“Roach, saddle up.” She turned to the other detectives in the bull pen.
“Feller. Rhymer. You, too. We’re taking a ride to Westchester.”
“What about me?” Detective Hinesburg came in from the kitchenette holding a plate
of deli salad scoops. Suddenly it was PE class, all the teams had been chosen, and
everyone started getting very busy avoiding eye contact. Heat simply didn’t want
Sharon there. And she sure didn’t want to ride with her. She wasn’t about to foist
her on Roach or Feller and Rhymer, either.
“I need you here to hold the fort.” Nikki felt bad for that, but in a way she knew
she’d get over it in a hurry. In truth, Hinesburg could take care of a few things
that would get Heat on the road faster. “Start by calling the State Police, Troop
K. Tell them we are en route for a seal and seize at a place off Warburton Avenue in
Hastings and need an assist. Give the Troop K lead my cell. I’ll coordinate
logistics from the car.”
“Got it,” said Hinesburg, seeming content to be relevant. “What about town
police?”
By then Heat and the others had reached the door. “I know the locals and have them
in my contacts. I’ll handle them myself after I notify DHS.”
“What’s this guy done, anyway?” she asked.
“I hope nothing yet.” And then Heat rolled.
They took up observation positions where the Old Croton Trailway ran along a wooded
hill above Vaja Nikoladze’s property. “Got just about one more hour of daylight,”
said Ochoa. He turned to his left to indicate the low sun’s reflection kicking off
the glass skin of the Manhattan skyline twenty-two miles downriver. From that
distance, it could have been Oz.
Heat didn’t bother to look. Her focus remained through her binoculars, studying the
secluded acreage below. She scanned Nikoladze’s metallic blue hybrid, which sat
empty, nosed against the weathered rail where the gravel drive met the pasture
beside his house. The freshly painted Victorian showed no sign of life from her
vantage point. All the curtains were open but to no movement, no passing forms or
shadows. And no lights inside. A breeze rustled the pink blossoms of the stand of
rhododendrons near the kennel on the right side of the pasture. Nikki had never seen
all the dogs he kept in there, but on her first visit the month before, she met the
Georgian shepherd Vaja had anointed to reclaim the glory of his beloved show dog
that had suddenly died. It crossed her mind at that moment to wonder what unexpected
tragedy befell the biochemist’s dog, and if what she had read on Nikoladze’s face
as grief had actually been self-reproach. Heat listened for the dogs but only heard
the stir of wind mixing with the clatter of a northbound train behind the trees at
the back of the meadow as it traveled along the Hudson River.
“Callan’s landing now,” said Heat, adjusting the volume in her earpiece.
Rook turned to her. “Why couldn’t we take a chopper?”
“Dude,” said Feller. “We got here in like a half hour. In case you didn’t
notice, we are waiting for the slicks with their f-ing chopper.”
“Maybe it’s not so much wanting to ride in one. I was sort of hoping for once in
my life I could turn to someone and say, ‘Prepare the chopper.’ ”
Raley said, “Go ahead man, hit me one time.”
“No, I couldn’t.”
“Really, here’s your chance, go ahead.”
Rook considered a beat and said, “Prepare the chopper.”
“Eat shit,” said Raley. Ochoa held out a fist and the partners bumped.
“Boys,” said Heat.
“That’s fine,” said Rook. “I know you’re just ripping me because you see me
almost as a brother cop.”
“Hey, if that works for you, bro,” said Ochoa.
They met Agents Callan and Bell down on the road, around a bend that concealed them
from being seen from Vaja’s property. Callan greeted Heat’s team and said, “Sorry
for the delay—we had to set down in some nature preserve.”