NH: Of course not. Just busy.
LK: Then you won’t mind if we go back to where we left off. In my notes here you were just about to talk about commitment to Rook. [Note—NH avoiding eye contact, restless] I’m sensing this might be a sensitive area for you, Nikki. Is it?
NH: No. I mean, we are engaged. That’s commitment, right?
LK: Is it?
NH: Yes. Absolutely. We are going to do this.
LK: Very concrete. As a high achiever, I have no doubt you are committed to the event. My question is, how does it make you feel?
NH: Like it’s the time of my life. [Long pause] Crap. I’m sorry. I just got a text from the precinct. I have to go. Sorry.
LK: Duty doesn’t call anymore. It texts. But this is something you need to explore. Your comfort zone when things get too emotional is your task orientation.
NH: It’s a big job, and I’m dedicated to it.
LK: Yes, it’s quite a drive you have. The thing I would ask you, is are you driving toward something, or driving something away?
Just before dawn after a night without sleep, Nikki sat on hold with the graveyard-shift DMV supervisor she had chased down in Albany to gate-crash the Records Section and run out a list of silver minivans for her. While he slowly—so damn slowly—took down the information, Heat tried to pry open the bottle of Tylenol she had found in the break room’s first-aid drawer so she could tame the throbbing knot behind her ear where the goon had soccer-kicked her. Nikki’s quaking fingers managed to pop the top, but the force of the action sent all the tablets clattering over her desktop to the floor. Screw it. Heat selected two off her blotter and dry-swallowed them.
As she wrapped up her call to the DMV, she heard someone walking on gravel and turned. But it wasn’t gravel. It was Detective Ochoa treading across Tylenol. His face registered something she had not seen all night: hope. Then he said one welcome word: “Tipster.”
“Tell me,” she said, rising to her feet, adrenalized. With a cop’s reflex, she noted the time: 5:42 in the morning.
“Just came in. A guy in town for dinner last night from Port Chester saw Rook get taken. He said it didn’t look right, and tailed the silver minivan as far as he could.”
“He credible?”
“Gave the full plate that matches your partial.”
“Why’d he wait so long?”
“Said he was with someone he wasn’t supposed to be with, and didn’t want to get found out. Guess he got a conscience.”
“Let’s hear it for cheaters,” Heat said, pulling on her blazer. “Have him show me.”
To make sure he didn’t wiggle off the hook, Detective Feller picked up Alvin Speyer outside his Times Square hotel and chauffeured the philandering plumbing contractor to where he had last seen the kidnap van. They followed Montgomery Street under the FDR into the parking lot of Pier 36, where Detective Heat was waiting between the cargo warehouse and the big Parks & Rec basketball complex. Raley and Ochoa wanted to be there, too, but she had come alone, not wanting to overwhelm an already apprehensive eyewit with a heavy turnout of detectives.