And they were off for several rounds of gas ribbing. Nikki knew better than to fight a room full of guys lapsing into locker room adolescence, so she waited them out, clocking one minute on her watch. “OK, OK, now I’d like to hear their report.”
Ochoa said, “Hey, guys? I think she wants to move on. That is, if you culos are done venting.”
Following a chorus of “whoas,” Feller and Reynolds reported that the contaminated gas didn’t end up at the coroner’s by mistake. They explained that the medical examiner’s toxicity lab receives scheduled deliveries of pressurized gas tanks from an outside supplier for its tests. But the morning of Nicole’s lab workup, the delivery truck got stolen and used by someone to deliver the tainted supply of canisters.
“How come nobody reported the truck stolen?” asked Rook.
“Because it showed up back in the lot with its original load an hour later,” said Rhymer. “They figured it for a joy ride.”
Feller added, “And when the real driver made his usual delivery, it was a different shift at OCME, so they just unloaded it and kept them as spares. Nobody said anything.” He shrugged. “Flaw in the system.”
“That someone exploited and sabotaged Nicole’s tox test,” added Heat.
Rhymer asked, “Why would someone go to all that trouble?”
“Same reason they’d order the cremation of the body,” said Rook. “To hide something in the results.” He saw they weren’t looking at him like he was so nutty this time, so he continued. “But what?”
“And who?” asked Heat. “I want to find out who.”
“I’ll take point on that.” The roomful of detectives turned to see Captain Irons in the doorway. “Heat, your crew has its plate full. I’m going to handle this one personally.” Then he left, leaving no room for debate.
Feller said, “Guess after his Hank Spooner screwup, Wide Wally is trying to prove his worth.”
“Or pull his weight,” said Ochoa. “Good luck with that.”
Much as she didn’t care for his leadership, Heat didn’t abide public contempt for a precinct commander. “A little respect, all right?” That was all she needed to say to shut that down.
Detective Rhymer asked her, “What do you suppose is going on here, Detective? First the missing glove, then the bad gas, then the body gets cremated.”
“It’s no coincidence, we all know that.” She and Rook made eye contact, both thinking the same thing: that the hand of CIA, Homeland Security, or even some clandestine foreign agency might be orchestrating this. Nikki wondered if this was the time to share what she’d learned in Paris with the rest of the group. Then Raley spoke up, and the decision got made for her.
“Does anybody else think it’s weird that we never got a match on Nicole Bernardin’s fingerprints? I mean, here she was, a foreign national without prints on file?”
Malcolm joined in. “Odd, indeed. Especially since back in 2004 the feds changed immigration regs to make even permanent legal residents get printed. So how did Nicole skip that biometric documentation?”
“And no alien registration number, either,” said Raley. “All those years in this country, and no A-card? I bet you know what this means, Detective Heat.”
She tried to decide: Close it off, or share? Sharing would allow this bright group that was so eager to help her weigh in with ideas. But what a risky step, even with Hinesburg and Irons out of the building. Closing off discussion would be safe but potentially obstructive. Nikki stalled in the middle ground to buy time. “I have some thoughts, but I’m not sure I should go into them.”
“Why not?” asked Reynolds.
Rook said, “It’s need-to-know. Eyes-only.”
“Nicole Bernardin was a spy?” asked Raley, not at all as a question.
Heat turned to Rook and shook her head. He said, “What gave it away?”
“Eyes-only? Clever … Max.”