“All possible, too,” said Heat. She logged all of those on the murder board as well, and when she was done, she faced the room again. “Rook, you spent a lot of time with her recently. After everything you observed about Cassidy Towne, do you have any idea why someone would steal her body?”
“Well, maybe, given the number of people she trashed in her column, I dunno . . . to make sure she was dead?”
They all laughed in spite of themselves, and when Heat stepped to the whiteboard, she continued. “Actually, he’s not far off. Cassidy Towne was one of the city’s most feared and hated muckrakers. That woman had the power to make and break lives, both of which she did at her own pleasure.”
“And for it,” Rook added. “Cassidy enjoyed what she could make people do, for sure. As well as making them pay for what they did to her.”
“But that’s more a reason to kill her, not to steal her. Unless there’s something on her body that would give up the killer.” Nikki uncapped her marker again. “Like if it was a crime of passion and there was a fight and there’s skin under her fingernails. This could be a crew for hire to get rid of that evidence.”
Raley said, “Or like the ring marks you found that connected the Russian who killed that real estate guy, Matthew Starr.”
Heat printed the words “Skin?” and “Marks?” “If that’s the case, we’re still looking at an enemies list. And, if what Rook says is true, an enemies list too large to clear with shoe leather. I sent some uniforms to the Ledger city room Midtown to get her hate mail. It took two of them to lift the sack.”
Hinesburg muttered, “How many uniforms does it take to . . .”
“Hey, hey,” said one of the uniforms standing at the back.
Detective Ochoa had returned from his ordeal. “I feel bad about this, guys,” he said as he took his usual seat in the semicircle facing the whiteboard. “First her trash gets stolen, and now she does. And on my watch.”
“You’re probably right,” said Raley. “Show of hands. How many think Ochoa should have taken an armor-piercing round to save a DB?” Ochoa’s partner raised his own hand as a demo and soon everyone’s hand shot up.
“Thanks, guys,” said Ochoa. “Touching.”
Heat asked, “Any news to bring us, Oach?”
“Not much. Fortunately we’re getting good assist from the One-Seven. They determined the dump truck used to block the ME van was a stolen, but they’re working that, along with interviewing witnesses and the van driver now that he’s regained consciousness. They’re also generating a sheet of crews that favor ski masks and AR-15s.”
“So here’s what we’ll do,” said Detective Heat to the room. “Proceed on two fronts, still work the Cassidy Towne murder scene but hit the body snatch hard. I have a feeling it’s a case of find the body, find the killer.” As the meeting broke up, she said, “Roach?”
“Yo,” they answered in near-unison.
“Knock on some doors along Seventy-eighth. Start in the upstairs of her building and work out from there. Any sound, any detail, any relationship . . .”
“Looking for another odd sock,” said Raley.
“You got it. And while you’re en route, fill in Ochoa on our male Hispanic.”
“Coyote Man?” said Ochoa.
“I’ll give you a pass on that one since you survived today. Yes, Coyote Man. Rook and I will start building a set of likelies into a manageable enemies list.”
“You and Rook,” said Ochoa. “You mean, like . . .”
“I’m ba-a-ack,” answered Rook in the old, familiar singsong.
As they were preparing to go, a delivery box arrived from the Columbus Café. Rook told everyone to help themselves to a sandwich. He popped for it as a welcome-back gesture. As Raley grabbed a tuna on white and turned to go, Rook called him back, holding up a large cup. “Got this ’specially for you, Rales.”
Raley took it from him. “Oh, uh, thanks.”