“No. The manufacturer may be familiar to you. Bianchi.”
The brand was well known to Heat as it was to anyone who geared up for law enforcement. “It came from a police belt?”
Always precise, Lauren clarified, “Or a security guard’s. It came from either a holster or a cuff case. You’re the one who tipped me to the handcuff bruising on the victim’s lower back, so, if you want to speculate, cuff case is a good bet.”
“I wonder . . . that is, if you knew anyone who could possibly have a word with Detective Ochoa at this late hour of the night . . .”
“Go on,” she said, enjoying Nikki’s counter to her teasing about Rook.
“I wonder if a search of a certain dead ex-cop’s home or his motorcycle repair shop would show an old Bianchi cuff case with a new scratch on it.”
Heat heard the mouthpiece get covered and hushed voices. One of them was Miguel Ochoa’s. “Will do,” said Lauren when she came back on. “He and Raley will head to Steljess’s place tomorrow first thing. Do you want me to also have him look at Captain Montrose’s case and holster?”
Lauren’s question was the one Heat was afraid to ask out loud. “I suppose. I mean, it would be nice to eliminate that possibility.” And then, feeling disloyal to his memory, she added, “However remote.” As Rook drifted back in the room with a robe on and carrying one for her, Nikki said, “And Lauren, as long as we’re talking about the captain, would you mind if I pester you about one other thing?”
“Name it.”
“I know they must have run his gun by now.”
“That’s right. It had been fired, but they never recovered the slug. It was a through-and-through and out the roof.”
Heat recalled the dimple around the hole in Montrose’s Crown Vic. “And that’s that?”
“Of course not,” said the ME. “The gun had his blood and tissue on it. Also his hand tested positive for powder residue and trace metals.”
“How many bullets in the magazine?” asked Heat.
“Report said all but one . . . I think.”
“Humor me, Ms. Parry. Would you ask Miguel to look into it himself? And by himself, I’m not saying I don’t trust the testing. I’m just saying nobody comes close to a Detective Ochoa-quality job.” And then Nikki said with a tease, “And you must know what I mean by that, right, Laur?”
“Yes, I do,” she said with a laugh. “He’s a very thorough investigator.” Lauren was still laughing when she hung up.
* * *
Rook ordered in some chicken scarpariello and a salad from Gigino’s for them to share, and still hanging out in their robes, they ate a late supper at his counter while Nikki filled him in on the newest information from Lauren Parry.
“It all lays out, doesn’t it?” He ticked each off on a finger. “Steljess caught on surveillance in the bondage dungeon, Steljess was a fired ex-cop, Steljess would have handcuffs and a cuff case, he sure had a gun, Steljess is our killer.”
Nikki poked a grape tomato from their salad with her fork. “That’s pretty definitive. Then tell me why he did it. And why did all the shooters come after me in Central Park? And what is this all about?”
“I got nuthin’.”
She popped the tomato in her mouth and gave him a sly smile. “I’m not saying you’re wrong . . .”
“When you say things like that to me, I call it a Kardashian. Know why? Because I’m looking for the but.”
“However . . . ,” she said, “it’s still circumstantial. If Roach comes up with a matching fingernail gouge on the matching cuff case, that’s at least a solid connection. Even that’s still not proof. I need facts.”