“Really.” Heat explained that her frustration with the cyber attack had led her to resort to a very low-tech data search. “I didn’t just go old school. I went old schoolgirl.”
Delaney laughed and congratulated her on the safe rescue of her fiancé. “I’m guessing Mr. Rook came out of it OK?”
“Yes, he did, thank you. As we speak, I’m outside a Banana Republic near Lincoln Center watching him pay for a shirt. One that doesn’t have bloodstains.” Back in Red Hook, Nikki had offered to have a patrol car drive Rook to his loft for a shower, a change, and a nap. His response was to call shotgun and ride with her to the Twentieth so he could dive right back into their investigation.
“Nothing serious, then.”
“Nosebleed. He says they didn’t abuse him. Except for poking him with a hypodermic sedative on the way to the hideout.”
“I want some one-on-one with him. A debrief.”
“Of course.” In an attempt to hasten an end to the call before the subject of her prisoner came up, she added, “I’m ten minutes from the precinct. I’ll have him call you when we get there.”
“Wait. Captain Heat?” She could tell by his tone that her ploy had failed. “You said one of the kidnappers survived. I want to speak with him, also. Immediately, in fact.”
“You bet. Like I said, back at the precinct soon. I’ll call.” She hit End before that went any further.
The good news about doing the right thing by the Bureau was that they were busy running checks on the kidnapper killed in the raid and on Beckham, whose real name was George Gallatin. The not-so-good news was that Special Agent Delaney didn’t wait for Heat to make contact on her schedule. By the time she and Rook entered the homicide bull pen, he had already been in touch with her prisoner, who was manacled and waiting in Interrogation One.
Rook enjoyed a round of handshakes and backslaps. Detective Ochoa said, “You’re showing me something, homes, coming right from your rescue to this place.”
“You kidding?” said Rook. “Wouldn’t miss it. Since my kidnapping, the entertainment value of this case has increased dramatically.” He then turned to Randall Feller. “Detective, I can’t thank you enough for your part in my rescue. Above and beyond. And, as a token of my appreciation…” He held out a Banana Republic shopping bag. “I want you to have this. It’s my bloodstained shirt.” Even Feller had to laugh.
Before she lost her prisoner to the feds, Heat asked Rook to brief them all on his experience, so the squad could pitch in on what to ask Gallatin when she got in the box with him. Raley handed him a cup of coffee, and he took a seat on Heat’s old desk to recount all he could remember from street snatch to rescue. “I have no idea how they knew I’d be at that restaurant. Either they were tailing me from Times Square where I’d been at my editor’s office at First Press, or they were following you, Nikki, and just hoped I’d come along to snag. The grab itself was pretty undignified.” He tipped his head toward Heat. “I could hear you coming for me, but clearly neither of us was a match for that much goon power. They shoved me in the minivan and, after I smashed my nose into one of them, they put a needle in my shoulder. Before I went out, I heard one of them say, ‘You’d better check in with Black Knight.” The detectives exchanged side-glances with each other. “What?”
Heat said, “Rook, are you making this up, because it’s OK, it was already an excellent adventure without you—”
“Turning it into a Monty Python remake?” offered Raley.
“OK, first of all, in Holy Grail, it was the Black Knight, not plain ol’ Black Knight. And I feel no need to embellish. It’s obviously a code name. Once, while I was cuffed in the barge hold, I watched the big one, Gallatin, dial Black Knight on his cell. I used an old reporter’s trick to memorize the phone number by following which digits he tapped on his screen. It’s this talent I have, like being able to read somebody’s memos upside down on a desk.”