Tippen’s cell phone rang. He pulled it from his pocket and stepped away. Kovac watched him, taking another bite of his Mongolian beef and chewing slowly.
“Dan Franken will have to change the name of his business to Handy Dandy Home Invasion,” Tippen said as he ended the call. “Greg Verzano’s prints were on Lucien Chamberlain’s desk, and Mr. Verzano has a record.”
26
“You’ve got your search warrant,” Mascherino said. “Or, more accurately, I’ve got your warrant. Because of the situation between you and Mr. Nilsen, Chris Logan and I agreed it would be best from a legal perspective if I went with you on this.”
Nikki nodded, itching to go. “I’m cool with that. You, me, Seley, and two uniforms. Let’s do it.”
“Not so fast,” the lieutenant said, stopping Nikki mid-turn as she went to exit the office. “We can search for the rifle and for ammunition for the rifle, and that’s all. That’s the scope of the warrant.”
“I can live with that. All I want is the gun. Where’s Nilsen right now?”
“He’s still in custody, but he won’t be staying long.”
“Then let’s get on it so we can get this accomplished without him ranting and raving in the background,” Nikki said. “The sooner we’re at it, the sooner we’re done. I’d like to get home before my boys go to bed.”
“Are they home alone?” Mascherino asked as they left the office.
“God, no. Maybe I’ll leave them unsupervised when they’re out of college,” Nikki said. “I’m renting out the other half of my duplex to a cousin of mine who’s going through a divorce. He’s a private tutor. He works right there. His clients come to him. He’s happy to check on the boys and hang out with them if I’m hung up on a case. The kids love him.”
She had always been clever and lucky arranging backup and babysitters for the boys. Her last tenant had been a graphic designer who worked from home. Marysue Zaytoun had become a great friend as well. Nikki had hated to see her go, when she got married and moved on with her life. Then Cousin Matt announced the end of his marriage, and the other side of the Liska duplex seemed the perfect solution for all concerned.
“I had hoped I wouldn’t have to call on him much with the move to Cold Case,” Nikki said. “But here I am.”
Mascherino gave her a look, a knowing smile turning her lips. “If you wanted a nine-to-five, you wouldn’t have put on a badge.”
“I know.”
“We didn’t pick an easy ladder to climb, but that’s what makes us who we are.”
“You have kids, too.”
“A boy and a girl. They’re grown, with kids of their own now.”
“So, they didn’t grow up to be serial killers,” Nikki said. “They’re not racking up hours on the therapist’s couch because their mom is a cop.”
“They turned out just fine,” the lieutenant said. “Yours will, too. The fact that you worry about it tells me that much.”
“I don’t know,” Nikki said, scraping together a bit of humor. “I still think Kyle and R.J. will exact their revenge on me when I’m old and decrepit.”
“Oh, they won’t wait that long,” Mascherino said as they went out the doors of City Hall and into the damp cold. “They’ll sic their toddlers on you.”
They met Seley at the car and hit the road once more for Donald Nilsen’s neighborhood. The rain had dissipated into a thick mist that slicked the windshield on the outside as the defroster struggled to clear the fog on the inside of the glass.
A radio car was waiting at the curb when they arrived. Nikki looked next door, at the house the Duffys had lived in, catching a glimpse of Bruce Larson as he stood in the front room of the house with a coffee mug in one hand, gesturing with the other as he spoke and laughed with someone out of sight. He would be thrilled to know the police were next door, setting the stage for a fresh episode of Dateline.
They went into the Nilsen house, leaving one of the uniformed officers to stand guard at the front door. The other paired with Seley to begin the search of the main level. Nikki and Mascherino climbed the stairs to the second floor. They went from room to room, methodically searching closets and drawers, looking under beds and behind dressers—anywhere that could conceivably hide a small rifle or a box of bullets.