Page 85 of NYPD Red 7: The Murder Sorority

“Martin Sheffield had Alzheimer’s,” Cates said. “He’s a totally unreliable witness. I can’t go to the DA with anything that includes the phrase ‘according to Sheffield.’”

“Why not?”

“Why not? Kylie, didn’t you just watch a video of the man totally losing his shit when his mind failed him?”

“No. I watched a video of a man who had a lifetime full of secrets in his head. He was desperately trying to get them out, and granted, some of them came out wrong. By the same token, he led us to Drucker and Winstanley, and that’s not exactlyunreliable. It’s almost like Martin Sheffield was ladling soup from a tureen and poured some of it onto a flat dinner plate instead of into a bowl.”

Cates responded with a puzzled look. “Your point?”

“Even though his brain was misfiring, the stuff he spilled was still soup.”

Cates nodded almost imperceptibly, letting the words resonate.

“Look, boss,” Kylie said, “I know our top priority is to find the man who shot Warren Hellman. And I agree it’s not Wayman Tate. But everything else about him jives with Sheffield’s description of the man we know as Carol, and I’m convinced he’s part of the Sorority. I’d like your permission to put him under surveillance and see where he leads us.”

“No,” Cates said. “You’re right that Tate is a person of interest. But if he’s the professional hit man you say he is and we put a tail on him, he’ll make us in two minutes, and we’ll never get a second chance. At this stage, I think our best bet is to go up on his phone.”

“You think a judge will sign a warrant for a tap?” Kylie said.

“Tate is a viable suspect in an international terror attack in which two police officers and a state’s witness were killed. Add to that the fact that he’s been linked to the incident at LaGuardia. I’ll call Selma Kaplan at the DA’s office. I think between the two of us we can convince a judge that phone surveillance is in order.”

Kylie shot her thumb up. “Thanks, Cap.”

“I’d just like one thing from you in return,” Cates said.

“Name it.”

“Don’t ever use that dumbass soup metaphor on me again.”

CHAPTER 57

“Dinner was awesome,”Theo said.

“Five stars,” Cheryl chimed in.

“You’re even better now than before you were shot,” I said.

We were in Shane’s apartment, and we all turned to Kylie to get her take on thetwelve-coursemeal he had laid out for us to feast on.

“Hell hath no fury,” she said.

“I’ve had better reviews,” Shane said. “But if that’s what you think.”

“Oh, come on,” Kylie said. “You know I love your cooking. I was thinking about what the gunman said to you just before he pulled the trigger.”

“I thought you were orderednotto think about my case,” Shane said.

“Didn’t I tell you?” Kylie said, the picture of innocence. “Those orders were rescinded. It turns out Zach and I were already looking for the perp. He shot two other guys before he shot you.”

“Insanity,” Shane said. “Maybe the three of us should start a club.”

Kylie slowly shook her head. “You can’t.”

“Good God,” Shane said, and poured himself some more wine. “We’ve got to stop this guy. I’m meeting with a police sketch artist in the morning.”

“And I’m going with you. But right now I keep thinking about those four words and wondering if the shooter said the same thing to his other victims. So I Googled it. I thought it was Shakespeare, but it’s from aseventeenth-centurytragedy calledThe Mourning Bride, written by William Congreve. The exact quote is, ‘Heav’n has no rage, like love to hatred turn’d, Nor hell a fury, like a woman scorn’d.’”

“Thanks,” Shane said. “You just helped it make even less sense.”

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