“What can I do for you, Detectives?”
Heat decided to pull the rug on the laid back pose. “For starters, you can tell me how it felt to kill Father Graf.”
The response from Hays was curious. No, bizarre. Rather than getting rattled, he lounged his head back onto the chair and smiled. As if narrating a nature video, he spoke to the ceiling. “And so the gal detective begins with a weak attempt to throw the interview subject off balance. Classic opening gambit, which is to say... ,” he brought his head forward to look into her eyes and said, “. . . clichéd.”
“You haven’t answered my question, Mr. Hays.”
“You’ve got to earn my answers, miss.” And then, narrating again, he said, “Ouch. In the hole on the first Q! Frustrated by the response; distracted by the chaff of implied sexism. What will she do?”
Heat knew exactly what he was up to. Hays was employing some sort of mind game to fend her off and hijack the interview. Probably some counter-interrogation technique he taught in Ely, Nevada. She told herself to shut out his psychological noise and stick to her agenda.
“Where were you the night your pastor was killed?”
“Why?”
“Because I suspect you may have killed him and I want to confirm your whereabouts.”
“Strategy Two employed,” he announced. “Stepping it down from the absolute ‘how did it feel’ to the wimpy ‘you may have.’ Why, oh, why do they send me amateurs?”
“Your whereabouts, Mr. Hays.”
“Where? Oh... about.” He laughed. “About could be so many places. She will be a long time checking that.”
Nikki decided to shift gears on him. She took out the picture of Sergio Torres and handed it over. “Do you know this man?”
“This is no man. This is a photograph.” He cocked an eye at her. “Oh, tell me the glorified meter maid doesn’t have a sense of humor.”
“His name is Sergio Torres,” continued Heat, “and I want to know if you have ever employed him as one of your contractors.”
He nodded. “That I will answer.” Hays waited until he had milked the moment. “. . . By saying that I do not confirm or deny personnel in my employ for reasons of their own safety. And national security.” He laughed again and said to Raley, “You could ask Julian Assange.”
Heat persisted. “So you have never seen him?”
“Mm, they all look about the same to me.”
Ochoa tensed beside her. She pressed a gentle elbow against him and he settled.
Hays lifted his arm like a pupil. “May I ask one now?” She waited and he said, “Why are you asking me about this... hombre?”
“Because the same day he tried to kill me, one of your operatives was seen doing surveillance on my apartment.” It was the first time she had seen him thrown. Not much, but the cobra eyes took a hit.
“Let me tell you something, Officer. If I was going to conduct surveillance on you, you’d never know it.”
This time Heat provided the narration. She looked up at the ceiling and said, “Invulnerable mercenary general covers ass for sloppy work with bravado, even as he makes mental note to seek and terminate the stakeout driver.” She lowered her gaze to him and said, “Rookie.” While he was digesting that she took out the e-mail from the archdiocese and recited, “ ‘You ever hear of a Tikrit Tune-up? I have, padre. You suffer until you pray to die and then you suffer some more. Lots more. The best part is when you call out to God for mercy and He looks down and spits upon your withered douche bag of a soul.’ ”
“He covered for that freak who touched my kid.” The CEO swagger was crumbling. The lid was sliding off the parent’s rage.
“You don’t deny writing this?” she said.
“You’re not listening! These guys spoil innocence and hide behind their cassocks and cover for each other.”
Nikki held up the page. “Because this description is very much like how he died.”
“Good. One less sanctimonious bastard protecting the child molesters of the world.” He sat panting, leaning forward on his thighs.
Nikki stood. “Mr. Hays, I’d give you my card, but I am sure you have fully researched all the ways to find me. When you have an alibi for that night, you’d better give it to me. Or I’ll be back and arrest you. At your... whereabouts.”
They waited until they got out onto the sidewalk on Vanderbilt, all three detectives assuming the place would likely be wired for sound, maybe even picture.
“What was that guy on?” said Raley.
“All calculated, Rales. Psy-Ops smoke screen.” Then Heat said, “I want you guys to dig away on Sergio Torres. Go back to his kindergarten if you have to. Girlfriends, gang members, cell mates, everyone. Find out who he’s connected to and we’ve got our killer.”
Ochoa looked up to the top of the black high-rise. “We were so close.”
Heat said, “Not enough. Hays gave us nothing solid. He only said he was glad it happened — not that he did it.”
“What about the e-mail, though?” asked Raley.
Nikki shook her head. “Any lawyer would punch holes through it because he never says technically he’s going to carry it out. His verbiage is rhetorical. The threat’s implied.”
Ochoa said, “Tell that to Father Graf.”
“We seem to be in the minority, but we all know this is a hell of a lot bigger than Father Graf, guys,” said Heat. “There was the attack on me, plus whatever Captain Montrose was into.”
“You don’t think he was part of the killing, do you?” said Raley.
“In my heart, of course not. But we need to keep on this without letting up so we can see where it goes.”
Ochoa said, “Too bad our new commander doesn’t see it the same way.”
Heat’s phone buzzed. She checked the screen and it was a text from Zach Hamner. “Pls come to 1PP conf. rm on 10 in 30 mins.” A rush of elation swept in Nikki’s chest. She replied with a yes and said to Roach, “Keep the faith, boys. Remember, Irons is only interim.”
Snow began falling in fat clumps, making Nikki’s traffic experience getting downtown to Park Row a nightmare. If she had only taken the subway, it would have been a snap just to duck into Grand Central from the Hays meeting and grab a 4 or 5 express to Centre Street. Fifteen, maybe twenty minutes, and done. But with the rest of the shooting team that hunted her down in the park still at large, Raley and Ochoa persisted and she gave in, allowing The Discourager to drive her to One Police Plaza in his RMU.
Harvey wasn’t much of a talker, which was fine with her; she was trying to clear her head for her big moment and could do without. The only conversation they had was when he offered to light up the bar on top of the cruiser when it looked as if she’d be late and she said no. He made up for it with assertive wheel work and liberal use of his horn. When Nikki got out in front of the Municipal Building on Centre, she was tense and fighting car sickness.
Heat reached the lobby of 1PP with ten minutes she never thought she’d have to spare. She needed that time to collect herself. After the promotion and swearing in, she might be called upon to speak to the committee and she didn’t want to go in frazzled. Especially if, as Phyllis told her, they might be bumping her to captain and giving her a command, she didn’t want to blather and make them rethink their choice. She wished Rook could be there, and the fact that she thought of him sharing that moment with her brought her a degree of calm. They could celebrate later. Brushing the snow off her coat, she looked for a quiet place to sit and think.