NYPD Red 4 Read Free Page A

strained against his bloody shirt.
    It’s possible that he’d hit the genetic jackpot, but I’m enough of a gym rat to know a steroid user when I see one. The disproportionately developed upper body, the bulging veins on his hands, and the prominent acne told the story. Craig Jeffers was a juicer.
    “We were at a red light,” he said. “Two guys with guns came out of nowhere. They forced the driver to roll down the windows, and one of them pointed his gun at Elena. I’m sure she would have given him the necklace if he asked, but no—he had to dig his fingers into her chest and yank it off. The bastard drew blood. He hurt her, and she screamed. That’s what set me off—the scream.”
    “What do you mean, set you off?” Kylie asked.
    “I snapped. I went for his gun. I know they tell you not to, but you don’t think when the adrenaline kicks in like that. I had one hand on his wrist, and I was about to punch him with the other when the gun went off.”
    I’d heard it before. A man, armed with nothing more than an overabundance of testosterone, decides to try his luck at hand-to-gun combat. It might work for Jackie Chan in the movies, but it failed for Craig Jeffers in real life.
    “And then what?” Kylie asked.
    “He fired another shot. I found out later that it hit the driver. But everything else is a blur. All I could focus on was Elena.”
    “Can you describe the two men?” Kylie asked.
    “They had their faces covered with green surgical masks, and they were wearing black knit caps. The one who reached in the back wasn’t wearing gloves, so I could see his hands. He was white.”
    “What was your relationship with Elena Travers?” I asked.
    “I loved her.”
    “You were also her personal trainer?”
    “That’s how it started, but six months ago I asked her out on a date. I never thought it would go anywhere, but it did. I couldn’t believe it. Elena could have had any guy in Hollywood, but she only wanted to be with me. I was ready to spend the rest of my life with her. And now …”
    He shook his head. The interview was over, but Kylie and I gave the man a few moments to reflect on his loss.
    The three of us stood there in the vast open space of the Ziegfeld lobby, red carpet beneath us, crystal chandeliers glittering above, half a dozen larger-than-life-size pictures of Elena Travers assaulting our senses from every angle. Finally, Jeffers broke the silence.
    “It’s all my fault,” he said. “If Elena had gone with Leo like she was supposed to, she would still be alive.”
    And just like that, the interview was no longer over.
    “Who is Leo?” I asked.

CHAPTER 3
     
    LEO, IT TURNED out, was someone Kylie had met.
    “I doubt if he’d remember me,” she said when we were back in the car.
    “How is that possible? You’re the most unforgettable cop on the force.”
    “I wasn’t a cop that night. It was an industry party, and I was there as Mrs. Spence Harrington. Leo was so starstruck he barely said hello to me. People like him don’t waste their time talking to the
wives
of people who make movies.”
    We found Bassett’s number in Elena Travers’s cell phone. I called him and told him we had a few questions.
    “My brother and I have some questions of our own,” he said. “Can you meet us at our place?”
    By the time we got there, the street was clogged with news trucks, paparazzi, and the usual assortment of homicide junkies. Two squad cars and a pair of traffic agents wearing Day-Glo yellow vests had been dispatched to the scene to help maintain sanity.
    Working for Red, I get a firsthand look at how the other half lives. Of course, the Bassett brothers weren’t exactly the other half. They were more like the 1 percent of the 1 percent, and their “place” was more like a palace.
    Back when New York was in its industrial heyday, lower Manhattan was peppered with loft buildings intended for commercial or manufacturing use but off-limits for residential. In the early