asked, “You OK with this, Detective?”
Rook sidled up close to her. She steeled herself and said, “Whatcha got?”
“After you left this morning, I did more tracking and found new information on your mom’s account. Don’t know why, maybe it was a data entry screwup, or it didn’t get posted until after the Thanksgiving holiday, but New Amsterdam Bank filed the rest of her November, ‘99 transactions in December. Check it out.”
Nikki leaned in once again, feeling steadier this time, and read the statement. “It says here the two hundred thousand dollars got withdrawn, as cash, the day after the deposit.” She stood up and turned to Rook, who was still at her elbow. “That would have been the same day she was killed.”
“Remember in the hospital, Tyler Wynn asked if you saw your mom hide anything? Could it be the money someone was after?”
“Could be, but think about it, Rook. Ten years, three killings? Isn’t that a lot of carnage for two hundred grand?”
“Depends,” said Ochoa from his desk. “I know guys who’d gut you for a ham sandwich.”
Raley killed the screen on his monitor and said, “Heads up” just as Captain Irons strolled in.
“Heat? A minute?” Instead of leading her to his office, he beckoned her aside to her own desk and stood there until she joined him. “I don’t know who you’ve been pissing off, but I got a call from the deputy mayor’s office saying there’s a complaint about you harassing people on this vendetta of yours.”
“First of all, sir, it’s a case, not a vendetta. And, second, have you ever been on an investigation that didn’t bruise someone’s toes along the way?”
“Well…”
Seeing him standing there, stumped, reminded Heat that the ex-administrator was pretty much experience- free when it came to working the street. “It happens. Who complained?”
“They didn’t tell me. They just wanted to know if you had a plan or if you were just beating bushes with a stick, and I couldn’t answer because I’m kind of out of the loop.” Behind him, Roach mouthed “Kind of?” and Heat had to look away so she wouldn’t laugh. “That’s gonna change, pronto. I’m going to study your latest Murder Board postings and then I want a full and detailed briefing so I can dig in.”
“But sir, what about tracking down the driver of the truck that delivered the tainted gas to OCME? I thought that was your priority.”
“Not to worry. I delegated that to my secret weapon. Sharon Hinesburg.” Irons strode over to the Murder Boards and camped out with his hands in his pockets as he read them, manifesting Heat’s nightmare scenario. Nikki snagged Rook by the elbow, pulled him into the back hall, and shut the door.
“Cone of Silence, huh? Can you hear me, Chief?”
“Grow up, Rook. We need to do something.”
“Who do you suppose complained? Fariq Kuzbari? Oh, I know! I bet it was Eugene Summers. That snarky butler can dish it out, but he can’t take it.”
“My money’s on The Bulldog, Helen Miksit, but that doesn’t matter. What does matter is keeping Irons from meddling in the case more than he already has.”
“How do we do that?”
“No, it’s how you’re going to do that. I need you to distract him.”
“You mean be the rodeo clown again?”
“Yes, put on your red nose and big shoes. Try teasing him with a bogus interview for an article. It worked before.”
“True, although past results are no guarantee of future performance.” She just stared at him. “Perhaps I spent a little too much time watching TV in my rehab.”
Irons looked annoyed when Rook stepped right between him and the board he was reading. “Got a minute, Captain?”
“I’m a little busy, as you can see.”
“Oh, sorry. I just had some thoughts about that article I’m working on, but no problem. Later’s fine.” He’d stepped away precisely two paces before Irons gripped his shoulder.
“Be more comfortable in my office, I think.” He led Rook to his glass box.
Detectives Feller and Rhymer came back from their trip to the restaurant Nicole Bernardin had gotten Web directions to from HopStop. “Got a hit,” said Opie as they joined Nikki at her desk.
“Harling and Walendy’s Steakhouse up at Ninety-fourth and Broadway. Had to wait for the assistant manager to come in for his shift, but he definitely ID’d our vic,” said Feller. “Said Bernardin came in about seven P.M. The reason he noticed her was because she took up a table drinking nothing but club soda for a half hour waiting for someone and never ate dinner.”
Heat asked, “Did he say why not? Did she get a call or Something and leave?”
“No, she met a guy there,” said Rhymer. “He came in, sat down, they talked about five minutes. She goes, but he keeps the table and has a bone-in rib eye.”
Nikki frowned. “They actually remember his order?”
“Even better. They got their picture taken with him while he ate it.” Feller held up a framed photo of waitstaff and a chef posed around the table of a familiar face grinning at a rib eye and giant baked potato. “Got this off their wall in the bar.”
“Is that who I think it is?” asked Heat.
“None other,” said Rhymer. “Lloyd Lewis, treasure hunter.”
“May I see that?” she asked.
He handed it to her. “OK, but be careful. The man’s a legend.”
Nikki said, “It’s a photo.”
“Of a legend,” Rhymer repeated with emphasis.
“He’s been like this all afternoon,” said Feller.
Heat studied the picture briefly then handed it back, pretending to drop it just to watch Rhymer freak. He didn’t disappoint. “Let’s get Lloyd Lewis in here and talk to him.”
“We’ll have to wait,” said Feller. “His agent says he’s on a secret adventure somewhere on the Amazon.”
“A secret adventure. How cool is that?” said Rhymer.
“Gimme a golll-ee, Opie,” said his partner. “Give it up. Just once for ol’ Randy.”
As Heat and Rook got on the elevator to his loft that evening, she held up her cell phone. “Carter Damon texted me back. ‘Apologies for not returning your call… Came across an old case file you’ll find very interesting.’ He wants me to meet him for coffee.” As Nikki replied, the elevator started to shake.
“Incoming,” said Rook, and they both hopped back out into his lobby. “Getting sick of those. If I liked aftershocks, I’d move to LA, where I could at least die tan.”
When she came out from the bedroom a few minutes later, he handed her one of the Sierra Nevadas he’d opened. They clinked necks, and he said, “What have you got there?”
Nikki held up the velvet pouch. “The charm bracelet my dad stole from my mom.”
“You make it sound so underhanded.”
“Go ahead, defend him, you who shoplifts jerk spice rub.” She shook the bracelet into her palm and examined the two charms, spinning the gold plated numerals between her thumb and forefinger, wondering what the one and nine meant. If anything.
Rook sipped more of his pale ale. “I’ve been mulling our visit with Vaja today. Know what I think? I’m thinking Mamuka was a spy.”
“Maybe,” she said.
“This is too weird. Isn’t this where you tell me to put on my Area Fifty-one foil hat? That I think everyone is a spy?”
“Yeah. But tonight, you get a free pass for taking one for the team.”
“Did I ever. Five minutes in the same room with Wally Irons, I want to eat my own flesh just for the distraction. Thanks to you, I’m stuck having dinner with him to discuss his view of modern urban law enforcement. Can’t you at least come along and goose me under the table?”
“Inviting as that sounds, I’ve got my coffee meet with Damon.”
“Fine, do legitimate case work while I pretend to be taking notes from that gas bag.”
