By the time Nikki ascended the short flight of steps into the OCME lobby, she had no feeling in her cheeks and her nose was a faucet. Behind the reception desk, Danielle gave Heat her usual sunny hello and buzzed her through the security door. When she entered the small squad room the NYPD maintained for visiting cops, three of the four cubicles were occupied by detectives speaking on phones. They had the thermostat cranked and Heat shed her overcoat. She looked at the parka mound on the back of one of the chairs and had opted for a hanger on the empty coat tree when her cell vibrated.
The number on the ID wasn’t familiar, but the prefix was. The call was coming from One Police Plaza. In his text, Montrose had said he was at HQ. Nikki didn’t want to get into it with him while sharing such close quarters with her brother officers but figured she would at least make contact and set up their next call. “Heat,” she said.
“Is this the famous Nikki Heat?” She didn’t know his voice, but it was all smiles and, for her taste, overblown for an opening line from a stranger.
She adopted the neutral tone she used on telemarketers. “This is Detective Heat.”
“Not for long, I hear,” said the caller. “Detective, it’s Zach Hamner, Senior Administrative Aide here in Legal. I’m calling to personally congratulate you on your lieutenant’s test.”
“Oh.” She wanted to step out into the hall, but in deference to the grieving families and her own sense of decorum, Nikki maintained a strict personal policy against using her cell phone in the public areas of that building. So Heat sat in the empty chair and hunched into the cubicle, knowing it didn’t afford much privacy. “Thank you. Sorry, but you caught me a little off guard here.”
“Not a problem. You not only scored well, Detective, but I see that your record is outstanding. We need good cops like you to rise in the department.”
She cupped her hand around the mouthpiece. “Again, Mr. Hamner—”
“Zach.”
“—Zach—I appreciate the kind words.”
“Like I said, not a problem. Listen, the reason for the call is that I want to make sure you drop by and say hello when you come downtown to sign for your copy of the results.”
“Um, sure,” she said and then had a thought. “That’s at Personnel. You’re not from Personnel, though, are you?”
“Oh, hell, no. I’m upstairs with the Deputy Commissioner of Legal Matters. Trust me, it all goes through my desk, anyway,” he said with an air of self-importance. “When can I expect to see you?”
“Well, I’m at the ME’s now. I’m on a case.”
“Right,” he said, “the priest.” The way he said it pinged Nikki with the strong impression Zach Hamner liked to show off his knowledge of everything. The guy with all the answers. The quintessential Essential Man. What did he want from her?
She mentally rolled through her schedule. Autopsy . . . Montrose, hopefully . . . squad meeting . . . the rectory . . . “How’s tomorrow?”
“I was hoping for today.” He paused, and when she didn’t reply to that, he continued, “I’ve got a full load tomorrow. Let’s meet early. Breakfast. You can sign docs after.” Feeling more than a little steamrolled, Heat agreed. He gave her the name of a deli on Lafayette, said he’d meet her at seven, and hung up after one more congrats.
* * *
“Any word from the world traveler?” asked Lauren Parry. She looked up at her friend from her computer in the dictation office adjacent to the autopsy room. The ME wore the regulation protective moon suit, and, as usual, it was decorated with flecks of blood and fluid. She read Nikki’s reaction and picked up her plexi-shield mask off the chair beside her. “Sit?”
“I’m good.” Heat, who had just put on the clean coveralls issued to visitors, leaned against the back wall of the narrow anteroom and stared through the glass at the tables lined up in front of her. The near one, Mat #8, held the sheeted body of Father Gerald Graf.
“Liar,” said her BFF. “If that’s what good looks like, never show me bad.”
Nikki returned her gaze to Lauren. “OK, let me amend that to say, I will be good. I guess.”
“You’re scaring me, Nikki.”