“You got it.” He didn’t sound thrilled.
“And Randy? Keep out of that window. Wouldn’t want you getting made or anything.”
About an hour later, a call from downtown pulled Heat out of a visit to the Burglary Squad room, where the new captain was getting her update on their activity. She strode into her office and waited with a gnawing in her gut for the operator to transfer. As it finally rang, Nikki rested her hand on the receiver and cycled through the ramifications of blowing off the senior administrative aide to the NYPD’s deputy commissioner for legal matters. It had been he who had championed her through the system to become a captain and precinct commander. Maybe he was just phoning to wish her well now that the placement was official. One ring before the voicemail dump, she lifted the horn. “Captain Heat.”
“I understand you’re off to a shaky start,” said Zach Hamner. No Hello. No Good afternoon. No Did I interrupt anything? None of that. Zach, the Hammer, was living up to his blunt-instrument nickname from his opening volley. Heat imagined sex with him must be very much about getting it done. She couldn’t believe she was wondering about sex with what amounted to a reptile in a suit.
“Thank you, Zachary. Nothing more bolstering than a call from you.”
“If you want touchy-feely, try Media Relations. Here in Legal it’s all tough love.” She could picture him at his desk down at One PP, smugly enjoying his self-defined status as department ball-buster—the guy they send when they just want it done. Never destined to be the front man, Hamner would always be Merlin, one of those pasty slicks with passive faces and thick briefcases who lean forward to whisper strategic answers in the ears of the top-liners. “I’m getting some negative reports and, since I feel a personal responsibility for getting you appointed, I’m doing a little intervention.”
“Lucky me.”
“Where do I start? Dissing Internal Affairs? No, how about embarrassing the chief of detectives?”
Nikki realized that she should have let the call go to voicemail. “The chief and I hashed that out yesterday, Zach. Old news.”
“More like a close call. Think. Be proactive. On this level accountability goes up the chain and information is the currency.”
“You should stitch that on a sampler.”
“Heat. Do I sound like I’m looking for entertainment?” Heat rocked back in her executive chair while he delivered his department-line reprimand for mixing it up with Detective Lovell at IA. It was useless to argue, so Nikki signed papers while he rambled on. “And what were you doing being seen in uniform, consorting with a known mobster?”
She stopped signing and stood up. “I was not consorting, I was interviewing him as a potential suspect in the murder of Lon King.”
“You couldn’t haul his ass into the box? You were seen going into his illegal gambling parlor in broad daylight.”
“That’s where he was.”
“Heat, you’re a precinct commander. PCs can’t mingle with mobsters. It’s not PC.” As with so many administrators and gray bureaucrats, The Hammer had no idea what police work was all about. She thought of giving him a lecture about that when Ochoa showed up in her doorway with an urgent look.
“Zach, listen, something just came up on a case, I’ve got to go.” And, having a second thought, she added, “Thanks for the good advice,” just before she hung up.
“We have a new vic,” said Detective Ochoa.
Nikki came around the desk, sliding an arm through a sleeve of her blazer. “Where?”
“Staten Island.”
That slowed Heat down. “Not our precinct, why’s it our victim?”
“Because Feller called it in.”
Heat’s face lost some color as she processed the connection, not liking anywhere it was leading. “Feller…?”
“He was tailing Rook. Rook found the body.”