Nikki told him about the case her team was working, and especially encouraged the agent to make a hard run at Tangier Swift, who topped her list for motive and means. As a longshot number two, she included Timothy Maloney, who had been stalking her and had motive to harm Rook as a means of personal retribution, crazy as that would be.
“Let me do some seat-of-the-pants profiling,” said Delaney. “You’re talking about a lone wolf ex-cop with psych issues. Paranoia, for starters.”
Heat nodded to herself. “I’m right there with you. I’m not seeing Maloney with the organizational chops to pull off an operation like the one I witnessed.”
“But he’s viable as a number-two. Got it.” Nikki heard the turn signal again. “Listen, I’m about to hit the parking garage downtown. Get me that speakeasy video. My crew specializes in missing persons and abductions, and we’re going to put a monitor on your phones in case contact gets made—hopefully by Mr. Rook—otherwise, anyone asking for ransom. Oh. Do you need a sketch artist to work up your kidnappers?”
“Ours just got here.”
“Shoot me the pics. And Heat—fly close.”
Minutes after she hung up, her landline rang again and, as always when the incoming was from Zachary Hamner’s number at One Police Plaza, she hesitated before answering. But, whether she liked the political survivor–slash–hatchet man or not, he was high up in the department, so Heat answered. And when she did, Nikki heard something she had never before heard from The Hammer: compassion. “I’m reaching out to tell you how sorry I am about Rook. But beyond that, I want to give you my pledge that we are all over this. I’ve reached out to the FBI, but I hear you’ve already engaged—good. Keep doing what you do, we’ll do the same. And if I hear anything at all about him, you’re my first call. And if you hit any departmental obstacles, any at all, make me your first.”
She thanked him and, as she replaced the phone on its cradle, she thought Zach had sounded almost human.
Sitting with the police sketch artist tortured Heat with a double dose of agony. First, it forced her to sit idle for twenty minutes—excruciating, even though she knew the importance of getting the faces of those kidnappers out there. But the interval also gave her too much time to grapple with the thoughts she’d been able to avoid by keeping busy. Was he still alive? Was he suffering? Would she ever see him again? And through it all ran the deep anguish she felt over her last conversation with Rook having been a bitter argument. Out there on Columbus and 82nd, Nikki had slipped her emotional chain and gone off on him. Losing Rook would be unbearable enough. Living with a harsh quarrel as their last words would be a crushing weight borne eternally.
She had to make sure that didn’t happen.
As soon as the sketches were finished, Nikki bolted into the squad room, only to encounter a surprise. Raley was back from his video errand at P. J. Clarke’s, and he and Ochoa had transformed the bull pen into a Rook-abduction war room. They had called in extra detectives from Robbery-Burglary plus an extra shift of uniforms and administrative aides to facilitate logistics, make calls, and act as runners. In tandem, Roach brought Heat up to speed on status and assignments.
“We’re going at this with a dual strategy,” began Detective Ochoa.
Detective Raley took the handoff. “We decided our best shot to break this is to break it down. So we’re operating on two fronts: First is the immediate search for Rook. Here’s where we are with that.” He indicated a list they had posted on a new whiteboard they had rolled in. “An aide is calling his cell every ten minutes. Even though you said the SIM is inactive, it’s an easy base to cover—so why not? Next, we’ve contacted his credit card companies to monitor any usage and get us an instant alert of where and when.”
“Same for his bank card?” asked Heat.