“They have others. They can do it.”
“Who are they, Salena? Names.” While Kaye breathed heavily across the mouthpiece
Heat signaled to Hinesburg, swirling the hurry up circle with her forefinger. Sharon
dialed the switchboard and checked on the trace. “Start with one name, I can wait.
”
“You’ll never trace this call, so don’t bother trying to stall me.”
“I think you’re the one wasting my time.”
“No, don’t go,” she shouted. “I do have names. I know everything. I’m just not
giving it up. Not until I’m in.” She slurped saliva. “And safe. Then I’ll tell
you everything.” Heat had heard thousands of plea deal offers. Kaye was saying all
the right words, but there was something about the way she said them that didn’t
sell. To Nikki, they had to pass the Valentine’s Test. “I love you” has to feel
like it. No tingle, no deal.
Over at her desk, Hinesburg waved for attention and gave the thumbs-down.
With no trace coming, Nikki moved things to the next round. “Tell you what, Salena.
You come in, and I’ll do my best for witness protection. But no promises unless you
deliver.”
“Agreed!” Jumping at that a bit quickly, Heat thought, for a cold-blooded
assassin.
“Good. Do you know where the Twentieth Precinct is located? West Eighty-second off
Columbus?”
“Nice try. No way.”
“Oh, I get it,” said Heat, pushing the sarcasm. “You want us to come to you.”
“If you were me, wouldn’t you?” Nikki had to admit, she had a point. After more
rustling and throat clearing, Kaye said, “Remember the East River Heliport?”
“Hard to forget.”
“Yeah, you lost me there after I spiked your coffee at Dunkin’ Donuts.” But it
had been Starbucks, not Dunkin’. Odd. Would Salena forget a detail like that? Nikki
wondered if maybe she really was drunk. Or something else… “Eight-thirty tonight.
Come alone. I trust only you.”
Heat jotted down the place and time but said, “No, Salena, you come here.”
Kaye held her ground. “Take it or leave it. And if you bring anyone else, deal’s
off. And you can thank yourself when this city turns into a fucking hot zone.”
The line went dead.
“She gone?” asked Hinesburg. Heat simply nodded, deep in thought, pondering the
strange call and the drastic change she read in the bold killer. “What did she
want?”
“To turn herself in.”
“Holy fuck.” Then Hinesburg said, “Fuck, sorry about the ‘fuck.’ I heard you
mention the precinct. Is she coming here?” Nikki didn’t answer. “Hello?”
Heat looked up. “Sorry, just thinking something through.” Nikki tapped her notepad
then shoved it aside. “I need some air. If she calls back, you know where to find
me.”
Out on the sidewalk Nikki felt a new vulnerability. Not just from recognizing her
exposure on the streets of New York these days, but something more intimate. That
phone call represented critical movement in the terror investigation—not to mention
her mother’s case—but at the same time, something inside her—Nikki’s innate
wariness—struggled for attention. So many things about that outreach did not add
up: its unexpectedness; the treasure of information it offered so easily, like a
dangling carrot; the strained quality of Salena Kaye’s demeanor.
Nikki pondered all that as she sidestepped the ancient discs of dried chewing gum
that had blackened the concrete. Her self-talk balanced the allure of capturing
Salena Kaye with the bigger picture of her experience the past week.
And with what she had just seen in her video screening.
Detective Heat’s innate wariness whispered in one ear, but a louder voice spoke in
the other and filled her with the butterfly sensation that she may have arrived at
the hinge point of two big cases. That voice shouted to her, telling Nikki to act—
calling for her not just to seize the opportunity but make the most of it.
After ten more laps around the chewing gum obstacle course, she began forming an
idea of just how to go about that.