“What do you mean, sorry?” Nikki set down her fork and pushed her food away. “It’s my understanding this isn’t even something that has to get judicial approval. I thought I could just file a written request with my justification and scope, and we’re good to go.”
“That’s correct. The sticking point is in what you just said. The scope is too broad. Looking into a patient, we can do. Like this Timothy Maloney.”
“I don’t need to know about him, I already know he was there. I want the names of the others in that room.”
“You’re coming full circle, Captain. The others in that room can’t be confirmed as patients—ipso facto, too broad.”
“Here’s an ipso facto: This is why people hate lawyers.” Heat hung up and felt ashamed and oh so good at the same time.
The call had soured Nikki’s appetite, and she was marking her initials on the takeout carton before she put it in the fridge when Detective Rhymer skidded into the break room. “’Scuse me, Captain?”
“Hey, Opie, what’s up?” Rhymer didn’t have much of a face for poker and she could read his excitement. Nikki shoved the refrigerator door closed and strode to join him even before he had answered.
“Raley and Ochoa on the line in the squad room. You’ll want to take this.”
The detectives had conferenced together, and Heat got a double hello when she picked up. “Hey, an actual Roach call. You weren’t kidding when you said you’d make it by lunchtime.”
“Yeah, and damn glad we came up here in person, like you suggested,” said Raley. “Let’s walk you through in order.”
Ochoa picked up the ball. “We found the wrecker service here in Peekskill, Dunne Towing. The owner was very cooperative, called in the kid who drives the overnight hook.”
“Name is Dooley,” added Raley.
“Dooley worked the haul-out of Nathan Levy’s BMW on Cold Spring Turnpike. Guess where?”
“Around the hairpin turn from the fatal,” said Raley. Heat felt her pulse accelerate, and when she looked at Opie, he was working his head up and down, knowing, yep, this was something. “You still there?”
“Yes, I’m just…That’s big,” Heat said.
“Not done yet. Miguel?”
“Dooley reports the damage to the M3 was also solo.”
Raley clarified, “Not car to car.”
“Skidded into a small runoff ditch paralleling the shoulder. Bent both front wheels and smacked the spoiler into the gravel siding. The car was undriveable, so Dooley flatbedded it back to his repair garage. But Levy was compulsive about the car and wouldn’t let the locals touch it. So he arranged to have them transpo his vehicle to that body shop Aguinaldo found the paperwork for in the Bronx.”
Nikki processed the implications. “This is bizarre.”
“Understatement,” said Detective Ochoa.
“I mean, you and I both know a fatal accident lights up all sorts of police follow-up,” she went on. “How is it that this wasn’t reported by the hauler, Mr. Dooley?”
“OK, now we’re getting to it. He did report it.”
“That makes no sense. The State Police said it was a solo event. How can he say he reported it? Is he credible? Do you believe him?”
“Oh, he’s high-cred,” said Ochoa.
“Extremely,” his partner added. “You see, this is why we’re glad you sent us up, first-person. He showed us the paperwork.”
Detective Ochoa said, “I’m holding a copy of it now. You ready? It was signed off by a state trooper.”
“Holy—” Heat grabbed a pencil out of a cup on Rhymer’s desk. “I want to talk to that trooper.”
“That won’t be possible,” said Raley. “According to this report, the state trooper who led the accident investigation was their top collision expert at the time: Fred Lobbrecht.”
Opie couldn’t stop shaking his head. “Isn’t this just too weird?”
“Although when you think about it,” said Rook as he dragged his chair with the whimpering caster over to Heat and the rest of the squad in the bull pen, “isn’t ‘too weird’ really just another way to say ‘too cool?’”