“We’re working the murder of a former limo driver and Toby Mills’s name has come up.”
So much for the respite. Nikki had just succeeded in pushing The Firewall’s reset button. She could almost hear the servo-motors whir as the defense shield rose again. “Whoa, ho, hold on. You come to us about Cassidy Towne. Now you’re back about some dead limo hack? What’s going on here? Are you guys on some sort of vendetta against Toby Mills?”
Heat shook her head. “We’re simply following a lead.”
“This is feeling like harassment.”
Nikki pressed forward against his push-back. “The murder victim had been let go for some unspecified altercation with a client. In checking the records, we see that Toby Mills had been one of his riders.”
“This is a joke, right? In New York, New York . . . in Manhattan . . . you are seriously trying to make a connection between a limo driver and a celebrity? Like that’s a quirk of some kind? And you pick my guy? Who else is on your list? Are you also going to interview Martha Stewart? Trump? A-Rod? Regis? Word is they take limos sometimes.”
“Our interest is strictly in Toby Mills.”
“Uh-huh.” Jess Ripton did a slight nod. “I get it. What are you doing, Detective Heat, trying to get some more publicity for yourself by pinning every crime you can’t manage to solve on my guy?”
There was no percentage going head-to-head with this man. Much as she wanted to lash back, Nikki decided to stay on point and not rise to his emotional bait. Sometimes it sucks to be a pro, she thought. But she said, “Here’s exactly what I’m doing. It’s my job to find killers, just as it’s your job to protect ‘your guy.’ Now, I don’t know how come, but in two murders this week, the name Toby Mills has come up in connection. I’m curious about that. And if I were you? . . . I would be, too.”
Jess Ripton grew reflective. He turned to the infield, where Toby was lying on the grass getting his hamstring stretched by the trainer. When he looked again at Nikki Heat, she said, “That’s right. Your guy or not—never hurts to keep your eyes open, huh, Mr. Ripton?” She flashed him a smile and turned to go, leaving him there to think about that one for a while.
When Heat and Rook returned to the Two-Oh, Detective Hinesburg came to Nikki’s desk before she even set down her bag. “Got a reply from CBP on the information you asked for about the Texan.”
She handed a printout to Nikki, and Rook stepped close to read over her shoulder. “CBP?” he said. “Cooties, Bugs, and, what? . . . Pests?”
“Customs and Border Protection,” said Nikki as she digested it. “I figured if our mutual acquaintance Rance Eugene Wolf left the country to do security work in Europe, there’d be a record of his return to the States . . . assuming he entered legally and used his passport.”
“Post-9/11, odds are, right?” asked Rook.
“Not always,” Nikki said. “People find a way to get in. But this little piggy came home. Last February 22nd he flew in on a Virgin from London to JFK. And spare me the wisecrack, Rook, I’m already sorry I said it.”
“I said nothing.”
“No, but you did that little throat-clearing thing you do. I think we’re all for the better I headed you off.” She handed the sheet back to Hinesburg. “Thanks, Sharon. Now I have another one for you. Start a list for me of Tex’s clients before he left for Europe.”
The other detective uncapped a stick pen with her teeth and jotted notes on the back of the Customs printout. “You mean like the name of his security employer? We have that, it’s Hard Line Security out of Vegas, right?”
“Yeah, but I want you to reach out to them. Make a friend there and find out who he specifically got assigned to do security for. The NCAVC synopsis said he had good relations with clients, I want to find out who they were. And if he freelanced, anything you can get.”
“Anything specific I should be looking for?” asked Hinesburg.