“Buckle up,” she said and lit the gumball.
As they rounded the corner, he got out his cell phone. “I also got the medallion number of the car.” He got Dispatch for the car service. “I’m declaring a police emergency, I need to know the drop route for your car number K-B-four-one-three-one-nine.” At Lexington he pointed frantically to make a left, and she did. He asked for the plate number and wrote it down. “Appreciate the assist,” he said and hung up. “JFK, via Midtown Tunnel.”
“You did that a little too easily,” she said, reaching for her radio mic.
“Hey. Investigative journalists have their tricks, too.”
Detective Heat called in to alert the duty officers at the tunnel entrance to detain a black Lincoln Town Car and gave the plate number Rook had gotten. Nikki still kept her speed up and, just after they crossed 42nd Street, Rook said, “There! Right lane, passing the Pret A Manger.”
One bleep of the siren, and the sedan pulled over and stopped. She called for backup and opened her door. “Stay,” she told Rook.
The windows were not tinted and the backseat appeared empty. She approached in the blind spot with her Sig up and threw open the rear door.
No one in the backseat.
Nikki opened the front passenger door and that was empty, too. The driver still had his hands up as she holstered her weapon. “Where’s your passenger?”
“The lady told me to let her out right after the pickup. I dropped her way back at Sixty-sixth, up near the Armory.” Heat looked uptown, feeling hopeless. “I told her she paid for an airport run and she said to keep going there.”
“Do me a favor, sir, pop your trunk,” she said, knowing it was futile.
She allowed Rook to accompany her back up to Salena Kaye’s apartment this time. Raley and Ochoa were gloved up, going over the living room when she came in. She handed Rook an extra pair from her case.
Raley said, “Just heard from Detective Rhymer up at the fleabag. We shot him a text pic of Salena Kaye from the photo over there.” He indicated the picture frame on the bookshelf beside the TV. “He said to tell you DD—you’d know who that is—positively ID’d Salena as the woman who was visiting Carter Damon’s room during his stay.”
What should have been joy at making that key connection to Carter Damon slid into the pit as Nikki’s heart sank at losing her suspect. It must have shown on her. “Pretty slick move, ditching you like that,” said Ochoa.
“Tell me,” said Heat. “I really thought we had her.”
Raley cleared his throat. “Maybe we could just follow the scent of tea tree oil.”
“Hilarious,” said Rook. “What happened to the whole brotherhood of Roach Blood thing?”
“We talked it over. We want our blood back.”
Nikki just let them riff and walked the rest of the apartment. Losing Salena didn’t cancel out the day of progress, but it absolutely left a bad taste. Before the gloom could seep in, she decided to get busy. “You guys get the bedroom yet?”
“Not yet,” said Roach.
The duffel was still open at the foot of the bed, so Heat started there, figuring what Salena Kaye would pack to take with her meant the most to her. The outer pockets contained makeup and toiletries bagged in TSA portions. The end zipper section held a blow dryer and brushes. The main compartment was half-filled with a pair of sandals, a bikini, some Victoria’s Secret underwear, on the daring side—no surprise—and a pair of jeans. She carefully lifted that stack out to set on the bedspread and let out a “Yesss!” to the empty room.
Underneath the clothing, Nikki had found her stolen keepsake box of photos.
EIGHTEEN