Heat asked, “You check his alibi? He said he was in Vermont, but Burlington’s only a one-hour flight or a six-hour drive.”
“Affirm. During the TOD window, Mr. Stallings was in a portrait sitting with a United States senator.”
“I’d go for more cred,” heckled Rook.
Detective Feller bent his report through the prism of frustration after spending the day dogging the Harbor Unit and USCG with no accounts of unusual activity concerning a lone kayaker. “I did get some tide info. Yay. Coast Guard ran a computer model factoring in ebb and flood, wind, and drag on a rudderless vessel of that size. Their best guess is that the kayak came downriver, north to south.”
“That would fit,” said Inez. “Stallings said Dr. King stored his kayak at a boathouse up in Inwood and would have put in there.”
“Which Detective Aguinaldo was kind enough to phone to me since the kayak was my assignment,” added Rhymer. “I got the call at the REI in Yonkers, where he bought it and took paddling classes. No regular float buddies, according to the manager. In fact, he recalled how King made a big point that he wanted to take up the sport for the solitude.”
Nikki reflected on her sessions and his tranquil demeanor. After a day of listening to people talk, she imagined the quiet probably kept the psychologist sane.
“I hit the Inwood Canoe Club on my way back to Manhattan,” Rhymer continued. “It’s on the Hudson between Spuyten Duyvil Creek and the GWB. The vice commodore got me in touch with a member who saw King put in late yesterday afternoon, about four-thirty.”
As one, the entire squad noted the wall clock, no doubt hatching the same thought. About twenty-four hours before, a man had put on his life jacket, thinking he was going for a carefree paddle on an April evening.
Detective Rhymer, who had paused in deference to the collective impulse, resumed, consulting his notes. “The member, an HR exec named Abira, said she had a friendly exchange with King, giving him shit about the hazards of floating solo. Ironically, his last words were, ‘If I die, you can have the last laugh.’ She had an appointment and left as he was paddling upriver. According to her and the vice commodore, one of his favorite courses was to make a loop: Harlem River to the University Heights Bridge, and back.
“Detective Feller,” said Heat. “While there’s still daylight, get on your contacts at Harbor Unit for a scour of that stretch.” While he moved off to his desk, she called after him, “Fishermen, boaters, bird-watchers, pot smokers hanging at the water, ask Harbor to check them all out.” Without turning, he waved in the air to acknowledge.
“How do we feel about Fat Tommy?” asked Ochoa. “After your meet, do you like him for this?”
Heat recapped her meeting at Fortuna’s Wheel with Nicolosi. When she finished, Raley observed that she didn’t seem convinced that he was involved. “Sean,” Heat said, “everyone has to be on the table until we close this. But his motive isn’t strong.”
“He said it himself,” added Rook. “Bad business to kill people who owe you.”
Detective Rhymer flipped his notebook closed. “Makes us mighty lean on suspects.”
Ochoa crossed to the Murder Board and tapped the break-in at Lon King’s office. “This is our hottest lead right now. And those A-through-M patient files that got ripped off? Our killer could be one of them. Maybe there was a patient with something in his file he didn’t want known. Something he admitted to the shrink and regretted later.”
Raley joined his partner’s speculation. “Or, maybe something the shrink blackmailed him with to get money to settle his debt.”
“Viable,” said Feller, returning from his call.
Nikki shook her head. “I know I said everything has to be on the table, but that doesn’t seem in character to me.”