Heat Wave



Rook sprang up from her desk chair when Nikki came into the bull pen. It was clear he was waiting for her to get back and wanted to know where she’d gone, meaning, without saying it, Why didn’t you bring me? When she told him it was to follow up with Noah Paxton, Rook didn’t get any more relaxed or much less obvious.

“You know, I get it that you aren’t the biggest fan of my ride-?along thing, but I’d like to think I’m a pretty useful set of eyes and ears for you on these interviews.”

“Can I mention that I am in the middle of an active murder investigation? I needed to see a witness alone because I wanted him to be open to me without any extra eyes and ears, useful though they may be.”

“So you’re saying they are useful?”

“I’m saying this isn’t a time for you to personalize or be needy.” She looked at him, just wanting to be with her and, she had to admit, being more cute than needy. Nikki found herself smiling. “And yes—sometimes—they are useful.”

“All right.”

“Just not every time, OK?”

“We’re in a good place, let’s not overexamine,” he said.

“Got some news about Pochenko,” said Ochoa as he and Raley came through the door.

“Tell me he’s on Rikers Island and can’t get a lawyer, that would be good news,” she said. “What have you got?”

“Well, you called it,” said Ochoa. “A guy fitting his description shoplifted half the first aid aisle at a Duane Reade in the East Village today.”

“Got surveillance vid, too.” Raley popped a DVD in his computer.

“Positive ID on Pochenko?” she asked.

“You tell me.”

The drugstore video was ghosty and jerky, but there he was, the big Russian, filling a plastic bag with ointments and aloe, then ducking through the first aid section to help himself to wrapping tape and finger splints.

“Dude’s in bad shape. Remind me never to get in a fight with you,” said Raley.

“Or to have you press my shirts,” added Ochoa.

They went back and forth like that. Until somebody came up with a magic pill, gallows humor was still the best coping mechanism for a cop. Otherwise the job ate you alive. Normally, Nikki would have been right there taking shots with them, but she was too raw to laugh it off just yet. Maybe if she could see Pochenko shackled in the back of a van on his way to Ossining for the rest of his life, then she wouldn’t still be smelling him or feeling his skillet hands on her throat in her own home. Maybe then she could laugh.

“Whoa, check out the finger, I think I’m gonna yack,” said Ochoa. Raley added, “He can kiss off that piano scholarship to Juilliard.”

Rook’s smart mouth was uncharacteristically silent. Nikki checked him out and caught him watching her with something like what she’d seen in his eyes at the poker table the night before, but magnified. She broke off, feeling the need to get clear of whatever this was, just like she had after he gave her the framed print. “All right, so that’s definitely our man,” she said and moved away to contemplate the whiteboard.

“And do I need to point out he’s still in the city?” said Rook.

She chose to ignore him. The fact was obvious and the worry useless. Instead she turned to Raley. “Nothing at all on your Guilford tape?”

“I went over that puppy until I was cross-?eyed. No way they came back through that lobby after they left. I also screened video of the service entrance. Nothing.”

“All right, we gave it a shot.”

“Screening that lobby video was totally the worst,” said Raley. “Like watching C-?SPAN only not as exciting.”

“Tell you what, then, I’ll get you out in the world. Why don’t you and Ochoa drop in on Dr. Van Peldt’s office and see if Kimberly Starr’s alibi clears? And since it’s a safe bet she’s tipped off her one true love that we’ll be checking—”