“Joe Flynn,” he said with a broad smile to go with his self-assured handshake. After Heat and Rook declined bottled waters, Flynn motioned them to the mission decor conversation area away from his desk.
Before Rook sat, he took in the view of Rockefeller Center below. The skating rink had long been defrosted and switched over to cafe tables that he watched being set for dinner. “Nice digs. Business must be good.”
“Smartest move I ever made was to quit staking out adulterers at seedy motels and make the jump to insurance recovery. That was my quantum leap.” He paused to let them make the connection to his company name. Flynn looked tan, fit, and rich, like a doctor from a primetime medical drama. Rook didn’t like the way the sexy insurance investigator was appraising Nikki, and he sat close to her on the couch. “First piece of stolen art I recovered took me one week and paid me as much as I’d made in three years of gumshoeing errant spouses…. Plus the ones who weren’t having affairs,” he said pointedly to Heat. He flashed her some teeth Rook bet came courtesy of the Brite Smile off Fifth Avenue.
She said, “So you recall that my father hired you once for a case.”
“It was ten years ago, but Heat’s not that common a name. Plus you look just like your mother. And that’s a major compliment, in this humble man’s view.”
Rook, who hadn’t bargained for this when he came up with the brainstorm of contacting Joe Flynn for leads, tried to quell the ex-PI’s bald flirtation by jerking the leash into business. “Cynthia Heat’s murder is still under investigation.”
“Saw that in the Ledger,” he said. “And all over TV last night. I thought you had your killer.”
“We’re keeping things open for now,” said Heat. “We need to go deeper.”
“I like going deeper,” said Flynn, prompting Rook to slide even closer to her. It didn’t seem to faze the other man. “Can I do that for you, Nikki?”
“I hope so. Do you still have records of your surveillance and any other checks you made on the people she was spending time with back then?”
“Well, let’s just see.” Flynn picked up an iPad from the table beside him and started flicking the screen. He caught Rook watching and said, “You should get yourself one, man, they’re amazing. They gave me one of the betas after I recovered a stolen prototype. Some goof left it in a bar, if you can believe that.” He tapped the glass and said, “Here we go. Summer-fall 1999. Piano tutor, right?”
“That’s right,” she said.
“Got it.” He looked up at her. “I’d normally ask for a warrant, but since this hits close to home, let’s not stand on ceremony this time. All right with you, Detective?”
“Quite.”
He tapped the screen again. “Copy’s being printed for you now. Leave me your e-mail and I’ll also attach the file for you.”
She handed him a card. “My phone number’s on there, too.”
“But the e-mail,” said Rook, “that’s all you need, right? For the attachment.”
“Right,” said Flynn. “So you think one of these people may have killed her?”
“Hard to know. Let me ask one more question. You were hired to check for infidelity. Did you observe anything else? Arguments? Anybody threatening my mother? Did she do anything or go anywhere out of the ordinary that you didn’t log because it wasn’t strictly part of your assignment?”
He tugged his ear as he thought. “Not that I recall. Been a number of years, but I’ll keep thinking. If I come up with anything, I’ll sure phone you.”
“Great.”
“Anything else?” he asked. “And I mean anything.”