Rook stepped to the back of the circle rimming the TV. “Do they know if it’s the same one that went after Coyote Man?”
Ochoa turned his way. “Hey, man, don’t call him that, OK?”
Through split screens showing simultaneous aerial and telephoto ground video, they watched live as an animal control officer prepared to fire a tranquilizer dart at the coyote. Nikki, never one to be glued to a TV except for the major shared moments of truly breaking news, experienced an odd moment of being transfixed by the trapped animal, hunkered, peering out of the thicket above Spuyten Duyvil Creek. The ground-level camera was shooting from a distance, so the picture was wavy from air distortion and magnification, but the angle wasn’t so different from the one she had had looking at the coyote that one morning in front of Cafe Lalo. That moment, unsettling as it had been, was for Nikki Heat rare contact with something wild, an untamed animal finding its way in a city alone. And, mostly, unseen. Yet here it was now; its life and existence couldn’t be more public. Nikki was the one staring at it now, and she understood too well what she saw in its eyes this time.
The coyote shivered when the dart struck its coat, but then it immediately ran off, disappearing in dense brush on the steep hill. The news reporter said the dart hit and either glanced off or didn’t stick. The aerial camera panned fruitlessly.
Detective Heat killed the TV with the remote, eliciting mock moans and protests as the squad gathered for the morning update.
Nothing connecting the three victims had yet surfaced from the CSU sweep of Derek Snow’s apartment. Forensics was still running prints and samples, just to be sure. Nikki reported on her encounter with Soleil Gray at Later On, as well as the confirmation from a segment producer on the show that Cassidy Towne was at work on a tell-all scandal book. Rook cleared his throat, and she gave him a look that said, Don’t you dare. She turned back to the squad. “That information was deemed credible based on a meeting Rook and I just had with the book editor. However, he claims not to know the subject of the book and says he doesn’t have a manuscript.”
“Bullshit,” said Hinesburg.
Nikki, who heard enough profanity on the street not to enjoy it in the office, turned to the detective. “Sharon, I believe you’re saying what we’re all thinking.” And then she smiled. “The rest of us had the poise just to think it.”
When the laughs died down, Raley asked, “What about a search warrant?”
“I plan to look into that, Rales, but even with some of the more sympathetic judges we know, my gut says that’s a tough one to get because of First Amendment issues. The whole idea of police looking through files at a book publisher conjures some unpleasant totalitarian connections for some people, go figure. But I’ll try anyway.”
Roach made their report on the Padilla ground they had covered. Ochoa said that for something that had looked like it might be nothing but dead ends because nobody would talk, they had ended up finding something pretty intriguing. “Our nobody produce truck driver was actually a former limo driver. Frustrating that it took so long for that to pop. Maybe one day the city can get all the systems so they talk to each other.”
“Then what would we do?” said Nikki, her sarcasm eliciting a few chuckles.
“Anyway, we ran him through TLC,” continued Raley, “and got the name of his old employer.”
Ochoa picked up. “We also got with his produce truck boss. He says that Mr. Padilla had gotten an attorney and filed a wrongful dismissal suit against the limo company. Figured we’d check out the lawyer first before we hit the limousine dudes. That way we’ll know what we’re walking into.”
“Know who the attorney is?” asked Raley. “None other than Ronnie Strong.”