They rode in silence for a while. As the cab cut across Houston Street, he said, “I’m trying to figure out…did I bite my own tongue when you kicked me in the face, or did you do it?” That earned a fast check from the driver in the rearview mirror.
Heat said, “I want to lean on Forensics to cough up that report on Pochenko’s blue jeans.”
“I can’t recall getting bitten either time,” said Rook.
“Blackout probably set the lab behind schedule, but it’s been long enough.”
“Things were happening fast and, dare I say, furious.”
“I’m betting those fibers match,” she said.
“But still, you’d think I’d remember a bite.”
“Surveillance video be damned, somehow he got in there, I’d bet on it. I know he likes his fire escapes.”
“Am I talking too much?” Rook asked.
“Yes.”
Two blessedly chatter-?free minutes later, Rook was out of the cab, standing in front of his building.
“When you’re done, go to the precinct and wait for me. I’ll meet you there after I finish at the impound.” He sulked like a rejected puppy and started to close the door. She held it open and said, “By the way? Yes. I did bite your tongue.” Then she slid the door closed. Nikki watched him grinning on the sidewalk through the back window as her cab drove on.
Detective Heat badged herself through the gate of the city impound, and after she signed in, the guard stepped out of his tiny office into the hot sun to point out the medical examiner van on the far end of the lot. Nikki turned to thank him but he was already inside filling his shirtsleeves with air from the window AC.
The sun was still low in the sky, just clearing the top of the Javits Convention Center, and Heat could feel its bite on her back as she paused to take her long, deep breath, her ritual remembering breath. When she was ready to meet the victim, she walked the long row of dusty parked cars with grease-?penciled windshields to the investigation scene. The M.E. van and another from Forensics were parked close to a tow truck still hooked up to a newish, green metallic Volvo wagon. Technicians in white coveralls were dusting the outside of the Volvo. As Nikki got closer, she could see the body of a woman slumped in the driver’s seat, the top of her head pointed out the open car door.
“Sorry to interrupt your morning workout, Detective.” Lauren Parry stepped around the rear of the M.E. van.
“Not much gets by you, does it?”
“I told you Jameson Rook was doable.” Nikki smiled and shook her head, she was so busted. “Well, was he doable?”
“And doable.”
“Good. Glad to see you enjoying life. Detectives just told me you had a close call the other night.”
“Yeah, after SoHo House it was all downhill.”
Lauren stepped to her. “You all right?”
“Better than the bad guy.”
“My girl.” Then Lauren frowned and tugged aside the collar of her friend’s blouse to look at the bruising she saw on her neck. “I’d say it was a very close call. Let’s take it easy, all right? I have enough customers, I don’t need you, too.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” said Nikki. “Now, you dragged me out of bed for this, it better be worth it. What are you working here?”
“Jane Doe. Like I said, found in her car by the tow truck driver when he dropped it off here this morning. He thought it was heat asphyxiation.”
“A Doe? In a car?”
“I hear you, but no driver’s license. No purse. No plates. No registration.”
“You said you found something connected to my Matthew Starr case.”
“Give a girl a little sex and she gets very impatient.”
Nikki cocked an eyebrow. “A little?”
“And boastful.” The M.E. handed Nikki a pair of gloves. While she put them on, Lauren turned to the back of her van and came out with a clear plastic bag. She pinched it at the corner and held it up so that it dangled in front of Nikki’s eyes.
Inside was a ring.
A ring shaped like a hexagon.
A ring that was a good match for those bruises on Matthew Starr’s torso.
A ring that could have put that cut on Vitya Pochenko’s finger.
“Worth the drive?” said Lauren.