skin on her knuckle. She took her hand away from her mouth and shook her head slightly to indicate she was on the same page, but what Nikki read from the singer wasn't a stonewall. She looked vulnerable rather than cocky. That part was left to the lady in the power suit. 'To be clear, we are only at this interview because we have to be. Now, you can save us all a lot of trouble by recognizing the futility of this and calling it a day.'
Nikki gave the attorney a smile. 'Thank you, Counselor. I have been diligent, I'll admit. You remember what it's like out here, don't you? People get killed, cops gotta ask questions… Such a pain.'
'Twice you have gone to her place of employment and disrupted the normal course of her business on a witch hunt. You caused her to miss her performance on a late-night show, and now you've got her completely distracted while she's gearing up to shoot a new music video tomorrow. Is this desperation, or are you performing for your next article?' Miksit side-nodded to Rook.
'Oh,' he said, 'don't worry, there's no sequel. I'm just along because I love the swell folks you meet in police stations.'
Nikki jumped in before that escalated. 'My repeat visit to Soleil was to get a straight answer from her after getting a series of lies from her the first time. Your client is connected to two homicide victims, and-'
'Means nothing. 'Connections.' ' Miksit spat the word. 'Come on, Detective.'
Nikki was used to the woman's confrontational style, but she had seen it while sitting behind her in a courtroom as an ally, not across the table on the receiving end. Heat had to wrestle to keep this her meeting, and she did so by continuing on her road in spite of the push-back. 'And one of those victims, Cassidy Towne, we have just learned, was writing a book about the death of Miss Gray's fiance.'
'Oh, please, this is why you brought us in here?'
Soleil cleared her throat and swallowed hard. Helen Miksit made great theater placing a comforting hand on her forearm. 'Is it really necessary to do this? This subject is still an open wound for her.'
Nikki spoke quietly. 'Soleil, there's little doubt Cassidy Towne was murdered to stop the publication of her book about the circumstances surrounding Reed Wakefield's death.' She paused to choose her words carefully, unsure whether the singer was a conspirator or a victim herself. 'If you are involved or know about this in any way, this is the time to speak up. The time to hide is over.'
Helen Miksit said, 'As I told you at the outset, you can have your meeting. It doesn't mean she's going to participate other than to be here.'
Nikki leaned toward Soleil. 'Is that how you feel? There's nothing you want to say about this?' The singer pondered, looked like she was about to speak, but in the end, she looked at her attorney, shook her head, and went back to chewing at the tiny flap of skin on her knuckle.
'There you have it, Detective Heat. I assume we're finished now?'
Heat gave one last look to Soleil, hoping to bridge the chasm, but she wouldn't give Nikki her eyes. 'We're done. For now.'
'For now? Oh, no. This ends here. If you want to get yourself in boldface on 'Page Six,' you're going to do it harassing someone else.' Miksit stood. 'A word of caution? You may find that when the PR machine reverses direction, it isn't always so friendly.'
Heat led them out, and as she watched them walk away through the lobby, she felt even more certain that Soleil was into this. She just wasn't sure how. Nikki returned to the bull pen, where Rook was already at his computer reading the first pages of the PDF of Cassidy's book, which had arrived during the interrogation. She found Detective Hinesburg sitting in Heat's own chair, using Heat's desk, and jotting on Heat's notepad with one of the pens from her pencil cup. 'Make yourself comfortable, Sharon.' Nikki was still feeling tight from her meeting with Soleil and The Bulldog, and venting a little steam at Hinesburg gave her some relief. She could feel guilty about it later.
'Hey, funny,' said the detective, oblivious. Another irritating quality, but at least it would save Nikki an apology. 'I was just leaving you a note. I checked on the PI Elizabeth Essex used to snoop on her errant ex-hubby. Local Staten Island guy her lawyer uses. Not our Texan.'
Heat wasn't surprised by the news, but at least that loose thread ended there. 'What about Rance Wolf's other clients, where are we with that?'
'Spoke to the CEO of Hard Line Security in Vegas. He's cooperating and putting together a list for me. Both corporate and individual clients. I also asked him about Tex's freelances. He said they maintain notes on any freelance jobs their people take on since their company policy is that agents have to disclose to avoid conflict of interest. He'll share that, too. I'll let you know the minute I get it all.'
Detail and initiative like that were why Hinesburg was such a great cop. And why Nikki put up with the petty annoyances. 'Good work. And, Sharon, sorry if I sounded a little irritable.'
Detective Hinesburg said, 'When?' and moved off to her desk.
Ochoa checked in from Rolling Service Limousine. In the background of his cell phone call, Nikki could hear a pneumatic wrench and could envision a town car getting a new tire. 'Got something weird over here. You ready for weird?'
'A manifest from Reed Wakefield with a suicide note on it?' said Nikki.
'No Reed Wakefield manifest. In fact no manifests at all from the night Wakefield died. I already had Raley check the records we pulled, they're not in with ours, either. We did our survey before the Reed Wakefield deal surfaced, so we assumed it was just Padilla's day off. But come on, this is all the manifests for this whole company from that night. It's like every one of their drivers took the night off and didn't have one booking. You see what I'm getting at?' Nikki processed the significance of the missing records. The gravity. The reach. The tire gun whirred again. 'You still there?'
'So what's the deal over there, Oach? How do they account for that?'
'Manager just gives me a dumb-ass look and says, 'Don't ask me.' Good luck proving anything, these guys are too slick.'
'Yeah,' she agreed, 'they'll claim burglary or one of the drivers did it. Even Padilla himself, out of spite.' And then she added, 'Just to confirm, it was a night Padilla was working, right?'
'That they confirmed. Just before they canned him.'
'So, what? They've just been ripped out of the book?'
'No. Actually, they've been sliced.' An hour later, Nikki left Captain Montrose's office after briefing him on all developments so he could turn around and do the same thing with his superiors down at One Police Plaza. He trusted Detective Heat and told her she was covering all the bases he would. The extra briefings were to satisfy the media pressure on 1PP. Mindful of his upcoming promotion review, the skipper made it his hobby to smile and dial, keeping them in the loop almost hourly.
Raley had set up shop at his desk, with digital copies of surveillance cam video from the parking garage where Perkins had been mugged that morning, as well as from camera-equipped stores and residences all along 96th Street. 'I've got a long night ahead of me, but if we get lucky, maybe one of these'll give us a pretty picture of the assailant.' As he loaded one of the time-coded videos, he asked, 'So you don't think it was the Texan?'
'Wouldn't rule anything out, Rales, not on this case,' Nikki answered. 'But I broke Wolf's collarbone and put one in his shoulder. Perkins is no Ironman, but whoever overpowered him like that had to have some strength. So I'd bet against the walking wounded.'
She made her way over to Rook at his squatter's desk across the pen from hers, to get an update on Cassidy Towne's manuscript. She got a strange vibe off him before he even spoke. Nikki dismissed it, chalking it up to more of Rook's schoolboy jealousy over her reunion with Petar. 'What are you getting out of this, anything?'
'I'm a quarter of the way in,' he said. 'All pretty much as Mitchell Perkins advertised. Reed Wakefield's backstory. She's setting the table but no bombshells yet. She could use an editor, though.' That strange look crossed his face again.
'What?'
'There's an extra hard copy on your desk. Actually, in. I put it in your file drawer.'
'Rook, either you tell me what's on your mind, or I swear, we don't have a Zoo Lockup, but I'll organize one just for you.'
He considered a beat then opened his messenger bag and took out a newspaper. It was the afternoon edition of the New York Ledger, folded open to the 'Buzz Rush' column. The editors had decided the brand-name value of the column had only inflated since Cassidy Towne's murder, so they were keeping it, but with guest columnists until they settled on a permanent choice. That day's 'Buzz' was bylined anonymously by someone called The
