“Five minutes,” he said. “Maybe six.”
“Seems like longer. Who the hell do they think they are? It was easier getting into the Milmar and you didn’t have a tie.” She mocked the voice from the little speaker: “ ‘We’re still checking.’ ”
“You know they can probably hear you.”
“Good.”
He nodded upward. “Probably see you, too.”
“Even better.” She squared herself to the security camera and held up her shield. “This is official police business, I want to see a human being.”
“Seven minutes.”
“Stop that.”
And then in a low mutter he said, “Odd sock.”
“Not helping.”
A crackle of static and then the man’s voice returned to the intercom. “I’m sorry, Officer, but we’re referring all inquiries to Ripton and Associates, Mr. Mills’s representative. Would you like that phone number?”
Nikki pressed Talk. “First of all, it’s not Officer, it’s Detective. Homicide Detective Heat of the NYPD. I need to speak directly to Toby Mills regarding an investigation. You can make that happen now, or I can come back with a warrant.” Satisfied with herself, she released the button and winked at Rook.
The tinny voice came back. “If you want to get a pen, I can give you that number.”
“OK. That’s it,” she said. “This is officially a mission for me. Let’s see about a warrant.” She pivoted from the door and stormed to the sidewalk, and Rook came along. They had almost reached Madison, where they had parked across from the Carlyle, when Rook heard his name called out.
“Jameson Rook?”
They both turned to see Cy Young contender Toby Mills on the sidewalk in front of his town house, beckoning them to come back.
Rook turned to Nikki, gloating. “Whatever I can do to help, Detective.”
Chapter Four
“I’m Toby,” he said when they got to the front door. Before Nikki could introduce herself, he said, “Could we take this inside? I don’t want to draw a crowd out here, if you don’t mind.”
He held the door for both of them and followed them into the foyer. The baseball star was in a white polo shirt and jeans and was barefoot. Nikki couldn’t tell if his slight limp was from being shoeless or from his sore hamstring. “Sorry about the mix-up out there. I was taking a nap and they didn’t want to wake me.” To Rook, he said, “And then I saw you and said, ‘Oh, man, I can’t send Jameson Rook away mad.’ And you’re with the police?”
“Hi. Nikki Heat.” She shook his hand and tried not to be the typical fan. “A pleasure, really.” So much for playing cool.
“Well, I thank you for that. Come on in. Let’s get comfortable and see what I’ve done now to have the police and the press pounding on my door.”
There was a spiral staircase to the left, but he led them to an elevator on the back wall of the entryway. Beside it, a man who looked like a secret service agent, in a long-sleeved white shirt and maroon patternless tie, sat at a desk watching a split screen of four security cams. Toby pushed the elevator call and, as he waited, said, “Lee, when Jess gets here, would you tell him I’m taking our guests up to the den?”
“Sure thing,” said Lee. Nikki recognized his voice from the intercom, and he registered her reaction and said, “Apologies for the confusion, Detective.”
“No problem.”