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  "Hear me out. I want to see through this critical new angle of my Cassidy Towne piece. And if we were a team, I could share my leads and insights about the victim with you. I want access, you want sources, it's win-win. No, it's better than win-win. It's me-you. Just like old times."

  In spite of herself, Nikki felt a tug on a level she didn't control. But then she thought, maybe she couldn't control the feeling, but she could control herself. "Do you have any idea how transparent you are? All you want to do is dangle your sources and insight so you can spend time with me again. Nice try," she said and moved off to her desk.

  Rook followed her. "I was kind of hoping you'd like this idea, for two reasons. First, beyond-yes-the pleasure of your company, it would give us a chance to clear the air about whatever happened between us."

  "That's only one reason. What's the other?"

  "Captain Montrose already approved it."

  "No…"

  "He's a great guy. Smart, too. And the pair of Knicks tickets didn't hurt." Rook extended his hand to shake. "Looks like it's you and me, partner."

  While Nikki stared at his hand, her phone rang and she turned away to answer. "Hey, Ochoa." Then her face lost color and her exclamation of "What?!" made heads turned in the bull pen. "Are you all right?" She listened, nodding, and said, "All right. Get back here as soon as you can after you make your statement."

  When she hung up, she had an audience of the bull pen around her desk. "That was Ochoa. Somebody stole Cassidy Towne's body."

  A stunned silence followed, which was broken by Rook. "Looks like we're teaming up just at the right time."

  Heat's look didn't match his enthusiasm.

  Chapter Three

  It's not easy to stun a roomful of veteran New York homicide detectives, but this did it. The brazen daylight assault on a coroner's van and the theft of a corpse en route to its autopsy-right under the nose of an armed cop-was a first. It smacked more of Mogadishu than Manhattan. When the speechlessness in the bull pen gave way to low muttered curses, and then to actual conversation, Raley said, "I don't get why somebody would want to steal her body."

  "Let's get to work and speculate on that." Detective Heat was going to ask for her squad to gather around for a meeting, but, except for Ochoa, who was in a car on his way back from giving his statement at the Seventeenth Precinct, where the jacking took place, all hands were present.

  Detective Rhymer, a cop from Burglary who had drifted into the bull pen after the news spread to his division, asked, "Do you think it's possible the body snatchers were Cassidy Towne's killers?"

  "First thought, of course," said Nikki, "but her COD was a stab wound. This crew had an AR-15 and plenty of other firepower. If they were her killers, wouldn't they have been more likely to just shoot her?"

  Raley added, "Yeah, and even if they worried about the noise from a gunshot, if they wanted the body, three guys like that would have just taken it this morning when they did the deed."

  "Doesn't sound like this crew does a lot of worrying," said Heat.

  There were nods of agreement, and then wheels turned in the silence as they considered motives. Detective Hinesburg, who had a knack for irritating Nikki with her personal habits, snapped a bite out of an apple. A few heads turned her way while she munched and slurped, oblivious to the looks she was getting. "Maybe…" She paused, chomping some more, and then, after she finally swallowed, continued. "Maybe there was evidence on the body."

  Heat nodded. "All right. That could work." She walked over to the whiteboard and wrote, "Hiding evidence?" She turned back to them. "Not sure what, but it's a start."

  "Something in her pockets? Money, drugs, jewels?" said Raley.

  "Embarrassing photo?" added Hinesburg, followed by another bite of her apple.

  "All possible, too," said Heat. She logged all of those on the murder board as well, and when she was done, she faced the room again. "Rook, you spent a lot of time with her recently. After everything you observed about Cassidy Towne, do you have any idea why someone would steal her body?"

  "Well, maybe, given the number of people she trashed in her column, I dunno… to make sure she was dead?"

  They all laughed in spite of themselves, and when Heat stepped to the whiteboard, she continued. "Actually, he's not far off. Cassidy Towne was one of the city's most feared and hated muckrakers. That woman had the power to make and break lives, both of which she did at her own pleasure."

  "And for it," Rook added. "Cassidy enjoyed what she could make people do, for sure. As well as making them pay for what they did to her."

  "But that's more a reason to kill her, not to steal her. Unless there's something on her body that would give up the killer." Nikki uncapped her marker again. "Like if it was a crime of passion and there was a fight and there's skin under her fingernails. This could be a crew for hire to get rid of that evidence."

  Raley said, "Or like the ring marks you found that connected the Russian who killed that real estate guy, Matthew Starr."

  Heat printed the words "Skin?" and "Marks?" "If that's the case, we're still looking at an enemies list. And, if what Rook says is true, an enemies list too large to clear with shoe leather. I sent some uniforms to the Ledger city room Midtown to get her hate mail. It took two of them to lift the sack."

  Hinesburg muttered, "How many uniforms does it take to…"

  "Hey, hey," said one of the uniforms standing at the back.

  Detective Ochoa had returned from his ordeal. "I feel bad about this, guys," he said as he took his usual seat in the semicircle facing the whiteboard. "First her trash gets stolen, and now she does. And on my watch."

  "You're probably right," said Raley. "Show of hands. How many think Ochoa should have taken an armor-piercing round to save a DB?" Ochoa's partner raised his own hand as a demo and soon everyone's hand shot up.

  "Thanks, guys," said Ochoa. "Touching."

  Heat asked, "Any news to bring us, Oach?"

  "Not much. Fortunately we're getting good assist from the One-Seven. They determined the dump truck used to block the ME van was a stolen, but they're working that, along with interviewing witnesses and the van driver now that he's regained consciousness. They're also generating a sheet of crews that favor ski masks and AR-15s."

  "So here's what we'll do," said Detective Heat to the room. "Proceed on two fronts, still work the Cassidy Towne murder scene but hit the body snatch hard. I have a feeling it's a case of find the body, find the killer." As the meeting broke up, she said, "Roach?"

  "Yo," they answered in near-unison.

  "Knock on some doors along Seventy-eighth. Start in the upstairs of her building and work out from there. Any sound, any detail, any relationship…"

  "Looking for another odd sock," said Raley.

  "You got it. And while you're en route, fill in Ochoa on our male Hispanic."

  "Coyote Man?" said Ochoa.

  "I'll give you a pass on that one since you survived today. Yes, Coyote Man. Rook and I will start building a set of likelies into a manageable enemies list."

  "You and Rook," said Ochoa. "You mean, like…"

  "I'm ba-a-ack," answered Rook in the old, familiar singsong.

  As they were preparing to go, a delivery box arrived from the Columbus Cafe. Rook told everyone to help themselves to a sandwich. He popped for it as a welcome-back gesture. As Raley grabbed a tuna on white and turned to go, Rook called him back, holding up a large cup. "Got this 'specially for you, Rales."

  Raley took it from him. "Oh, uh, thanks."

  "And I know how you like it sweet, so there's extra packets of honey in the bag just for you, Sweet Tea."

  Hearing the despised nickname a former partner had stuck him with because of his love of tea with honey irritated Raley enough. Hearing it from Rook after he'd divulged it in his article set him on edge. The skin was mottled white around Raley's lips as he tightened them. And then he relaxed and set the cup back down. "Not thirsty, I guess" was all he said before he showed a confus
ed Rook his back and then left. Detective Heat got into her unmarked car with Rook belted in beside her. She asked where they were going, and he only winked and put a shush finger to his lips and instructed her to take the West Side Highway south. She wasn't crazy about the arrangement, but he had spent all that time with Cassidy Towne and maybe some of his insight could come to something useful. And besides, without any leads yet, the price to pay for needing Jameson Rook was to actually have to spend time with Jameson Rook.

  "How about this?" he said as he and Nikki Heat rolled along beside the Hudson.

  "How about what?"

  "I'm talking about the flip-flop. The switcheroony. It's still a ride-along, except this time, instead of a journalist's ride-along with a cop, it's a cop's ride-along with a journalist."

  She paused and then looked over at him. "Have you noticed, I'm the one driving?"

  "Even better." He powered down his window and breathed in the clean fall air. As he surveyed the Hudson River, Nikki watched the wind rustle his hair and remembered how it felt to have a handful of it. She thought of grabbing it and pulling him to her the first night they had sex, and could almost taste the limes from the margaritas they had improvised in her living room that night. He turned back and caught her staring and she felt her face grow flush. She turned away so he wouldn't notice, but she knew he had. Damn him. Damn that Jameson Rook.

  "What's the deal with Raley?"

  "What do you mean?" God, she was glad he was going off-subject, away from the two of them.

  "Did I somehow piss him off? I've been getting a vibe off both your guys, but Raley truly gave me the stink eye just now."

  She knew what it was for her, same as she knew what it was for Raley and Ochoa. Ever since Rook's piece about his summer ride-along experience with her squad hit the October issue of First Press, Nikki had been battling the negative attention the article gave her. So many colleagues felt left out and were either jealous or hurt. The fallout was not pleasant and it was in her face every day. Even Raley and Ochoa, the strongest allies on her team, harbored their own bruised feelings about getting footnote status in what turned out to be, unhappily for Heat, a love letter to her. But Nikki wasn't up for getting into their resentments about Rook's article any more than she wanted to open that can about her issues, which ran more personal. "Ask Raley" was all she said.

  He let it drop while he did some texting, then said, "We're all set. Get off the highway at Fourteenth and head south on Tenth Avenue."

  "Thanks for the notice." They were right on top of the exit. She shoulder checked and jacked the wheel to get them in the feeder lane before they blew past it.

  "Skills," he said.

  As she nosed onto Tenth Avenue, she asked, "Are you sure this source you're taking me to is willing to talk to me?"

  "Affirm." He held up his iPhone. "That was the IM. We're all good."

  "And will this require a special series of knocks? A password? A secret handshake?"

  "You know, Detective Heat, you mock me and it hurts."

  "Skills," she said.

  Just two minutes later they got out in the parking lot of the Apple Shine 24/7 Car Wash. Rook came around to meet her. She tipped her sunglasses down her nose and looked over the top of them at him. "You're kidding."

  "You know, a little red hair and you could be that CSI guy."

  "I swear, Rook, if you're wasting my time here…"

  "Hey, Jamie," came the voice from behind her. She turned to see Rook's mob buddy, Tomasso "Fat Tommy" Nicolosi, across the lot, holding open the glass door to the wash lobby and waving them over. Rook gave her a self-satisfied grin and walked to meet him. She followed, making a casual sweep of the lot for any hood pals.

  Inside the lobby of the Apple Shine, Fat Tommy gave Rook a bear hug and a double-clap on his back, then turned to Heat with a smile. "Nice to see you again, Detective." He extended his hand and she shook it, all the while wondering how many beatings and worse he had used it for over his decades in The Life.

  A livery driver in the requisite black suit and red tie came out of the restroom and sat down to read the Post behind them and they could see Fat Tommy's face tighten. "It's a beautiful day," said Rook. "Would you rather talk at one of the outside tables?"

  The mobster made a cautious appraisal of the busy corner where Tenth met Gansevoort. "I don't think so. Let's use the office."

  They trailed him around the counter and into the room marked "Private."

  "Are you losing more weight?" asked Rook as Fat Tommy closed the door. The hood had gotten his nickname in the early 1960s when legend had it that during one of the racket wars he took three slugs in the stomach but survived because of his gut. Nicolosi was still heavy enough to tilt his El Dorado to one side when Rook first met him, but now he was more afraid of cholesterol than brass jackets. Heat noticed he was wearing a similar track suit to the one he'd worn when she was introduced to him at the construction site in the summer, and it did seem a little loose on him.

  "Bless you for noticing. Five more pounds. Check it out, Fat Tommy's tipping it at one seventy-three."

  Rook tugged at some excess velour. "You lose any more, I'm going to have to tie a ribbon on you just to find you."

  Tommy laughed. "You gotta love this guy. Don't you love this guy?" Nikki grinned and did a bobble head. "Sit, sit." As they took seats on the couch, he eased into the chair behind the desk. "By the way, that was some nice article Jamie wrote about you. Real nice. Didn't you like it?"

  "It was… memorable, for sure." She turned to Rook and gave him the ready look.

  Rook picked up on it. "We really appreciate the courtesy of this meeting." He waited for the protocol of Fat Tommy dismissing it with a wave and continued. "I'm working with Nikki on that murder from this morning, and I told her you had some information that might be helpful."

  "You didn't tell her?"

  "I gave you my word."

  "Good boy." Fat Tommy removed his oversized sunglasses, revealing his basset-hound eyes, which he set on Nikki. "You know my business. I keep my hands clean, but I know people who know people who aren't the most upright citizens." Heat knew he was lying. This cordial little man was as bad as they come but was a master at insulating himself from anything prosecutable. "Right, just so you understand. Anyway, I got a call recently from somebody inquiring about what it would involve to take out a hit on Cassidy Towne."

  Heat sat herself up a little higher on the couch. "A contract hit? Somebody called you to make a hit on Cassidy Towne?"

  "Not so fast. I didn't say someone asked for a hit. Someone asked what it would take. You know, there are stages to these things. So I'm told." She started to speak, but he held out his palm and continued. "And-and nothing ever came of it."

  "That's it?" she said.

  "Right, it ended there."

  "No, I mean that's all you have?"

  "Jamie said you wanted help, so I'm giving it. What do you mean, is that all?"

  "What I mean," she said, "is I want a name." He put his elbows on the desk and looked to Rook and then back to her. Heat turned to Rook. "Did he tell you the name?"

  "No," said Rook.

  "He doesn't know it."

  "I want it," said Detective Heat, holding the mobster's stare.

  A long silence followed. Through the walls they could hear jet blowers blasting water off a car. When they stopped, Fat Tommy spoke quietly. "I want you to know I'm only giving you this because you're with him. Understand?"

  She nodded.

  "Chester Ludlow." He put on his sunglasses.

  Nikki felt a skip in her chest. She was going to write it down, but she thought she could remember the name of an ex-congressman.

  "We good?" asked Fat Tommy as he rose.

  "We're good," said Rook, who also stood.

  "Almost good," said the detective, who remained seated. "I want something more from you."

  "She's got balls, this one."

  Rook's turn to head bobble.

 
Nikki rose. "This morning a crew, three shooters and a driver, jacked the coroner's van and stole the body of Cassidy Towne."

  Fat Tommy slapped his thigh. "Holy crap, somebody ripped off the meat wagon? What a town."

  "I want them. Two of my friends were on that van and the driver is in the hospital. Not to mention a body was stolen."

  Fat Tommy opened up his poor-me hands. "I already made it clear, I don't do that kind of work."

  "I know. But like you said, you know guys who know guys." She stepped close to him and put a finger point on his chest for each word. "Know some guys." Then she smiled. "I'd appreciate it. And it'll make it nicer when we see each other next time, Tommy. Hey, and congrats on the weight loss."

  He turned to Rook. "You gotta love the balls."

  Out in the lobby they shook hands again. Rook said, "By the way, Tommy, I didn't know you owned this place."

  "I don't," he said. "I'm just here getting mine washed."

  Heat called the precinct for an address on Chester Ludlow as soon as they got back in the Crown Victoria. When she hung up, she said, "What's Chester Ludlow's beef with Cassidy Towne?"

  "She was the reason he's not a congressman anymore."

  "I thought that was his doing, given the scandal."

  "Right, but guess who broke the story that started it all caving in on him?" She pulled out of the car wash parking lot, and Rook said, "I want to know how you like my sources now."

  "Fat Tommy? I want to know why you didn't notify the police."

  "Hello, I think I did."

  "After she died."

  "You heard Tommy. It wasn't going to happen, anyway."

  "Except it did." Chester Ludlow wasn't at his Park Avenue town house, or at his penthouse office above Carnegie Hall. He was where he spent most of his time these days, enjoying the snooty insulation of the Milmar Club on Fifth Avenue, across from the Central Park Zoo.

  When Heat and Rook stepped onto the marble floor of the reception area, they trod the same ground that New York's mega-wealthy and social elite had for over a century. Within those walls Mark Twain had toasted U. S. Grant at his New York welcoming gala, when the general settled on East 66th Street after his presidency. Morgans, Astors, and Rockefellers had all danced at masked balls at the Milmar. They say Theodore Roosevelt famously broke the color code there by inviting Booker T. Washington to cocktails.