stepped up to address them. He saw it in the faces turned to her, all experienced, many showing the world- weariness years on the job had etched into them, but all full of attentiveness.
He had been discreet about his note-taking since his return to the Two-Oh. Rook had an unexpected exclusive that was all going into his Cassidy Towne article, but in deference to Nikki's sensitivity and the fish eyes he had been getting from some of the squad, his MO had been to memorize key words or to scrawl them on scraps of paper or, if something required more jotting than he felt he could sneak, to make an unnecessary trip or two to the men's room. But that day, Rook surrendered to the volume of detail coming at him and began to take written notes in the open. If anybody noticed, he or she didn't seem to care. They were all taking notes, too.
The spine of his black Moleskine answered with a comforting crack as he bent it back so the fresh page would lie flat on his thigh. He heard the throaty tone in Nikki's voice when she said a simple good afternoon to the packed room, and the journalist wrote on the top line in block letters, 'Game Changer.'
Detective Heat confirmed it with her opening remarks. 'I just briefed Captain Montrose to let him know what we all suspect from today's developments. Although the autopsy is pending and CSU is still on the scene of this afternoon's homicide, I have reason to believe we are now dealing with a professional killer.' Somebody cleared a throat, but that was the only sound in the room. 'What began as a search for a revenge killer, perhaps someone who hired our John Doe Texan to murder Cassidy Towne, it's clear this has ratcheted up to where we have someone who is trying to cover something up and has a pro contractor on the job as a sort of silencer.
'We already had allocated extra resources on this case because of the high-profile nature of the first victim, but due to this change in scope, the Cap has requested, and has received from 1PP, the clearance to bring in extra manpower and lab resources to find our killer.' Nikki called on one of the Burglary plainclothes, who had a finger raised. 'Rhymer?'
'What do we have on the new vic?'
'Still developing, but here's the rundown I do have.' Nikki didn't need notes; she had it all in her head and wrote each item on the new, smaller whiteboard that had been brought in and set up beside Cassidy Towne's. 'Prelim TOD is same night as our gossip girl. OCME will give us a time window soon and I'll forward to you. Derek Snow was an African-American male, twenty-seven, according to DMV. No arrests, except for a couple of speeding tickets. Lived alone in a one-bedroom, Lower East, steady tenant, paid his rent, no problems, neighbors loved him. Stable employment, worked since '07 as a concierge at the Dragonfly House in SoHo. If you aren't familiar, it's a five-star boutique hotel, quiet and discreet, attracts lots of creatives, mostly Euros but Hollywood-friendly, also.'
She waited for them to make their notes before she continued. 'Rhymer, I'd like you and Roach to head down to his apartment to dig a little deeper with the neighbors, see if one didn't love him. Or if anybody has new thoughts on something they saw or heard.
'I don't know if he liked boys or girls, but see if he had any relationships worth looking at. Check the neighborhood, too. It's one of those blocks where everybody knows your name, so hit the diners and the bodegas.'
Ochoa, who was sitting beside Rhymer, a clean-cut Carolina transplant, said, 'In that neighborhood you can get yourself a nice tat while you're down there, too, Opie. 'Love' and 'Hate' on your knuckles, maybe?'
Nikki seemed glad for Ochoa's tension breaker, and when the laughter settled, she said, 'CSU is sweeping his place with a special eye toward any hard connection to Towne or Miss Gray. I'll let you know. And let's not forget our common COD by stabbing and the apparently identical restraints with the duct tape. I'm heading over to OCME now to see the results of Snow's autopsy, but aside from the new arrival of other possible suspects, we are still liking our John Doe Texan, so show his sketch and the picture of Soleil Gray in your files when you make your rounds.
'I also want a team to work the Dragonfly. Malcolm, you and… how about Reynolds from Vice? Cover the usual coworker angles, beefs with guests or vendors, the union. But it is a hotel, so look into the vice aspects, too. He was a concierge, and rumor has it some of them actually have been known to procure.' She paused again for the chuckles to subside. 'But our best connection is through a new person of interest, the rock singer, Soleil Gray, who connects-loosely, so far-to Cassidy Towne and to Derek Snow. Rook, any thoughts on Snow's connection?'
She had startled him from a thought. His Moleskine dropped to the floor, where he left it. He almost stood, but that would be dorky, so he just sat a little straighter, feeling all the cop stares turned his way. 'Uh, yeah, actually, I have something very interesting now that I hear he worked at the Dragonfly. Before I knew the specific hotel, I assumed the connection might be he was one of Cassidy Towne's sources. Cassidy paid her sources for their tips. That's unusual. Richard Johnson of 'Page Six' at the Post told me he doesn't pay tipsters. Other papers don't have the budget. But she did, and they were mostly in personal service industries. Limo drivers, private trainers, cooks, masseuses, and, of course, hotel employees. Concierges.' He started to relax as he saw the nods of understanding from the detectives.
'That's a viable theory, so we'll go with that for now,' said Heat, as one of the detectives handed Rook his Moleskine with a nod and a smile.
'I'm not done,' Rook said. 'That was where I came down before I just heard he worked at the Dragonfly. That's the hotel where Reed Wakefield died last May. Soleil Gray's fiance.' Heat didn't like to bigfoot Malcolm and Reynolds, but she wanted to check out the Dragonfly herself. Those two detectives could cover the other angles, but she wanted to check out the Reed Wakefield death. Nikki called ahead to Lauren Parry to tell the ME she would be later than planned. While she had her friend on the phone, Heat asked her if she could look up the coroner findings on Wakefield, then she and Rook headed for SoHo. Lauren called back while Nikki was parking in an open space in front of Balthazar, just around the corner from the hotel on Crosby.
'COD was toxic overdose, ruled accidental,' said the medical examiner. 'Deceased was a habitual user, a self-medicator. Looked from his history like one of those seesaw cases, you know, took something to bring himself up, then something else to level it off, something else to set him down. Blood work and stomach showed high alcohol, plus toxic amounts of cocaine, amyl nitrate, and Ambien.'
'I have the file on its way to my office, but I'm on the road. Is there a notation in yours about the inquest?'
'Yeah, of course. And we all talked about it here, too, so I remember it pretty well from the office buzz. They took a close look, especially after Heath Ledger, to cover all the bases. He was depressive, distraught after his engagement broke off, but gave no hints of suicidal thoughts. They interviewed coworkers, family, even the ex.'
'Soleil Gray?'
'Right,' said Lauren. 'Everyone says the same thing. He was pretty much to himself the final month of shooting his last movie. When it wrapped, he went to the hotel in SoHo, basically, to cocoon and shut out the world.'
Nikki thanked her for the crib notes and apologized for being late. 'If you want, I could just get your Derek Snow report over the phone.'
'Not on your life,' said Lauren. 'You get your happy ass down here when you're done.' And then she left it with a cryptic 'I promise to make it worth your while.' It was a difficult time to visit the Dragonfly. The staff was clearly shaken by the news of the concierge's murder, but, as one of those small hotels with a casual air but impeccable couth, they soldiered on without letting their high-end guests know anything was amiss. Though nobody could miss the accumulation of expensive flower arrangements filling the area around the concierge desk, no doubt from devoted travelers who mourned Derek Snow.
The manager and night manager, who got called in early for the interview, met Heat and Rook in the bamboo-paneled lounge, which had not yet opened. Both had been on duty during the weeks Reed Wakefield stayed there, up to his death. They confirmed what Lauren had conveyed in her synopsis, and it jibed with what Heat, Rook, and most New Yorkers knew about the tragedy. The actor checked in alone, spent most of the time in his room, leaving only occasionally, like when housekeeping needed to service it, or at night. He came and went alone because it was clear that was what he wanted. He was polite but kept to himself. The only complaint he made was to insist housekeeping re-close his drapes and leave the lights off in his room when they were finished.
The night of his death Wakefield did not go out, nor did he have any visitors. When he didn't answer his door the next day-he had specified 11:30 to 12:30 for his service-the housekeeper let herself in and discovered his body in the bed. She mistakenly assumed he was sleeping and left quietly, but then became concerned, and two hours later was when they discovered that he was dead.
