Red Alert(NYPD Red #5)(57)

“But we will in a minute.”

“From who?”

“From the randy old coot who took me to dinner at the Harvard Club, and who after two glasses of wine said to me, ‘If you ever need a favor, sweetheart, here’s my cell number.’”

“Judge Rafferty,” I said.

“I think the old boy has a crush on me.”

“You’re telling me you called him on his personal phone and got a warrant.”

“Verbal. I’m going over to the courthouse now to get it on paper.”

“You mean you’re going over there hoping to convince him to give you a warrant after the fact?”

“Shut up and follow me. But we better go around the back way. That pesky bomb is blocking the front door.”

Five minutes later, we were escorted into Judge Rafferty’s chambers.

“Kylie,” he said, coming around his desk and giving her a hug. “I’ve got your warrant right here.”

“Ye of little faith,” she said to me, grabbing the document that would exonerate us from the wrath of O’Brien and prosecution by the Feds.

“And you, young man,” the judge said, shaking my hand. “I thought you were kind of a dolt at first, but I’ve come around.”

“Zach Jordan,” I said, hoping he’d eventually remember my name. “Thank you, sir.”

“By the way, Your Honor,” Kylie said, “we’ve just arrested the two scoundrels who were blackmailing you.”

“That calls for a drink,” he said, opening his desk drawer.

“We’re still on duty, sir,” Kylie said. “But we’ll take a rain check.”

“I’ll hold you to it,” he said. “But we’ll have to have two drinks. One for the blackmailers, and one for Zach’s masterful performance. I watched it on TV. It was textbook police work, son. I wouldn’t change a thing.”

“Oh, I’d definitely change one thing, sir.”

“And what’s that?”

“I’d have Wynton Marsalis on trumpet instead of that damn saxophone player.”





CHAPTER 54



We were on our way back to the precinct when Cates called. I put her on speaker. “I just got off the phone with Barbara O’Brien,” she said.

“What does she want?” I said. “My badge or my balls?”

“She told me she tore into you, but she’s changed her tune now that the bomb is disabled and you somehow magically came up with a warrant. Now she wants me to put you both up for a commendation.”

“We’ll settle for a day off,” Kylie said.

“It’s not in the cards. I need your asses back here. Your two drone bandits lawyered up. ADA Kaplan is trying to cut a deal with them now.”

“A deal?” I said. “Those smug bastards blackmailed a judge.”

“Kaplan doesn’t care. They’ve got something she wants, and she’s willing to give away the store to get it.”

“Tell her to hold off. We’ll be there in fifteen minutes,” I said. Kylie hit the accelerator, and the car lurched forward. “Or less.”

Seven minutes later, we walked into an interrogation room where ADA Selma Kaplan was sitting with the two blackmailers and a woman in her late thirties with curly red hair and a pleasant smile.

“This is Grace Marschand,” Kaplan said, introducing us.

“I’m Troy’s big sister,” she said. “I’m a personal injury lawyer, but my brother can’t afford an expensive criminal attorney, and he doesn’t trust public defenders, so here I am. Good thing for him I watch a lot of Law & Order.”

It was an act, and I didn’t buy the fish-out-of-water routine for a second. If Grace Marschand were really out of her element, she’d be a wreck. This woman knew what she was doing, and I could see by the smirk on Dylan Freemont’s face that she was doing it well.

Selma Kaplan stood up. “I need a moment outside with my detectives.”

“Oh, take all the time you need,” Marschand said. “But I just want to tell you both that Troy and Dylan are really, really sorry about what they did, and they’re giving back all of the money.”

“Is there any left?” Kylie said. “Because they went on a really, really big spending spree last weekend.”

“I know. Shameful,” Marschand said, looking at her brother like he was a naughty puppy who’d soiled the carpet. “But they still have eighty-four thousand left, and I’m going to make up the difference.”

“I must have missed the episode of Law & Order where the penalty for committing a class D felony is giving back the money if you get caught,” Kylie said. “Your clients are looking at seven years, counselor.”

Marschand smiled sweetly. “And yet Ms. Kaplan has just offered to drop all charges.”

Before we could say a word, Kaplan herded us out of the room.

“Drop all charges?” Kylie said as soon as we closed the door. “Selma, what the hell have they got?”

“Thirty-two hidden-camera sex tapes, every one of them starring Aubrey Davenport.”

“And who are her costars?”

“According to Ms. I Don’t Know Anything About Criminal Law, they are the pillars of the community: the CEO of an international bank, a congressman, a newscaster, a university chancellor—a laundry list of New York City’s boldest boldface names.”