Deadly Heat

Higher-ups held to their decision not to announce the coming threat. “Without

specifics, all it would cause is panic.” At that moment, everyone in that precinct

knew what that felt like.

They decided to let Detective Heat continue as lead in the interrogation.

Unfortunately Carey Maggs decided to continue his pose of indignant innocence.

Several hours into his genteel stonewall Detective Rhymer slipped into Interrogation

One and passed Heat a file of research he had pulled from his bank canvasses. She

perused it and gave Maggs a look of significance. “Let’s talk about Salena Kaye.

You recall Salena Kaye, right?”

“By name I do. But only because you’ve been flogging on about her as if we should

be mates. Wouldn’t know her if I tripped on her, as I’ve made clear.”

“We know that Salena Kaye was busy lately contacting radical jihadists, searching

for volunteers to martyr themselves. I called it volunteering, but she has been

offering a hundred thousand dollars to the families of whoever signs up.”

“If you say. I still don’t see how this has bugger all to do with me.”

“One hundred thousand dollars. Where would a registered physical therapist like

Salena Kaye get her hands on a spare hundred grand or two?”

“Ask her.”

“She’s dead. And you know it, don’t you?” Maggs kept his eyes passive during the

silence that followed. His expression gave away nothing. “I want you to tell me.

Whom did she hire and where are they?”

“I guess we’re stumped” was all he said.

Accustomed to the denials, she pressed on and held up a scanned page from the file

Rhymer had brought her. “Just got some interesting information here. Salena Kaye’s

personal account received a wire transfer for two hundred thousand dollars this week

from a bank named Clune Worldwide Holdings.” She set that page down and took out

the next sheet. “This is a copy of the receipt from the credit card Salena Kaye

used at Surety Rent-a-Car the other day when she tried to rent a box truck. We ran a

search and the line of credit was funded through Clune Worldwide Holdings.” She

paused. No response, so she produced another page. “The personal bank statement of

Sharon Hinesburg.”

“Another name you insist I should know.”

“See these yellow highlights?” She held the statement up; he barely gave it a

glance. “These are one-thousand-dollar payments wired electronically into Hinesburg

’s account from Clune Worldwide Holdings.”

“And?”

“And,” she echoed, turning another page, “Clune Worldwide Holdings, an offshore

bank located in the Cayman Islands—aka Switzerland with palm trees, when it comes

to money laundering—is the same bank that happens to maintain the account for

Mercator Watch, the charitable organization you fund.”

“Means nothing,” he said. “The bank I use also happens to pay those other people?

Lots of banks pay other people. One bank in those TV adverts seems to pay Vikings.

Does that make their other customers Vikings, too?” He chuckled.




They allowed Maggs a supervised bathroom break, and when he came back into

Interrogation to find Rook seated beside Heat, it took him off balance, if only

slightly. He covered with more nonchalance. “Glad, actually, to have an

investigative journalist join the proceedings. If they sod me off to Gitmo, I’ll

need someone to record the injustice.”

“Full disclosure, I’m not here to chronicle the Free Carey campaign. I’m helping

Detective Heat stop you from killing innocent people.”

“Well, at least we understand each other.”

“More and more,” said Heat.