The ECU detective said, “I just now got my confirmation from the laboratory.
We have positive matches on the bomb materials that took out Tyler Wynn in his
Sutton Place apartment. And I guess you’ve heard by now that there was no bioagent
evidence in her room.”
“Yeah, I got that from DHS. The reason I’m calling is I have my fingers crossed
you found something that might put me on her trail again.”
He chuckled. “You mean like a bus ticket with an address written on it in lipstick?
Maybe a USPS mail-forwarding request?”
“No, huh?”
“Sorry to disappoint, Detective. She lived monastically and left no paper trail.
Not even a receipt for a diner. From her garbage, it looks like she survived on
microwave meals and power shakes from the gym. And you know me, I checked. We even
Dumpster dived to locate her trash bags in the alley bins.”
“Yes, Benigno, I know you,” she said, unable to mask her disappointment. “Thanks,
anyway.”
“No problem. Say, did you find your iPad? I left it on your kitchen counter.”
“My iPad?”
“Right. When my crew investigated your apartment yesterday, I found the tablet
under your bed. Forgot to mention I left it on your counter so you’d see it.”
“I haven’t been home yet,” Nikki said. She spotted Rook coming back into the bull
pen and asked DeJesus to hold. “Rook, did you leave your iPad at my place?” He
opened his courier bag and fished his out. Heat uncovered the mouthpiece. “Benigno,
I don’t own an iPad, and it’s not Rook’s.”
Less than an hour later it arrived at Heat’s desk, delivered in a sealed pouch by a
runner from ECU, after Nikki’s super had let Benigno into her apartment to retrieve
it. Detective DeJesus told her he had already dusted the iPad, so she didn’t need
to worry about gloves. When she powered it up, the lock screen opened to a wallpaper
photo of Joe Flynn smiling at the helm of his sailboat, with the Statue of Liberty
in the background. Rook and the squad gathered around her let out a collective sigh
at the chilling notion that Rainbow had also left this behind on his nocturnal visit
to Gramercy Park.
“Well,” said Randall Feller, “that’s some progress. We found Flynn’s missing
iPad.”
Heat managed her uneasiness by remaining analytical, her cop sense telling her this
piece of intimidation could be turned into a lead if she kept her head and followed
it through. “Why? What do you suppose the message is of this?” She turned to her
crew as they drew seats around for an impromptu meeting. Or maybe to form a circle
around her. “The string on the pillowcase made his point about my vulnerability and
his power. No joke intended, but isn’t leaving this sort of overkill?”
“A control freak’s a control freak,” said Malcolm. “Simple as that.”
His partner, Reynolds, chafed at that. “Is that kind of thinking moving us forward?
I don’t think so. Let’s stay curious.”
“I know what makes me curious,” said Raley. “I’m always wondering what somebody
’s into. What they’ve been surfing. May I?” Heat handed him the iPad. He opened
the Google app and found a string of searches for Jameson Rook.
Ochoa turned to him and said, “This Joe Flynn guy a fan, or just stalking you?”
Raley tapped the glass a few times and said, “Neither. All these searches were made
after Flynn disappeared and/or died.”
“What’s the search history?” asked Rook.
“Mostly to FirstPress, your Twitter account, and… let’s see the most recent. Your
Facebook page.” A few taps later, he brought up a photo. “Recognize this?”
The group leaned in for a look followed by a mix of moans, wolf whistles, and cat
calls. Heat said, “I do. That is our own celebrity writer posing for selfies with
the hot messes he insists on calling his fan base.”
“Don’t hate me because I’m popular, all right?” said Rook, pretending to be
hurt.