When Horst Meuller woke up from his nap, he gasped. Rook was lean ing over his hospital bed holding a very large syringe in the German’s face. “Don’t worry, Herr Meuller,” he said in a soft voice, “I won’t hurt you.” Yet he didn’t move away, either. “But do you see how very easy it would be for someone else to kill you while you slept?” Rook gently swung the hypodermic back and forth; Meuller’s eyes followed it, big and wide like a cat clock. “You’re in a hospital, so there are so many ways. I’ve heard of contract killers who dress like nurses and inject poison into the IV drip of their victims.” Meuller felt around for the call button, and Rook smiled and held it up with his other hand. “To live, press one now.”
Horst’s face wore a sheen of perspiration. Heat tapped Rook on the shoulder and said, “I think he got the message.”
“True. No need to beat a dead . . . Oh, I want to say ‘Horst’ so bad. But it would be beneath even me.”
“What are you trying to do?” asked Meuller.
Nikki pulled a chair bedside. “To get you to see that if you don’t help us catch whoever you’re so afraid of, I can’t protect you from them. Nobody can. You will never be safe. Anywhere.” She waited, watching him process. “So you have a choice. Wait for them to come or help me get them before they get you.”
Meuller’s eyes went from her to Rook, who stood behind Heat. He held up the syringe and winked. “All right,” sighed the German. “Very well.”
Out came the notebook. Heat said, “Who shot you?”
“I don’t know, honestly.”
“Was it the same people who tortured you?”
He pursed his lips. “I didn’t see who shot me, and the others wore ski masks.”
“How many were there?”
“Two. Two men.”
“Why, Horst? What’s this about?”
“Whoever it is wants something. Something they think I have, but I don’t. Honestly, I don’t.”
She looked at his pleading eyes and believed him. For now. “Let’s talk about what it is they want.” He retreated into himself, and so she prompted him. “It has something to do with your boyfriend, doesn’t it? With Alan?” When Nikki saw the dramatic change of expression, she was glad she’d waited to confront him until they had done some legwork.
“Ja, that is right.”
“And what is it, Horst?” When he hesitated, she helped him along. She wanted to keep it moving while he was in the mood and also recognized he was in recovery from his wound and would fatigue shortly. “Is it money?” He shook no. “But it is something valuable.” He nodded. Nikki got tiny head shakes for each item on her list: jewels, art, drugs. Then she arrived where she wanted to land. “It’s a video, isn’t it?”
He stirred and Heat knew she had been right. It made sense to her that something from Alan, a videographer, would be a fungible item, quite valuable to someone, depending what was on it. “Tell me what’s on the video, Horst.”
“You must believe me, I do not know. Alan would not tell me for the reasons we have seen. He said it was too dangerous for me to know. That is why he kept it secret all these years. He said people would kill to get it. And now . . .” His mouth was dry and Nikki held out the water cup so he could sip from the straw.
Heat asked, “Did someone kill Alan, is that how he died?”
“No, he had a bad heart. From birth defect. A few weeks ago he had an episode and had to be put in the hospital.”
Nikki made a note. “And this episode, was there a cause for it?”
Something came over him. Acceptance? No, Heat had seen it in interrogation many times before. It was resignation. “You are going to make me tell it all, aren’t you?” When she just waited, Meuller’s eyes closed and opened. “OK. Yes, there was an inquiry made by a police detective. His name is Montrose.”