“These charges say you stole from the offices you guarded and stalked women in the apartments you patrolled.”
“As I said, all a misunderstanding. I did borrow some electronics, you know, computers and a printer, but intended to return them.”
“And the stalking?”
He put a hand over his heart. “I learned the hard way, when you are a lowly apartment security guard, it’s best not to ask residents on a date.”
“You had three restraining orders.”
“That’s what I mean about the hard way.” He fixed her with his grin again, and she put her nose back in the manila folder.
“And for about ten years you’ve worked on cruise lines?”
“That’s right. Well, off and on.”
“What sort of work?”
“Bit of this, bit of that. I worked casino operations staff doing slot maintenance. Also did some time on deck operations. You know, prepping chairs, handing out towels, lifeguarding.”
“You got fired from your cruise in 2007.”
“Only because I refused to accept a reassignment to work as bartender. I have a severe citrus allergy.” Heat looked up to stare at him at length for the first time. He fidgeted under her fixed gaze and explained himself. “That’s right. And you try to mix a drink on a tropical cruise that doesn’t have a lemon, orange, or lime.”
“Never heard of that,” she said.
“That was the reason, no lie. As a kid, I almost died from anaphylactic shock, so I said no way, and they fired my ass.”
Nikki mulled that over and went back to the rap sheet. “I thought you’d been put ashore because you were caught spying on a female guest.”
“That was on another ship. And all I did was check her stateroom for fresh towels. Her word against mine, and who do they believe? The paying guest or the grunt in the white uniform?”
“And how have you made ends meet between cruises?”
“I do some dog walking, a lot of apartment sitting. Oh, and I have a blog now.”
“Blogging? How well does that pay?”
“Not so much yet. But I’ll get there. I’m also on Twitter. I hear I’ve gone bat shit with followers since I got arrested.”
Easing into a new phase, she smiled at him and said, “You’re going to be pretty famous yourself, I guess, Hank.”
“Think so?” He beamed upon hearing his name from her. “Not like you, Detective Heat. And you’re not even on social media.”
“Not my thing.”
“You should do it. You’d trend off the hook. Seriously, you’re a real hero. I’ll bet I’ve read everything there is about you.” Nikki pulled out his confession and, from its contents, bet Hank Spooner had indeed become quite the expert.
“So you say you killed Cynthia Heat?”
“Your mother.”
“How did you kill Cynthia Heat?”
“It’s in there.”
“Tell me.”
“I stabbed her. One time. In the back.”
“Where was she?”
“In her apartment near Gramercy Park.”
“Where in the apartment?”
“In the kitchen. She was making pies.”
“Nicole Bernardin. How did you do that?”
“I stabbed her.”
“How many times?”
“Once. Same way. In the back.”
“And where was Nicole?”
He paused slightly. His first hitch. “Waiting for a train.”
“Where?” The railroad connection had been leaked in one of the articles and this was her attempt to shake him with detail.
“Larchmont.”
“PD up there says no blood on the platform.”