“Whoa, it’s me,” he said.
“Move,” she yelled, and waved him to the side. Rook turned behind him. For the first time, he saw the man climbing down the pipe and dashed out of the way behind a parked oil delivery truck. But by then the biker was holding onto the pipe with only one hand and drew. Heat pivoted behind the wall and his shot went wide, punching into a stack of wooden pallets at the curb.
Then she heard boots landing hard on pavement, a loud curse, and the clatter of something metal on concrete. The gun.
Heat fast-peeked again. The biker was standing on the sidewalk, ass to her, bending to pick up his fallen gun. She stepped out, Sig braced. “Freeze!”
And that was when Rook flew in from the side and blind-tackled him. Nikki lost her clear shot as the two struggled on the ground. She ran to them with Raley and the rest of her backup following close behind. Just as she arrived, Rook flipped on top of the guy and held the gun to his face.
“Go ahead,” he said. “I need the practice.”
After they loaded the biker into the rear of a patrol car for transport to the precinct in Manhattan, Heat, Raley, Rook, and the backup officers herded around the corner toward the auto body shop. On the walk, Rook tried to speak to Nikki, but she was still fuming about his interference and strode to the head of the group, showing him her back.
Lieutenant Marr was making notes for his report when they entered the garage. “Hope you don’t mind me using your vehicle as a desk,” he said.
“It’s been used for lots worse. Everybody tucked in?” she asked.
“You bet. Our two rabbits are cuffed and loaded. These other two,” he said with a side nod to the pair who had been working on the LeBaron, “they seem all right. I think their biggest problem is no job here tomorrow. Congrats on nailing your biker.”
“Thanks. And thanks for the setup. I owe you one.”
He shrugged it off. “What makes me happy is the good guys are all going home safe for supper tonight.” He set his clipboard on the car hood. “Now, Detective, I don’t know about you, but I want a look inside that truck.”
Marr and Heat led the others out to the side yard, where the sun-bounce off the truck came at them like a pizza oven. The lieutenant gave the word, and one of his patrol officers mounted the rear bumper and opened the double doors. When the doors parted, Nikki’s heart sank.
Except for a pile of quilted mover’s blankets, there was nothing in the truck.
THIRTEEN
In the precinct interrogation room, the biker, Brian Daniels, seemed more interested in the gauze on the back of his upper arm than in Detective Heat. “I’m waiting,” she said. But he ignored her, contorting himself by hooking his chin on his shoulder and twisting himself to see the bandage under the ripped sleeve on the back of his T-shirt.
“This sucker still bleeding?” he asked. He shifted his angle to get a look at it in the mirror, but it was too far away to work for him and he gave up, flopping back in the plastic chair.
“What happened to the paintings, Brian?”
“Doc.” He shook his iron gray hair. When they processed him, they’d taken the elastic off of his ponytail, and his hair hung like a polluted waterfall down his back. “Brian’s for the IRS and the DMV, call me Doc.”
She wondered when the last time was this piece of shit paid any taxes or a driver’s license fee. But Nikki held the thought and stayed on message. “After you left the Guilford last night, where did you move that art collection?”
“I have no idea what the hell you are talking about, lady.”
“I’m talking about what was in that truck.”
“What, blankets? All yours.” He snorted a laugh and pretzeled his body to look at his razor-wire cut again.
“Where were you last night between midnight and four?”
“Damn, this was my favorite shirt.”
“Know something, Doc? You’re not only a lousy shot, you’re stupid, too. After your little circus act this morning, you have enough charges against you to make your stretch up in Sing Sing feel like a weekend at the Four Seasons.”
“And?”
“And…you want to see this prosecuted to the max? Keep acting like an asshole.” The detective rose. “I’ll give you some time to think about that.” She hefted his file. “Judging from this, you know what time is.” Then she left the room so he could sit there and contemplate his future.
Rook was alone in the bull pen when she came in, and he wasn’t happy. “Hey, thanks for ditching me in picturesque Long Island City.”
“Not now, Rook.” She brushed past him to her desk.
“I had to ride all the way over here sitting in the backseat of a blue-and-white. Do you know what that’s like? People in other cars kept looking in at me like I was in custody. A couple of times I waved just to show I wasn’t in handcuffs.”
“I did it for your own protection.”
“From what?”
“From me.”
“Why?”
“Let’s start with not listening.”
“I got tired of standing around by myself. I figured you’d be done, so I came to see how it was going.”
“And interfered with my suspect.”
“You bet your ass I interfered. That guy was trying to shoot you.”
“I’m the police. People shoot at us.” She found the file she was looking for and slammed the drawer. “You’re lucky you didn’t get shot.”
“I had a vest. And by the way, how can you stand those things? Very confining, especially in this humidity.”
Ochoa came in, tapping his notebook on his upper lip. “We’re not catching a single break anywhere. I ran alibis on our majors. They’re all checking out.”
“Kimberly Starr, too?” asked Heat.
“That was a two-fer. She was in Connecticut with her doctor of love at his beach cottage, so they both clear.” He closed his notebook and turned to Rook. “Hey, man, Raley told me what you said when you got the drop on that biker.”
Rook eyed Nikki and said, “We don’t need to talk about that.”
But Ochoa continued in a hoarse whisper, “ ‘Go ahead. I need the practice.’ Is that cool, or what?”
“Oh yeah,” said Heat. “Rook is like our very own Dirty Jamie.” Her desk phone rang and she picked up. “Heat.”
“It’s me, Raley. He’s here.”
“On my way,” she said.
The old doorman stood with Nikki, Rook, and Roach in the observation booth, looking through the glass at the men in the lineup. “Take your time, Henry,” said Nikki.
He walked a step closer to the window and took off his glasses to clean them. “It’s hard. Like I said, it was dark and they wore hats.” In the next room, six men stood facing a mirror. Among them, Brian “Doc” Daniels, plus the two other men from that morning’s body shop raid.
“No hurry. Just let us know if anyone clicks for you. Or doesn’t.”
Henry slid his glasses back on. Moments passed. “I think I recognize one of them.”
“You think, or you know for sure?” Nikki had seen it many times where the urge to help or to take revenge forced good people to make bad choices. She cautioned Henry again. “Be certain.”
“Uh-huh, yes.”
“Which one?”
“You see the scruffy guy with the arm bandage and the long gray hair?”
“Yes?”
“It’s the one to the right of him.”
Behind him, the detectives shook their heads. He had identified one of the three cops who were shills in the lineup.
“Thank you, Henry,” said Heat. “Appreciate you coming down.”
Back in the bull pen, the detectives and Rook sat with their backs to their desks, tossing a Koosh Ball around the horn at a lazy pace. This is what they did when they were stuck.