He paused and his face drained again, turning the color of an oyster. “Can’t you see? That’s why I had those guys steal the body. I woke up yesterday morning and my wife has the TV on and says, ‘Hey, somebody killed that gossip bitch.’ I thought, Holy Mother . . . I screwed her the night before, now she’s dead, and whose DNA are they going to find in her? Mine. So my wife will know I’ve been banging her? I panic, I’m trying to think, what can I do?
“This food supplier I work with has some connections to some wiseguys for hire, so I call him up and tell him he’s got to get me out of a jam. It cost me large, but I got the goddam body.”
“Wait, you did this because you were afraid your wife would find out about your relationship?” asked Nikki.
“People knew I was hanging around Cassidy. Your writer pal, for one. Only a matter of time till it came back and bit me, I thought. And Monique’s got all the money. I signed a prenup. I’m losing my ass in this economy, the new place is going down; if she cuts me off, next week I’m slinging sauce on ribs at Applebee’s.”
“So why have the body delivered to where you and your wife live?”
“My wife left yesterday for Philly to work publicity for the Food and Wine Festival. It was all I could think of until I could think of something better.” He grew somber after his outburst, the way people did when they’d unloaded their guilt. “Those dudes came by and shook me down for another fifty grand to dispose of her. I don’t have that, so they left her with me and told me to think fast.”
Nikki flipped to a fresh page of her notebook. “And what time do you claim you last saw Cassidy Towne alive?”
“I did see her alive. It was about ten-thirty. That’s when I left her apartment.”
Raley and Ochoa were off hunting for Cassidy Towne’s typewriter ribbons so when Heat wrapped Vergennes’s interrogation and he was led off to be processed for Riker’s, she assigned Detective Hinesburg to check out his alibi. The chef said he had paid for the cab home with a credit card around ten-thirty, so there would be a record with the card company and the taxi.
“Blast matrix?” said Rook from his old desk, which he had reclaimed across the bull pen.
Heat welcomed the half smile he was putting on her face, especially in the wake of her disappointment about Vergennes apparently alibi-ing out. She had the body but probably not the killer. “What, you’ve never heard of a blast matrix?”
“No,” he said, “but it didn’t take me long to figure out that was just a Heatism. Sort of like the Zoo Lockup, am I right? Some BS term you make up and sling out there to scare the ignorant into thinking there’s big trouble coming if they don’t comply.”
“It worked, didn’t it?” Her desk phone rang and she picked it up.
He laughed. “The Heatisms always do.”
Nikki finished her call and asked Rook if he felt like a ride. Lauren Parry was ready with Cassidy Towne’s autopsy.
As they came into the precinct lobby on their way to the car, Richmond Vergennes’s lawyer was signing out. “Detective Heat?” Wynn Zanderhoof hurried to intercept her, toting his Zero Haliburton attaché, one of those aluminum cases you saw slick hit men and power-suited drug dealers using to carry bundles of cash in every eighties cop movie. “A word, please?”
They stopped at the glass door, and when the attorney just stood there, Nikki got the hint and asked Rook to wait for her at the car. When they were alone, the lawyer said, “You know a murder charge is going to get laughed out of the DA’s office.”
Heat didn’t believe Richmond Vergennes killed Cassidy Towne, but she couldn’t entirely rule it out yet and so was not about to let the pressure off. “Even if his alibi checks, that doesn’t mean he didn’t hire somebody to do it, just like he outsourced stealing the body.”