To see what she could draw out of Callan, she said, “Maybe if you could narrow it down for me. Is there someone or something you’re interested in? We packed a lot into two days.”
This had become a chess match between two experienced interrogators, and Agent Callan knew his game had to play up to hers. He tried a new tack, to see how she reacted to being dwarfed by a larger force. Paranoia was a primary tool for bumping interview subjects off base. Casually turning a page in the file, he read, “Subject B: ‘I didn’t kill him. You did. You killed him.’ Subject A: ‘Would you please stop saying that?’ Subject B: ‘But you did. I hope you’re happy now.’” Heat fought making eye contact with Rook because she knew that was the rise Callan wanted. The agent continued, “Subject B: ‘I’d think you’d be ecstatic to learn that not only wasn’t your mom’s double life just your imagination, but it wasn’t because she was having an affair. And—how cool is this?—she was a spy in the family like Arnold in True Lies. No, even better: Cindy Heat was like Julia Child in World War Two when she spied for the OSS.’”
“How dare you,” said Heat. She regretted her blurt instantly but couldn’t help herself. The introduction of her mother was bait and she had chomped it.
Agent Callan rolled on, picking at the sore spot. “Subject A: ‘I agree, that is something.’”
“I knew that cabdriver was skeevy,” said Rook. “What did he do, record us all the way from the hospital?”
The DHS agent smiled and turned to another page. This one, from Brasserie Lipp. “Subject B: ‘Let’s run down your list of hot buttons: Petar? Don? Randall Feller? … You named three. Is that about it?’ Subject A: ‘Rook, are you seriously asking me my number?’” Callan riffled a few more pages and gave Heat and Rook a once-over. “You really think that’s all we have?”
By then Heat had settled down and distanced herself from the personal intrusion to regain ground. “Well, then if you have all you need, you don’t need us.”
“I want to know about all your meetings. What were you doing in the Vincennes Forest last night?”
“So. You don’t have as much as you make out,” she said.
“I am seeking your cooperation. We’re wearing the same uniform, Detective.”
“If we’re on the same team, you give me something. Like, for instance, what was Nicole Bernardin doing before she was killed and who was she doing it for?”
“Not playing that game,” said Callan.
“Who wanted her dead?”
“Give it up, Heat.”
“Who’s Seacrest?”
“I ask the questions.” He used his command voice, but the tell was all over his face when she mentioned the name. A micro flinch of increased vigilance.
“Are you Seacrest?”
“This dog won’t bark.”
“Then we’ll talk when it does,” said Heat. This was the hardest of hardball, but with the stakes she was playing for, Nikki would bare-knuckle it to the bitter end. The agent seemed to get that, and shifted to Rook.
“I’ll ask you. Who did you see and what did you discuss?”
“Those are private matters. I am hereby claiming the protection of my rights as a journalist under the U.S. Constitution.”
He switched back to Heat. “So, for the record, you are refusing to cooperate with an official national security investigation?”