Heat took a side step up on the center divider, but he came for her anyway, roaring right at her spot on the curb. She braced for a shot, and when he saw that, he jerked his wheel hard right to spoil her aim, then slung the barrel of the shotgun out the side window, ready to deliver a blast as he went by. Instead of diving for cover, Nikki brazenly held her ground, made sure she had a clear field behind him, and squeezed off three rounds as he sped past. Two in the windshield missed him as he lurched the steering wheel evasively again, but the third shot, right through the open side window as he passed her, landed home. She saw the fabric rip where the neck of his hood met his shoulder, and his head wrenched suddenly to the side. He wove crazily in his lane but righted himself and continued speeding downtown. Nikki memorized the cab number and started walking back to her place.
For the shooting report, she also made note of where she was standing. Right across from the Morton Williams supermarket, exactly where her nightmare began ten years ago.
When Heat had finished her statement to the detective from the Thirteenth Precinct, Lauren Parry took a break from her work over Don’s body and handed her a glass of orange juice. “Found this in your fridge. Drink it. It’ll get your blood sugar back up.” Nikki took a small sip and put the glass down on the end table. “You didn’t drink any of that. What’s wrong, you feeling nauseous? Any chest pains? Dizziness?” The medical examiner checked her pulse. Satisfied Nikki wasn’t in shock, she handed her friend a box of sanitary wipes. “I’ve got to get back to my prelim. You clean up.” She gestured to the dried blood and tissue caked onto Heat’s legs and arms, adding as she stepped away, “Don’t forget your face, too.”
Nikki did none of that; only set the box of wipes down beside the orange juice and stared, eyes glazed, at the corpse of her friend. Voices pulled her attention to the doorway that stood open to the hall. Detective Ochoa came in first, grim-faced but sharing a low, discreet wave to his girlfriend, Lauren. His partner followed, Raley also glumly taking in the scene. Heat got up to meet them, and on her way over, Raley turned to look behind him. He said quietly to someone in the hall, “You sure you want to do this right now?” Rook appeared in the door and nodded to him.
As Nikki approached, he took her in his arms and pulled her to him. She wrapped herself around him and squeezed hard. They clung tight to each other a good while. When they finally separated, he still held her, resting a palm on each arm. “Thank God, you’re OK.” And then his gaze drifted over her shoulder to the body on the floor, naked except for the paper modesty towel Lauren had just finished draping over the groin. “Who’s this?” Rook asked.
Nikki sucked air deeply in through her nostrils, wondering where to begin. Before she could, the lead investigator stepped over. “Wondering the same about you. I’m Detective Caparella, Homicide.”
“Oh, Detective,” said Nikki. “This is my friend, Jameson Rook.”
Caparella noticed they were still holding hands and looked from him to her to the body. “Think I’d like to get a statement from you, if that’s all right, Mr. Rook.”
“Me? About what?”
Nikki said, “He really has nothing to do with this.”
“You know we need to cover the bases, Detective,” said the other cop. “Two boyfriends, one alive, one dead …?” He held his arm like a gate between Rook and Nikki, signaling this would be without her input. “Now would be good, sir.”