“Then let’s get this party started.”
“Then I’ll be burnin’ rubber.” Lauren chuckled and continued, “While we’re talking, I just shipped my report over to you.” Nikki checked her monitor and saw that the e-mail was parked there for her. “Heads up on an additional note I added. CSU did an evidence vacuum of the torture room—a few hairs, you can imagine—but they also came up with what looks like a sliver of fingernail.” Nikki replayed her survey of the dead priest while he was still on the frame and recalled that his nails were not broken. Her friend underscored that. “I just did a double-check of the body, and neither his fingernails or toenails show signs of chipping.”
“So it could be from whoever worked him over,” said Heat. “Assuming it’s not a holdover from another session.” That possibility might not make it court-worthy, but it could open an investigative lead. Before they hung up, Lauren offered to push that test up the chain as well.
* * *
“How’s it going in here?” she asked as she entered the audiovisual booth, a converted supply closet, where Raley was screening the security video from Pleasure Bound.
“Rockin’ it, Detective,” he said without looking up from his monitor. “That place isn’t as busy as you’d think, so I’m flying through these tapes.”
“This is why you’re King of All Surveillance Media.” She came around behind his table and leafed through the stills her detective had printed out so far. “Any hits on Father Graf?”
“Zip,” he said. “Speaking of which, check out the guy on the leash in a gimp mask with a zipper mouth. It’s like watching the outtake reel from Pulp Fiction.”
“Or Best in Show,” said Heat, examining it. Other than the cleaning crew and Roxanne Paltz, Nikki didn’t recognize any of the dozen people whose faces Raley had captured. She set the stack down beside the printer. “I want to run these past the housekeeper up at the rectory. How soon until you finish?”
He paused the deck and turned to her. “Excuse me, but is this how one addresses the king?”
“OK, fine. How soon until you finish . . . sire?”
“Gimme twenty.”
She looked at her watch. Lunch hour, for those who were fortunate enough to actually have one, had come and gone. She asked Raley what kind of sandwich he wanted and told him she’d be back in fifteen minutes. In the hallway, she smiled when the door closed and she heard his muffled shout, “Hello? I said twenty!”
Andy’s Deli would have delivered, but Nikki was in the mood for a walk, even in the cold. No, especially in the cold. The day had put her head in a vise, and something primal howled to be outside and moving. The wind had begun to diminish, taking a fraction of the ache out of the winter air, but after dropping all day to four degrees, it was still plenty bitter, and the sensation of it invigorated her. Rounding the corner at Columbus she heard a loud crack behind her and turned. A big SUV was inching forward from 82nd for a right as well, and one of its monster tires had shattered an ice patch in the gutter, hurling frozen chips up onto the curb. Heat looked to see who still drove those big-shouldered gas hogs in the city, but she never got a look. The throaty engine gunned, and the SUV fishtailed into traffic and was soon swallowed by its own fading roar.