“And talent,” said Leonard.
“What happened?”
“Beats me. It turned like that.” He snapped his fingers. “The change came when Nicole invited Cindy to come stay with her folks in Paris for a couple of weeks after graduation.” He turned to Nikki, explaining, “The Bernardin family, they were wealthy. Nicole’s parents offered to pay for the whole trip, and the plan was for your mom to come back in time to do her tryouts for all of the symphony orchestras that had been talent scouting her. She was supposed to be away for two or three weeks. That would have been June 1971. She didn’t come back until 1979.”
“Maybe she had opportunities with orchestras over there in Europe,” Nikki suggested.
He shook no. “Nah. Cindy never auditioned for an orchestra here or there. Never got a recording contract. She just kissed it all off.”
“What do you suppose changed her?” Rook asked. “Was it Nicole?”
“Maybe. But not like a relationship thing. They were too into men.” He paused. “Except one, and you’re looking at him.” He smiled, then the dimples faded. “Something happened over there that summer. Cindy went away a ball of fire and let it all go cold.” His fellow orchestra members began to file in for rehearsal. Leonard stood and picked up his Members Only jacket off the back of his chair. “What I’d still give to have one ounce of your mom’s talent.”
Rook dialed the car service driver he had hired for the morning to let him know they were finished, and the black town car pulled up to Gate Three of the campus just as he and Nikki finished their short hike from the Copland School. “Tell you one thing I’ve learned,” he said when they had merged onto the LIE for the ride to the precinct. “The way he described your mom… driven, competitive, but nurturing? Professor Shimizu was wrong. The apple didn’t fall far from the tree.”
“Rook, would you mind if we not?” Nikki lowered her window and closed her eyes, putting her face to the wind while she thought.
After a mile of silence, the driver said, “Mr. Rook? Since you were kind enough to get me a coffee, I picked up a paper, if you’d like to read it.”
“Sure, why not?
The driver backhanded the Ledger to him. Rook had hoped for the New York Times, but a little sensationalism never hurt anybody. At least that’s what he thought until he saw the headline on the front page of the tabloid. “Holy…”
Heat half turned from the window. “What?” Then she saw the headline herself and grabbed the newspaper out of his hands and read it, speechless with anger.
SIX
FROZEN LADY THAWS C–C-OLD C–C-ASE LEDGER
Insider Exclusive
By Tam Svejda, Senior METRO Reporter
As if last week’s grim discovery of a woman’s frozen body inside a reefer truck on the Upper West Side wasn’t enough to get New Yorkers’ teeth chattering, now the gruesome case has taken an even more chilling turn. Exclusive Ledger sources with knowledge of the investigation confirm that the unidentified stabbing victim has not only been identified as Nicole Aimee Bernardin, a French national with an Inwood address, but that the suitcase police found her in once belonged to a similar stabbing victim from a 1999 case that remains unsolved. The two killings struck an even more bizarre note yesterday when investigators learned Mademoiselle Bernardin knew the prior victim, Cynthia Trope Heat, who was stabbed in her Gramercy Park apartment on Thanksgiving eve ten years ago. Ms. Heat’s daughter, NYPD Homicide Detective Nikki Heat, the modelicious cover cop in a recent magazine article on our Finest, has been assigned the lead role on the case by Precinct Commander Wallace “Wally” Irons, whose savvy choice of Heat has already brought fast results. Are these double DOAs an odds-breaking coincidence or cold serial? Capt. Irons was not available for comment, but this reporter can suggest one: When it comes to cold cases, warm globally, thaw locally.
Heat folded the tabloid in half and slapped the seat with it. Rook didn’t often hear Nikki swear, but this might be an occasion. “Well this just sucks,” she said. Her jaw muscles knotted and her lips whitened from flexing them together.
He should have known better, but Rook said, “Well, it is factual, at least.”
“Don’t even,” she said. Then a thought came to her and she gave him an appraising look. And he knew why. They’d been down that road before with this reporter.
“No, I did not source that story to Tam Svejda.” Her gaze stuck, and it made him uncomfortable the same way he’d seen her make hardened suspects come unglued in the interrogation box. “First of all, when would I?”
“During your Google session in the wee hours this morning?”
“Ha!” He took the Ledger from her and examined the top of the front page. “Past deadline for this edition.” He handed it back to her. “Plus, why would I?”
That slowed her down but didn’t end it. “Well, you and this Tam Svejda, your bouncing Czech…”
“… Have a history, I know. Just because I slept with her a couple of times doesn’t indenture me to source all her stories.”
“You told me it was once.”
“True.” He smiled. “Meaning once upon a time. In a galaxy far, far away.” When she seemed partially mollified, he said, “Want me to call her?”
“No.” And then, after reflection, “Yes.” But her look said not really.
The earthquake was still managing to keep the city scrambling. The latest infrastructure fail forced their car to detour onto the Queensborough Bridge to get across the East River, because the Midtown Tunnel had been shut down by the Bridge and Tunnel Authority. The driver turned on 10–10 WINS, which reported that the closure was due to slight water ponding mid-tunnel from a mystery leak. “Leaks. Seems to be the theme of the morning,” said Rook. Nikki didn’t appear amused.
After dropping Rook curbside in front of the Midtown offices of the New York Ledger, Heat continued on to the Two-oh, where she entered to the buzz of her squad working its assignments. She spotted Sharon Hinesburg hastily closing an Uggs shopping window on her computer, boss-buttoning the screen to the fingerprint database homepage. “Missed you yesterday, Detective Hinesburg.”
“So I hear. It’s what I get for not plugging in my phone Saturday night.”
“No, it’s what I get, which is one of my detectives out of reach, and that cannot be. Are we clear?” Hinesburg answered with an overblown military salute, which, like most of what she did, irritated the piss out of Nikki, but she let it slide, point having been made. She assigned her to follow up on Nicole Bernardin’s phone records for any leads and moved on to her own desk.
To her disappointment, the pitch of activity in the bull pen was just the sound of wheels spinning. Every update she got-on fingerprints at the Inwood town house, on tracking her headhunter business to get a tax ID, on sports clubs, on credit card statements-all came up either empty, delayed, or devoid of useful leads. On any other case, she would have called on her wisdom and experience gathered over the years to remind herself that it’s impossible to see the trail until it reveals itself. She would remember that crimes got solved by hard work and patience. But this was not any other case. Even though she had succeeded in not only ID-ing the victim but finding a huge connection to her mom’s cold case, Nikki wanted to capitalize on the momentum, and immediately would be nice. A decade was a long time to be patient.
Rook came in with a grin to go with her latte. “You find out who leaked to Tam?” she asked in hushed tones after she drew him into the kitchenette.
“I did. And I didn’t even have to sleep with her to find out. I just tricked her by pretending I already knew. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Tam Svejda’s not the smartest one in the room, even when she’s the only one in it.”
“Very witty, Rook. Save it for your next article. All I want to know is who.” She scoped the area for privacy. “It’s Irons, right? So obvious.”
“Well now, there you go, running off on one of your cockamamie conspiracy theories.”