I have to find a new job?'
Nikki's gaze slowly rose to Rook, who stood facing her. She knew him well enough to know he wanted his water back. 'How long had you been with Ms. Towne?'
'Four years. Since I graduated Mizzou.'
'University of Missouri has an intern program with the Ledger,' Rook injected. 'Cecily transitioned from it to Cassidy's column.'
'That must have been quite an opportunity,' said Nikki.
'I guess. Am I going to have to, like, clean all this up?'
'I think our crime scene unit is going to be busy here for most of the day. My guess is the paper will probably let you take some time off while we do our thing.' That seemed to mollify her for the moment, so Nikki pressed on. 'I need to ask you to think about something, Cecily. It may be difficult at this moment, but it's important.'
'K…'
'Can you think of anyone who wanted to kill Cassidy Towne?'
'You're kidding, right?' Cecily looked up at Rook. 'She's kidding, right?'
'No, Detective Heat doesn't kid. Trust me.'
Nikki leaned closer in her chair to draw Cecily's attention back. 'Look, I know she was a lightning rod and all that. But over the past days or few weeks, were there any unusual incidents or threats she got?'
'Oh, every day, like literally. She didn't even see them. When I sort her mail at the Ledger, I just leave them there in a big sack. Some of them are pretty random.'
'If we gave you a ride there, could we see them?'
'Uh, sure. You'd probably have to get the managing editor to sign off, but fine with me.'
'Thanks, I'll do that.'
'She got calls,' said Rook, 'her Ledger extension forwarded to here.'
'Oh, right, right.' Cecily looked around at the mess. 'If you can find it, her answering machine has some nasty shit on it. She screened.' Nikki made a note to locate it and have the messages gone through for leads.
'I know something else that's missing,' said Rook. 'No filing cabinets. She had big filing cabinets in the corner near the door.'
The idea of a filing cabinet hadn't occurred to Nikki. Not yet, anyway. Score one for Rook.
'There should be two in there,' affirmed the assistant. She leaned forward in her chair to venture a look into the study but decided against it.
Heat made a note about the AWOL filing cabinets. 'Other things that might be helpful would be her appointments. I assume you have access to her Outlook calendar.' Cecily and Rook shared a look of amusement. 'Am I missing something?'
Rook said, 'Cassidy Towne was a Luddite. Everything was on paper. Didn't use a computer. Didn't trust them. She said she liked their convenience, but it was too easy for someone to steal your material. E-mail forwards, hackers, what not.'
'But I do have her planner.' The assistant opened her backpack and handed Nikki the spiral-bound datebook. 'I have old ones, too. Cassidy had me hang on to them for documenting business meals and for tax prep.'
Nikki looked up from a recent page. 'There are two sets of handwriting in here.'
'Right,' said the assistant. 'Mine's the one you can read.'
'No kidding,' said Nikki as she turned pages. 'I can't make out her handwriting at all.'
'Nobody could,' she said. 'Just part of the joy of working for Cassidy Towne.'
'She was tough?'
'She was impossible. Four years of J-school to be the next Ann Curry, and where do I end up? Nanny to that thankless bitch.'
Nikki was going to ask later, but with that opening, it seemed the perfect time. 'Cecily, this is a routine question I ask everyone. Can you tell me where you were overnight, say between eleven P.M. and three A.M.?'
'In my apartment with my BlackBerry turned off so my boyfriend and I could get some sleep and without getting called by Her Highness.' On the short drive back to the precinct Nikki left voice mail for Don, her combat trainer, to rain check her busted morning jujitsu workout with him. The ex-Navy SEAL was probably in the showers by that time, no doubt having found another sparring partner. Don was a no strings, no worries guy. Same for their sex, when they had it. They both had no trouble finding other sparring partners there, either, and the no-strings relationship made for a mutually workable life design. If workable was your deal.
She had taken a hiatus from sleeping with Don during the time she was with Rook. Not a decision she made, it just worked out that way. Don never seemed bothered, nor did he ask about it when they resumed their occasional night sessions when summer ended and Jameson Rook was out of her life.
Now there he was again, Jameson Rook in her rearview mirror. Her ex-lover, riding shotgun with Raley, the two of them sitting wordlessly at the stoplight in the car behind her, looking out opposite windows of the unmarked like an old married couple with nothing more to say. Rook had asked to pool with Nikki back to the Twentieth, but when Ochoa said he wanted to accompany Cassidy Towne's body down to the OCME, Heat told Raley to play chauffeur for the writer. Nobody seemed thrilled with the arrangements but Nikki.
Her thoughts drifted to Ochoa. And Lauren. He fooled no one with his duty sense to stay close to the high- profile victim, calling it due diligence to see the delivery through from crime scene to morgue. Maybe she should butt out and leave Lauren to find her own way. When Ochoa had approached to suggest his plan, Nikki saw the masked smile on her friend's face as Lauren eavesdropped. As Nikki turned onto 82nd and double-parked in front of the precinct, she thought, hey, they were adults and she wasn't the den mother. Let them have whatever happiness there was to be found in this work. If a man is willing to ride with a corpse just to be with you, that's more effort than you get from most. The coroner's van took a nasty pothole on Second Avenue, and in the back, ME Parry and Detective Ochoa took some air and came down hard on the seats flanking Cassidy Towne's body bag. 'Sorry,' came the driver's voice from up front. 'Blame last winter's blizzards. And the deficit.'
'You OK?' Ochoa asked the ME.
'Fine, I'm used to it, believe me,' she said. 'Are you sure this doesn't weird you out?'
'This? Nah, fine. No sweat.'
'You were telling me about your soccer league.'
'I'm not boring you?'
'Please,' Lauren said. And after the slightest hitch, she continued, 'I'd like to come see you play sometime.'
Ochoa beamed. 'For real? Nah, you're just being polite to me because I'm a live person in your day.'
'True…' And they both laughed. His eyes fell away from hers for a second or two, and when he looked up she was smiling at him.
He gathered his courage and said, 'Listen, Lauren, I'm playing goalie this Saturday, and if you're-'
The tires squealed, glass shattered, and metal crunched. The van crashed so hard to a sudden stop that its rear tires lifted and slammed down, tossing Ochoa and Lauren. The back of her head smacked the side wall of the cargo bay as the van came to rest.
'What the hell…?' she said.
'You all right?' Ochoa unbuckled his belt to cross to her, but before he could get out of it, the rear doors flew open and three men in ski masks and gloves were filling it, holding guns on them. Two were Glocks, the third guy had a nasty-looking assault rifle.
'Hands!' shouted the one with the AR-15. Ochoa hesitated, and the shooter put a round in the rear tire underneath him. Lauren screamed, and even with all his range experience, the muzzle blast made Ochoa jump. 'Hands, now!' Ochoa raised his high. Lauren's were already up. The other two masks belted their Glocks and went to work unlatching the hardware securing the gurney holding Cassidy Towne's body to the floor of the van. They made quick work of it, and as the rifleman adjusted his position to keep his aim on Ochoa, his crew rolled the gurney out of the cargo bay and wheeled it somewhere to the side of the vehicle where Ochoa had no view.
Behind them southbound traffic on Second was bunching up. The lane immediately behind the shooter was at a stop; the other lanes were crawling around the blockage. Ochoa tried to memorize all the details for later, if there was going to be a later. Not much to go on. He saw one passing driver on his cell phone and was hoping it was a call to Emergency when the crew returned to slam the cargo doors.
'Come out, and you're dead,' called the AR-15 through the metal.
