the patio here.'
'Worth a shot,' agreed Raley.
'Did I hear you say you were going to fingerprint me?' Galway had inched over to them. His cheeks gleamed from a recent shave, and his pale blue eyes flashed decades of angry suspicion. 'I've committed no crime.'
'Nobody says you did, sir,' said Raley.
'I don't think I like your tone, young man. Has this country gotten so accustomed to wiping its hinder with the Constitution that now the police are free to go door-to-door gathering fingerprints from citizens without cause? What are you building, some kind of data bank?'
Raley had had enough and gestured to Ochoa that it was his turn. The other detective thought a moment and beckoned Galway closer. When the old man moved in, Ochoa said in a low voice, 'Mr. Galway, your action as an involved citizen has provided the NYPD critical information in a major murder investigation, and we are very grateful.'
'Well, thank you, I- This trash of hers was just one offense. I've made numerous complaints.'
Ochoa had siphoned some steam out of him and he stayed with the approach. 'Yes, sir, and this time it looks like your vigilance paid off. The clue to Ms. Towne's killer may be right here on your patio.'
'She never recycled, either. I called 311 till I was blue in the face.' He tilted his head close enough so Ochoa could count the capillaries under his translucent skin. 'Smut merchant like that is bound to be a scofflaw, too.'
'Well, Mr. Galway, you can continue your service by helping our crime lab technicians eliminate your fingerprints from others on these bags so we have no obstacles to finding the killer. You do want to continue to help us, don't you?'
The old guy tugged at an earlobe. 'And this won't go into some black ops data bank?'
'You have my personal word.'
'Well, I can't see the harm, then,' said Galway, who went up to the top of the stoop to share the news with his wife.
'Know what I'm calling you?' said Raley. 'The nut whisperer.' With her neat, block capitals, Detective Heat entered on the whiteboard the date and time of Holly Flanders's break-in at Cassidy's apartment. As she capped the dry-erase, she heard her cell phone vibrate on her desktop.
It was a text message from Don, her combat trainer. 'Tomorrow a.m. Y/N?' She rested a thumb on the Y on her keyboard but hesitated. And then wondered what that pause was about. Her gaze lifted to Rook across the bull pen, sitting with his back to her, talking to someone on his phone. Nikki circled the key with the pad of her thumb and then pressed Y. Y not? she thought.
As soon as Roach came back to the bull pen, Heat gathered her squad around the board for a late-day progress report. Ochoa looked up from a file he was carrying in. 'This just arrived from the One-Seven on the body jacking.' The room fell quiet. Everyone gave him their attention, feeling the significance of a lead or even, hopefully, recovering the missing body. 'They located the getaway SUV, abandoned. It was a stolen just like the dump truck. Says it was taken from a mall parking lot in East Meadow, Long Island, last night. CSU has it for prints and whatever else they can turn.' He read a little more to himself, but then simply closed the file and handed it to Heat.
She looked it over and said, 'You left something out. It says that it was your observation of the honor student bumper sticker that gave them the critical lead. Way to go, Oach.'
'So I guess you weren't too distracted,' said Hinesburg.
'What would I be distracted by?'
She shrugged. 'There was a lot happening. The accident, the crew, the traffic, whatever… you had lots to think about.' Apparently, gossip was getting around about the newly separated Ochoa and his request to ride with Lauren Parry. And it figured Hinesburg would be the one to flog it.
Heat did not like where this was going, someone getting convicted through gossip, and moved to cut it off. 'I think we're good for now.'
Ochoa wasn't through. 'Hey, if you're saying I was distracted from my job by something, say so.'
Hinesburg smiled. 'Did I say that?'
Nikki interrupted more concretely. 'Let's move on here. I want to talk about Cassidy Towne's trash,' she said.
Raley was about to speak, but Rook interrupted. 'You know, that would have been a much better name for her column. Too late now.' He felt their cool stares. 'Or maybe too soon.' Rook backpedaled his rolling chair to his desk.
'Anyway,' said Raley, putting some hair on it, 'CSU is working the scene now. Doesn't look like they'll get much. As for the trash itself, it's weird. Only household waste. Coffee grounds, food scraps, cereal boxes, what have you.'
'No office materials,' continued his partner. 'We were especially looking for anything like notes, papers, clippings-nada.'
'Maybe she did everything on computer,' said Detective Hinesburg.
Heat shook her head. 'Rook said she didn't use one. And besides, everybody who uses a computer still prints something. Especially a writer, am I right?'
Since she was addressing him, Rook rolled over to rejoin the circle. 'I always print safety copies as I go along just in case my laptop crashes. And also to proof. But like Detective Heat said, Cassidy Towne didn't use a computer. Part of her control thing. Too paranoid about having digital pages scanned, stolen, or forwarded. So she typed everything on that dinosaur IBM Selectric and had her assistant run the copy to the Ledger for filing.'
'So we still have the mystery of the missing office papers. Her hard copies.' She opened a marker and circled that posting on the board.
Raley said, 'It sure looks to me like somebody wanted to get their hands on whatever she was working on.'
'I think you're right, Rales, and I'll take it a step further. I'm not closing any doors'-Heat used the marker to gesture to the list of interviewees on the board-'but this is starting to feel less like payback for what she wrote and more like stopping what she was writing. Any help there, Rook? You're our inside man.'
'Absolutely. I know she had a big project going on the side. That's why she told me she was burning the midnight oil so much; why she was in the same clothes some mornings when I showed up.'
'Did she tell you what it was?' asked Nikki.
'Couldn't get it out of her. I assumed it was a magazine piece and maybe she saw me as a rival. The control thing again. Cassidy told me once-and I even wrote it down to quote in the article-'If you have anything hot,' ' Rook closed his eyes to summon the exact words, ' 'you keep your mouth shut, your eyes open, and your secrets buried.' Basically, she was saying if it's that big you don't talk it up or someone might beat you to it. Or sue you to stop it.'
'Or kill you?' said Nikki. She moved on to point out two days on the time line. 'JJ, Cassidy's building super and resident oral historian, said he changed her locks twice. First time was when she felt like someone had been in her place. Based on our interrogation of her estranged daughter, she's the one who had been in there. It also accounts for her prints. She alibied with a john the night of the murder. We're checking, good luck. As for the other lock change, we interviewed Toby Mills, who admits to the kick-down and says it was in response to Towne initiating a stalker episode. Sharon?'
'Copies of the incident report are on your desks along with a picture of this man.' Hinesburg held up a security cam still. 'He's Morris Ira Granville, still at large. I copied CPK and the One-Nine.'
Heat tossed her marker onto the aluminum tray that ran along the bottom of the whiteboard and crossed her arms. 'I don't need to tell you Montrose is getting heavy pressure about the missing body. Roach, I got the Cap's OK to pull some manpower from Burglary to canvass those apartments and businesses around'-she paused to find the victim's name on the other board-'Esteban Padilla's crime scene. That way you can stay on this and the body jacking for now.'
'I have a thought,' said Rook. 'That typewriter Cassidy Towne used. Those Selectrics had a ribbon cartridge that spooled through the type guide a letter at a time. If we had any of her old ribbons, we could look at them and at least see what she was working on.'
'Roach?' said Nikki.
'On it,' said Ochoa.
