“Nicole participated in their summer evening training runs in Central Park, did the Fifth Avenue Mile, and a lot of 10Ks, but had no social profile there,” said Reynolds. “Basically, she was a bib number.”
And so it went through all their reports. Information, but nothing that led anywhere. Even Rhymer, who on his own had checked with amateur orchestras and the musicians union to see if Nicole, the former NEC violin prodigy, had any affiliations there, came up empty. All the work they did just took them nowhere; like Nicole’s summer loops around the park, it all ended right back where they’d started.
As the group dispersed, Nikki found herself, by reflex, turning to Rook’s empty chair to get his off-the-wall take. Before the thought of him pushed her into a tar pit of vulnerability, she got busy at her desk. In all, she counted herself fortunate that the hour had passed without gossipy whispers or needing to confront the controversy of her personal life in that bull pen. Then Detective Hinesburg breezed in and a new hour began.
“I heard all about last night. You OK?” asked Sharon, standing over her more than a bit too much. But respecting personal space was not her thing. “Had to be awful, right there in your place.” She leaned down and lowered the volume only slightly. “And it was your boyfriend. Nikki, I am so sorry.”
“He was not my boyfriend.” Heat wished she hadn’t even engaged.
“Sure, whatever you say. It had to be so traumatic. Truthfully, I didn’t think you’d be in.”
Heat drew back her watch cuff. “Clearly, you didn’t. Where were you?”
“On the assignment Captain Irons gave me.” At first, Nikki thought she was lying, but that would be too easy to check, so she moved on to annoyance that the precinct commander had gone around her, poaching squad members without consultation. But then Heat considered which one he had poached. And hadn’t it been a better morning without Sharon there? Hinesburg crossed over to her desk to thunk down her monstrous purse and said, “I would have been in earlier, but you know how he’s watching OT. So since I had to drive last night to Scarsdale, he told me to come in late today to make up.”
Nikki’s breath caught. She strode over to Hinesburg’s desk and invaded her space for a change. “What were you doing up in Scarsdale?”
The other detective let out a low whistle. “Hoo boy. Honest. I really thought he told you.”
It hit Nikki like a backdraft and made her reel. “You went to see my father? On assignment?”
Before she could answer, Heat was already on her way to the captain’s office. Hinesburg called out, feebly, “Yes, but not as a suspect. Purely a person of interest.”
Heat slammed his door with such force, half the building must have thought they were witnessing another big aftershock. And if they had been inside Irons’s office, they would have been.
“Holy crap, Heat, what the hell?” Wally Irons had not only jolted upright in his chair Roger Rabbit-style, he’d retreated on his rollers, heels kicking at the plastic floor mat, eyes wide and mouth slack. They were good instincts to follow. Detective Heat advanced on his desk as if she intended to come right over it at him.
“What the hell, is right. What the hell are you doing, sending Sharon fucking Hinesburg to my father’s home?” Heat seldom swore, and if the entrance wasn’t sufficient to indicate her upset, the f-bomb was. “My father’s home, Captain!”
“You need to settle yourself right down.”
“The fuck I do. Answer my question.”
“Detective, we all know about the stressful night you had.”
“Answer me.” When he just stared at her, she picked his half cup of cold coffee off the coaster and poured it on his CompStat printout. “Now.”
“You are totally out of line.”
“I am just starting—Wally.”