NYPD Red 4 Read Free Page B

eighties, the law changed, and the smart money gobbled up the cold, bleak, rat-infested buildings for next to nothing.
    The Bassetts got in early and transformed a six-story warehouse on West 21st Street into two spectacular triplex apartments. Leo occupied the lower half of the building, and Kylie and I took the elevator to the third floor.
    The door opened into a vast room with vaulted ceilings, massive windows, and museum-quality furniture. The two men who were waiting for us looked nothing like brothers.
    One was big and burly, with a smoky-gray beard and icy blue eyes. He was wearing faded jeans and a nondescript T-shirt. “Max Bassett,” he said.
    The other was short, with soft, doughy features and inkblack hair that could only have come from a bottle. His outfit, a red smoking jacket over deep-purple silk pajamas, looked like it was right out of Hugh Hefner’s closet.
    “I’m Leo,” he said. “Thank you for coming. We are devastated, and there’s no real information on television. Please tell us what happened.”
    We sat down, and I gave them the highlights.
    “I don’t understand,” Leo said. “We’ve been robbed before. Jewel thieves almost never get violent. Why did they have to shoot her?”
    “You’re not listening,” Max said. “They shot her because her idiot boyfriend grabbed for the gun.”
    Leo lashed out. “So you’re saying it’s all my fault?”
    Max came right back at him. “Jesus, Leo, how the hell did you manage to make this about you?”
    “Because
I
was the one who was supposed to go with her. If someone stuck a gun in my face, I’d have said, ‘Take the necklace, take my wallet, take what you want—just don’t hurt us.’ But I didn’t go, and now she’s dead.”
    “Why
didn’t
you go?” I asked.
    “It was a stupid accident,” Leo said. “I was—”
    “More like a stupid decision,” Max said. “He didn’t go because he got
cocktail sauce
on his jacket. Elena didn’t care. She asked him to go anyway. But he said no.”
    Leo stood up. “Thank you, Max. Because I didn’t feel bad enough as it is.” He turned to me. “I’m not feeling well. If you have any more questions for me, I’ll be happy to talk to you in the morning. Alone.”
    He didn’t wait for an answer. He just turned and walked out of the room.
    “There you have it, Detectives,” Max said. “My brother’s MO. Grand entrances and even grander exits. He’s a total drama queen even when the drama isn’t about him. This is a terrible tragedy. How can I help you find the people who killed Elena?”
    “Can you describe the necklace?” I said.
    “Seeing as I designed it, yes. There are twenty emeralds—absolutely superbly matched stones, four carats apiece. Each one is surrounded by a cluster of round and pear-shaped diamonds. They’re tiny, five points each, but the effect was dazzling. She looked gorgeous.”
    “Who knew she’d be wearing the necklace?” I asked.
    Max shook his head. “Everybody. It was one of Leo’s misguided publicity initiatives.”
    “It sounds like you don’t see eye to eye with your brother,” Kylie said.
    “Not remotely. Maybe once upon a time you could trot Marilyn Monroe or Elizabeth Taylor down the red carpet wearing an eight-million-dollar necklace and hope that the stunt would cast some kind of magic halo effect over the brand. But not anymore. I told Leo he was still living in the second half of the twentieth century. The hype would be all about Elena, and no one would even remember she was wearing an original Max Bassett. Well, I was wrong. Now everyone will remember me as the man who designed the necklace Elena Travers died for.”
    “Mr. Bassett, whoever took the necklace is going to try to sell it,” Kylie said. “We need to get pictures and laser inscriptions to the JSA and the FBI as soon as possible.”
    “Our publicist, Sonia Chen, will have it for you within the hour,” he said. “I’m impressed. Most cops aren’t familiar with the