Two hours later, Heat returned to find Rook staring at the whiteboard. “Come up with any more theories while I was out?”
“In fact, yes.”
She went to her desk and checked her voice mail. Her mailbox was empty. Nikki tossed the handset onto the cradle in frustration and looked at her watch.
“You all right? Trouble with your search warrants?”
“Au contraire,” she said. “I’m just stressing my wiretap. The other stuff went great. Better than great.”
“What did you find?”
“You first. What’s your new theory?”
“Well. I’ve been thinking it all over and now I know who it is.”
“Not Agda?”
“Why? Is it Agda?”
“Rook.”
“Sorry, sorry. OK. This is off-?the-?wall. I’m off Agda. But I’m thinking about something she said about the new piano.” This piqued Nikki’s interest. She sat against the edge of her desk with her arms folded. “Am I getting warmer?” he asked.
“I know I’m not getting younger. Get to it.”
“When you interviewed her, Agda said something like the new piano was so gorgeous, she almost fainted when it came out of the crate.” He paused. “Who delivers pianos in crates anymore? Nobody.”
“Interesting, go on.” In fact, these were waters she was fishing in, and Nikki was curious to hear his take.
“We know the piano came in because we saw it there after the theft. So I got to wondering, why bring in a crate unless something is going to go out in it after you remove the piano from it?”
“And so now you are saying it’s who?”
“Obviously. The piano company is a front for art thieves.”
“Is that your final answer?” The flat expression she showed him made Rook backpedal so fast, Nikki wanted to burst out laughing. But she held her poker face.
“Or…,” he said, “let me finish. You served a warrant at the Guilford and at a personal storage place. I’m sticking with my piano crate scenario, but I say it’s…Kimberly Starr.” Although her face remained neutral, Rook became animated. “I’m right, I know it. I can see it all over you. Tell me I’m wrong, then.”
“I’m not telling you squat.” Raley and Ochoa came into the bull pen. Heat started over to them. “Why spoil the fun?”
“Raley and I showed around Buckley’s picture,” said Ochoa. “We scored two positive hits. That doesn’t suck.”
“Doesn’t suck at all.” Nikki dared to let herself feel the thrill of gathering momentum on the case. “And they’ll testify?”
“Affirm,” said Raley.
Nikki’s desk phone rang and she lunged for it. “Detective Heat.” She kept nodding as if the caller could see her, and said, “Excellent. Great. Excellent. Thanks much.” When she hung up, she turned to her team. “Wiretap’s up. We’re going to the dance.” For once things were moving at Heat speed.
Nikki and Rook sat wedged into a corner of the tiny room, knee-?to-?knee on metal folding chairs behind the police technician who was recording the calls. The AC vent whistled, so Heat had had the air turned off to let her hear without that distraction, and it was suffocating in there.
A blue LED meter spiked on the console. “Picking up,” said the technician.
Heat put on her headphones. The ring purred on the line. Her breathing became shallow the way it had on the raid in Long Island City, only this time she couldn’t calm herself. Her heart thunked at a disco cadence until Nikki heard the click of the answer and one of the beats skipped.
“Hello?”
“I’m using your direct line because I don’t want the receptionist knowing I’m calling you,” said Kimberly Starr.
“OK…” Noah Paxton sounded wary of her. “I don’t understand why not.”
Nikki hand-?signaled the technician to ensure he was recording. He nodded.
Kimberly continued, “You’re about to understand, Noah.”