Her detectives, nearly in unison, rotated a 180 to regard Nikki. She turned from them and whispered into the phone, “…What?”
Rook cleared his throat. “Ah, maybe this would be a good time for me to hang up.”
“Don’t you dare.”
“Nikki, there is nothing in that post we haven’t already discussed. And, just so you know, I did not publish it. The magazine did without telling me as a teaser because this is such a hot case. You believe me, don’t you?”
What could she say? Something to start another argument? “I can see how that could happen,” is where she found both truth and neutral ground.
“I’ll help you forget all about this at dinner, I promise.”
“That would be a welcome change.” And then she added, “Whatever you’re making, just no crow, all right?”
When she had gotten out of her car an hour before upon returning from the Hamptons, Nikki felt every ache, scrape, and bruise from the prior evening’s street fight, and had planned to call it an early end of shift. The intervening events changed all that, so she convened her crew for a regroup session.
“We’re back to the Murder Board and, I guess, the drawing board, too,” she observed, but without a bit of whimsy. The four detectives seated around her weren’t smiling, either. “Before we break camp, let’s share what we’ve got.”
She began by filling them in on the missing gun and her theory about Conscience Point. From there Nikki shared the medical examiner’s certainty that the scratch marks on the late Roderick Floyd would most likely confirm her hit squad member as one of Jeanne Capois’s killers. Heat also mentioned her frustration at trying to link the quasi-SWAT crew that went after her and Capois to the gangsta pair that shot at Fabian Beauvais. When she admitted she was open to the fact that any one of them could have done Beauvais, Roach looked to each other, not at her. Oh, well.
Detective Raley recapped his efforts trying to get a line on Opal Onishi, whose Chelsea apartment Heat had found empty that morning. “Got her DMV photo,” he said, handing the picture of the young Japanese-American woman for Nikki to add to the gallery on the Murder Board. “Age twenty-six. No arrests. No warrants. I went back to her crib and the neighbors said she cleared out late Monday night.”
“Same day Fabian Beauvais made his planetarium plunge. Same night Jeanne Capois bought it.” added Ochoa.
His partner said, “You are correct, sir. Neighbors didn’t know where she went, so I spent the day tracking Opal Onishi’s jobs over the past few years. Turns out she’s an NYU film school grad. She started as a gopher at Food Network on
“Why do you suppose Jeanne Capois would be carrying Onishi’s address around?” asked Heat.
“Housekeeping job, maybe?”
“From somebody humping an hourly-wage gig?” said Feller. “Doubtful.”
Raley shrugged. “I dunno. Be nice to ask Opal Onishi. But I called her boss. He told me she hasn’t come in all week.”
Heat said, “Go over there first thing tomorrow and talk to her coworkers and friends. And, Sean? Nice job.” He acknowledged the shout-out, but barely. Body language told her that he and Ochoa were still peeved. “Miguel, you’re up.”
“Trying to chase down the two dudes from the ATM crew that shot — sorry. Shot
He pressed on. “Both still at large. Thug-One, Mayshon Franklin, has no active warrants, so he’s not getting a lot of love. However, Thug-Two, Earl Sliney, is still a wanted fugitive for his home invasion murder. His case got kicked up to New York State Police Bureau of Criminal Investigation. I got the name of the BCI detective holding the jacket. We ended up trading calls and e-mails.” Ochoa slid the cuff back off his watch. “We finally set a time for a call this evening, so I expect I’ll have my what’s-the-what before too long.”
Detective Rhymer shared his day in the Bronx at the various apartments of the three men from Heat’s hit squad. “All three sort of lived in the same block on Bathgate, so it made it easier to cover the venues simultaneously.”
“Bite me,” said Feller. “I spend half my life on bridges and the other half in tunnels. Opie gets one-stop shopping for three crime scenes.” The others chuckled, but Rhymer seemed preoccupied.
“What you holding, Detective?” asked Heat.