Nikki Heat: Deadly Heat Part 20

SIXTEEN.

Rook surprised Nikki in the Homicide Squad Room with a change of clothes when she rolled in just before six. "I fantasized about you in these b.u.t.t-cupping jeans and your brown leather jacket to fight crime today," said Rook. "I couldn't find your Wonder Woman bulletproof bracelets at my place, though, so if you encounter any automatic weapons fire, you're going to have to rely on your lightning reflexes."

"Thanks, Rook, that's sweet."

"I just figured after a night in the field you'd want to tidy up. Oh, I also brought you a latte. Just how you like it. Sugar-free, two pumps of strychnine."

After she changed, Nikki filled him in on the discoveries up in Hastings-on-Hudson, ending with the phone tip-off. Even though they had the bull pen to themselves, he lowered his voice. "So that pretty much sucks. How do you think the information is getting out to all our suspects?"

"Not so much a how, Rook, as a who." Then, she said, "I was thinking on my drive down. Would I be too pushy to ask, where the h.e.l.l is Puzzle Man?"

"Probably still working it."

"Probably?"

"Right. I'll see if I can encourage him."

Nikki met with each detective over the next few hours to get an update on case progress. It felt like anything but. Salena Kaye had gone underground and Rainbow had gone strangely silent. "At least he hasn't killed anyone else," said Detective Malcolm.

"Considering Heat's next, I think we can call this a win, so far," added Reynolds.

Rook caught her eye and they met up in the kitchen. "Puzzle Man gave me the old 'I was just about to call you' BS. No matter. He says he may be close to something."

"Really..." Nikki had been disappointed enough recently that her skepticism overshadowed her optimism. "Any hints?"

"No spoilers. And that's a quote. But I twisted his arm, and he says he can meet us tonight. Cafe Gretchen at seven-thirty."

"Great."

"Although for him that could be nine. The one thing Puzzle Man can't seem to figure out is how to read a clock."

"You leave me br.i.m.m.i.n.g with confidence," she said, and left him to microwave his container of instant oatmeal.

On her return to the bull pen Heat hesitated in the doorway, taken aback to find the visitor sitting beside her desk. "Agent Bell?"

"Good morning. Although, it sort of feels like the days and nights have melded, doesn't it?" Her smile seemed genuine enough, but Nikki approached Yardley Bell with healthy caution.

"Kinda." Heat allowed a neutral smile; no harm being civil to see where this was going. "What's up?"

"Brought you a peace offering." She indicated the coat rack behind Nikki, where the blazer she had left for testing at DHS hung on a hanger. "And relax, our lab has certified it as non-lethal."

"Thank you."

"As is that piece of orange string you sent over. It came back negative for smallpox." Which left Heat still wondering where she could have picked it up. "I also have some news for you. Is this a good place?"

Heat surveyed her bull pen full of cops working phones and computers, and sat in her task chair. "Works for me."

"First, forensics. We not only put our lab on priority turnaround, we have the capability of starting some of this process in the vans, on-scene and in-transit." Agent Bell didn't take out a file, a pad, or even an iPad. She did, however, elevate her gaze slightly above Nikki's hairline occasionally, as if reading bullet points in the air. "Fingerprints. In addition to Nikoladze's, we scored several lifts from Tyler Wynn down in the lab. Also one from Agent Bernardin." A sense of tainted relief enveloped Nikki. Putting the three people together in that bas.e.m.e.nt tied the elements, albeit in disquieting affirmation. Bell moved on to her next bullet. "The cage. More prints there. Bernardin. Salena Kaye. That crooked cop."

"Carter Damon?"

"Yes. And Petar Matic. These IDs came quickly since they're all in the database." Out of habit, Heat made notes. Bell waited for her to catch up. "That dried blood on the cage does match type for Nicole Bernardin. We can't get an exact match for her yet due to the sabotage of her toxicity lab work at OCME. But there's also a fiber match to her clothing, so we'll be able to run a DNA on that just to close all the loops." She paused and looked up. "Oh. We also have a positive match for the lab solvent that was used to disinfect Bernardin's skin."

Nikki reflected on the cage, the drain in the floor, and Nicole Bernardin's awful fate after discovery-caged, killed, and then baptized in a cleanser by Satan's own. Heat said, "So we have confirmed she was murdered there. That's good to know. Unfortunately that doesn't move us forward with new info."

"This does. We got the same reading from her clothes as your blazer. Smallpox. Consider yourself up to the moment on the forensics."

"Good. And I do appreciate this new sense of cooperation."

Agent Bell shrugged. "You and I got off on the wrong foot from day one. Last night's little... confrontation... got me thinking about that. This is me just wanting to see if we can stay close and avoid any more conflict. Especially considering my last piece of intel." She made a perimeter check and lowered her voice. "One of our deep-cover informants from one of the jihadist terror cells in New Jersey says he was contacted earlier this week by Salena Kaye."

"So you're calling this a Muslim extremist terror plan?"

"Not necessarily. He confirms from his other undercover sources that Ms. Kaye has been making the rounds of numerous affiliations. She's basically shopping for a martyr she can recruit to deliver the punch."

"Has she found anyone?"

"Don't know. We only know one thing. We know it's happening Sat.u.r.day."

Nikki felt a chilliness blow through her at the narrowing of the strike window. What had been two or three days to stop this calamity had been given a haircut to two. Heat and Bell held eye contact, one absorbing the alarming implications the other had already processed.

"Excuse me, ladies." Captain Irons appeared, standing over them. "Heat? My office?"

Irons closed the door and said, "Do you know what it's like to sit and watch everything going on around you and not be part of it?" Her answer, especially in that moment, would not have been terribly empathic, so Heat didn't reply. She just waited for Wally to get to his point, so she could get back to work. "I sit here sometimes and I look out there and... Well, it's hard to sit on the sidelines. Anyhoo, I was thinking, maybe there was something you could give me to help you with."

She thought a few seconds. "Cat burglars. Whoever crept into my apartment the other night knew how to get in and out without a trace."

"You want me to run cat burglars through the database?"

"Yes. See who's out of prison, any recent activities, especially around the areas the victims lived or were found." When she said it, his face lit up. Heat would have felt better about this bolstering if he weren't her precinct commander.

"On it," he said as she left.

When Heat returned, she didn't find Yardley Bell at her desk anymore. But she saw the agent across the bull pen, standing in front of her Tyler WynnSalena Kaye Murder Board, studying it. Rook came up behind Nikki wrapped in a smog of artificial cinnamon, stirring his oatmeal. "Hey, look who's here." Then his brow creased. "You two aren't going to have a duel or anything, I hope."

"No, we've sort of buried that hatchet. But still, I am not too crazy about her hanging out, surfing our board, looking over our shoulders, you know."

"You still hate her."

"Not at all-Much-A little. She's just sort of an uncomfortable presence. In here. Right now. Think you could-?"

"Done." He took a few steps and circled back. "You sure you don't mind that I-?"

"Go."

With mixed feelings, Nikki went to her desk, watching Rook chat up his ex: Why, Agent Bell, can I interest you in a hearty breakfast? I can zap one of these for you. Mm. Now, instant oatmeal may not be as memorable as pain perdu at Charbon Rouge, but it's a d.a.m.n sight better than those mutton-fat pies we gagged down in Chechnya.

As they walked out, chuckling, Yardley asked, "So how's it going with the new article? I saw on your Twitter page you're getting offers from Hollywood..."

Heat made a survey of the Murder Board to see if anything was up there she hadn't shared with DHS, so she wouldn't be accused of withholding. Satisfied, she decided to check in with Ochoa. Earlier she'd instructed him to call the bank that held the credit card Salena Kaye tried to use at Surety Rent-a-car. Ever since, he had been studying Kaye's account, tracking her spending for tips to her whereabouts or anything else that would shake loose a much needed clue as the terror deadline closed in.

Detective Ochoa handed Heat a printout he had made of Salena Kaye's credit card history. "I heard Rook and that DHS babe. Man, what's wrong with my life? Eight years of dog hours, a joke paycheck, deadheads either barfing on my shoes or shooting at me... Writer dips his toe in for a couple months, and George Clooney's sending him fruit baskets."

"You realize you are talking about my boyfriend."

"Awkward. Sorry. Just thinking out loud."

Heat started to open the file and then closed it. "George Clooney sent Rook a fruit basket?"

"He didn't tell you?"

Nikki dove into the file again, changing the subject. "What did you hear from Salena Kaye's bank?"

"She opened the credit card account two months ago under her alias with a cash wire transfer to fund it as a pay-as-you-go. Banker told me, in this economy a lot of lenders are offering those for new cardholders or folks rebuilding damaged credit. You can see that the only charge on it was for the attempted truck rental. I checked out the Virginia billing address for the card. It's for an accountant. I use the term loosely. It's basically a skeevy mail drop."

"Dead end?" said Heat, closing the file.

"On to the next," he said as he moved back to Roach Central.

Pus.h.i.+ng forward was all a detective could do. Especially when confronted by brick walls, you kept moving until you broke through. In that spirit Heat picked up her phone and called Benigno DeJesus. "Detective," he said cheerfully, "how are you this morning?"

"I am in a forensics state of mind." Nikki asked him to summarize the work he had done on Salena Kaye's hideout. She had to force herself to recall that all that had happened less than twenty-four hours before. Such was the toll of a blended day after a lost night in Hastings.

The ECU detective said, "I just now got my confirmation from the laboratory. We have positive matches on the bomb materials that took out Tyler Wynn in his Sutton Place apartment. And I guess you've heard by now that there was no bioagent evidence in her room."

"Yeah, I got that from DHS. The reason I'm calling is I have my fingers crossed you found something that might put me on her trail again."

He chuckled. "You mean like a bus ticket with an address written on it in lipstick? Maybe a USPS mail-forwarding request?"

"No, huh?"

"Sorry to disappoint, Detective. She lived monastically and left no paper trail. Not even a receipt for a diner. From her garbage, it looks like she survived on microwave meals and power shakes from the gym. And you know me, I checked. We even Dumpster dived to locate her trash bags in the alley bins."

"Yes, Benigno, I know you," she said, unable to mask her disappointment. "Thanks, anyway."

"No problem. Say, did you find your iPad? I left it on your kitchen counter."

"My iPad?"

"Right. When my crew investigated your apartment yesterday, I found the tablet under your bed. Forgot to mention I left it on your counter so you'd see it."

"I haven't been home yet," Nikki said. She spotted Rook coming back into the bull pen and asked DeJesus to hold. "Rook, did you leave your iPad at my place?" He opened his courier bag and fished his out. Heat uncovered the mouthpiece. "Benigno, I don't own an iPad, and it's not Rook's."

Less than an hour later it arrived at Heat's desk, delivered in a sealed pouch by a runner from ECU, after Nikki's super had let Benigno into her apartment to retrieve it. Detective DeJesus told her he had already dusted the iPad, so she didn't need to worry about gloves. When she powered it up, the lock screen opened to a wallpaper photo of Joe Flynn smiling at the helm of his sailboat, with the Statue of Liberty in the background. Rook and the squad gathered around her let out a collective sigh at the chilling notion that Rainbow had also left this behind on his nocturnal visit to Gramercy Park.

"Well," said Randall Feller, "that's some progress. We found Flynn's missing iPad."

Heat managed her uneasiness by remaining a.n.a.lytical, her cop sense telling her this piece of intimidation could be turned into a lead if she kept her head and followed it through. "Why? What do you suppose the message is of this?" She turned to her crew as they drew seats around for an impromptu meeting. Or maybe to form a circle around her. "The string on the pillowcase made his point about my vulnerability and his power. No joke intended, but isn't leaving this sort of overkill?"

"A control freak's a control freak," said Malcolm. "Simple as that."

His partner, Reynolds, chafed at that. "Is that kind of thinking moving us forward? I don't think so. Let's stay curious."

"I know what makes me curious," said Raley. "I'm always wondering what somebody's into. What they've been surfing. May I?" Heat handed him the iPad. He opened the Google app and found a string of searches for Jameson Rook.

Ochoa turned to him and said, "This Joe Flynn guy a fan, or just stalking you?"

Raley tapped the gla.s.s a few times and said, "Neither. All these searches were made after Flynn disappeared and/or died."

"What's the search history?" asked Rook.

"Mostly to FirstPress, your Twitter account, and... let's see the most recent. Your Facebook page." A few taps later, he brought up a photo. "Recognize this?"

The group leaned in for a look followed by a mix of moans, wolf whistles, and cat calls. Heat said, "I do. That is our own celebrity writer posing for selfies with the hot messes he insists on calling his fan base."

"Don't hate me because I'm popular, all right?" said Rook, pretending to be hurt.

Nikki smirked at the woman with her heaving leopard print vest strategically thrust against Rook's upper arm. "I was there for that shot. That was taken outside the pizza place where we worked Roy Conklin's crime scene."

"AKA Rainbow victim number one," Malcolm observed. Then, with some friendly push-back on his partner, he added, "In the interest of staying curious, if Rainbow had this iPad, why would he search that picture?"

Detective Ochoa saw something and pulled the tablet away from Raley for a closer look. "Whoa, whoa, check this out." Ochoa zoomed in, resized the photo, then held the screen up to Heat. He had blown up the shot and centered it on a face in the crowd. The one any a.n.a.lyst would say belonged to a moody loner. The only person not cheering or waving for the picture. Instead, Glen Windsor stared right at the lens, boring into it with a look of amused contempt. Heat felt like the locksmith was looking right at her.

Because he was.

The busy squad room kicked up to a new level of activity. Heat sent Malcolm and Reynolds to round up some patrol officers and stake out Windsor's Locks, a surveillance task that did double duty since Glen Windsor also lived in an apartment above his shop. Their orders were to keep him under a lid until Heat got a warrant.

She wondered how this had slipped through the cracks. It was standard procedure in a homicide investigation for the police to take crowd photos and then study them for suspicious persons or known faces. Before Nikki berated herself too much for not spotting Windsor-whom she certainly would have recognized as Rainbow's sole survivor-she told Rhymer and Feller to pull up the CSU crowd pics from the four Rainbow victims: Roy Conklin, Maxine Berkowitz, Douglas Sandmann, and Joe Flynn. Heat and Rook joined in with the squad, divvying up the CSU shots and poring over them again on their monitors.

After careful scrutiny of all four crime scene crowds, face by face, the squad reached the same conclusion: Glen Windsor was nowhere to be seen in any of those photos.

"I don't get it," said Rook. "Why is he in my picture and none of the others?"

"Because the dude's savvy," said Feller. "He knew when to duck the official police photographer."

"You're right," said Heat. "We didn't spot him when we looked before because he didn't want us to." She held up the iPad with the picture taken by Rook, with Glen Windsor's photo bomb. "He didn't want us to find this until he wanted us to find this."

Detective Rhymer studied the Rainbow shot again and declared it freaky. "It's like arsonists who stand in the crowd because they get off s.e.xually watching the blaze."

"Except he doesn't look turned on," said Ochoa. "He looks..."

"Defiant," said Heat.

"Windsor is definitely taunting you with this," agreed Raley.