NYPD Red

Chapter 52



I DECIDED I’D show up ten minutes late. I figured it would give Cheryl and Kylie a chance to get to know each other. I also thought that if I got there last, it might be less awkward—even though I was the only one who saw this little threesome as awkward.

I was wrong. As soon as I walked in the door, Gerri Gomperts came out from behind the counter and cornered me.

“What’s going on?” she said, wiping her hands on an apron that already showed the signs of a hectic morning behind the grill. “The lady shrink was waiting for you, and that other one plops down right next to her.”

“That’s Detective Other One to you,” I said. “She’s my new partner.”

“I don’t care who she is,” Gerri said. “Pick one.”

“Tough call,” I said. “They’re both smart, beautiful, and fun to be with.”

“Trust me, kid,” Gerri said. “Go for the one without the wedding ring.”

I ordered coffee and a bagel and sat down at the booth. Kylie and Cheryl were in the middle of an animated conversation. I don’t know what it is about women. They barely knew each other, and they were already bonding.

“I just let Cheryl in on Captain Cates’s theory,” Kylie said.

“And it’s frighteningly plausible,” Cheryl said.

“Did you get a chance to look at the backgrounder on Benoit?” I said.

“I went through it twice. The army officer father is always a red flag. I hate to stereotype, but that’s what profilers do. Military fathers can be hard on their sons. Gabriel probably had very little control over the events in his life, especially if Dad was abusive or controlled him to the extreme. He would develop significant rage, which he had to suppress in order to survive. So he created a world he could control—a world of fantasy.”

“I thought all kids had fantasies,” I said.

“We all had imaginary friends, but in Benoit’s case the movies he played out in his head became more reality than fantasy. He was the writer and the director. He controlled everything. The problem probably began when he started working in the real-world movie business.”

“Where he controlled nothing,” Kylie said.

“Exactly. He’s an extra, practically superfluous. It’s not his fault that he’s not a star. He blames those Hollywood people—especially the ones at the top. They’re the oppressive force preventing him from succeeding.”

“Let’s face it,” Kylie said. “In real life, those goons prevent a lot of people from succeeding.”

“And in real life they get away with it, but in Benoit’s script, he gets to kill them off.”

“Do you have any guess where he’ll hit next?” I said.

“Cates’s theory makes a lot of sense, and if she’s right, his next scenario will be huge. He started with a quiet little poisoning, escalated to a shooting, then ratcheted up to a firebomb with color commentary by Ryan Seacrest. Our boy is not going to go back to spiking someone’s tomato juice. He’s playing this out for his audience, and the murders will get more dramatic, more cinematic, and probably have a higher body count as he moves along. If I were talking to my fellow psychologists, I’d probably say he’s suffering from psychogenic paranoid psychosis. But cop to cop, he’s a sicko killer with a vendetta. And he’s about to do something really nasty, so get him off the streets fast.”

“Get him fast,” I repeated. “You’re starting to sound like our boss.”

Kylie’s cell rang.

“It’s Karen Porcelli from Central Records,” she said.

“At this hour?” I said.

“Right after you and I spoke, I left a message for Sergeant Porcelli to call me as soon as she got in. I want her to do background checks on the special effects guys Spence gave us. I’ll be right back.”

She stepped outside to take the call.

“She’s one dedicated cop,” Cheryl said. “And a terrific person to boot.”

“You’re not so bad yourself, Doc. Thanks for the insight. Sorry to sandbag you with all this crap so late last night.”

“Don’t apologize. In my job, I live for sociopaths. Of course lovesick cops are my bread and butter,” she said playfully. “You and MacDonald will make a great team. If there’s anything I can do to help you get rid of that old baggage you’re hanging on to, just give me a buzz.”

“I’ll do that,” I said. “Maybe we can start with a little opera therapy.”