Deadly Heat

Far from being annoyed at getting boomeranged in, the four detectives gave off

the edgy vibe of anticipation, and when Heat began, “It’s right in front of us.

Both vics were in the business of consumer protection,” she saw their eyes come

alight. “I want to find out if they knew each other or if they knew someone in

common.” From there on, the meeting was short. She put Roach on contacting Olivia

Conklin, Feller back on his beat at the Health Department, and Rhymer on Maxine

Berkowitz’s coworkers and friends. “Check e-mails, texts, phone records,

everything that leaves a trail,” she said, and watched them cancel their evenings

and hit the phones with renewed purpose.

Back early the next morning, with little to go on yet much to cover, the day for all

of them became the essence of good detective work: drudgery. The hours of phone

calls and computer checks got broken up only by meeting up to compare notes after

pounding the pavement for face time with shop owners, park nannies, and doormen who

’d seen nothing out of the ordinary. The true chore of Nikki’s day came when

Captain Irons arrived in the late morning, camera-ready with a fresh white uniform

shirt in dry cleaner plastic, just in case someone needed a statement. After

satisfying himself nobody had tried to kill his lead homicide detective in the last

twenty-four hours, he asked for a briefing of both active cases. Wally was more an

administrator than a cop, and his eyes glazed over as she filled him in on the

details. When she finished, his first question was his go-to: “How much overtime is

this gonna drain from my budget?”

Always prepared for that resistance, Nikki managed to sell the precinct commander on

the long-term savings of bringing in more manpower, and came out of his glass office

with an OK to bring in one of her favorite detective teams, Malcolm and Reynolds.

Rook checked in from a taxi heading from Charles de Gaulle Airport to his hotel in

Paris. It was night there, New York plus six, and he said he’d left word with

Anatoly Kijé, his old Russian spy friend, hoping they could meet for a late dinner-

slash-debrief.

“You mean the same Anatoly Kijé whose henchmen kidnapped us from Place des Vosges

just so he could be sure we weren’t being followed?”

“Ah, memories,” said Rook. “Don’t you wish you’d come?”

“So you know, Rook, I don’t consider it a Michelin Tour just because my nose is

pushed against one of their radials in the trunk of a car.”

They hopped off the line with the promise to catch up later that night so Heat could

grab a call from OCME. Lauren Parry’s prelim on Maxine Berkowitz bore out the COD

as asphyxia by strangulation. “The killer took her from behind with a cord. And

Forensics is committing to that coaxial cable found in the park. The makeup residue

on the insulation is an exact match to the victim’s.”

“Save me a call to geekland, Lauren. Any prints on the cable?”

“None,” said the ME. “And no sign of struggle. He chloroformed her and strangled

her when she was out.”

Nikki jotted that down then riffled pages in her spiral until she came to notes on

her other case. “OK to switch gears?”

“Detective Heat, you have got more corpses to ask about than anyone I know.”

“You should give me a rewards card.”

“Cold, girl.”

“As ice. What about my poison vic from the Starbucks?”

“Same as what Salena Kaye used to kill Petar. A fast-acting cocktail of strychnine

and cyanide, plus a few additives, including a lab-modified derivative of bismuth

subsalicylate, which is what turned the tongue black. It’s not a poison, it’s

mainly for show.”

“You’ll forgive me if I don’t applaud.”

“Nikki,” said Dr. Parry, “this is potent stuff. She knows her chemistry. You

watch yourself.”




Heat awoke with a start on her couch at six-fifteen the next morning to the

Norwegian duo R?yksopp singing “Remind Me”—the ringtone Rook had installed to ID

him on her cell. It took Nikki so long to orient herself and find the phone, she was

afraid he’d dump to voice mail, but she caught it in time. “You were going to call

me last night,” she said.

“And bonjour to you, too. Things got very busy over here. You won’t be sorry.”

Rook’s voice sounded clear, next-room clear. And there was something in it.

Exhilaration, maybe.

She moved aside the sheet music she had fallen asleep studying, another futile

attempt to break her mother’s code. “Tell me.” Wired to be a note taker, Heat

reached for the pen and spiral pad she kept on her coffee table, clearing the night

from her throat.