Page 99 of NYPD Red 7: The Murder Sorority

average-workplace language.

I could see the hint of a smile on Kylie’s face.

But, of course, there’s always someone at the table who can’t wait to build themselves up by knocking us down. Today, Detective Rudy Jenson, a lifelong house mouse who never walked a dark street in his entire career, stepped up to the plate.

He was standing in the back of the room—more of a party crasher than an invited guest. “So you’re saying,” he sneered, looking around the table to make sure all eyes were on him, “that Rollins was able to sneak up to the rooftop,finger-fuckthe gunshot residue, and completely contaminate your evidence.”

Eyes rolled.

“No, Detective,” Kylie said. “We wouldn’t be wasting everyone’s time with a tampering charge. The two shootings were sixty hours apart, and the GSR on that business card was too fresh to be residue from the first shooting. In fact, the criminalist said it was exactly what she’d expect to find from someone who had handled the firearm used in the Winstanley shooting that afternoon.”

Silence.

“Rudy,” the chief of Ds said.

“Yes, sir.”

A single flick of the thumb, and Jenson left the room.

The chief of Ds turned back to Kylie. “It’s no secret that Rollins has a gianthard-onfor this department, especially for Red. Are youabsolutely surethose are her prints in that GSR? Also, she’s a reporter. How do we even have her prints on file?”

“Sir, Rollins has a habit of crossing press lines at crime scenes. She’d been given countless warnings and ignored them all. Two years ago, she crossed the line at the Giambalvo mob hit. Some chief was finally fed up with her entitlement bullshit, and she was arrested for obstructing. She was brought in and fingerprinted. That’s definitely her thumbprint on the card.”

“So the two shootings are linked,” Doyle said. “Identical signature cartridges.”

“Yes sir,” I said. “We’re still analyzing bullet fragments, and we suspect the findings will prove that the same gun was used in both homicides.”

The chief of Ds turned to his deputy commissioner for legal matters. “Theresa, do we have enough to charge Rollins?”

The answer was immediate and unequivocal. “No, sir.”

Doyle folded his arms across his chest and settled back. “The floor is yours, MacDonald,” he said, hoping for more.

There was. It had been Kylie’s idea, but she wouldn’t take credit for it. At least, not in this room. She wouldn’t taunt me with her investigative prowess until we were alone.

“Thank you, sir,” Kylie said. “About thirty minutes before the Winstanley shooting, Rollins gave an identical business card to a uniformed officer. He, in turn, handed it to Detective Jordan. We submitted that for examination as well. The lab determined that Rollins’s thumbprint was on it, along with those of the two cops who handled it, but there was no gunshot residue present.”

The chief unfolded his arms and leaned forward. “You haveclear-cutproof that she handed you one business card before the shooting, and there was no trace of gunpowder. But the card she gave to your witness two hoursafterthe shooting had her print in GSR?”

“Yes, sir!”

Several audible wows. Zero stupid questions.

Doyle looked back at his legal counsel. “Theresa?”

“Chief, I’m trying to come to grips with the concept that the cheery reporter on the six o’clock news could be a killer, but the evidence is damning. However, we don’t have her with the gun in her hand. She could still lawyer her way out of a charge. This is stellar police work, but we need more.”

“Jordan? MacDonald?” Doyle said. “Can you get us what we need?”

“Yes sir,” Kylie said with 100 percent certainty.

I wasn’t nearly as positive, but in for a penny... “Absolutely, sir,” I said. “And we won’t let up till we do.”

CHAPTER 66

Captain Cates askedif she could ride back to the precinct with us, and since rank has its privileges, she sat in front and I crammed my body into the back seat.

“Explain something to me, Cap,” Kylie said as we headed uptown. “How did an idiot like Rudy Jenson wind up in that room, but not Rich Koprowski?”