SEVENTEEN
Heat started at a speed-walk through the lobby, past the duty sergeant, but something about the jolt of the buzz lock made the armored door feel like a starting gate. She punched the push bar, flung it open, and broke into a jog. Hinesburg chattered at her heels all the way, trying to keep up with Nikki’s pace on the way to the squad room.
“I’m not absolutely sure it’s her.”
“What did she say to you, exactly?”
“I didn’t talk to her,” said Sharon. The switchboard transferred it. But remember that tipster who called me the other day-”
“I do.”
“After I messed up with him, I didn’t want to blow this.”
“Good.”
“So I went and got you.”
“Are you running a trace?”
“Switchboard is on it already.” She read something in Heat’s glance and insisted, “They are. Why are you looking at me that way?”
The bull pen was empty; all the other detectives were out on assignment. Hinesburg pointed to Nikki’s desk. “It’s the blinking line.”
Heat reached for the phone, then hesitated. She took a few seconds to calm her pulse and fasten herself to the moment. Be present, Nikki, she thought. No time to get sloppy. Ready, she turned to Hinesburg. “Is this call set to record?”
“It should be.”
“ ‘Should be’? Really?”
“It’s set.” Hinesburg bent over the small tan junction box coupled between Heat’s phone and a hard drive. She flipped the toggle switch to On and a green mini-lamp lit. “Now it is.”
“Maybe you should go grab Raley.”
“I’m telling you it’s set. The call will record, just pick up.”
Nikki flipped to a clean sheet in her notebook and pressed the line. “Detective Heat.”
“It’s me,” said the woman. And then, after a short pause, “Salena.” The voice sounded like hers, only grittier and more subdued. Nikki tried to compare it to the one she had heard a month before when Salena Kaye insinuated herself into her life masquerading as Rook’s physical therapist. Back when the two of them laughingly nicknamed her his Naughty Nurse and Heat had written her off as an airhead with a massage table. So much for profiling.
Nikki said, “You’re going to have to prove it.”
“I expected that. Do you want me to tell you about the twin freckles on your boyfriend’s ass or how the shit Vaja Nikoladze cooked up is going to kill a couple thousand people?”
Heat ignored the personal bait. Instead her eye flicked to verify the green record lamp. She said, “Let’s talk about what Vaja cooked up.”
“You first,” said Salena, who then chuckled derisively.
But lurking behind her contempt, Nikki heard something off in Salena Kaye’s voice, something tight, like her bluster was fake. She sounded drunk. Or… afraid? Over years of interrogation Nikki had learned that shifts in demeanor were huge tells. Of what, she’d listen carefully for. “You called me. What do you want?”
After some throat clearing from the other end, a sigh. “Protection,” she said. “I want to turn myself in, but I want protection.”
“Like you gave Petar?”
“Can you give it to me?” Her voice rasped, sounding throaty and dry. Definitely scared. What was going on here?
Whatever it was, Heat didn’t let up. “What’s the problem, Salena? Running low on people to kill?” There was a long pause and Kaye muttered something. “Speak up, I can’t hear you.”
“They turned on me.” Another pause. The fear mixed with something else. Remoteness, defeat. “They are going to find me and kill me just like Tyler Wynn.”
“Excuse me, but I believe that was you.”
“They have others. They can do it.”
“Who are they, Salena? Names.” While Kaye breathed heavily across the mouthpiece Heat signaled to Hinesburg, swirling the hurry up circle with her forefinger. Sharon dialed the switchboard and checked on the trace. “Start with one name, I can wait.”
“You’ll never trace this call, so don’t bother trying to stall me.”
“I think you’re the one wasting my time.”
“No, don’t go,” she shouted. “I do have names. I know everything. I’m just not giving it up. Not until I’m in.” She slurped saliva. “And safe. Then I’ll tell you everything.” Heat had heard thousands of plea deal offers. Kaye was saying all the right words, but there was something about the way she said them that didn’t sell. To Nikki, they had to pass the Valentine’s Test. “I love you” has to feel like it. No tingle, no deal.
Over at her desk, Hinesburg waved for attention and gave the thumbs-down.
With no trace coming, Nikki moved things to the next round. “Tell you what, Salena. You come in, and I’ll do my best for witness protection. But no promises unless you deliver.”
“Agreed!” Jumping at that a bit quickly, Heat thought, for a cold-blooded assassin.
“Good. Do you know where the Twentieth Precinct is located? West Eighty-second off Columbus?”
“Nice try. No way.”
“Oh, I get it,” said Heat, pushing the sarcasm. “You want us to come to you.”
“If you were me, wouldn’t you?” Nikki had to admit, she had a point. After more rustling and throat clearing, Kaye said, “Remember the East River Heliport?”
“Hard to forget.”
“Yeah, you lost me there after I spiked your coffee at Dunkin’ Donuts.” But it had been Starbucks, not Dunkin’. Odd. Would Salena forget a detail like that? Nikki wondered if maybe she really was drunk. Or something else… “Eight-thirty tonight. Come alone. I trust only you.”
Heat jotted down the place and time but said, “No, Salena, you come here.”
Kaye held her ground. “Take it or leave it. And if you bring anyone else, deal’s off. And you can thank yourself when this city turns into a fucking hot zone.”
The line went dead.
“She gone?” asked Hinesburg. Heat simply nodded, deep in thought, pondering the strange call and the drastic change she read in the bold killer. “What did she want?”
“To turn herself in.”
“Holy fuck.” Then Hinesburg said, “Fuck, sorry about the ‘fuck.’ I heard you mention the precinct. Is she coming here?” Nikki didn’t answer. “Hello?”
Heat looked up. “Sorry, just thinking something through.” Nikki tapped her notepad then shoved it aside. “I need some air. If she calls back, you know where to find me.”
Out on the sidewalk Nikki felt a new vulnerability. Not just from recognizing her exposure on the streets of New York these days, but something more intimate. That phone call represented critical movement in the terror investigation-not to mention her mother’s case-but at the same time, something inside her-Nikki’s innate wariness-struggled for attention. So many things about that outreach did not add up: its unexpectedness; the treasure of information it offered so easily, like a dangling carrot; the strained quality of Salena Kaye’s demeanor.
Nikki pondered all that as she sidestepped the ancient discs of dried chewing gum that had blackened the concrete. Her self-talk balanced the allure of capturing Salena Kaye with the bigger picture of her experience the past week.
And with what she had just seen in her video screening.
Detective Heat’s innate wariness whispered in one ear, but a louder voice spoke in the other and filled her with the butterfly sensation that she may have arrived at the hinge point of two big cases. That voice shouted to her, telling Nikki to act-calling for her not just to seize the opportunity but make the most of it.
After ten more laps around the chewing gum obstacle course, she began forming an idea of just how to go about that.
Rook picked up a nanosecond before the voice mail dump. “Sorry, couldn’t hear the ringer, it’s so noisy here.” It sounded like a saloon in the background for a good reason. “My Hollywood lunch segued into Manhattan happy hour.”
“How’s that going?”
The long squeak of a heavy door filled Heat’s earpiece. The background din on Rook’s end quieted and his voice echoed in a vestibule. “It’s too bad you’re not a media whore, Nikki. Between the two of us, we’d clean up.”