“He took a powder. Just let me know if he surfaces. I have some pics coming in later. I’ll shoot them to you.”
Detective Hinesburg took the sheet to her desk and began reading it. Heat took the file out of the interoffice and gave it a quick scan. “Yesss.”
Rook sipped his double espresso and said, “Your winning lottery numbers?”
“Better. A lead on Holly Flanders.”
“F-L-A-N-D-E-R-S, as in the Chester Ludlow ‘Flanders’?”
“Uh huh . . . ,” she said as she turned a page in the file. “A sheet, but not much of one. Twenty-two years old, a few petty this’s and misdemeanor that’s. Recreational drugs, shoplifting, a little street grifting, now graduated to low-echelon hooking.”
“And they say all the good ones are taken. She doesn’t seem like much. Here’s my theory.”
“Oh, God, I forgot. The theories.”
“Young woman, nefarious hooker over here.” He cupped his left hand and held it up. “Ageing boomer S and M demolished politico over here.” He held up his cupped right. “I think she’s the tipster who took him down and now he wants payback for her.”
“Your theory is interesting, except for one flaw.”
“Which is?”
“I wasn’t listening.” She stood and put the file in her bag. “Let’s go meet Holly F-L-A-N-D-E-R-S.”
“What about your latte?”
“Oh, right.” Heat returned to her desk, scooped up the latte, and then gave it to Detective Hinesburg on her way out.
But Heat’s route to the parking lot included a detour. She made her usual side scan of Captain Montrose’s office window as she went by. Typically, he was on a call, at his computer, or out making surprise appearances to his officers and detectives in the field. This time, he was hanging up his phone and gave Detective Heat a beckon with his forefinger that stopped her. She knew what it would be about.
Rook waited until they pulled out onto Columbus Avenue before he asked how it went. “With the Cap, it always goes fine,” said Nikki. “He knows I’m doing everything to find the corpse. And clear the case. And make the planet safe for a better future. One of the things I like about him is that he knows he doesn’t have to hold my feet to the fire.”
“But . . . ?”
“But.” Out of nowhere a wave of gratitude washed over her for having Rook beside her. She wasn’t accustomed to having an ear. No, more than that, a sympathetic ear. The self-sufficiency she prized so much worked, but it never smiled back or cared how she felt. She looked over at him in the shotgun seat, watching her, and an unexpected warmth filled her. What was this?
“But what?”
“He’s under pressure. Cap’s review is coming up for his promotion to deputy inspector and this isn’t the best timing. He was in the middle of phone calls from downtown and from press. People want answers and he just wanted to ask me the most current status.”
Rook chuckled. “No pressure on you, or anything.”
“Right, well it’s always the elephant in the room. This time it was just sitting in his lap.”
“You know, Nikki, while I was waiting for you, I was thinking how much Cassidy Towne would be enjoying this. Not the being dead part—that would pretty much suck—but what’s happened since.”
“You’re creeping me out now, you do know that, don’t you?”
“Hey, I’m just sharing,” he said. “One thing I got to know about her for sure is that she loved having impact. See, that’s the discovery for me about what kind of person writes a column like hers. At first, I thought it was all about the salacious parts. The spying, the gotchas, all that. For Cassidy, both the column and her life were all about the power. Who else leaves abusive parents and an abusive husband to go into a business that isn’t any kinder?”
“So you’re saying her column was her revenge on the world?”
“I’m not sure it’s that simple. I think it was more a tool. Just one other way for her to wield power.”