The mercenary disconnected from Lawrence Hays, passed his glance above Gilbert so he would not see him, and came to rest on Heat. Nikki recognized the dispirited eyes of defeated soldiers from textbooks and war documentaries. But the detective held no sympathy for this one. Especially when she heard his statement.
“I first worked for him providing elite security on his cargo ships to keep the Somali pirates from hijacking them. Now and then I would do other odd jobs for him. For this assignment, he called me in after he fucked things up trying to handle the payoff himself.”
“Who called you in?” Heat pressed for detail so that he knew this was for the record. “I want you to say the name.”
As his last futile attempt at defiance, he flared. “Him, Keith Gilbert. Did you not understand who I am talking about?”
Nikki took a seat and angled it toward Braun. “What did Keith Gilbert ask you to do? Specifically.”
“What it is that I do. Take him out.”
“He told you to kill Fabian Beauvais?”
“Jesus, yes. Jasna cholera, he said to kill him. Kill him and to make the problem go away.”
“Including killing Jeanne Capois?”
“That was not specified. But I am not stupid. When a problem needs to go away, I know what that means, right?”
“So you also killed Jeanne Capois as part of your contract with Gilbert?”
“Yes.”
Heat suppressed a lilt of excitement. The Port Authority commissioner had bent over with his elbows on his thighs and practically had his chin on the table while his hit man sang. She tamped down the thrill because she wasn’t there yet; there were still details — vital stuff — that were necessary to get on record to lock the case down. If that worked, there’d be ample time to do a happy dance.
“How did you come to kill Fabian Beauvais.”
“Can I tell you a funny thing? That was an accident.” Zarek laughed alone. “OK, not so funny he died, but I was meant to kill him later.”
“Mr. Braun,” said Heat, “how did you come to kill Fabian Beauvais?”
“I had him at my hide.”
“Up in the Bronx?”
“That place, yes. I needed to find out who else knew about this blackmail, this, how you say…extortion information. I worked on him good. But he was stubborn. I thought fuck it. I knew Mr. Gilbert flew in from Southampton on his helicopter, so I had the pilot pick me up after it dropped him off for his speech. So the chopper picked us up in Crotona Park near my place, and I took the bastard for a little thrill ride to loosen his tongue.” He paused, sharing a brief, knowing look to Hays. “It is a legitimate technique of interrogation.”
Heat had an idea, but needed it said. “Describe it.”
“It is a terrifying thing to behold a potential fall from great heights. Men talk. They always do. Beauvais talked. He fought hard, very hard. But he gave up this fiancée. The maid on West End Avenue.” Nikki’s heart clinched at imagining Fabian’s anguish at giving up his lover in terror, and of the indelible picture of Jeanne Capois at her murder scene as a result.
“After the Haitian talked, I brought him in the hatch. The plan was to drop him over the ocean, past the Rockaways. But he still had fight. His hands were zip tied, but he tried to butt my head. I smacked him. A little too hard, huh? Out he went.”
And then came the shared thought of the detectives and Rook. Each one rerunning the tourist video taken outside the planetarium that had captured Beauvais’s plummet into the glass.
Rook said, “I thought there was no reported copter traffic that morning.”
“Only police and government,” said Ochoa, who directed himself to Gilbert. “Government chopper. Son of a bitch.…”
Nikki steered Zarek Braun back on track. “So Fabian Beauvais’s information led you to the home invasion? You and your guys did that, too?”
“Completing the assignment, lady.”
“Even if it meant killing an old man?”
“Shit happens.”
“And why did you torture Jeanne? Why not just kill her?”
“Because her boy gave up that she was talking to some filmmaker. The maid cashed out before we got a name or address.”
“So you followed me to Chelsea,” said Nikki.
“Where you killed my two best men.”
“Shit happens.”
Nikki took a moment to run everything in her head. She’d been through this once before with unhappy results. Satisfied, she stood and surveyed her people: Raley, Ochoa, Feller, Rhymer, and finally, Rook. She wordlessly checked them for assent. They all gave her good-to-go nods.
“Stand up, please,” she said when she reached the head of the table.
This time, as Detective Heat read off the charges for his arrest, Commissioner Keith Gilbert, billionaire, power broker, senatorial hopeful, and golf buddy with the mayor, did not bite back. Like Hurricane Sandy, his bluster, too, had become a spent force. This time he knew Heat had nailed him.
TWENTY
hat night, with the blackout from the massive arc at the Con Ed plant still darkening the lower half of Manhattan, Rook said he couldn’t see the point of roughing it in their apartments and, after several calls, managed to score a junior suite at the Excelsior Hotel uptown, a lovely spot to camp out. He was in the shower when she came in, exhausted from the day, the week, the everything. Nikki announced herself from the bedroom then noticed he must have gone back down to Gramercy Park. A half dozen of her outfits hung tidily in the closet. He’d even brought shoes.
Over the stream of the shower, Rook put on a goofy show for her, singing “Reunited and it feels so good.”
“You know,” she called through the open bathroom door, “that would be fifty percent less creepy if you weren’t in there alone.” Which made him stop. But then he started again, only this time, belting out a Vegas lounge spoof of “After the Lovin’.” Nikki might have laughed if she didn’t feel the shadow of a pending, very big conversation looming over her.
Toweled and wearing one of the hotel’s plush terry robes, he joined her in the sitting area and poured them each a glass of Hautes-Côtes de Nuits from the bottle in the ice bucket. “Nice digs,” she said after they toasted.
“You kidding? It has everything. Electricity, electricity, and electricity. Plus, it’s an easy walk to the precinct. And check out the view.” He took her to the window and parted the drape, revealing the twinkling Upper West Side skyline, and more prominently, the Hayden Planetarium directly across the street. “Hm, makes it kind of a busman’s holiday, huh.”
“A little.” It had been just over a week since Fabian Beauvais crashed into that museum; now there was no trace of the event. The giant powder blue orb glowed as usual inside the glass cube that illuminated the neighborhood with its gentle glow. She found the couch and her glass of wine. “Thanks for picking out some clean clothes for me.”
“My pleasure. But just to be clear, this suite is clothing-optional. In fact, see this sash?” He waved the loose end of the robe’s belt and gave a licentious flick of his brow. “Guess what happens when you pull this.”
Heat smiled thinly. “Hey, now there’s a turn on.” She didn’t fault him for being playful. Nikki was busy feeling the weight of the confrontation on the horizon.
He joined her on the sofa and they talked, both deciding against any tube. Besides, Rook had watched the news all night and gave her the summary. Mostly it was about the devastation on Staten Island and along the Jersey shore. Little or no looting, in spite of the blackout. “Oh, and on News 3 @ 10, Opal Onishi was Greer Baxter’s guest on “Greer and Now,” showing clips from her Jeanne Capois interview.”