Free NYPD Red 4 by James Patterson Page A

went through the motions anyway and knocked on every door in the building. As expected, nobody heard a thing.
    We went back to the apartment, where Chuck was waiting to give us his top line impressions.
    “Be careful where you sit,” he said as soon as we got through the door.
    “Gosh, thanks, Dr. Dryden,” Kylie said, “but they taught us crime scene etiquette back at the academy.”
    “I’m sorry, Detective MacDonald,” Dryden said. “Let me rephrase that. This place is riddled with bedbugs. Be careful where you sit.”
    We stood.
    Dryden went through his usual series of disclaimers reminding us that some of his conclusions were not yet scientifically chiseled in stone. Then he launched into the scenario the way he saw it.
    “If you two are correct, and Davis and his partner killed Elena Travers and stole an eight-million-dollar necklace, then this is where they tried to unload it. But, as you well know, there is no honor among thieves. Davis was dropped where he stood, but his partner managed to get out with what is most likely a flesh wound. The slug that caught him was in the wall. It’s a .38.”
    “And where’s the necklace?” Kylie asked.
    Dryden smiled. “Where indeed?”
    “But you searched the place.”
    “Top to bottom.”
    “Did you find anything?”
    “Yes, I did,” he said, his expression totally deadpan. “Bedbugs.”
    Kylie rewarded him with a smile. “Let me rephrase that,” she said. “Did you find anything that might help us in our investigation?”
    “Possibly,” he said. “Mr. Davis had a gun. He didn’t get to use it tonight, but it’s a 9mm—the same caliber as the murder weapon that killed Elena Travers. I’ll run it through ballistics and get back to you tomorrow.”
    I looked at my watch. “It’s already tomorrow,” I said.
    “Oh, good. In that case, I’ll have it for you today.”
    “Last question,” Kylie said. “Do you have anything on the shooter? A partial print? Hairs? Fibers? Anything?”
    “Sorry. He was either very good or very lucky, but I’ve got nothing except for the two .38 slugs he left behind.”
    “Then there’s only one way we’re going to catch him,” Kylie said, looking at me.
    “What’s that?” I said.
    “Find Teddy Ryder.”

CHAPTER 22
    I called the office and asked the desk sergeant to get out a BOLO on Teddy Ryder. “And I need a hospital check,” I said. “He took a bullet.”
    Within minutes, Ryder’s picture would be distributed citywide, and every precinct would send out a team to check the local hospitals for a gunshot victim.
    Then I called Q. I thanked him for leading us to Davis and asked if he knew where we could find Ryder’s mother.
    “Sorry, Zach,” he said. “You know how grifters are. Annie Ryder is like a gypsy. She could be in any one of fifty states, although I’d probably eliminate Alaska and Hawaii.”
    It wasn’t what I was hoping to hear, but at the same time, I was relieved. If Q had an address, Kylie and I would have had to follow up on it immediately. When the case is this hot, sleep is not an option.
    “Here’s a thought for you, Zach,” Q said. “Try running her name through NCIC.”
    The National Crime Information Center is an electronic clearinghouse of crime data that can be tapped into by any criminal justice agency in the U.S. Q’s advice was the cop equivalent of telling a civilian to Google it.
    “Thanks a heap,” I said. “I just thought I’d try you first. I figured you had a better database.”
    I hung up and walked over to Kylie, who was still talking to Dryden.
    “Good news,” I said. “Q has no idea where to find the mom. We can punch out now.”
    I didn’t have to tell her twice. We said good night to Dryden and left the apartment.
    We were halfway down the stairs when Kylie stopped and tapped her forehead.
    “Son of a bitch,” she said.
    “What’s going on?” I said.
    “Remember what Gregg Hutchings told us about those hidden security cameras at the hospital?