“Not in here.”
“No,” said Rook. “You can’t have a situation in the situation room.” And then, to explain, “Strangelove. The movie, not you and Alicia.”
Gilbert put a hand on the shoulder of a woman who wore a headset. “Josephine, take over for a few, OK?” Then he turned back to Heat. “There’s a more private room.”
Nikki said, “I know.”
Keith Gilbert speed walked to a side door then up a short corridor as if he could, through swiftness, shake the police and the ex. But when he opened the door to the conference room he lurched to a halt. Because inside, Nikki Heat had arranged a tableau to greet him. Detectives Raley and Ochoa had entered moments before to set up the monitors and audio playback in the high-tech boardroom, and stood with arms folded. At the far end of the long mahogany table sat a pair of urban mercenaries in orange, flanked by standees Randall Feller, plus two uniformed NYPD officers holding M16s pointed to the floor. It wasn’t lost on Heat that they were guarding the very man who had put the mourning bands on their badges.
The dumbfounded commissioner remained in the doorway as Detective Rhymer, Alicia Delamater, and Rook filed in. Gilbert turned to the aide at his elbow and said, “Get Lohman.”
“Good idea,” said Heat. She gestured to the chair of honor and closed the door when Gilbert sat on the edge of the cushion, not quite ready to lounge back in the command pose he customarily adopted on that leather throne. “I’d want Frederic Lohman, too. I’d want the whole Dream Team. My guess is that it will take your lawyers a bit of time to get here. But look who I’m talking to. You’ve got all the latest data, so you know they’re a long way off.” His expression changed as if solving a puzzle and he started to rise. “And if you try to leave, we can always conduct this out there.”
“That’d make some campaign ad,” said Rook.
The commish sat down. Detective Heat left her spot by the door. “Alicia, I want to thank you for coming.”
“Like I had a choice when your detective and those other two showed up at my hotel this morning.” She indicated the policewomen whose backs were visible through the glass as they stood sentry outside.
“Legally, you could have refused,” said Gilbert. It sounded like parental disapproval wrapped in a scold.
“Yeah? Well maybe I’m glad I’m here.”
Perfect, thought Heat. Just what she’d counted on. Animosity, still raw and smarting. Once she knew Delamater had hidden the gun, Nikki hoped Alicia would still be pissed enough to give up her old flame as Beauvais’s shooter. Especially in exchange for dropping charges on illegal possession of a firearm. Get ’em while they’re hot, thought Nikki. She set a clear plastic evidence bag containing the Ruger on the table. Both Gilbert and Delamater went a shade paler.
Alicia whispered an “Oh my God.…”
“Where’d you find that?” said Gilbert as he cleared some phlegm. “Certainly not at my house.” So this is how bad it gets when it goes bad, thought Heat. If there had been a bus in that room, Ms. Delamater would be wearing tread marks. But then, Nikki—and everyone—got a surprise. Everyone, that is, except Keith Gilbert.
“Oh.…” Alicia’s mouth quivered as she lost her words.
Gilbert tried to shut her up. “Alicia. Stop. Right there.” To Nikki’s dismay, the lost woman responded to being directed, and began to consider his instructions. She might have just done that, stopped and asked for a lawyer. Except Keith had to add one more thing. “I’m serious, bitch. You’ve fucked up enough already.”
Alicia reacted with a small jolt, as if slapped by an invisible hand. Then a resolve came over her and she rotated her head to Heat. “I was there that night.”