Deadly Heat (25 page)

“Hallo, this is Vaja,” said the man on the other end, whose soft voice and Eurasian inflections made her picture him in a Tbilisi coffee house reciting poetry.

“Dr. Nikoladze,” said Heat in a cheery tone, keeping it casual, “Nikki Heat. How’s dog business?” She could hear the breeze off the
Hudson against his mouthpiece and the distant kennel sounds of his Georgian shepherds. “Am I going to be seeing you this winter at Westminster?”

“We had this conversation already, Detective. Good evening.” The phone rustled, a dog barked, and the line went dead. “Call Ended.”

She looked up from the blank glass of her iPhone screen, shaken out of her preoccupation by Rook, who had pulled on his sport coat and slung his Coach messenger bag over his shoulder. “I’ve got at least another hour or two to go here,” she said.

“Yeah, I figured.” He adjusted the wide strap of his bag to lie against the soft of his neck at the collar. “I got a call and have a meeting. Cocktails, and it’ll probably turn into dinner.” Nikki’s solar plexus tweaked. In an irrational flash, she envisioned him and Yardley Bell in one of their spots. Boulud, Balthazar, or Nobu. Or, worse, one of the old Jamie-Yardley haunts from when they were a couple. “It’s more magazine business,” he said.

“Good stuff, I hope.”

“We’ll see. My agent has set me up with some movie execs from Castle Rock. Just exploratory, but they want to talk about optioning the Heat pieces for film.”

Nikki would almost have rather it were candlelight and mutually fed strawberries with Yardley. Well, maybe not, but close. “Are you kidding me? A movie? Based on my… pieces?” She spat the word. The bull pen had mostly cleared for the night, but she kept her voice down anyway.

“Come on, this is nothing. You meet, you discuss. It’s a dance. Nothing is set—or will be—without talking it over with you. You have my word as a member of the press.” He laughed, trying to lighten the load with that.

She dismissed it with a hand wave, just to have it go away for now. The whole notion still chapped her, but Nikki made a tactical surrender because she couldn’t bear the strain of one more ounce of conflict in her life. But she knew this tin can was only getting kicked down the road. “I get it. Fine, really.” She stood and hugged him. “After
spending a night on the couch here, I’m going home to turn in early, so why don’t I see you in the morning?”

He leaned in. She gave him an office-appropriate kiss, watched him go out, and sat five minutes just to meditate herself calm.

Nikki came home with a to-go bag from Duke’s around the block. During a comfort supper of Ma’s Macaroni and KC Sloppy Ribs, Heat caught some baseball on TV. After her bath, the fans were just getting to “Take Me Out to the Ballgame,” and she cocooned on the couch wrapped in a throw blanket while she battled sleep trying to stay awake for the late innings. Sleep won.

The phone woke her. She muted the postgame report and picked up her cell. The ID said “Unknown Caller.”

“You had to know you’d be next,” said the Darth Vader voice.

Rainbow.

Jolted, her heart pounded. She stood, pulling her bathrobe around herself, a primal reflex. “You’re calling after office hours,” she said, trying to mask the vulnerability she felt with some edge. The home call to her personal cell had done its job. He’d spooked her.

“Maximizing time,” he said. “Who knows how many hours you have left? Well…” He chuckled. “Actually, I do.”

“You’re going to be disappointed.”

“Could be,” he said. Even through the electronic scramble, she could hear the earnestness of his admission. “You’re a challenge, Heat. Like I said, you’re smarter than the others.” He paused slightly, then added, “But know what? It makes me wonder.”

“What do you mean?”

“That you still don’t know. That’s what I mean.” Then he hung up.

Heat felt like she should do something, but what? If she called to report this to Irons, he’d smother her with a protection detail or, worse, sideline her entirely, as he had a month ago with the enforced psych
leave. Calling Detective Feller came to mind, as did Raley and Ochoa—all of whom had shown at one time or another what it meant for one cop to have another’s back. But she didn’t want to set off alarm bells or distract them from their work chasing leads. Same with calling her local precinct. The Thirteenth had covered her front door before with a blue-and-white, but once again, that could send ripples back to Captain Irons. Rook? She checked her watch. Almost 11 P.M.

She speed-dialed him, knowing he’d be more company than protection, but company would do nicely. He picked up on the third ring. “Hey, what’s going on?” Rook spoke in a low voice, subdued, the way she had seen him take calls when he was somewhere he couldn’t really talk.

“This a bad time?”

“No, not at all.” She could hear silver clanging and table conversation, something like “Nathan would be perfect casting, if he’s available.” Nikki sensed his palm cupped around the mouthpiece. He said, “Just doing some spitballing with the Castle Rock folks. Can I call you in ten or fifteen? You gonna be up?”

“That’s OK, stay on your meeting. I just wanted to say good night.”

“Good night to you, too.” She could hear the way he tried not to sound stilted—and his disappointment that he did nonetheless.

“See you in the pen in the A.M.,” she said. Just hearing his voice had soothed her nerves. She made a double-check of her front door and all the windows, then went to bed with her Sig Sauer unholstered on the floor by the nightstand.

Sweet exhaustion took her, and she floated in a luxurious descent into the rabbit hole. An e-mail ping on her phone woke her at seven. Nikki twisted up on one elbow to check it. Agent Callan requested a conference call that morning. She tapped in a yes, then flopped back and stretched, drawing in a long, refreshing chestful, wishing she had asked Rook to come over. She turned to look at his pillow and sat up, quaking in alarm at what she saw resting there.

A coil of orange string.

“Tell me this really didn’t happen,” said Rook. “You let a serial killer touch my pillow?”

Heat laughed for the first time in days. When her laughter choked in her throat and she stifled tears, he held her, and Nikki let herself fold into him, wrapping her long arms around his back and pressing a cheek against his chest just for the grace of hearing a loving heart.

A throat cleared behind them. Benigno DeJesus, from the evidence collection team, stood in her open apartment doorway. Behind him waited his crew, also suited up in lab coveralls, footies, gloves, scrub hats, and masks. Rook said, “Love the costumes, kids, but the last trick-or-treaters got all the gummy bears.”

DeJesus hadn’t pulled his mask up yet, but even that wouldn’t hide the grimness he exuded because of the nature of this visit. He greeted Nikki warmly, although they didn’t even attempt to shake, each being an old pro at the contamination drill. “I’m glad it’s you,” Heat said, and not for the first time. She’d never worked with a better forensics detective than Benigno, and had requested him when she put in the call.

“Let’s start by hearing about your night.” He hauled a grid-ruled pad out and made a quick, expert sketch of the hall, living room, and kitchen. “Tell me everywhere you went and anything you touched, however trivial, from when you got home until now.”

She gave Detective DeJesus the narrated tour, awkward about having the witness shoe on her foot for a change. He made occasional marks on the pad, and when they had finished with the bedroom, including reference photos of the string, which still topped the pillowcase, he
asked her if she noticed anything out of place. “That includes before or after you arrived.”

“Before?” asked Rook. Then it sunk in. “Holy shit…” The possibility dawned on him, as it had on Nikki upon discovery of the string, that Rainbow might have been in the apartment, hiding, when she got home with her Duke’s takeout and waited for her to go to bed, even placing his call from a closet or the bathroom.

“Nothing caught my attention before,” she said. “And this morning, except for my security cam being disabled—which was the first thing I checked on—nothing. Absolutely no disturbances.”

“If there’s anything to be found, we’ll find it.” And they both knew that was bankable. Heat and Rook left for the precinct while the evidence techs got to work. Nikki paused in the hall for a parting glance into her apartment, imagining the serial killer roaming those floors while she slept. When they got on the elevator, she told Rook now she knew what people meant when they said they felt as if someone had walked across their grave.

Rook pushed the lobby button. “Let’s walk on his instead.”

Some wiseasses must have raided the precinct’s emergency supply closet, because when Heat and Rook stepped into the bull pen, every detective sat hunched over a desk with a head on a pillow. Their gallows humor felt warmer than any hug they could have given Nikki. It called for a like response.

“Just as I thought. Killers are out there roaming free because you’re all sleeping on the job.” To signal the transition from play to work, she brought her latte up front without bothering to stop at her desk, and they all gathered for the morning debrief. Joke enjoyed; joke over.

“Obviously we have some Rainbow discussion on our agenda,” she began while they slid their chairs around the Murder Boards. “But first, a follow-up about the bomb at Tyler Wynn’s. Detective Hinesburg, did you connect with the bomb squad and Forensics?”

The detective’s face blanched. “Uh…”

“Not filling me with confidence, Sharon.”

“No, no, I did talk to them,” she said, reaching to the floor and
into her enormous purse. “You just caught me off guard and I wasn’t sure I had my notes.”

Heat waited for her to come up with her spiral pad. “And you were going to ask whether the trigger for the device was a timer or remote.”

“Timer,” she said without opening her notebook after all.

“Thank you.” Nikki posted that on the Tyler Wynn section, then rolled that board aside. As Raley and Rhymer wheeled the serial killer boards in to replace it, Heat gave her squad the details of the call from Rainbow and of the creeping of her bedroom. “The hard drive connected to the lipstick cam above my front door is gone, and my building super did not let anyone in.”

“Dude’s putting it in your face,” said Ochoa.

Detective Feller made a pistol of his fingers. “I’d like to put one in his.”

Moving things forward, Nikki said, “In case anyone hasn’t noticed, he didn’t kill me when he had ample opportunity. I say Rainbow is strongly motivated by his head games.”

“He’s competing. Wants to prove he’s smarter than the famous Detective Heat.” When Malcolm said that, alluding to her celebrity, Heat exchanged a short glance with Rook. “Probably gets off on it. If he outsmarts you…” The detective realized where that thought led and stopped there, finishing with a “Sorry.”

“No worries, Mal,” said Heat. “I think we all know the stakes.”

“And look how he’s just taunting you,” Detective Reynolds said, arching an indignant brow. “I mean even those mismatched socks on Joe Flynn? The odd socks?”

“Yeah, we all sort of got that. The price of having your life appear in print.” Nikki didn’t peek to Rook that time. She turned to Feller. “Randall, any idea yet how he managed to find out Joe Flynn had a connection to me?”

“Not yet. Working it, though.”

Raley said, “This Rainbow must be some kind of evil genius. I mean what sort of brainiac could make all those links from Conklin all the way to you?”

“I don’t think he did,” answered Rook.

“Uh, Mr. Pulitzer?” said Malcolm. “I believe the strings say otherwise.”

“It depends on what end you’re looking at, doesn’t it?” Rook moved to the Murder Boards. “Sometimes when I played Six Degrees of Marsha Mason, I’d cheat. I’m not proud of that, but I did. And when I cheated, know how I did? I didn’t pick a celebrity and work my way up to Marsha Mason. I started with Marsha Mason and worked backwards.” He paused and could see they were starting to follow. “Rainbow knew he wanted to match wits with Detective Heat all along, so he started with her and drew his links the other way.” To illustrate, he pointed at Nikki, then to each victim, but in reverse this time. “From Heat to Flynn to Bedbug Doug to Berkowitz and Conklin… it gets easier when you work backwards. By the time you get to Conklin, he’s almost a random choice.”