NYPD Red

Chapter 17



KYLIE AND I stood there and let Trager’s words sink in. A major producer is found dead in the morning—probable homicide. An above-the-title actor is shot a few hours later—probable homicide. It’s a pretty big coincidence, and homicide detectives don’t believe in coincidences.

“I hit a hot button, didn’t I?” Trager said.

Kylie stared at him. “What do you mean?”

“You’re both lousy poker players. I can tell by looking at the two of you that Sid Roth, who was ten years younger and in ten times better shape than I am, did not suddenly keel over and die of a heart attack on the first day of Hollywood on the Hudson. The rumors are true. He was poisoned, wasn’t he?”

“Shelley, you know we can’t answer that,” Kylie said.

“Fine. The mayor can. I’m the guy who helped him deliver a thousand Hollywood big hitters to New York. I’m the first guy he’ll call if he thinks the other nine hundred and ninety-eight are at risk.” He took out his cell phone.

“Put it away,” Kylie said. “We’re waiting for the lab results, but it looks like Sid Roth was poisoned.”

“Son of a bitch,” Trager said. “Are we talking about a serial killer?”

“Not yet,” I said. “There’s no pattern. Except for the fact that both men were in show business, there’s no link between the two of them. We have to investigate each case separately.”

“Which means we have to talk to Edie Coburn,” Kylie said.

“Give her a break,” Shelley said. “She’s in shock.”

“That’s what happens to people who witness a murder,” Kylie said. “We know how to talk to her.”

“She’s in her trailer,” Trager said. “I’ll take you there.”

Edie Coburn was in a lot less shock than advertised. She was smoking a cigarette and sipping clear liquid out of a tall water tumbler. I doubted it was Evian. Shelley introduced us as Detectives Jordan and MacDonald from NYPD, but he left out the part about his connection to Kylie through Spence Harrington. He told her we had a few questions about the “unfortunate accident.”

“I didn’t know the gun was loaded,” she said. Actually, she didn’t just say it. She delivered it. It was like she’d rehearsed the line all afternoon, and the camera started rolling as soon as the cops walked in.

“You know that’s a line from a song,” Trager said.

She smiled. Of course she knew.

“We’re sorry for your loss, Ms. Coburn,” I said. “Can you talk about what happened on the set?”

“Let’s not pretend,” she said. “I was a naughty girl. I held up production all morning because I was furious at Ian. He’s a serial adulterer. I ought to know—the first time I slept with him he was married to someone else. So I married him with my eyes wide open. He cheats; I look the other way. But this one was too much. Did he really have to f*ck the girl the two of us would be doing a scene with? And worse than that, the bitch told everybody. All proud of herself, like it was some sort of big conquest, like Ian was the Holy Grail.”

She took a swig from the tumbler. “I knew how important this scene was to Ian, so I went into my diva act and refused to come out. I decided to let him sweat for a while.”

“What motivated you to finally do the scene?” Kylie said.

“Oh, you’re cute,” Edie said. “You wouldn’t ask that question if you didn’t already know the answer. The director came to my trailer. Let’s just say he’s very persuasive. He convinced me.” Another gulp from the glass. “Convinced the hell out of me.”

“And when you got to the stage, were you still angry at your husband?” Kylie said.

“What do you think?”

“And were you uncomfortable with the fact that a lot of people on the set knew he was having an affair with Devon Whitaker?”

“No, sweetie. I’m uncomfortable when my panty hose ride up. When I walked out on that stage in front of all those gossiping extras, I was mortified. But how I felt and what I did are two different things. The prop guy gave me the gun. I didn’t know there were any real bullets in it. If I did, I would have fired the two blanks at Ian and put the entire clip into Devon Whitaker. She’s the one who told the cast and crew that she was screwing my husband.”

“Thank you for talking with us,” I said. “Again, we’re sorry for your loss.”

“I called Ian’s brother Sebastian in London,” she said. “They agreed to let us have a memorial service in New York for his fans. Then they want his body sent back home as soon as possible.”

“The medical examiner should be finished with the autopsy by tomorrow or Wednesday,” I said. “The family can claim his remains after that.”

“Thank you,” she said, draining what was left in her glass. “Shelley, would you mind staying after the detectives leave.”

Kylie and I took our cue and exited the trailer.

“If we’re looking for someone with a motive,” I said, “she’s got one with a capital M.”

“She’s a bitch,” Kylie said, “but she’s innocent. Ian Stewart was a world-class skirt chaser, and Edie knew it. He’d cheated on her before, and she figured he’d cheat on her again. I’m sure she wanted payback, but more on the order of a nice little bauble in a robin’s-egg blue Tiffany box, not a dead husband. She didn’t do it. She didn’t set it up.”

“You sure?” I said. “Whatever happened to ‘hell hath no fury like a woman scorned’?”

“It doesn’t apply here,” Kylie said. “A lot of these people sleep around, but in show business, adultery isn’t a motive for murder; it’s a lifestyle.”