“And you don’t think the ransack was just to cover the murder of the vic?” asked Randall Feller.
Ochoa nodded. “We were liking that. Even had Opie do the drill on the old broker through his First Precinct contact. That’s still in progress, but the game changed when we drew the missing maid’s connection to Splat Man.” Even without turning he could feel Nikki’s disapproving stare boring into him and amended, “I mean, Mr. Beauvais.” Then he faced Heat and added, “We’ve pulled Detective Rhymer off the Wall Street assignment so we can detail him to track Jeanne Capois.”
Raley joined in: “Logic being, she’s now the hot lead. Whether she has information, is in danger, or is a player. Just wanted you to know.”
Heat said the wisest thing she could have to them. “Your case, your call.”
Detective Rhymer reported that he had already started working the same agencies he’d contacted on his ID search for Beauvais. “Got her picture out to airports, transit, and subways, too. The Happy Hazels voice message says they don’t open until seven-thirty. I’ll pay them a visit then to see if they have any alternate addresses or emergency contacts on file for her.”
“Still no video around West End Avenue of the home invaders?” Heat asked Raley. And when he shook no, she said, “Have you thought about re-scrubbing those security cams for Jeanne Capois to see where she might have gone after leaving the apartment?”
“I have now.” The room chuckled, but then immediately quieted when they all saw Rook entering the bull pen for the day. He was carrying his coffee and her vanilla latte. And he was beardless.
He read the silence and said, “I miss something?”
“Yeah, like half your face, homes,” said Ochoa. “Did you at least save a lock for me?”
During the burst of catcalls and rowdiness, he handed Nikki her Starbucks and she mouthed, “I like it,” which made him smile—with lips she could actually see now. After West End Ave., they’d gotten to his loft after 1 A.M., too wired to sleep, so they carried glasses and a bottle of Hautes-C?tes de Nuits to the bathtub. He mentioned that, on the plane, he had seen a Bond Girl shave Daniel Craig in a preview of Skyfall and, after their second glass, Nikki straddled him with a razor. It wasn’t the warm water and the Burgundy that excited her (well, maybe a little). It was the thrilling intimacy of the act and Rook’s complete trust as he rested his head back on the edge of the tub while she ran sharp steel down his throat to his naked chest. Their kiss at the end gave her his old mouth back, and they finally found sleep after surprising each other with a newfound intensity.
“Welcome back, face,” she said as Rook rolled a chair over to join the meeting. Heat briefed the group on Keith Gilbert’s unannounced visit then connected the dots from the chicken slaughterhouse to the Hamptons, including the encounters with Alicia Delamater, who claimed Beauvais worked for her, not her lover.
“Nice and tidy,” said Detective Feller, giving voice to all their instincts. “Not saying there isn’t something there, but for me, coincidence is like air freshener. It only masks the odor. The trick is to know of what.” He recapped his walking tour of Flatbush, “making friends with the islander folk, and handing out business cards to anyone who’d talk to me. No hits on the mug shot or the sketches, although my gut tells me a few people recognized the dude. I’ll work it some more today.”
Heat said, “Take the picture of Jeanne Capois along, too.”
“Maybe I should stop at CVS and get one of those cute little photo albums.” His Galaxy buzzed. He checked it and held the screen out to her. “Three-four-seven area code. Could be a callback from Flatbush. Better take it.” Feller hustled off to his desk across the room for quiet. With no new clues or theories developing, Nikki released the squad to work their assignments. She refreshed her computer and found a new e-mail from Forensics at the top of her stack.