“Kind of an expensive piece of property to sit idle,” said Ochoa.
“Oh, they make their money, believe me,” said the SI cop’s partner. “Car makers and insurance companies pay big for these tests. And it’s plenty busy here when they do one, about forty of them a year. We come by sometimes to watch—I mean, wouldn’t you? Lot’s empty now, but on test days, you can hardly find a parking place.”
“I called the Forenetics company headquarters in Stamford while I was waiting for you and Ochoa to get out here,” said Feller. “Their president told me they were scheduled for an impact test on that import tomorrow. Lobbrecht was the project manager and came in yesterday on a scheduled rig of the sensor cables in the vehicle for Rickles.”
“Rickles?”
Feller pointed to the corner beside the catapult where a crash test dummy stood strapped into a dolly. “Irony. Rickles is the dummy.”
“It’s all part of the timeline they follow. Sort of like a NASA launch.”
Heat said, “They have a security guard in the shack at the gate. Didn’t he think it was odd that Mr. Lobbrecht came in but didn’t leave?”
The lead detective from the 121st shook his head. “The guard says just the opposite. That Lobbrecht only started coming here six weeks ago, but, in that time, was a 24/7 guy whenever there was a launch. Worked all hours, brought his lunch, always pulled all-nighters. It was not out of pattern for him to show up and not clock out for two days. And this place is soundproofed, so they’d have no clue out there across the lot, especially with a radio or TV going.”
They all looked downrange at the crash site, where Linkletter and his team were gathering what teeth they could find. “So what do you think, misfire?” asked Ochoa. “Or this guy Lobbrecht pushed the wrong button or plugged the wrong cable in the wrong socket while he was setting up?”
“Could be,” said Feller. “Systems fail.”
But Nikki had her attention on Rook and could see that he wasn’t buying an accident. Neither was she. There are coincidences in life, but in Heat’s experience, very few in murder investigations. His connection to two corpses in as many days flashed some mighty big strobes in her brain. “Are you ready to tell me what you were out here to see Lobbrecht about?”
Rook turned slowly away from staring at the crash, but he couldn’t meet her eyes. He stared at the bright-white floor and said nothing. Nikki considered a moment. But it didn’t take her long to make a decision, painful as it was. In truth, she had made it already the evening before when she ordered the tail on him. This would just be the extension of that call. “Detective Feller?” she said. “I want you to drive Mr. Rook back to the Twentieth.”
“Can’t I ride with you?” Rook asked. “Tell you what. I won’t even call shotgun.”
But Heat wasn’t smiling. “You’re not riding back to the precinct. You are being taken there.” She turned to Feller. “He travels in the back. And when you get there, put him in Interrogation One.” Nikki gave Rook her all-business glare and walked out with Ochoa, leaving her fiancé behind.
Lon King, PhD
Counseling Transcript
Session of Feb. 26/13 with Heat, N., Det. Grade-1, NYPD
NH: Thanks for fitting me in again. I’m sorry about last time.
LK: I could see you were working through something. Are you ready to talk about it now?
NH: [Long pause] There’s not really much to talk about. [Longer pause] So you’re going to make me talk about it, aren’t you?
LK: Would it help if I brought us back to where we left off? In my notes I see that you were beginning to talk about the difficulty of surrendering your mother’s apartment—I mean, your apartment—and moving into Rook’s. Am I right?