“Forget it,” he said. “Well. You’ve got a little… Never mind.” Heat
sprung out of the chair and moved close to the mirror. She saw nothing of concern
except the reflection of him behind her, laughing. When she sat back in the chair,
Rook composed himself and said, “Have you decided what you’re going to say?”
“Don’t you see, that’s the whole problem with this. I’m being forced to go on
live TV when I can’t release anything they don’t already have without screwing our
case.”
The stage manager came back. “We’re ready, if you are.”
During an arthritis pain commercial, someone clipped a wireless microphone on Nikki
’s collar and the stage manager showed her to a leather chair that would have been
right at home in an airport first class lounge. It angled toward an identical seat
in the tiny interview area off to the side of the stage, away from the anchor desk.
Three video cameras glided in to block Heat’s view of the rest of the studio, which
she couldn’t see anyway because of the brightness of the lights. “Thank you for
coming,” came a familiar voice. Then Greer Baxter materialized from inside the
glare with an extended hand. Nikki shook it and was about to lie about how it was
her pleasure when the anchorwoman sat and said, “Pretend the cameras aren’t there;
focus on me,” and then looked into one of the lenses herself.
“Tonight I go straight to the source about a serial killer. We are live. We are
‘Greer and Now.’ ” A short theme played under animated graphics and a montage of
Greer Baxter interviewing Al Sharpton, Daniel Moynihan, Whoopi Goldberg, Sully
Sullenberger, Donald Trump, and Alec Baldwin. When the intro finished, the stage
manager used his rolled script to point to the middle camera, which Baxter
addressed. “She may be New York’s most famous cop. Homicide Detective Nikki Heat
has been written about in national magazines, received decorations for valor, and
has the highest rate of case clearance of any investigator in the NYPD. Welcome,
Detective.”
“Hello.”
“There’s a serial killer out there. He’s claimed three victims so far. An
employee of the Health Department, an insect exterminator, and, tragically, News
Channel 3’s own Maxine Berkowitz.” On the monitor, Nikki saw photos of the victims
superimposed behind her and Baxter. “What can you tell us about the case?”
“First of all, I want to express my sorrow to you and your colleagues for your
loss, as well as to the families of all the victims. As for the status of the case,
there’s very little I can contribute beyond what is already known in the media.”
“Is that because you haven’t made enough progress?”
“To me, there’s no such thing as enough progress until a killer is captured and
taken off the streets. Obviously we aren’t there yet.”
“What about some of the things that haven’t been reported in the press yet? Is
there anything you can share that will make us feel better?”
“Greer, if sharing inside information would help capture this individual, I’d be
the first to do it. The fact is that there are some details that only we can know
because we don’t wish to harm the progress of the case, either by tipping off the
suspect or helping create copycat scenarios.”
“So that’s all you’re giving up.” Greer leaned forward slightly, a pose of
cross-examination. “Not to be rude, but why did you come on if you weren’t willing
to share more?”
“I think I made it clear in advance I couldn’t go beyond what’s been released.
But if you have any questions, I’ll certainly—”
“OK, here’s one. We know the killer leaves colored string behind.” She held up
the cover of the Ledger. “According to this, the first two strings were red and
yellow. My source tells me that there are additional colors now. Like purple? And
green?”