“Yep. A prepaid phone, probably bought at a CVS or Best Buy. Not traceable.”
“The reason I’m asking if you’re sure is that you also said the trigger for Tyler
Wynn’s bomb was a timer, and I just learned it was a remote. Maybe not the end of
the world, but my main concern—Detective—is that I can count on you to actually
complete an assignment when I give you one.” Nikki side-glanced to Rook, who was
nodding feverishly and throwing shadow punches in the passenger seat.
“But I did.” The whine did nothing to endear her.
“Then why did you say it was a timer?”
“Because when you called on me, I got all flustered. I forgot which it was and said
the first thing I thought of. I feel a lot of pressure in those Murder Board
meetings.” Hinesburg paused, and Nikki could hear her swallow hard. “I feel like
you hate me, and that makes it harder. I’m trying to do better.”
Heat felt like she was dealing with a preadolescent rather than a homicide
detective, and cut her losses. “Here’s where you can start, Sharon. Do what
you’re asked, and if you don’t know an answer, don’t make one up, OK?”
“See, you do hate me.”
After the call, Nikki growled in frustration and said to Rook, “Last thing I need
in the middle of two monster cases is Sharon Hinesburg’s…”
“… Bullshit?”
“… Crap.”
“You go, Nikki.”
“I can deal with weakness. I can even handle a certain degree of incompetence. Sort
of. But what I can’t have is a lack of confidence. And there aren’t enough make-
work assignments just to keep her out of the way.”
Rook said, “You should just bag her.”
“I can’t, and you know why.”
Rook smiled as they entered the Midtown Tunnel. “Which is why I’d never sleep with
someone I work with.”
On the sidewalk outside the Department of Homeland Security, Heat made a quick call
to Detective Raley before she and Rook went in. “You’re still my King of All
Surveillance Media, right?”
“I’m also clairvoyant,” Raley said. “I predict my future holds canceled dinner
plans.”
“Uncanny. From now on, I’m calling you the Great Ralini. I just left Salena Kaye’
s SRO in Coney Island. The motel has some actual working surveillance cams, and the
manager is holding the tapes from the last few weeks. I’d like you to scrub them to
log her comings and goings and pull video of any visitors she might have had.”
“On it,” he said, and jotted down the address of the Coney Crest.
“And Sean, keep this between us, but that’s one of the dives I asked Detective
Hinesburg to check out a few days ago. She said she did.”
Raley didn’t need much prompting. “And you want me to make sure she actually
showed up?”
“Wow,” said Heat. “The Great Ralini sees all.”
“Building a paper trail?” asked Rook when she hung up.
“He’s scrubbing the video anyway.” Nikki didn’t know what felt worse, sneaking a
check on one of her own detectives or having to because that’s what happened when
you lost confidence in a team member.
A whispered intensity crackled in the DHS basement bunker as Detective Heat and
Jameson Rook stepped off the elevator and were met by their uniformed escort.
Clearly the mode had shifted down there from serious to urgent. More personnel
filled the darkly lit cavern than before, some squeezed double in the cubicles,
scanning e-mail traffic, tracking suspects on the Watch List, and networking
informants. Others monitored JumboTron displays of the power grid, reservoirs, and
nuclear plants, as well as live cams of bridges, tunnels, airports, and harbor ship
traffic.