Nikki sing-songed, “He’s ba-a-a-a-ack.” But did it with her inside voice—wise, given the setting and the pair of uniformed witnesses.
“Know what else? I also don’t think he’ll be throwing those at Mardi Gras this year.” Heat followed his gesture to the colorful plastic beads hanging from the rearview mirror. Within the red, green, purple, and yellow strands, something caught her eye. Using her capped stick pen in her gloved hand, she leaned into the cab and lifted a white latex bracelet by one end.
“What is that, a hospital bracelet?” he asked.
Heat turned her head to the side so she could read the band. “With Nathan Levy’s name on it.”
Rook’s conjecture about Levy’s poor viability as a suspect was reinforced, albeit without the wiseass factor, back at the precinct by Detective Aguinaldo. “When he took off on the run, I decided to establish Mr. Levy’s whereabouts during the time frames of our various homicides. You want to hear?”
“I have a feeling there’s no stopping you,” said Heat, impressed with the initiative. Inez, a talented detective, clearly was pushing harder, trying to make up for her stumble in overlooking a search of Abigail Plunkitt’s rooftop.
“During the spans of time around King’s and Lobbrecht’s deaths,” Aguinaldo said, “Levy was up in Monticello, New York, at a meeting about a job as a driving coach at the private racetrack and resort up there.”
“That’s only ninety minutes away,” said Feller.
“Yes, but he had an early interview and spent the night at the Courtyard by Marriott in Middletown. I’ve confirmed he was physically present at both places. That leaves the period in which Plunkitt was killed. He was away during that time frame, too. He told his next-door neighbor he was in Atlantic City getting physical therapy on his leg.”
Detective Rhymer said, “Hold on. Who goes all the way down to AC for physical therapy?”
Aguinaldo grinned. “I checked. The physical therapy wasn’t exactly covered under insurance, if you know what I mean. There’s security footage of him in the lobby of the place. On two visits.”
“Ah,” said Rook. “Nathan’s massage had a happy ending. His life, not so much.”
Heat tore a page out of her notebook. “Detectives Raley and Ochoa.” The pair, who were sitting on opposite sides of the group, raised their heads. “I copied this off a hospital bracelet I found hanging in Levy’s truck. Note the patient.” She handed it to Ochoa, who was nearer. He read it and passed it on at a signal from Raley. “It’s from an ER up in Cortlandt, which is Westchester County. He was there in February, about a month and a half ago. I’m not sure what this will give us—maybe why the limp—but place a call, and let’s find out.”
“On it,” said Raley. “As long as we’re gathered, we have a few updates for you. First of all, CSU found George Gallatin’s cell phone on the floor in the modular trailer at the Channel Maritime.”
Rook grew very excited. “That’s great. We can get that number for Black Knight.”
“‘Come back here, you bastard!’” called Feller in a passable Monty Python impression. “It’s only a flesh wound!”
“You mock me, but I’m telling you, I heard Gallatin say he was calling Black Knight.” He turned back to Raley. “All we have to do is check the Recents. The number will be there.”
“Sorry. History’s been cleared. You’re going to have to keep noodling. Or give it up.”
“No, I’m too OCD for that.” Nikki could see Rook’s eyes glaze over as he tried to conjure up a replay of that phone dialing.
Raley consulted his cheat sheet. “We also got word about Eric Vreeland.”
“I already know I’m not going to like this,” said Nikki.