Heat Rises nh-3

by Richard Castle

  She swiveled her head back to face him. “That is easy. Because I don’t know.”

  Van Meter nodded then turned over his shoulder to The Discourager. “They never make it easy, do they, Harv?”

  Harvey said, “Detective, my advice? Just tell him, then we can make this quick.”

  “He’s right. Pain or painless, you choose.”

  “I told you the truth. I don’t know.”

  “Let’s find out, shall we?” Dutch sat on a rolling work stool and flicked the switch. The hum, a little louder, returned. “We’ll start small and give you a chance.” He touched the same spot on her arm, only this time the vibration was greater and the muscle contracted involuntarily, forcing her elbow to bend against her will until he removed the wand. “And that was a low level,” he said. “Any new thoughts?”

  “Plenty,” she said. “I’m thinking back to Central Park. When Harvey conveniently lost me. Who was driving the SUV?”

  “Dave Ingram,” said The Discourager from across the room. “Guy logs fifteen years on Emergency Services. A sharpshooter, and you waste him with a lucky shot.”

  Dutch swiveled his chair to Harvey. “He got sloppy.”

  “He underestimated me,” said Heat. She gave Van Meter a look of defiance.

  “Well, I haven’t. That’s why my little black box has so many settings.” He twisted the knob and the humming increased.

  Heat tried to ignore the awful sound and riveted Dutch with her gaze. “What did Alan Barclay record? What was on his video that was worth killing everybody?”

  Detective Van Meter chuckled. “We’re not talking, you are.” Her eyes darted to the wand which was now inches from her face. “Harvey, do they all talk?”

  “They all talk.”

  “They do,” said Dutch. “All of them. The kraut dancer? He gave up the priest. The priest, he gave up Montrose.” He paused. “Montrose, we didn’t get a chance to stimulate. He got all heroic, so I gave him some Affirmative Action. Right here.” He suddenly jabbed the tip of the wand under Nikki’s chin. The jolt caused her head to shudder uncontrollably and her jaw muscles to tense, clenching her teeth together so hard they ground against one another. Just as quickly, he pulled it away.

  Heat gasped for air and fought nausea. Salt from her own sweat stung her eyes. When she had gulped enough breath, she said, “It was you guys, wasn’t it? You guys did something to the Huddleston boy. You were the ones who killed him.” Nikki pulled in a deep lungful. God, she felt like she was drowning. “That was on the video, right?”

  “Nikki Heat. Always the detective. You’re handcuffed, we’re torturing you, and you’re asking the questions.” Dutch waved the wand before her eyes and said, “I only have one question. I know what was on the video. All I want to know is one thing-where is it?”

  He knew it was an exercise, but Rook left her one more voice mail. As he pressed End, he figured it was probably more for him and his need for contact, even if it was one-sided. No, he told himself. If he left her voice mail, maybe she would survive to hear it.

  At Twelfth Avenue and West 59th Street, he gave up using the car. He pulled the Camry over into the nearest spot he could find, and even though the posted notice warned that it was an active driveway, he had bigger concerns than a ticket and a tow. The problem was that his phone GPS worked fine, but it only gave an approximate location within five hundred feet, roughly a tenth of a mile. He stood at the corner where the Westside Highway ramp elevated and watched the blip on the digital map as he turned in a circle. By his reckoning, Nikki’s phone could be in one of four buildings: the paint warehouse, the sign manufacturer, a nameless pale brick structure that looked like private storage, or across the highway at the City Sanitation dock on the Hudson.

  A frozen drizzle started to fall. Rook pulled his collar up against the night. He began his search by walking the perimeters of the three buildings on his side of the street. After that, he’d cross over to the Sanitation pier.

  “Tell me something,” said Heat. Her throat was raspy, and when she ran her tongue along her teeth, she felt a new jagged chip on a molar. “You put three in Steljess to shut him up, didn’t you?”

  Van Meter adopted a pose of mock innocence. “Nonsense. I did it to save your life, Heat.”

  “Yuh, right. After you sent him to bomb my apartment. Where’d you get the C4?”

  The Discourager started to speak, but Van Meter cut him off. “Shut up, Harvey. Enough.”

  “Military grade explosive is hard to get, even for cops,” she continued. “Who’s behind this? Somebody big, right? Is it somebody outside the force? Somebody big who has pull? Somebody down at City Hall? Somebody national?”

  Dutch said, “You about done? ’Cause now it’s time to light ’em up. Where is the video?” He twisted the red teardrop-shaped knob half a turn clockwise, and a buzz filled Nikki’s ears like all the beehives in the world.

  Behind him, Harv stood and turned his back, unwilling to watch. From that angle, Heat could see the deep fingernail gouge in his handcuff case, which was empty.

  “Last chance,” said Dutch. He paused. Then he rolled on his stool down toward her waist and out of her view. Heat felt her blouse being unbuttoned.

  And then the lights went out and the buzzing stopped.

  “Shit. Harvey, you said there was enough juice here for this thing.”

  “The fuck I know. Should be, but it’s an old building, so shit happens. We need to find the circuit breakers, I guess.”

  The glow of the city against the clouds filtered through skylights and cast the workroom in a pale lunar radiance. At the door, Van Meter paused and said, “Don’t go away.” Then he and The Discourager left.

  Nikki pulled against the handcuffs. All they did was bite her skin. She was resting, trying to suppress panic, when the door opened again. She lifted her head and saw Detective Feller. He wasn’t wearing a ski mask, either.

  “Your partner quit and gave up,” she said.

  Feller put a finger to his lips and whispered, “I screwed with the power to get them out of here.” She felt the handcuff opening on one ankle, then the other. When he came up beside her to unlock her wrists, she saw the gun he held at his side. “Can you walk?” he asked.

  “I think so,” she whispered as she sat upright. “They must have taken my shoes.”

  “Deal with it,” said Feller, who was already on his way to the door. He made a check outside and beckoned her forward. He slipped out ahead of her, and when she stepped out into the drizzle, she recognized immediately where she was. The building she had come out of, about the size and shape of a railroad freight car, was a work shed at the far end of the City Sanitation pier on the Hudson River. It was after hours, and all the parking spaces were empty except for Harvey’s blue-and-white and Van Meter’s taxi. Feller hand-signaled toward the other end of the pier and mimed a steering wheel.

  They moved as quickly as they dared without making noise. Nikki was more silent crossing the icy concrete in her bare feet. After fifty yards they stopped suddenly. Just ahead of them voices were coming from one of the shacks that lined the wharf. “Try it again anyway.” It was Van Meter barking at Harvey, his voice full of irritation. The door started to open.

  Feller tugged her arm and they ran across the pier and ducked behind a Dumpster. He put his face to her ear and whispered, “That’s the electrical closet. They’ll never fix it.” He craned to survey the distance to his car at the other end of the wharf. “I radioed for backup so we’re probably better off sitting tight here till they show.” They both turned to scope Twelfth Avenue, hoping to see red and white lights. None yet.

  She whispered, “Sorry I accused you of being with them. I just figured you and Van Meter were attached at the hip.”

  “Were. But somehow he got on IA’s radar and they asked me to mole. Shitty thing to do to a partner, I know, but…” He shrugged.

  “No complaints here,” she whispered. “How did you find me?”

  “I w
as down at court when I heard the call go out about you at Grand Central. I tried to raise Dutch but got no reply. I wasn’t sure, but thought-what the hell-and tracked the transponder from our cab here.”

  Nikki smiled. “What the hell.”

  Back up the pier there was a loud crack as the door to the work shack flew open against the wall. Van Meter must have slipped up there, and he was calling out, “Harv! She’s loose!”

  Feller cursed. The Discourager emerged from the electrical room and called back, “How?”

  “Who cares, start looking. Now!” Across the parking lot a beam from Harvey’s flashlight swept the buildings. Dutch called out again, “Check out that Dumpster.”

  Feller pressed his car keys in Nikki’s palm. “Run.” Without waiting, he bolted out from behind the bin and charged at Harvey with his gun up. As Heat ran for it, she heard two shots. She made a quick check over her shoulder. Feller was down. Harvey’s flashlight scanned him. The beam came up, finding her. A shot followed and the slush exploded off the pavement a yard ahead of her.

  And then the engine of the taxi roared to life. Van Meter fishtailed out of his spot, chasing Nikki down the pier.

  There was no way she could outrun that cab. Heat shot desperate glances to both sides, searching in vain for a space between buildings she could slip through and dive into the river.

  The police-modified engine rumbled, drawing ever closer, the tires swishing, kicking up the icy slop that had turned her feet numb.

  Instead of running a zigzag, Nikki took a bold gamble and ran in a straight line, letting Van Meter gain speed, letting him forget the steering conditions. She sprinted, her lungs searing, toward the convoy of garbage trucks parked in a row outside the off-loading hangar. She held her course, waiting, waiting, as the high beams drew closer, bathing her back in hot light. When she could see her own shadow cast on the side of the first sanitation truck, Heat dove hard right, her body skimming prone across the water and ice accumulated on the concrete like it was a Slip ’n Slide.

  Behind her, Dutch Van Meter, who had taken her bait, mashed his brake pedal and jerked his wheel, but the mix of precip that was icing that pier sent him hydroplaning. Traction gone, his cab floated into a sideways skid, slamming him broadside at top speed against the garbage truck. Nikki got up off the deck and saw him slumped motionless over the airbag on his steering wheel.

  A gunshot cracked and hit the fender of the taxi beside her. Heat wanted Dutch’s Smith amp; Wesson, but The Discourager was bearing down and his next shot might not miss. Nikki hurried into the open hangar door of the garbage receiving station and took cover behind the six-foot-tall bales stacked there for barging.

  When she heard Harvey’s feet slapping to a stop at the door, she crouched down and peered out between rows of compacted trash. He had turned off his six-cell so he wouldn’t give himself away, but there was enough ambient light from the West Side that she could see him wince as he rubbed a tender spot on his chest. When he took his hand away, Nikki made out the puncture in his jacket just below his shield, where his Kevlar had stopped Feller’s bullet.

  Just as Heat renewed her plan to escape with a dive into the river, The Discourager worked his way around to her left flank, wittingly or unwittingly blocking her route to the open side of the hangar where they loaded bales onto barges bound for landfills. So Nikki crept to her right in the crevice between the stacks and made her way to the end of the row, where there was a small workbench.

  Tools, she thought.

  She studied the open distance to the workbench. It was risky exposure but better than waiting to become target practice. Heat was about to take a tentative step out of her hiding place when she heard his breathing. Immediately, she crouched low in the opening between the bales and made herself still.

  Harvey was being quiet, too. Where the hell was he?

  On a shelf above the workbench, among the girlie calendars and chipped coffee mugs, there sat some kind of trophy cup from the city or maybe the union. Nikki fixed her gaze on it and waited. Sure enough, after a few seconds, in the brass-plated reflection, she saw slow movement. The dark blue uniform was approaching the gap in which she was hunkered.

  Detective Feller’s car keys were still in her hand. Being careful not to jangle, Heat made a fist around them so that the two keys protruded from her knuckles. Not exactly Wolverine, but it would have to do.

  Patience again, always patience. The cop tiptoed sideways to the opening, searching for her in the gap. But his mistake was to look eye-level. Heat was crouched low, and when he was centered in front of her she sprang up at him, driving the keys into his left cheek while she grabbed for his gun with her right hand. He cried out in shock and pain. She jerked his wrist upward and the gun fired. The bullet hit harmlessly, eaten by the garbage bale behind her.

  Heat thrashed his face again with the keys and tried to wrest the weapon away. His grip was strong, and when, on her third try, she did manage to wrest the gun free, it flew and clattered on the floor.

  Nikki bent to grab it, but he tackled her from behind. She twisted and used his momentum against him, ramming him back-first into the workbench. She elbowed him three times at the sore spot under his badge. He wailed with each blow, until he palmed the side of her head and shoved her into the wall, where her shoulder crashed, breaking glass. Heat looked up inside the shattered case and hauled out the fire ax.

  Harvey was coming up from his stoop, the gun back in his hand. Heat quickly reared to swing. Mindful that he was wearing body armor, she went for his gun arm. And severed it at the elbow.

  He writhed on the floor moaning and bleeding out. Spent, Heat dropped the ax and scanned the surrounding area for something to use as a tourniquet. Then she heard sudden movement beside her. Nikki spun, bringing her hands up.

  Someone was diving at her, she braced herself for a blow, but in the same flash that she heard the gunshot, she recognized that the man pushing her aside was Rook. They both landed on the ground beside Harvey. Heat clapped a hand on his loose service weapon, came up with it, and put two rounds in Dutch Van Meter’s forehead as he stood in the doorway holding his smoking S amp;W.

  Nikki set the gun down and hugged Rook, who was still in her arms. “Oh, man, I don’t know how you found me, Rook, but your timing did not suck.”

  But Rook didn’t answer.

  “Rook?” Nikki’s heart stopped and her skin flushed with alarm. She shook him, but he didn’t respond. When she rolled him over in her lap and touched his cheek, she smeared it with blood.

  That’s when she realized it was Rook’s blood on her fingers.

  Frantic, she ripped open his shirt, looking for the wound, and found it right away, a. 9mm entry gushing red below his rib cage.

  Sirens drew closer.

  Nikki fought tears; coming around to kneel over Rook, she compressed the wound with one hand and stroked his face with the other. “Hang on, Rook, you hear me? Help’s coming, you hang on. Please?”

  The sirens stopped right outside and flashing lights filled the hangar. “In here!” shouted Nikki. “Hurry, I’m losing him.” Verbalizing the thought crushed Heat, and she barked out an involuntary sob as his face lost more color.

  The EMTs rushed in and took over. Nikki retreated in a daze and wept, her bloody hand covering her mouth. She watched, trembling, as they cut Rook’s shirt off and went to work on him. That’s when Heat saw something she had never seen on Rook before.

  The big St. Christopher medal around his neck.

  NINETEEN

  “They’re ready for you now.” Nikki had been staring at nothing because that’s what she needed, a glazed, checked-out, middle-distance fix on the posters and memos on the bulletin board across from her seat in the hallway at One Police Plaza. The administrative assistant came around to step into her line of sight, saw her swollen eyes, and gave her a tender smile. Sympathy. Please, no more sympathy. Nikki had had her fill of it in the last twelve sleepless hours and didn’t know which was worse, the pity
ing faces or the consoling words.

  But she stood and returned the woman’s well-intended smile anyway. Then Nikki sealed the firewall once more. If she thought about Rook now, she couldn’t hold her emotions. “Ready,” she said. The aide opened the door for her. Heat drew a long breath and then stepped through it.

  Rooms didn’t come much more stony or intimidating than the tenth-floor conference room at 1PP that morning. The last time Nikki had been in there it had been just she and Zach Hamner-with the added attraction of the duo from Internal Affairs to confiscate her shield and piece. That had been frosty enough. Now she was being scrutinized by a full conference table of deputy commissioners, chiefs, and administrators, who halted their conversations to give her The Big Appraisal as she entered.

  Zach had been waiting for her inside the door and led her to the empty chair at the head of the conference table. On her way along the row of weathered faces belonging to the NYPD’s top brass, her eye caught a friendly wink from Phyllis Yarborough. Heat nodded her acknowledgment to the deputy commissioner and took the seat.

  Todd Atkins, the deputy commissioner for legal matters, faced Heat from the opposite end. As soon as The Hammer perched on the folding chair behind his boss, Atkins began quietly, saying, “Thank you for coming in. I know this must be an awful time for you, and you have all our best thoughts.”

  Nikki fought away another wave of crushing sorrow and managed to say in her most professional voice, “Thank you, sir.”

  “We wanted you in to address this matter immediately,” continued the Department’s lawyer. “The commissioner would be here himself, but he is in a committee meeting on Capitol Hill about now and we felt it was important to remedy the miscalculation made by this body vis-a-vis your status.” While he continued on, speaking in his coded language for their screwup, Nikki felt herself tumble into the kaleidoscopic tunnel that had swallowed her at Belvedere Castle in the aftermath of her attack. She held eye contact with Atkins, but all the while random images turntabled around him. Rook draped on her after the gunshot.. . Montrose cursing at his performance data printouts… Rook’s ashen face… Van Meter pulse-checking Steljess in the auto salvage yard… Rook’s blood in the sink when she finally washed her hands