We started with the maintenance worker. Augie Hoffman was the witness every cop hopes for. Organized, clearheaded, and in complete command of the details. But he was dumbfounded.
“It doesn’t make any sense,” he said.
Then he told us what had gone down. Good Samaritan rescues kidnap victim. Victim zaps Samaritan with stun gun. He was right. It didn’t make any sense.
Augie turned down a free ride to the hospital in the EMS bus. “I’m fine, but my new girlfriend will kill me if I don’t pick her up at the airport on time. I have to check her flight, but the kid took my phone. You got one I can borrow?”
“If he has your cell, we can track him,” Kylie said. “What’s your number?”
He gave it to us along with his girlfriend’s number so we could reach him.
Lonnie Martinez was next. His account of the abduction matched Mrs. Gittleman’s. The only difference was that she referred to the man with the red beard as an undercover cop. Lonnie called him the kidnapper. After all the denial we’d heard from Alden, it was nice to finally hear one of the victims using the K-word.
“Did he say anything about ransom?” I asked.
“Like how much? No, but he said Tripp’s father wouldn’t pay unless Tripp made a call to prove he was alive.”
“Did he tell Tripp who to call?”
“No. Just who not to call. No family. He pulls out Tripp’s cell and says ‘Pick one of your contacts.’ Tripp says ‘Peter, my driver.’ The guy says no way.”
I looked at Kylie, then back at Lonnie. “Did he say why?”
“He said ‘Peter’s like family—he’s too close. Pick someone else.’ So Tripp called one of our teachers, Mr. Madison.”
I believed him. Partly because it synced up with what I already knew, but mostly because after listening to Augie, I knew this wasn’t the part that Lonnie Martinez was going to lie to us about.
“One last question,” I said. “When the police arrived, you and Mr. Hoffman were in the cage, and Tripp was gone. How’d that happen?”
“It was crazy,” Lonnie said. “Just when Hoffman was cutting us loose, the guy comes back. He sees us, and then bam, bam, he drops me and Hoffman, but Tripp runs for it.”
“Where do you think he ran to?” Kylie asked.
He gave us his best clueless look.
“I didn’t realize he shot you too,” I said. “You need to get to a hospital.”
“I’m fine. What I need is to get to a pizza joint. I’m starved.”
“We can’t let you go until we take a look at the wound,” I said. “Can you show me where it hit you?”
He pulled up his shirt and showed us a bruise on his shoulder.
“Nasty,” I said. “Let me see the wound from the day you were abducted.”
“Oh…that one healed,” he said. “I was wearing a coat so it wasn’t too bad. All I have is the one from today.”
“Sit tight for a few more minutes,” I said. “We’re going to call your grandmother, then one of the officers will drive you home.”
Kylie and I walked out into the hall.
“Nicely done, partner,” she said. “That mark on his shoulder was brown instead of bright red. And there was no swelling. It’s not a fresh wound.”
“So now we’ve got the rich guy and the poor kid lying to us,” I said.
“Forget all the bullshit he was shoveling,” she said. “I’m still reeling from the truth. Did you catch what he said?”
“Did I catch it? I looked over at you to make sure you caught it. Tripp wanted to call Peter. All this time you and I are trying to question Tripp about the murder, and now we find out that the kid doesn’t even know Peter is dead.”
Chapter 44
Four hours and twenty minutes into Silas Blackstone’s stakeout at Barnaby Prep, Ryan Madison stepped out of the front door, unzipped his jacket pocket, and pulled out a set of keys. Car keys.
“Hallelujah,” Silas muttered. “The man’s got wheels.”
He had hated the thought of abandoning the Audi on the street and following his target into the subway, and now he didn’t have to. Madison walked a block, pulled his low-rent teacher car out of a postage stamp lot attached to the school, and headed north on Central Park West.
Silas kept five car lengths behind him. Fifteen minutes later they had driven across Manhattan and onto the RFK Bridge toward Queens.
We’re not in Kansas anymore, Silas thought. Where the hell are you going? Not home. Vivek had confirmed that Madison lived in lower Manhattan.
It was just after 5:00 p.m. when Madison got off the Grand Central Parkway at Hillside Avenue. A mile later he turned onto Musket Street and pulled into the parking lot of the Silver Moon Diner.
Silas was starting to wonder if he’d made a mistake. He had decided that Hunter was being a jerk, and that tailing Madison would be a waste of time, but nobody drives this far for diner food. Something was going on.
Madison parked the car and went into the Silver Moon. The building had wraparound windows, and Silas watched as Madison scanned the room, saw what he was looking for, and joined someone at a booth that looked out onto the parking lot.
Silas pulled a pair of binoculars from the glove compartment so he could get a better look at Madison’s mystery dinner date.
“Son of a bitch,” he said as soon as the image of the disheveled, sleep-deprived teenager filled the lens. Tripp.
Silas grabbed his cell phone. His finger was on Hunter’s speed dial when he stopped. Too soon. First find out what’s going on.
Sitting in the diner window munching on a burger, Tripp Alden sure as hell didn’t look kidnapped. But he had been—Silas was positive. Even if the old lady had lied to the cops. Even if Hunter had lied to Janelle about the hundred million. Peter’s head in a box with the burner phone—that was the clincher.
The only thing Silas could figure was that Tripp had gotten away. The kidnapper was a bumbling amateur. The back doors of his van were held together with a bungee cord. He let the Puerto Rican kid slash him with a—. The other kid. Where the hell was he?
Nothing made sense. Including the baby-faced teacher driving out to a diner in Queens. One thing Silas knew for sure. There was a million bucks in it for him if he killed Cain, but Alden wouldn’t pay him an extra dime if all he did was bring his son home.
There was only one way that Silas had a shot at a big payday. He had to talk to Tripp. Alone.
Almost on cue, Madison stood up. Tripp didn’t budge. He sat there, mopping up a puddle of ketchup with a handful of fries. Madison left the diner, walked five steps from the entrance, and lit up a cigarette.
He took three quick drags, put it out, pulled his collar up, and walked into the parking lot. Not toward his car, but straight for the Audi.
He made me, Silas thought. And now he’s going to hassle me.
Madison tapped on the driver’s side window, and Silas rolled it down. “Can I help you?” he asked.
In the last few seconds of his life, Silas Blackstone realized that he had completely misjudged Ryan Madison. The teacher was standing there, a nine-millimeter Glock in Silas’s face, a six-inch suppressor on the business end.
All of Blackstone’s instincts kicked in. Don’t do anything stupid. Try to calm him down. “Mr. Mad—” was all he managed to get out before the bullet drilled a tiny circle in his forehead and hurtled blood, brain, and the back of his skull all over the passenger seat of the Audi.
Madison tucked the gun back under his jacket, lowered himself to the ground, removed the GPS tracker from under Silas’s car, and put it in his pocket.
He looked around the parking lot. Twenty cars. No people. He took one final look at the bloody heap in the front seat of the Audi. “This was not part of my plan, Mr. Blackstone,” he said. “You have nobody to blame but yourself.”
He turned and headed back to the Silver Moon to get Tripp. It was time to get this kidnapping back on track.
Chapter 45
As soon a
s Madison stepped out of the diner for a smoke, Tripp dug into his pocket and pulled out Augie’s phone. After the calls to 911 and Barnaby, he’d kept it off. By now the cops would have the number, and they could ping him.
But he had to talk to someone. Madison was starting to scare him. As soon as Tripp told him what had happened, the teacher had leaned across the table, his eyes on fire. “What the hell were you thinking?” he growled.
Tripp tried to explain, but Madison could focus on only one thing. “So by some miracle you managed to lock them both up, you got away, and then you decided that the smartest thing you could do was to call the cops?”
“Mr. Madison, I couldn’t just leave them there. I knew you weren’t going to go back. They’d starve to death.”
“Very noble, Tripp. And unbelievably stupid. Now the cops will know you’re in on it.”
“No, they won’t. The guy was too out of it to know what happened, and Lonnie won’t rat me out. He’s going to say you stun-gunned them, and I got away.”
Madison exploded. “Me? You told him I was there?”
“Not you by name. Trust me: I just spent three days in a cage with him. Lonnie has no idea it’s you. We’re good.”
“No, Tripp, we’re not good, but I’ll just have to deal with it.” He looked out the window at the parking lot. “You stay here. I’m going out for a smoke.”
Tripp knew he didn’t have much time. He had to risk it. He turned on Augie’s phone and dialed the one number he had known by heart since he was a kid.
The voice on the other end said hello, and Tripp said, “Peter. It’s Tripp. I need you.”
“Tripp? This isn’t Peter. It’s Patrice.”
“Patrice, what are you doing in New York? And where’s Peter?”
“Oh, Lord,” Patrice said. “You don’t know.”
“What?”
A pause, then: “Tripp, there’s no easy way to tell you. Peter is dead.”
Tripp tried to speak, but he couldn’t. He choked back the tears.
“I’m so sorry,” Patrice said. “I know how much you loved him.”
“What did he die of?”
“He was murdered. Wednesday night when he drove to Riverside Park to pick you up, someone attacked him, and…” Patrice held back the details. “Someone attacked him and killed him.”
“Wednesday night?” Tripp said. “I wasn’t in the—” Even in his state of shock he could put the pieces together. Madison.
“Tripp, you and I should sit down and talk,” Patrice said. “Where are you?”
“It doesn’t matter. I’m getting out of here.”
“Stay where you are. I’ll come and get you. I’ll take you home.”
“No.”
“I understand if you don’t want to go home. At least let me take you to the police. They need your help finding Peter’s killer.”
“I can’t talk to the police. Not yet.”
“Okay. Maybe I can help you. Why are you calling Peter?”
“He was holding something for me. I need to get it back, but if he’s…if he’s dead, I don’t know what to do. He was the only one I could trust.”
“I’ve known you all of your life,” Patrice said. “If you can trust my brother, you can trust me. What was Peter holding for you?”
“A flash drive.”
“I’ve just gone over all his things. I have his computer. But there was no flash drive.”
“It doesn’t look like a regular flash. It’s shaped like a—”
Madison ripped the phone from Tripp’s hand. “Are you out of your fucking mind?” he said, disconnecting the call. “You’re supposed to be a kidnap victim. Who are you calling?”
“Lonnie. I called Lonnie. I wanted to make sure he’s okay. Don’t worry. He knows I’m not kidnapped.”
And I know you’re lying. I took Lonnie’s phone away from him three days ago. Madison didn’t know who Tripp had called, but he wasn’t going to stick around and find out. He dropped a twenty on the table. “Come on. We have to go.”
They left the diner and walked out into the cold night air. “Can I at least get the phone back?” Tripp said.
“Jesus, kid, use your head,” he said. “You carry this thing in your pocket, and it’s like calling the cops to come find you. And I think you’ve called the cops enough for one day.”
He flung Augie Hoffman’s phone into the weeds on the far side of the parking lot. He shoved Tripp toward the Subaru. “Now move it. Get in the car.”
“I’m going. What’s the big hurry?”
Madison stole a quick look at the Audi with the open window. “No hurry. It’s dinnertime. I just want to get out of here before it gets crowded.”
Chapter 46
The fact that Kylie was planning to talk with a divorce lawyer was none of my business. And yet it was all I could think about. I wanted to know more, but that wasn’t going to happen as long as we were sitting in the office.
I looked at my watch. “It’s twenty after five,” I said. “I’m starved. What do you say we walk over to Gerri’s Diner and see if she’s got our lunch order ready?”
“Good idea,” she said. “I haven’t eaten anything since those chicken wings last night.”
I got up from my desk, and my phone rang.
“This is Patrice Chevalier,” the caller said. “I just got a call from Tripp Alden.”
I sat down and grabbed a pen. “Where is he?”
“He didn’t say where he was, but from the background noise it sounded like some kind of bar or restaurant.”
“How did Tripp know you were in New York?”
“He didn’t. He was calling Peter. When I told him my brother had been murdered, he sounded genuinely shocked. It was all he could do not to cry.”
“Did you ask him why he was calling Peter?”
It was a simple question. Patrice took too long to answer. “I…I was going to ask, but while we were talking someone snatched the phone away from him.”
“Someone?”
“All I heard was a man’s voice, and he was angry. Then we got cut off. I’m very concerned, Detective Jordan. I think Tripp is in over his head. I offered to help, but—”
“Can you check the caller ID on your cell? We can track the number.”
“Yes, I’ve done that. It’s a nine one seven number.” He gave it to me.
“Thank you, Dr. Chevalier. This is a big help.”
“Big enough for me to be kept in the loop from now on?”
“Yes, sir,” I said. “As much as possible.”
I hung up and handed the phone number to Kylie. “Tripp just used this phone to call Peter.”
“Peter?” Kylie repeated.
“According to Patrice, Tripp had no idea Peter was dead. Patrice had to break the news to him. Have Matt Smith run this number.”
“I don’t need Matt,” she said. “I recognize it. It’s the phone Tripp took from Augie Hoffman. He used it to call 911. I have Matt pinging it, but so far nothing. The kid is smart enough to keep it off.”
Her phone rang. “Speak of the devil,” she said. She took the call. “Hey, Matt, Zach and I were just talking about you.”
She turned to me. “He’s got a location on Augie’s cell. Yeah, Matt, give me the address.”
“Drop everything.” I looked up. It was Cates.
“Give us a minute, Captain,” I said. “It looks like we’ve got a trace on Tripp Alden.”
“And I’ve got a body with a bullet in it. He’s in the parking lot of the Silver Moon Diner, 235-20 Hillside in Queens.”
Kylie had been listening to Matt with the phone pressed to one ear while trying to focus on Cates with the other. “Oh shit,” she said. “Matt, thanks. I’ve got to go.” She hung up.
“What’s your problem, MacDonald?” Cates said.
“Matt just tracked the cell phone Tripp Alden has been carrying. It’s in Queens. Hillside Avenue and Musket Street.”
“That’s where your body is,” Cates sai
d.
“Then Tripp is dead,” I said.
“I don’t think so,” Cates said. “Dispatch said the victim is a white male, about forty-five years old, sitting behind the wheel of a late model Audi, license plate SDB. Looks like your old PI buddy Silas Blackstone was getting close to whoever killed Peter Chevalier.”
“Sounds like Silas got a little too close,” Kylie said, putting on her coat and heading toward the stairs.
I was right behind her. My lunch plans would have to wait.
Chapter 47
As it turned out, Kylie and I wound up at a diner after all. But instead of sitting in a cozy booth at Gerri’s, we were standing in a freezing parking lot at the Silver Moon. And instead of listening to Kylie bare her soul about her dying marriage, I got to listen to Chuck Dryden doing a postmortem on the late Silas Blackstone.
“Single nine-millimeter shot to the head,” he said, stating the obvious.
One shot was all it took. Going in, it made a relatively neat hole in the center of Blackstone’s forehead. But there’s nothing neat about exit wounds, and after working its way through bone, brain, and tissue, the bullet blew out the back of his skull, and left the inside of the Audi looking like a Crock-Pot had exploded.
“Blackstone knew the person who killed him,” Kylie said.
“And how did you determine that, Detective?” Dryden asked.
“If a stranger knocks on your car window, you only crack it open a few inches. This one is rolled all the way down. Plus Blackstone’s gun is still holstered, so he not only knew the killer, he probably trusted him.”
Chuck looked bemused. “Interesting theory, but I prefer more empirical evidence.”
“Then by all means get me some empirical evidence on the shooter,” she said. “Until then, I’ll just have to rely on unsubstantiated wild guesses.”
“Are you also guessing that Tripp did this?” I asked.
“A few hours ago I wouldn’t have thought Tripp would pull a stun gun on Augie Hoffman. Now I don’t know what he’s capable of. Somehow Blackstone figured out where he was, and he was staking him out. There’s a pair of binoculars on the seat. Let’s see if we can find out what he was looking at.”
NYPD Red 3 Page 13
