“—It’s big,” said Ochoa, jumping on hard.
Heat bobbed her head. “Agreed. So what we do is put it with all the other pieces and see how it shakes out.”
“What needs to shake out?” Raley’s question was as valid as it was tersely delivered.
“Look, I’m not shutting your theory down, fellas. You know that, don’t you?”
After an interval of whooshing street noise rising on their end, Ochoa said, “What are we doing, then?” His voice carried the subdued consternation of both partners.
Because she needed to be open to the possibility that they could be on to something, and because she wanted to reconnect with this pair that she liked and admired so much, she said, “Here’s what you’re doing. Set your alarms for early-early and be in Pine Plains by sunup. Go to that farm and brace Sliney’s brother, Roach style. Check out his whereabouts on the morning of the planetarium fall. Get his story and get corroboration. Check out the plane. What condition is it in? How many seats? See if there’s logs or flight plans. I don’t know the rules for rural aviation, but you may get lucky. What I’m saying, boys, is work this. Follow the hot lead, right?”
Only slightly mollified, they said that was all they wanted to hear and said good-night.
“So,” said Rook after Nikki plopped her phone on the table. “Sounds to me like they’re still hacked off from this morning when you bitch-slapped them on the sidewalk in Chelsea.” He caught her reaction and froze to backpedal before he bit into the lime wedge. “Perhaps I should explain. It’s true that I spoke to Detectives Raley and Ochoa on another matter today and that incident came up. But in a purely informational way. The inference that your interaction constituted a bitch-slap was purely mine.”
Nikki set aside her annoyance about being gossiped about and went for the money. “What other matter did you discuss with my detectives?”
“See, I should never do the reposado and talk murder. It’s a bad combination.”
“Don’t try to joke your way out of this, Rook, tell me.”
He folded his arms and leaned back in his chair to consider. “All right. I was going to let this go until tomorrow, not wanting to add another log to the pyre of your case, but I heard that Keith Gilbert had filed a restraining order last month against—wait for it—Alicia Delamater.”
“And this was from a good source?”
“Yes, but I always verify. Hence the call to Roach. And it checks. So things may not be so cozy around Beckett’s Neck. Not like that puffed-up, hack mystery novelist neighbor says.”
“You’re pissed because he said you should stick to magazines.”
“I don’t think it’s ignoble that I found his judgment harsh.”
Nikki didn’t hear that. She’d slumped in her chair and raised her face to the sky conducting some secret dialogue with herself.
“Heat, I know it’s not good news. It blows the mistress theory right out of the sky—meaning no disrespect to the late Mr. Beauvais.” He leaned forward and put his hand on her knee. “Hey?” She lowered her chin and stared at him. “Can we just put this whole business on hold and enjoy the rest of our night?”
Nikki shivered, wishing she’d brought up a sweater. Or maybe never come up. “You mean like talk more about our day?”
“You want something to eat?” He started to reach out with a fork. “The smoked salmon is from Citarella.”
“Maybe talk about how my case is unraveling before my eyes?” He put the fork down and gave her his attention. “Or how my squad is whispering and giving me the buffalo eye when I walk in the room? Or how about the meat grinder I walked into with One Police Plaza?”