NYPD Red

Chapter 54



KYLIE AND I went to the office and tried to figure out where Benoit might strike next.

It was only Day Three of Hollywood on the Hudson week, which meant the city would be chock-full of potential victims between now and the time they all headed west on Friday.

We called Mandy Sowter, the public information officer, at home and told her to fax us a list of everyone who was invited, and to flag the targets with the highest profiles. We also asked for the schedule of events.

“You realize that the PI office will only have access to the official schedule they get from the film commission,” I said. “There’s probably going to be fifty more private meetings, lunches, and cocktail parties that aren’t on her list.”

“And Shelley Trager will know about every one of them,” Kylie said. Without missing a beat, she speed-dialed Spence and asked him to get us the names, times, and venues of every event, big or small, that Trager was aware of.

Ten minutes later, Spence phoned back. I could hear only Kylie’s end of the conversation. “Okay, okay, tell him we’ll be there.”

“What was that all about?” I asked.

“Spence called Shelley. He’s happy to help, but he also told Spence to remind us that the memorial service for Ian Stewart is this morning, and he expects to have police presence there.”

“That actually sounds like a good idea,” I said.

“Glad you agree, because even if you didn’t, I’d have to go as Mrs. Spence Harrington,” Kylie said.

Ten minutes later, Karen Porcelli called from Records. Kylie put her on speaker.

Anybody who handles explosives has to register with NYPD, so Porcelli had no trouble tracking down all six men on the list.

“You’re going to love this,” Porcelli said. “One of them was just released from the Adirondack Correctional Facility in Ray Brook. His name is Mickey Peltz.”

“What was he in for?” Kylie asked.

“He siphoned off some of the studio’s money earmarked for explosives, bought cheap crap, and blew off somebody’s arm. They had him on grand larceny and assault one, but he pled it down to assault two and took four years.”

“Any connection to Benoit?” Kylie asked.

“They’ve worked on at least half a dozen different productions together. No record of Benoit visiting him in prison.”

“Where do we find Mr. Peltz?”

“I checked with Corrections. They have him at 33-87 Skillman Avenue in Long Island City. Fifth floor. I’ll email you his PO’s contact info along with last known addresses on the other five special effects guys, but based on Peltz’s prior, I’d put him at the top of your list.”

“Thanks, Karen. I owe you one,” Kylie said and hung up.

“And I guess I owe Spence one,” I said. “We’ll pick up Peltz on our way back from the memorial service.”

Cates didn’t arrive till after eight. Even on an easy day, she’s there by six.

“Sorry I’m late,” she said, “but I really needed to treat myself to a mani-pedi this morning.”

Bullshit. She must have spent the morning being chewed out by the mayor, the commissioner, or both.

“What did Cheryl Robinson think?” Cates said.

“She thinks Benoit is crazy and you’re smart,” I said.

“It’s nice to know somebody thinks I’m smart. Did she happen to mention why?”

“She likes your he’s-writing-a-script theory, and she agrees that he’s probably planning something bigger than anything we’ve seen,” I said. “We have a list of possible targets and venues.”

“We also have a lead on someone who might have helped Benoit build that Molotov cocktail,” Kylie said.

We told her about Mickey Peltz.

“Zach and I are just leaving for the memorial service for Ian Stewart,” Kylie said. “Once it’s over we’ll swing around to Long Island City and bring Peltz in for questioning.”

“I’d rather telescope the time,” Cates said. “I’ll send some uniforms to pick up Mr. Peltz.”

“That’s okay,” Kylie said. “We can get him. It won’t take that long.”

“Relax, Detective MacDonald,” Cates said. “I’ll just have the uniforms bring him in and put him in an interrogation room. I’m not going to ask another team to question him. I’ll keep him on ice until you two get back.”

Kylie gave the boss a half smile. “Sorry,” she said. “Was it that obvious that I’m obsessed with this case and hate to let go of anything connected to it?”

“Yes, but given a choice between having a cop who is crazy possessive and one who doesn’t give a shit,” Cates said, “I’ll take the crazy one every time.”

“In that case, Captain, I have good news,” I said. “Detective MacDonald is as crazy as they come.”