera in her bag, they wouldn’t have asked questions. It was just another play toy for His Honor’s evening merriment.

“Anyway, she comes in, shuts the door behind her, and she stands there. Not a bad looker—a solid seven, maybe an eight. She’s wearing a trench coat, and there’s this little tiny red bow on the belt. And she says, ‘I’ve got a gift from your secret Santa. He wants to know if you’ve been naughty or nice.’”

He chuckled and looked at me. “I guess you can imagine what I said.”

I took the high road and didn’t say a word.

“Jesus, you’re slow on the uptake. What do you think I said? ‘Unwrap the present, and let’s find out.’”

I took a sideways glance at Kylie. Her face was stone cold, but I knew that just below the stoic exterior, she was inflamed with disgust and rage.

“And then,” he went on, “this is a hoot—it was like one of those soft-core pornos. She opens the coat wide, and all she’s wearing is a bra, panties, and a pair of stilettos. Can you figure out what I did next, Detective Jordan?”

“Yes, Your Honor. I saw the video.”

“Go to the head of the class. So now the bitch wants to blackmail me? Well, fuck her. I’m seventy-five years old, my wife is dead, I’ve got six months left on the bench, and if she thinks I give a shit about a video on YouTube of me getting it on with a woman half my age, she’s wrong. I’ll send the link to my friends. They’ll all be jealous.”

“She’s dead, Your Honor,” I said. “Murdered.”