The newsroom felt to Heat like her own bull pen, but with higher technology,
brighter colors, and better wardrobe. The buzz of preparing for News 3 @ 10 clicked
along with the same measured adrenaline rush of working a murder case on deadline.
The pressure and excitement ran in the blood, not in the air. Call it controlled
chaos.
The news director, George Putnam, a stocky redhead, was still reeling from the shock
of his consumer reporter’s murder. Heat walked through a vapor trail of Scotch as
she and Rook followed him through a maze of desks. Nikki wondered if the whiskey was
Putnam’s reaction to the death, or how he managed to mount a nightly newscast in
Gotham. They settled into his office, like Captain Irons’s at the Twentieth, a
glass box that gave him a view of his world. “This is a big blow to our family,”
he said. He gestured to the newsroom. “We’re all working, but it’s hard. We’re
doing it for Max. She was special, that girl.”
The little fans in Heat’s bullshit filter started to whir, but she said, “That’s
admirable.” Rook caught her eye and, in the way only lovers can, vibed that his
antennae had also risen.
Putnam described Maxine Berkowitz as the perfect marriage of reporter and beat. She
’d come to WHNY from Columbus, Ohio, as weekend anchor, but “she never won the
focus groups, so instead of releasing her, I got the notion to recycle her as a
consumer watchdog. You know, an in-your-face viewer advocate. Somebody who’d walk
through walls and bust down doors.” He dabbed an eye and said, “She herself came
up with the segment title, ‘The Doorbuster.’ ” He went on to describe a team
player, beloved by her coworkers.
Not satisfied with the company line George Putnam handed her, Nikki asked to speak
with someone who was close to Maxine. The news director hesitated then led her and
Rook onto the set, where News 3’s hip-hop meteorologist bent over his weather desk.
“Oh my God,” said Rook, “I can’t believe I’m actually meeting Coolio Nimbus.”
The young black man straightened up quickly, and short dreads danced on his head.
But the signature smile and mischievous eyes of New York’s Most Playful
Weathercaster were dimmed by sadness. This man looked like he had lost his best
friend.
Nimbus walked them to his cubicle just off the set. When Nikki got there she turned,
looking for Rook, but she had lost him along the way. Heat spotted him gawping at
his own face with bewildered fascination as it filled a fifty-four-inch LED monitor
above the sports desk. By the time he joined her, she had gotten pretty much the
same view of Coolio’s best friend Max as she’d gotten from the news director,
although the weatherman said, “There’s some shit maybe you need to know. But I’m
not sure I should spill.”
“I know this is tough, Mr. Nimbus,” said Nikki, “but we need to hear about any
possibility if we’re going to find your friend’s murderer.”
A familiar voice interrupted. “Good lord, it’s Nikki Heat.”
Greer Baxter, the iconic face of WHNY News, towered over them. The veteran news
anchor’s stiff helmet of blond hair framed her handsome features. The newscaster
had several tissues tucked into her blouse collar to keep her neck makeup from
rubbing off. Both Heat and Rook rose, but he might as well have been invisible. She
clasped Nikki’s hand in both of hers and said, “Poor Maxine. Such a tragedy. Such
a loss.” And then, in a gear shift as smooth as turning the page on the night’s
top stories, she said, “Now, Nikki Heat, you and I need to have a talk. We need to
book your appearance on my little spot.”
The spot Greer Baxter humbly referred to, “Greer and Now,” was the expanded
interview segment that closed out each night’s primetime newscast. Baxter had a
reputation as a skilled interviewer who scored newsworthy guests. “With all due
respect,” began Nikki, “I—”
“Ah-ah,” said Greer. “I won’t take no. We lost one of our own. If you don’t
have enough information to go on with me tonight, I understand. But I need you. I’m
serious. Call me. Or I’ll be calling you, Nikki Heat.”
After she moved on, Heat turned her attention back to Coolio Nimbus. “What should I
know about Maxine Berkowitz?”