Nikki slapped her thigh with the tabloid, wondering how she had gotten so
lucky to work under the Iron Man. Detective Ochoa stuck his head in the door.
“Excuse me, Detective? Got a call on your line from a guy who says he’s the serial
killer.”
“See?” Nikki shook the newspaper at Irons. “The bogus calls are starting already.
”
But then Ochoa said, “Detective Heat? He asked if you liked to roller blade.”
Heat tossed the tabloid on a guest chair and rushed out to her desk.
FIVE
“This is Detective Heat.”
“Got your attention, did I?” The voice sounded male, but distorted, the way 20/20
electronically disguises voices of mob witnesses and whistle-blowers.
“It’s a start,” said Nikki. She sat at her desk, and when she swiveled in her
chair, she saw that the entire squad had gathered around her. “So. Tell me what you
’re calling about.” There was a loud click and the line went dead. She stared at
the phone and had started to tell the others he’d hung up when her line rang. She
jumped on it. “Heat.”
The distortion made him sound even more chilling. “Do not fuck with me. Pull that
casual chatty bullshit again, I’m gone. Got it?”
“Got it.”
“I’m going to talk, and you’re going to listen.” Nikki looked over at Raley
where he coordinated the call trace at his desk. “What’s this shit in the paper
about it could be two people? Do I have to prove it’s not?”
“No,” she said immediately.
“We’ll see. I get to decide that, cover girl.” All of her training had taught
Heat to remain dispassionate in these kinds of calls. But her heart bumped at the
reference to her magazine cover. She tried to bat away the personalization. He had
other ideas. “Think you’re so smart, Detective Heat? How smart do you feel running
around like a rat in a maze? You smell a clue but you can’t see it. You need
something to unlock that door.”
Nikki wanted to keep him talking, not just for the trace but to get a handle on him.
“You don’t have to make this a contest.”
“Sorry.” Then he laughed, a digitally altered Darth Vader. “Tell you what, cover
girl. Maybe I’ll give you a hand on the next one.” And then he clicked off again.
Heat stood to look over the other detectives at Raley, who shook his head and hung
up his phone.
Nikki went into the restroom and splashed water on her face again and again. It just
seemed like something to do when all she wanted was to be alone. Drying off, she
felt the paper towel tremble in her hands as she took in the magnitude of what had
just happened. A challenge had been laid down. An already baffling case had suddenly
taken on a new dimension for Heat, who now found herself matching wits against a
serial killer, with innocent lives at stake over how good she really was. “Cover
girl,” she muttered into her hands. Nikki peeled the wet towel off her face,
chucked it, and left the room without so much as a glance in the mirror.
When Heat came back into the bull pen, she found another unsettling surprise
waiting. “Je suis retourné!” Jameson Rook slid off her blotter and stood beside
his roll-along bag. Grinning through traveler’s stubble, he held his arms open wide
as she approached. She wouldn’t ice him in public, but the hug Nikki gave him
wouldn’t exactly have lighted up the Kiss Cam at the Garden. “Brr,” he said in a
low tone. Then added, “See, I’ve been working on my empathy.”
“Not the best time, Rook.”
“Let me guess.” He held up his copy of the Ledger. “I saw this in the airport
when I got off the plane.”
Raley walked by, holding out a transcript of the phone call. She made a no-look
snatch as he moved on, distributing it to the squad as they assembled around the
Murder Boards. “The serial killer reads the Ledger, too, and he just called.”
“You spoke to him?”
“I did.”