“I would refer you to my prior answer. I don’t know him.”
Nikki told the ex-con about the priest’s murder and asked him where he was that night. He pondered, fixing his eyes to the ceiling and swabbing a chalky tongue over his laminates.
“As I recall, I was out to dinner. Yes, at La Grenouille and then back to my apartment for the remainder of the night. I’d rented Quantum of Solace on Blu-ray. You could be a Bond Girl yourself, Detective.”
Heat ignored the comment but made a note of his alibi. She collected the tins of cash to go. Then she sat them back down and opened her pad again. “And where were you yesterday between eleven &A.M.& and two &P.M.&?”
“Do you plan to convict me of every murder in New York City?”
“No, Mr. Martinez. I’ll be satisfied with just two.”
* * *
After Nikki returned the DEA cash to Property, she went back to the bull pen to check messages before she left for her orals. At the entrance, she stopped and stared in disbelief. Internal Affairs had boxed and cleared everything in Captain Montrose’s office. It sat completely empty.
* * *
Late that afternoon at One Police Plaza, they called Heat’s name. She put down the magazine she couldn’t concentrate on and stepped into the examination room.
It was just as Nikki had pictured it when she had visualized the orals in her mental preparation. Heat had learned from others who had taken the boards what to expect, and there was the scene before her. She stepped into a fluorescent-lit, windowless classroom where five examiners—a mix of active duty captains and administrators—sat behind a long table facing a lone chair. Hers. When Nikki said hello and took her seat, the dynamic suddenly reminded her of the ballet school judges scene in Flashdance. If only she could get through this by busting a move.
“Good afternoon, Detective,” began the administrator from Personnel who was moderating. Ripples of test anxiety stirred in Nikki. “Each member here will be asking you open-ended questions relevant to the duties of lieutenant in the NYPD. You may answer in any way you choose. Each of us will score your answers, then we’ll combine results to determine the disposition of your candidacy. Do you understand today’s procedure?”
“Yes, sir, I do.”
And then it began.
“What do you see as your weakness?” asked the woman from Community Relations. A trapdoor if there ever was one. If you say you don’t have one, points off for being cocky. Name a flaw that inhibits your ability to do the job, you might as well get up and leave the room then.
“My weakness,” began Nikki, “is that I care so much about the job that I invest in it at the expense of my personal life. That’s largely because I don’t see this so much as a job but a career—or actually, a mission. Being a member of this department is my life. To serve the victims, plus my fellow officers and detectives . . .” The simple process of diving in and speaking from her heart calmed the stage fright inside her. The satisfied looks from the panel told her she was off on the right foot, too, and that didn’t hurt her ability to keep her head.
Focused and relaxed as she had now become, the questions that came at her during the next half hour felt more like honest conversation than a make-break test. Nikki deftly fielded inquiries about everything from how she would specifically go about evaluating those under her, to her feelings about workplace diversity, to means to deal with sexual harassment, to command judgments such as when, and when not, to deploy vehicle pursuits.
As the session came near its end, one of the judges, a commander from Staten Island who from his body language she read as the sole doubter up there, said, “I see here that you killed someone the other day.”
“I believe two suspects, sir. Only one has been confirmed.”