“Hear me out. I want to see through this critical new angle of my Cassidy Towne piece. And if we were a team, I could share my leads and insights about the victim with you. I want access, you want sources, it’s win-win. No, it’s better than win-win. It’s me-you. Just like old times.”
In spite of herself, Nikki felt a tug on a level she didn’t control. But then she thought, maybe she couldn’t control the feeling, but she could control herself. “Do you have any idea how transparent you are? All you want to do is dangle your sources and insight so you can spend time with me again. Nice try,” she said and moved off to her desk.
Rook followed her. “I was kind of hoping you’d like this idea, for two reasons. First, beyond—yes—the pleasure of your company, it would give us a chance to clear the air about whatever happened between us.”
“That’s only one reason. What’s the other?”
“Captain Montrose already approved it.”
“No . . .”
“He’s a great guy. Smart, too. And the pair of Knicks tickets didn’t hurt.” Rook extended his hand to shake. “Looks like it’s you and me, partner.”
While Nikki stared at his hand, her phone rang and she turned away to answer. “Hey, Ochoa.” Then her face lost color and her exclamation of “What?!” made heads turned in the bull pen. “Are you all right?” She listened, nodding, and said, “All right. Get back here as soon as you can after you make your statement.”
When she hung up, she had an audience of the bull pen around her desk. “That was Ochoa. Somebody stole Cassidy Towne’s body.”
A stunned silence followed, which was broken by Rook. “Looks like we’re teaming up just at the right time.”
Heat’s look didn’t match his enthusiasm.
Chapter Three
It’s not easy to stun a roomful of veteran New York homicide detectives, but this did it. The brazen daylight assault on a coroner’s van and the theft of a corpse en route to its autopsy—right under the nose of an armed cop—was a first. It smacked more of Mogadishu than Manhattan. When the speechlessness in the bull pen gave way to low muttered curses, and then to actual conversation, Raley said, “I don’t get why somebody would want to steal her body.”
“Let’s get to work and speculate on that.” Detective Heat was going to ask for her squad to gather around for a meeting, but, except for Ochoa, who was in a car on his way back from giving his statement at the Seventeenth Precinct, where the jacking took place, all hands were present.
Detective Rhymer, a cop from Burglary who had drifted into the bull pen after the news spread to his division, asked, “Do you think it’s possible the body snatchers were Cassidy Towne’s killers?”
“First thought, of course,” said Nikki, “but her COD was a stab wound. This crew had an AR-15 and plenty of other firepower. If they were her killers, wouldn’t they have been more likely to just shoot her?”
Raley added, “Yeah, and even if they worried about the noise from a gunshot, if they wanted the body, three guys like that would have just taken it this morning when they did the deed.”
“Doesn’t sound like this crew does a lot of worrying,” said Heat.
There were nods of agreement, and then wheels turned in the silence as they considered motives. Detective Hinesburg, who had a knack for irritating Nikki with her personal habits, snapped a bite out of an apple. A few heads turned her way while she munched and slurped, oblivious to the looks she was getting. “Maybe . . .” She paused, chomping some more, and then, after she finally swallowed, continued. “Maybe there was evidence on the body.”
Heat nodded. “All right. That could work.” She walked over to the whiteboard and wrote, “Hiding evidence?” She turned back to them. “Not sure what, but it’s a start.”
“Something in her pockets? Money, drugs, jewels?” said Raley.
“Embarrassing photo?” added Hinesburg, followed by another bite of her apple.