After she put the cuffs on her prisoner and read him his rights, Heat looked up, choking back tears, and saw that Rook was still sawing at that bolt. Nikki took a moment to wipe her eyes and watch the sparks fly.
In spite of the late hour, when Heat stepped into the Observation Room on her way into Interrogation One, she found that, in addition to Rook, a small audience of detectives had come in to the precinct that night. Roach had made the trip, as had Rhymer and Feller. Malcolm and Reynolds would have been there, but they were still on Staten Island working Carter Damon’s van with Forensics. She felt all their eyes on her. They knew what this arrest meant. They also knew the ordeal she had suffered through that night, and this was a turnout for their team leader. But cops being cops, the show-up itself was the message of support. They weren’t going to express any sentiment.
To make sure of that, Ochoa said, “Real nice of you to get dolled up for us, Detective. Special.”
Heat resembled the cover of one of those commando video games. She hadn’t changed clothes, plus her face and hands were scuffed and filthy. In the hallway coming from the bull pen she had pulled a wad of grape chewing gum from the back of her hair. “Been a tad busy.”
Nikki stepped up to the magic window to look in on Petar Matic, who sat alone, in shackles, at the conference table on the other side. “Surprised you didn’t waste the asshole when you had the chance,” said Detective Feller. “Him and you? Nobody would ever know.”
“I would. Besides, he’s worth more alive. I want to know the whole story. Everything he did. Everyone he worked with. Who else he might have killed.”
“And where’s Tyler Wynn,” said Rook.
“Especially that.”
When Heat went into the box and sat across from Petar, she could see the fight all over him, too. The only difference was he’d been changed into jailwear. He bore more than his share of cuts, bruises, caked dirt, and dried blood. He even still wore the stripe of blue paint Nikki had tagged his face with. In his orange coveralls, he looked like he’d gotten ejected from a Florida Gators game.
The two stared at each other in frosty silence. Nikki didn’t like what she saw. Not just that she saw the man who had stabbed her mother to death and killed at least one other woman. Or that she saw the ex-lover who had called their relationship a job, merely a means to an end. What Nikki didn’t like was in the eyes. His submissive, resigned, defeated eyes from his takedown in the subway were history. Petar Matic had always been a strategic thinker, and his eyes told her he had done some brainstorming since they brought him up from the tunnel in handcuffs.
“You should have killed me when you had the chance,” he said.
“A lot of people around here think the same thing.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“I’m not the jury. I’m just the cop. At the end of the day, I have to stand for something. You do, too. We both know what that is.”
“The ever-righteous Nikki Heat. Saint and soldier.” He leaned forward over the table and smiled. “Too bad lover doesn’t make the list.”
When she felt her face flush, Nikki reminded herself to separate. Petar was going to try for any leverage he could get, especially messing with her head to gain an advantage. She tried to ignore the emotional stab—and the fact that, even if her squad had left the Ob Room to work the assignments she had just given them, Rook stood on the other side of that mirror. She drew a slow breath to get her focus back. “Tell me exactly when you got the contract to kill Cynthia Heat.”
“Very good. So professional to depersonalize. Your specialty.”
“Who approached you about it?”
“See? You remain focused on the work, as always.”
“I want some answers.”
He grinned. “I want a deal.”
“You don’t have anything to deal with. I already know you killed my mother and Nicole Bernardin.”
“Says who?”
“You.”
“When?”
“Tonight in the subway.”