“Excuse me, Detective? Got a call on your line from a guy who says he’s the serial killer.”
“See?” Nikki shook the newspaper at Irons. “The bogus calls are starting already.”
But then Ochoa said, “Detective Heat? He asked if you liked to roller blade.”
Heat tossed the tabloid on a guest chair and rushed out to her desk.
FIVE
“This is Detective Heat.”
“Got your attention, did I?” The voice sounded male, but distorted, the way 20/20 electronically disguises voices of mob witnesses and whistle-blowers.
“It’s a start,” said Nikki. She sat at her desk, and when she swiveled in her chair, she saw that the entire squad had gathered around her. “So. Tell me what you’re calling about.” There was a loud click and the line went dead. She stared at the phone and had started to tell the others he’d hung up when her line rang. She jumped on it. “Heat.”
The distortion made him sound even more chilling. “Do not fuck with me. Pull that casual chatty bullshit again, I’m gone. Got it?”
“Got it.”
“I’m going to talk, and you’re going to listen.” Nikki looked over at Raley where he coordinated the call trace at his desk. “What’s this shit in the paper about it could be two people? Do I have to prove it’s not?”
“No,” she said immediately.
“We’ll see. I get to decide that, cover girl.” All of her training had taught Heat to remain dispassionate in these kinds of calls. But her heart bumped at the reference to her magazine cover. She tried to bat away the personalization. He had other ideas. “Think you’re so smart, Detective Heat? How smart do you feel running around like a rat in a maze? You smell a clue but you can’t see it. You need something to unlock that door.”
Nikki wanted to keep him talking, not just for the trace but to get a handle on him. “You don’t have to make this a contest.”
“Sorry.” Then he laughed, a digitally altered Darth Vader. “Tell you what, cover girl. Maybe I’ll give you a hand on the next one.” And then he clicked off again. Heat stood to look over the other detectives at Raley, who shook his head and hung up his phone.
Nikki went into the restroom and splashed water on her face again and again. It just seemed like something to do when all she wanted was to be alone. Drying off, she felt the paper towel tremble in her hands as she took in the magnitude of what had just happened. A challenge had been laid down. An already baffling case had suddenly taken on a new dimension for Heat, who now found herself matching wits against a serial killer, with innocent lives at stake over how good she really was. “Cover girl,” she muttered into her hands. Nikki peeled the wet towel off her face, chucked it, and left the room without so much as a glance in the mirror.
When Heat came back into the bull pen, she found another unsettling surprise waiting. “Je suis retourné!” Jameson Rook slid off her blotter and stood beside his roll-along bag. Grinning through traveler’s stubble, he held his arms open wide as she approached. She wouldn’t ice him in public, but the hug Nikki gave him wouldn’t exactly have lighted up the Kiss Cam at the Garden. “Brr,” he said in a low tone. Then added, “See, I’ve been working on my empathy.”
“Not the best time, Rook.”
“Let me guess.” He held up his copy of the Ledger. “I saw this in the airport when I got off the plane.”
Raley walked by, holding out a transcript of the phone call. She made a no-look snatch as he moved on, distributing it to the squad as they assembled around the Murder Boards. “The serial killer reads the Ledger, too, and he just called.”
“You spoke to him?”
“I did.”
“Then I got back just in time.” He breezed past her and took an empty seat with the detectives. Determined to ignore this new distraction, Nikki took her place up front.
“An assignment,” said Heat as she surveyed the room. “I need someone out at Reception to monitor incoming calls so if our serial killer tries me again, he gets right through.” Her gaze fell on Detective Hinesburg. “Sharon, you’re elected.”
Hinesburg made the face of snippy annoyance. “Fine. Your party.”
“You’re right,” said Nikki, who waited for Hinesburg to saunter off to the precinct lobby, figuring that if the detective was out of earshot, she couldn’t learn anything to leak to the paper. Heat addressed the rest of the group. “Before we begin, has anyone not read this?” She held up her copy of the tabloid.
After a moment of silence Ochoa said, “Want me to ask Detective Hinesburg?”
When the squad’s knowing laughter settled, Heat said, “Yeah, I have a feeling Sharon’s caught up.” She waited out a few more chuckles then brought them to business. “Most of you heard my side of the two calls we just got. And you’ve all got the transcript. Detective Raley also has dubbed an audio copy off our digital call server. Rales?”
He opened the WAV file on his laptop speakers. At first, Rook and the detectives started to read along. But as the chilling call continued, enticingly sinister because of the digitally futzed voice, they all abandoned their hard copies and leaned forward, staring instead at the computer, as if it were the man himself instead of the playback device for a killer’s audio bit stream. When it finished, Detective Raley clicked it off.
Complete silence followed.
Heat broke it by asking, “OK, what did we learn?” She bisected the Maxine Berkowitz Murder Board with a vertical line and began a brainstorm list in the open white space.
“It’s him,” said Detective Feller. “He worked in the hold-backs that didn’t get leaked: the skate reference and the rat in the maze thing? It’s him.”
“For now, let’s say so,” Heat agreed, and saw bobble-heads.
“Tech-savvy,” said Detective Reynolds. “Not everyone out there knows how to alter his voiceprint like that.”
Rook couldn’t resist. “There’s an app for that?”
“Raley,” said Heat. “As my King of All Surveillance Media, find out if there is.” Rales nodded and made a note. “What else?”
“Dude’s controlling,” called out Ochoa.
Heat said, “No kidding,” and wrote the trait on the board. “The way he hung up on the first call to let me know who’s boss.”
“And the second call,” added Rook. “It was all about making his points his way, in his own time, like a billiard champ running the table.”
Detective Rhymer said, “I’d put smart up there, too.” As Nikki posted that, he continued, “He knew exactly how long to stay on the call to beat the trace, and he also knew how to push your buttons, talking about case frustration…”
“… Calling you a cover girl,” said Reynolds. Nikki’s eyes went to Rook’s and then away.
“I think this guy’s beyond smart and controlling,” said Malcolm. “I say he’s pissed. Check it out.” He skim-read from the transcript, “ ‘Do not fuck with me.’… ‘I’m going to talk, and you’re going to listen.’… ‘Think you’re so smart, Detective Heat?’ ”
“That’s not just pissed,” said Raley.
“That’s competitive,” finished his partner. “Talking about making it a contest, and maybe ‘helping you’ with the next one.”
“That’s the biggest clue of all,” said Heat. “And the worst.” She didn’t have to voice it. The caller already had-that there would be a next one.
Later that morning, Roach came to Nikki’s desk. “Rook was right,” said Detective Ochoa.
“There is an app for that.” Raley picked up. Across the room at his squatter’s desk, Rook overheard and came to join them as the media king briefed Heat. “There’s not only an actual app, but we found a slew of consumer software out there for altering voices. All you need is a laptop to change how you sound.”
His partner continued, “You can do the Darth Vader like our man, or girls can sound like old ladies, or men can pretend to be women…”
Rook jumped in. “That’s why I always say…”