“Do you feel you need an attorney to answer my question, Mr. Paxton?”
She could see her squeeze work on him. “It was my only ethical breach,” he said. “All these years, the only one.” Nikki just looked and waited. Nothing screamed louder than silence. “I hid money. I created a series of transactions to funnel a large sum to a private account. I was hiding a portion of Matthew Starr’s private funds for his son’s college education. I saw how fast it was going—to gambling and hookers—I’m just a functionary, but I was heartsick about what was happening to that family. For their own good, I hid money so Matty Junior could go to college. Matthew discovered it, same way drunks can find bottles, and raided it. Kimberly is almost as bad as he was. I think you have a good idea how she likes to spend.”
“I got that impression.”
“The wardrobe, the jewelry, the vacations, the cars, the surgeries. Plus she was hiding money. Of course, I spotted it. Much like your forensics guys—the numbers talk if you know what you’re looking for. Among other things, she had a love nest, a two-?bedroom spot on Columbus. I told her to get rid of it, and when she asked why, I told her because they were broke.”
“How did she react?”
“Devastated doesn’t begin to cover it. I guess you could say she freaked.”
“And when did you tell her all this?”
He looked at the calendar under the glass on his desktop. “Ten days ago.”
Detective Heat nodded, reflecting. Ten days. A week before her husband was murdered.
Heat Wave
EIGHT
When Detective Heat nosed the Crown Vic out of underground parking at the Starr Pointe tower, she heard the low, steady thrum that could only mean helicopters, and rolled her window down. Three of them hovered to her left about a quarter mile west, on the far side of the Time Warner building. The lower one, she knew, would be the police chopper, the two deferential ones at higher altitude would belong to TV stations. “Breaking nyoooz!” she said to her empty car.
She dialed in the tactical band on her radio and before long put together that a steam pipe had blown and geysered, further evidence that the ancient Gotham infrastructure was no match for nature’s oven. Almost a week of the big heat, and Manhattan was starting to bubble and blister like a cheese pizza.
Columbus Circle would be impossible, so she took the longer but faster route back to the precinct, entering Central Park across from the Plaza and taking its East Drive north. The city kept the park closed to motor vehicles until three, so without traffic, her ride had a Sunday-?in-?the-?country feel, lovely as long as she blasted the air conditioner. Sawhorses blocked the drive at 71st, but the auxiliary cop recognized her car as an unmarked and slid the barrier with a wave. Nikki pulled to a stop beside her. “Who’d you piss off to get this duty?”
“Must be karma from a past life,” said the uniform with a laugh.
Nikki looked at the unopened bottle of cold water sweating in her cup holder and passed it to the woman. “Stay cool, Officer,” she said and drove on.
The heat tamped everything down. Aside from a handful of certifiable runners and insane cyclists, the park had been left to the birds and squirrels. Nikki slowed as she passed the back of the Metropolitan Museum, and looking at the sloped glass wall of the mezzanine, she smiled, as she always did, at her classic movie memory of Harry in there with Sally, teaching her how to tell a waiter there was too much pepper on the paprikash. A young couple ambled across the lawn hand in hand, and without deciding to, Nikki stopped the car and watched the two of them, simply together, with all the time in the world. When a ripple of melancholy stirred in her, she pushed it down with a slow press of the gas pedal. Time to get back to work.