“They weren’t fakes when she stole them.” He crossed his arms, quite satisfied with himself.
“I see,” said the detective. “And you don’t think they’d notice their nanny going out of the apartment with a painting? Or the space gaping on the wall?”
He reflected then shut down. “You have a question for everything, don’t you?”
“Rook, if we don’t poke holes, the defense attorneys will. That’s why I need to build a case.”
“Didn’t I just do that for you?”
“Notice I’m still building.” She found the picture she was looking for and slipped it into an envelope. “Roach.”
Raley and Ochoa stepped over to her desk. “You’re taking the Roach Coach on a short drive out of town with this photo of Gerald Buckley. Go to that place he mentioned back at the M.E.’s. Shouldn’t be hard to find. Show the picture, see if you get any hits, and then I want you back here, pronto.”
“Going out of the city, how’d I miss that? Oh, right, Buckley freeze-?out again,” said Rook. “Let me guess. You’re going to see if Agda lied about NYU and was really somewhere else with the paintings?”
“Raley, do you have a map?”
“I don’t need a map.”
“No, but Rook does,” said Heat. “He’s been all over his.”
After Raley and Ochoa left, she put the file away in her desk. Rook was still lurking. “What are we going to do?”
Nikki indicated a chair. “We? We, which is to say you, are going to park your Pulitzer Prize–winning butt and stay out of my way while I scare up some warrants.”
Rook took a seat. “Arrest warrants? Plural?”
“Search warrants, plural. I need two of them plus a warrant for a wiretap.” She looked at her watch and whispered a curse. “Day’s half-?shot and I need them like now.”
“Um, I believe I can be of service if you’re in a hurry.”
“No, Rook.”
“It’s cake.”
“I said no. Stay out of this.”
“I did it before.”
“Ignoring my instructions.”
“And getting you your warrant.” He glanced around to make sure the bull pen was empty and lowered his voice. “After the other night, aren’t we past this?”
“Don’t. Even.”
“Let me help you.”
“No. Do not call Judge Simpson.”
“Give me one good reason.”
“Because now that the judge and I are poker buddies,” she grinned and picked up her phone, “I can call him myself.”
“You sleep with me, then you make fun of my theories and steal all my friends.” Rook leaned back and crossed his arms. “Just for that, you’re not meeting Bono.”
Horace Simpson came through with the warrants, accompanied by a judicial warning that Heat had better get her heinie back to Rook’s poker table so he could win back his losses. And to think all these years the detective had been going through channels to reach judges.
Getting the search warrants in hand turned out to be the easy part. Her wiretap required time to set up, meaning several hours of waiting. Not Nikki Heat. She strode into the bull pen from Captain Montrose’s office and grabbed her bag.
“What now?” asked Rook.
“Cap sprung a team off patrol for me. We’re rolling to execute my search warrants.” When he stood up to join her, she said, “Sorry, Rook, we’re at a critical phase. This is police-?only.”
“Come on, I’ll stay in the car, I promise. It’s hot, but just leave the window open a crack for me. They say that’s dangerous, but I’m tough, I’ll bring water.”
“You’re better off right here reviewing your evidence. You’ve got the whiteboard to study, you’ve got air-?conditioning, and you’ll have time, lots of time.” As she crossed the room with her back to him, she said, “Remember, think like a detective.”
“You might as well take me, I know where you’re going.” That stopped her. When she turned to face him from the doorway, he said, “The Guilford and to a personal storage place on Varick.”
She looked down at her bag. “You snooped my warrants, didn’t you?”
His turn to grin. “Just thinking like a journalist.”