Detectives Feller and Rhymer came back from their trip to the restaurant Nicole Bernardin had gotten Web directions to from HopStop. “Got a hit,” said Opie as they joined Nikki at her desk.
“Harling and Walendy’s Steakhouse up at Ninety-fourth and Broadway. Had to wait for the assistant manager to come in for his shift, but he definitely ID’d our vic,” said Feller. “Said Bernardin came in about seven P.M. The reason he noticed her was because she took up a table drinking nothing but club soda for a half hour waiting for someone and never ate dinner.”
Heat asked, “Did he say why not? Did she get a call or Something and leave?”
“No, she met a guy there,” said Rhymer. “He came in, sat down, they talked about five minutes. She goes, but he keeps the table and has a bone-in rib eye.”
Nikki frowned. “They actually remember his order?”
“Even better. They got their picture taken with him while he ate it.” Feller held up a framed photo of waitstaff and a chef posed around the table of a familiar face grinning at a rib eye and giant baked potato. “Got this off their wall in the bar.”
“Is that who I think it is?” asked Heat.
“None other,” said Rhymer. “Lloyd Lewis, treasure hunter.”
“May I see that?” she asked.
He handed it to her. “OK, but be careful. The man’s a legend.”
Nikki said, “It’s a photo.”
“Of a legend,” Rhymer repeated with emphasis.
“He’s been like this all afternoon,” said Feller.
Heat studied the picture briefly then handed it back, pretending to drop it just to watch Rhymer freak. He didn’t disappoint. “Let’s get Lloyd Lewis in here and talk to him.”
“We’ll have to wait,” said Feller. “His agent says he’s on a secret adventure somewhere on the Amazon.”
“A secret adventure. How cool is that?” said Rhymer.
“Gimme a golll-ee, Opie,” said his partner. “Give it up. Just once for ol’ Randy.”
As Heat and Rook got on the elevator to his loft that evening, she held up her cell phone. “Carter Damon texted me back. ‘Apologies for not returning your call…. Came across an old case file you’ll find very interesting.’ He wants me to meet him for coffee.” As Nikki replied, the elevator started to shake.
“Incoming,” said Rook, and they both hopped back out into his lobby. “Getting sick of those. If I liked aftershocks, I’d move to LA, where I could at least die tan.”
When she came out from the bedroom a few minutes later, he handed her one of the Sierra Nevadas he’d opened. They clinked necks, and he said, “What have you got there?”
Nikki held up the velvet pouch. “The charm bracelet my dad stole from my mom.”
“You make it sound so underhanded.”
“Go ahead, defend him, you who shoplifts jerk spice rub.” She shook the bracelet into her palm and examined the two charms, spinning the gold plated numerals between her thumb and forefinger, wondering what the one and nine meant. If anything.
Rook sipped more of his pale ale. “I’ve been mulling our visit with Vaja today. Know what I think? I’m thinking Mamuka was a spy.”
“Maybe,” she said.
“This is too weird. Isn’t this where you tell me to put on my Area Fifty-one foil hat? That I think everyone is a spy?”
“Yeah. But tonight, you get a free pass for taking one for the team.”
“Did I ever. Five minutes in the same room with Wally Irons, I want to eat my own flesh just for the distraction. Thanks to you, I’m stuck having dinner with him to discuss his view of modern urban law enforcement. Can’t you at least come along and goose me under the table?”
“Inviting as that sounds, I’ve got my coffee meet with Damon.”
“Fine, do legitimate case work while I pretend to be taking notes from that gas bag.”
“Stop whining, Rook. This can’t be the first time you pretended to interview someone you had no plans to include in an article.”