Heat Wave

by Richard Castle

  “Why, is he accusing me of the Great Train Robbery?”

  “Somebody asked him once if the perfect crime had ever been committed. He said yes. And when the interviewer asked him what it was, Hitchcock said, ‘We don’t know, that’s what makes it perfect.’”

  Nikki joined Ochoa and Raley near the archway. “I have to hand it to you, swapping the real paintings for the fakes was the perfect crime. Until Matthew suddenly decided to sell. Then your crime no longer would be secret. The appraiser had to be silenced first, so you had Pochenko kill her. And then you had Pochenko come here and throw Matthew over that balcony railing.”

  “Who is this Pochenko? You keep talking about this guy like I’m supposed to know who he is.”

  Nikki beckoned him to her. “Come here.”

  Paxton hesitated, eyeing the front door, but he came over to stand near the archway with the detectives.

  “Take a look at these paintings. Any one you like, Noah, take a good long look.” He leaned closer to one, gave it a cursory examination, then turned to her.

  “OK, so?” he said.

  “When Gerald Buckley gave you up, he also gave up the address of the storage facility where you instructed him to deliver the stolen paintings. Today, I got a search warrant for it. And guess what I found there.” She gestured to the collection hanging there in the glow of the orange light of the setting sun. “The original Starr Collection.”

  Paxton tried to keep his cool, but his jaw dropped. He twirled to look again at the painting. And then the one beside it.

  “That’s right, Noah. These are the originals you stole. The forgeries are still in the piano crate in the basement.”

  Paxton was coming unglued. He stepped from painting to painting, shaken, his breath rasping.

  Detective Heat continued, “I must say that storage facility you rented is first-rate. Climate-controlled, state-of-the-art fire technology, and very secure. They have the highest definition surveillance cameras I’ve seen. Look at one of the freeze-frames I got off it. It’s a small picture but quite sharp.”

  Paxton held out an unsteady hand. Nikki gave him a still-frame print from the storage security camera. He became even more ashen.

  “We’re still going over their archives. So far, they have video of you bringing one piece of Matthew Starr’s art into your storage unit about every eight weeks. This particular shot of you was taken a month ago, carrying a very big painting.” She pointed across the room to a large-format canvas. “It’s that one over there.” Paxton didn’t even bother to turn; he just gaped at the photo in his hands. “But that’s not my favorite picture. This is my favorite.”

  She nodded to Ochoa, who yanked the shroud off the frame on the wall beside him, revealing a blow-up of another security still. “Time code says it was taken one-point-six seconds after the picture in your hands. That is one jumbo canvas, Mr. Paxton. Too unwieldy and too valuable for one man to risk carrying it by himself. And look who that is coming around the corner helping you by holding the back end.”

  Paxton forgot all about the photo in his hands and let it flutter to the floor. He stared in disbelief at the framed surveillance picture on the wall of him carrying the painting, assisted by Vitya Pochenko.

  He dropped his head and his body sagged. He fumbled to brace himself on the back of a sofa.

  “Noah Paxton, you’re under arrest for the murders of Matthew Starr and Barbara Deerfield.” Nikki turned away from him to Raley and Ochoa. “Cuff hi—”

  “Gun,” shouted Roach in tandem. Raley and Ochoa went for their hips. Nikki already had her hand on her Sig in its holster. But when she whirled back to Paxton, he was holding his gun on her.

  “He got it from the couch cushion,” said Raley.

  “Drop it, Paxton,” said Heat. She didn’t draw but took a step closer, trying to position herself for a disarm. He took two steps back, well out of reach.

  “Don’t,” he said. “I’ll do it, I will.” His hand was quaking and Nikki worried he’d fire by accident, so she stayed put. Plus Raley and Ochoa were behind her. If she went for him, she would take the risk that a wild shot might hit one of them.

  Her plan was to buy time by keeping Paxton talking. “This isn’t going to work, Noah. It never does.”

  “It’s only gonna be ugly,” said Ochoa.

  “Don’t be stupid,” added Raley.

  “Quiet.” Paxton took another backward step toward the front door.

  “I know what you’re doing, you’re trying to think of a way out, but there isn’t one.” Behind her, Nikki could hear the soft rug steps of her two detectives slowly spreading out to flank Paxton. She engaged him to give them time. “You should know there’s a cruiser out front and cops in the lobby. It’s the same detail that’s been tailing you since this morning when Buckley tagged you.”

  “You two. Stop. I swear if you move, I’ll start shooting.”

  “Do what he says.” Heat turned around to face them and said, “You guys hear me? I mean it.” Nikki used her rotation to block Paxton from seeing her unholster her Sig. She let her hand drop to her side and held the gun tight against the back of her thigh when she faced Paxton again.

  Meanwhile, he had retreated another step. His free hand rested on the doorknob. “Everybody back up.”

  They held their positions. Nikki continued trying to talk him down, even as she gripped her weapon behind her. “You’re the expert with numbers, right? What do you think your odds are of making the street?”

  “Shut up, I’m thinking.”

  “No, you’re not thinking.”

  His hand started to shake even more. “What’s it matter? I’m screwed.”

  “But you’re not dead. Would you rather leave this to your lawyer or your undertaker?”

  He pondered a brief moment, moving his lips in some silent inner dialogue. And just when Nikki thought he might have come to his senses, he threw the front door open. She brought her piece up, but Paxton had already lunged behind the door and run out into the hallway.

  Everything that happened next happened fast. The door slammed hard as Nikki scrambled for it. Behind her she heard guns clearing holsters, footfalls, and Raley on his walkie-talkie. “Suspect is ten-thirty-two. Suspect is armed, repeat armed, with handgun on sixth floor. Detectives in pursuit.”

  Heat slammed her back flat to the wall, shoulder even with the door frame, and her Sig Sauer up in an isosceles stance. “Cover,” she said. Ochoa performed like clockwork. He went low, crouching on one knee, fisting his Smith & Wesson in his right hand and grabbing the knob with his left. “On yours,” he said.

  Without pause, Detective Heat calmly said, “Go.”

  Ochoa pulled the door and held it open for her. Nikki pivoted around the jamb, squaring her aim up the hall. She stopped, still holding her combat stance, shook her head, and mumbled, “Mother…”

  Ochoa and Raley rolled out behind her and stopped, too. Raley spoke quietly into his radio, “All units, we have a hostage.”

  Rook was standing halfway up the hall with Paxton snugged behind him holding the gun to his head. He looked at Nikki sheepishly and said, “So, I’m gonna guess it’s Noah.”

  TWENTY

  “Stop squirming,” said Noah Paxton. Rook started to turn his head to say something to his assailant, but Paxton jammed the muzzle of the gun hard into his skull.

  “Ow. Hey.”

  “I said hold still, damn it.”

  “Do as he says, Rook.” Nikki still had her Sig Sauer up, keeping a bead on the small sliver of Noah Paxton that was showing behind his human shield. She didn’t need to turn to know that Raley and Ochoa were doing the same thing with their weapons behind her.

  Rook raised his eyebrows contritely and looked at her like a kid who’d broken a living room lamp with a baseball. “I am really sorry about this.”

  “Rook, be quiet,” said Nikki.

  “From now on, I’ll do what I’m told.”

  “Start now by shutting up.”

>   “OK.” Then he realized he was not shutting up. “Oops, sorry.”

  “I want you to drop your guns,” said Paxton. “All of you.”

  Heat didn’t say no because a direct verbal confrontation could heighten tensions. Instead she maintained her isosceles stance and let that be her answer. She spoke in a calm tone. “You’re smart enough to know you’re not getting out, Noah, so why don’t you let him go and end this peacefully.”

  “You know, she makes sense,” said Rook. Heat and Paxton told him to shut up at the same time.

  Paxton’s left hand held a handful of the back of Rook’s shirt in a bunch to keep him close. He gave it a tug. “Back up.” When he didn’t move, Noah gave a sharp pull. “I said move. That’s right, go with me, easy, easy.” He led Rook backward, taking baby steps to the elevator. When he saw that the three detectives were moving forward, matching his pace, he stopped. “Hey, stay back.”

  Heat and Roach stopped but didn’t retreat.

  “I’m not afraid to use this,” Paxton warned.

  “Nobody said you were.” She was calm but sounded in command. “But you don’t want to.”

  Paxton moved the gun away slightly to adjust his grip, and Rook slid forward, only to get jerked back. “Don’t be stupid.” Noah again pushed the muzzle hard against the soft bone behind Rook’s ear. “All it takes is one. Do you have any idea what this will do to you?”

  Rook nodded as much as he dared. “Scrambled eggs.”

  “What?”

  “Like a hammer hitting a plate of—Never mind, I don’t want to talk about it.”

  Paxton tugged his shirt again and they continued to back toward the elevator. And again the detectives advanced with them. As they all drew closer to the elevator, Nikki looked at the panel above the door. It indicated that the car was waiting there on six.

  Heat spoke in a barely audible voice. “Rales.”

  “Yo.”

  “Lose that car.”

  Behind her, Raley keyed his mic and spoke quietly. “Lobby, call elevator down from six immediately.”

  Paxton heard the elevator softly kick into motion right behind him. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” He turned quickly over his shoulder, in time to see the 6 digit go dark and the 5 light up. He didn’t move enough for Nikki to get a clear shot, but while he was distracted, she took two steps closer.

  He turned back and saw her. “Stop right there.”

  Heat stopped. She had closed the gap and he was ten feet away. Not close enough yet, but closer. She couldn’t see Paxton’s face, just his eye, looking wild peeking out from the gap between the gun barrel and Rook’s head. His voice was building to a rage. “Now you boxed me in.”

  “You’re not leaving. I told you that.” She worked to keep the calm in her tone to counter his fury.

  “I’m going to shoot.”

  “It’s time to put your gun down, Noah.”

  “His blood will be on you.”

  Rook made eye contact with her and mouthed, Shoot. Him.

  She had no shot and said so with the smallest head shake.

  “You screwed up everything, Detective, you know that? I wish Pochenko had finished the job on you.”

  Nikki’s eyes fluttered and a weight sank in her gut.

  “You did that?” said Rook.

  “Let it go, Rook,” said Nikki, struggling to let go of it herself. Behind her she heard F-bombs muttered by Raley and Ochoa.

  “You sent that animal to her apartment?” Rook’s nostrils flared. “You sent him to her home?” His chest expanded with each breath as his outrage grew more heated. “You son of a…bitch.” He spun his body away from the pistol, hurling himself. A loud gunshot echoed in the hall as Rook dropped hard to the floor.

  Paxton fell to one knee beside him, moaning, with blood streaming from his shoulder onto Rook. His gun was on the rug beside them and Noah grabbed for it.

  Nikki lunged and body-tackled him. She slammed Paxton onto his back and pinned him down with her knees on his chest. He had the gun in his hand, but he hadn’t had time to raise it. She held her Sig Sauer inches from his face. His eyes flitted to his gun hand, calculating.

  “Go ahead,” said Detective Heat. “I need a new blouse anyway.”

  At La Chaleur, the sidewalk café outside the Guilford, the after-work crowd was craning to watch the police activity. The sun had just gone down, and in the quieting darkness, the flashing lights from the cruisers and ambulances reflected in their cosmos and eighteen-dollar glasses of Sancerre.

  Over between the café and the front steps of the apartment building, the lights strobed on the backs of two plainclothes cops facing Detective Heat. One of them put away his notebook. They each shook her hand. Nikki leaned back against the warm stone façade of the Guilford and watched the shooting investigation team cross away to their black Crown Victoria.

  Rook stepped over and joined her. “‘Go ahead, I need a new blouse anyway’?”

  “I think that was cool for short notice.” She tried to read him. “What, too girly?”

  “Got Noah’s attention.” He followed her gaze to the incident investigation pair as they drove off for downtown. “Nobody told you to hand in your badge and gun, I hope.”

  “No, they expect this will clear just fine. They were actually amazed I didn’t kill him.”

  “Didn’t you want to?”

  She thought a beat and said, “He’s alive.” The detective let that simple fact provide all the details. “If I need vengeance kicks, I just Netflix Charles Bronson. Or Jodie Foster.” She turned to him. “Besides, I was aiming at you. You’re the one I wanted to kill.”

  “And I even signed that liability waiver.”

  “Lost opportunity, Rook. It’s going to haunt me.”

  Roach stepped out of the building and came over. Ochoa said, “Paramedics are bringing him out now.”

  Nikki waited until they carried Paxton’s gurney down the steps and rolled it up to the curb before she walked over followed by Raley, Ochoa, and Rook. In the harsh utility light shining down from above the ambulance door, Noah’s face was the color of an oyster. She checked with the paramedic standing with him. “Is he OK for a quick chat?”

  “A minute or two, but that’s it,” said the EMT.

  Heat stood so she loomed over him. “Just want you to know one good thing came out of that little hostage drama up there. Your gun. It’s a twenty-five. Same caliber that killed Pochenko. We’re running ballistics on it. And giving you a paraffin test for gunpowder residue. What do you think we’ll find?”

  “I have nothing to say.”

  “What, no spoilers? Fine, I can wait for the results. Do you want me to call you with them, or would you rather wait to hear them at your arraignment?” Paxton looked away from her. “Tell me, when you raced over here to get your hands on those paintings, were you going to use it on Kimberly Starr, too? Is that why you had the gun with you?”

  When he didn’t answer, she spoke to her team. “Kimberly owes me.”

  “Big-time,” said Raley.

  Ochoa added, “You probably saved her life when you arrested her.”

  Noah rolled his head back to face her. “You already arrested her?”

  Heat nodded. “This afternoon, right after I found the paintings in the basement.”

  “But that phone call to me. The one you wiretapped…”

  “She was already in custody. Kimberly made that call for me.”

  “Why?”

  “Why else? To get you to come to my art show.” Nikki gave the sign to the paramedics and stepped away so the last picture the detective saw was the look on Noah Paxton’s face.

  The heat wave broke late that night, and it did not go quietly. As a front from Canada bullied its way down the Hudson, it collided with the hot, stagnant air of New York and spawned an aerial show of lightning, swirling winds, and sideways rain. TV meteorologists patted themselves on the back and pointed to red and tangerine splotches on Doppler radar as th
e skies opened and the thunder ripped like cannon fire through the stone and glass canyons of Manhattan.

  On Hudson in Tribeca, Nikki Heat slowed down to avoid splashing the diners huddled under umbrellas outside Nobu, praying in vain for open cabs to get them uptown in the downpour. She turned onto Rook’s street and pulled the police car into an open space in a loading zone up the block from his building.

  “You still pissed at me?” he said.

  “No more than usual.” She put the car in Park. “I just get quiet after I clear a case. It’s like I’ve been turned inside out.”

  Rook hesitated, something on his mind. “Anyway, thanks for the ride in all this.”

  “No problem.”

  Frankenstein lightning hit so close that the strobe flash lit their faces the same time as the thunder crack. Tiny hailstones began to pepper the roof. “If you see the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse,” said Rook, “duck.”

  She gave up a thin laugh that turned into a yawn. “Sorry.”

  “Sleepy?”

  “No, tired. I’m way too cranked to sleep.”

  They sat listening to the storm rage. A car crept past with water up to its hubcaps.

  At last, he broke the silence. “Look, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking and I just don’t know how to play this. We work together—well, sort of. We slept together—most definitely. We have smoking hot sex one time, but soon afterwards, don’t try holding hands, not even in the relative privacy of a taxicab.

  “I’m trying to figure the rules. This isn’t yin and yang, it’s more like yin and yank. The past few days I’ve been going, OK, she doesn’t mix the hot sex and romance so well with the single-mindedness of the police work. So it gets me wondering, Is the solution for me to give up our working relationship? Stop my magazine research so we can—?”

  Nikki grabbed him into a deep kiss. Then she pulled away and said, “Will you shut up?” Before he could say yes, she grabbed Rook again, throwing her mouth back onto his. He wrapped his arms around her. She undid her seat belt and drew closer to him. Their faces and clothes became drenched in sweat. Another flash of lightning lit up the car through windows fogged by the heat of their bodies.