Crashing Heat

by Richard Castle

  She had no doubt. “Great. Now, what’s your take on the poem?”

  He used the black eraser of the pencil to point to the first line. “‘Darkness falls’ is clearly a metaphor for the fact that the jig is up. If we assume, as you suggest, that the bird is, in fact, Chloe, then we can make a connection that it is because of the bird that darkness has fallen. ‘To the night we come,’ therefore, would symbolize the fact that whoever the bad guys are, they are backed up against a wall. They must take action.”

  As Rook jotted down his analysis, Nikki stared at her husband, rethinking her refusal of his sexual innuendos just moments before. “I have never been more turned on than I am right now.”

  Rook’s shoulders inched back as his spine straightened. He preened like a peacock. “Well, then, let me continue.”

  She tossed the notepad aside, crossed her legs, and leaned forward. “Please do.”

  “‘The forest.’ That symbolizes something, but at this point, I’m not quite sure what, so I’ll come back to that.” He slid the pencil behind his ear, trading it for an Expo marker and circling the word.

  “‘And to the end of the game we go’?” she prompted.

  “This can only mean one thing, my dear wife. This is the call for Chloe’s death. They must eliminate the problem, and the problem is the bird. If Chloe is the bird, then she would be represented by something lovely. A bluebird, or a swallow, or a dove. These birds do not live in a dark and threatening environment. So the end of the game can only mean the end of Chloe. In the forest—the dark place where the murder took place—they will kill her.”

  “They did kill her,” Nikki corrected.

  Rook finished noting the interpretation of the poem on the whiteboard before capping the pen and sitting next to her again. “They did.”

  A moment of silence passed between them, and then they both sat up just a little straighter, looked at each other, and said, “They.”

  “They...as in the organization, not a person,” Nikki said. “It wasn’t just one person who killed her.”

  “Well, it might have been one person’s act, but it was orchestrated by the group. Whoever is in charge wrote the poem. It’s the battle cry.”

  “For Tektōn to act? Or...”

  They looked intensely at one another. “Freemasons,” they said in unison.

  Nikki thought through the direction the poem had taken her, and then worked backward. She focused her attention on Christian Foti’s picture. “Do you remember what Chloe’s father said when Ian asked him about Chloe’s childhood?”

  “Sure,” Rook said. “He saw her for a while. That he was a weekend dad. And that he eventually stopped coming around.”

  “Right. Because he moved back home and went to college.” Nikki started to form a connection. “Home to Cambria. And to college at Cambria U.”

  “He could very well have been a member of Tektōn when he was in school here,” Rook said.

  Nikki got stuck again. “So let’s assume he was. How does that factor into his daughter’s death?”

  They pondered this for a minute.

  “Things didn’t work out like I planned,” Rook said quietly. And then louder. “Things didn’t work out like I planned.”

  She’d heard that before. Recently. But where? And then it came to her. “That’s what Foti said to us about his family.”

  Rook uncapped the marker and started writing.

  TEKTōN SCHOOL SOCIETY → PIPELINE TO SOMETHING ELSE THROUGH THE MASONS?

  DID CHLOE DISCOVER THE CONNECTION, AND IS THAT WHY SHE REUNITED WITH HER FATHER? HOW DEEP IN IS FOTI? WHAT DIDN’T WORK OUT THE WAY HE’D PLANNED?

  Rook turned to face Heat. “What if he wasn’t referring to how he ran out on his kids?” He tapped the pen against the photograph again. “What if he was actually involved in his daughter’s death?”

  Nikki knew better than to stop Rook from concocting a story. He saw things in a way that she didn’t. “Go on.”

  He put the marker down, then shoved his hands in his pockets. “What if he didn’t intend for her to die...or didn’t know they were going to kill her?”

  “She was the bird, because whatever she discovered needed to be kept secret. They had to stop her from singing, so to speak.”

  “She was acting on her own, investigating a story she didn’t want the Journal to run,” Rook said.

  There was only one logical reason why that would be. “Just like when your old story was killed, someone on the Journal must be in Tektōn.”

  “Michael Warton,” they said together.

  She continued the line of thinking. “Michael kills the story, but she doesn’t want to stop. Why?”

  “Because through her father, she figured out it was more than just at the university level.”

  “So she kept digging,” Heat continued, “but her reunion with her dad and her questions gave her away.”

  “Why keep digging?” Rook asked.

  It was rhetorical, but Heat answered anyway. “She may have harbored resentment against her father because he’d left them.”

  “Good thought, good thought. And maybe,” Rook said. “But in my experience, investigative reporters follow the story because they feel it. They know, or at least hope, it’s going to reveal something and they’ll be the ones to break it. They might get involved initially because of curiosity or some personal reason, but it’s the potential of uncovering something big that drives them to continue. It’s Watergate. It’s Al Capone’s vault.”

  “It’s the exposé,” Heat said, recalling what Jada had told them. Nikki got up from the bed and stood in front of the murder board again. Something sinister, she thought. “What would be threatening enough that they’d want Chloe silenced?”

  She went back to what Foti had said. Things didn’t work out the way I’d planned. Nikki pointed to the poem. “Let’s get back to this. If Chloe is the bird, and the darkness is the fact that she discovered something that someone—possibly some faction of the Freemasons—wanted silenced, they were the ones to kill her. Whatever or wherever the forest is, they got to the end of the game with Chloe.”

  “If things didn’t turn out how her father had planned,” Rook said, “then he knows what happened.”

  A quick search on the Internet provided Nikki and Rook with Christian Foti’s address. If he wasn’t there, they’d try the Masonic Lodge again.

  Turns out they didn’t have to go far. Foti lived in a boxy duplex across town from the university. They knocked three times before he finally answered the door, looking more haggard and forlorn than he had the last time they’d seen him. His skin had turned pasty, made paler by the dulled color of his hair and tired eyes. He looked like he’d aged ten years. Maybe more.

  “Mr. Foti,” Nikki said as she flashed her badge. “We have a few more questions. Can we come in?”

  As Foti bent to take a closer look at the badge, he stumbled. Rook caught him by one arm while Nikki grabbed the other. She made the mistake of inhaling, recoiling at the smell of sour alcohol on his breath. Her best guess? Foti had been numbing his pain with Jack Daniels.

  “Let’s get you inside,” Rook said, guiding him into the house.

  Foti shook himself free and wobbled over to the brown corduroy couch, collapsing onto his back. He flung his arm over his eyes. The dark lines of a tattoo peeked out from beneath his sleeve. “I don wanna talk,” he mumbled.

  Drunk as a skunk, Rook mouthed.

  Nikki sat on the coffee table opposite Foti. “We’ll be out of your hair just as soon as you give us a little help.”

  He didn’t move. If it hadn’t been for the shallow rise and fall of his partially exposed stomach, she might have wondered if the man was alive. “Mr. Foti?” she said.

  “She shoulda stopped,” he finally said.

  It was the opening Nikki needed. “But it was a good story.”

  “No, no, no. It was a dangerous story,” he slurred. “Not a good one.” His back curved as he propped his elbows on
his quivery legs. “Why didn’t she stop?” His voice rose with agitation. “I told her to. She just needed to stop.”

  Front and center in Nikki’s mind was Foti saying that things hadn’t turned out the way they’d planned. “Did you know what would happen if Chloe didn’t stop?”

  Foti’s mouth moved as he spoke, his lips pulled back to bare his teeth, but he kept his eyes covered. “I told her to stop, but she didn’t listen.” He began moving his head back and forth as if he were trying to shake out a bad nightmare, and then added, “Of course, why would she?”

  “Why wouldn’t she?” Rook asked.

  Foti scoffed, saliva pooling in one corner of his mouth. “I wasn’t there for her when she was little, so why would she listen to me now?”

  Nikki answered his question with one of her own. “Who wanted her to stop?”

  He was too inebriated to follow along with them. “The story, it wasn’t worth it.”

  “To a reporter, the story can be everything. Chloe must have felt it was a good one if she was willing to put herself at risk.” Rook gently nudged Foti’s arm until the man’s eyes were visible. “Let us tell you what we know, okay? And then maybe you can fill in some of the blanks.”

  Foti heaved himself to a sitting position, sinking into the worn back pillows of the sofa. “The only thing you need to know is who killed my daughter.”

  “You mean we need to figure out who killed her,” Nikki corrected.

  But Christian Foti shook his head. “I mean you need to know who killed her. I’m going to tell you.”

  Rook and Nikki stared at him. “Are you saying you know who killed Chloe?” Rook asked.

  His head wobbled as he nodded, but he managed to look at them straight on. “I killed her.”

  Nikki’s spine stiffened. “Mr. Foti,” she said slowly, “are you confessing to the murder of your daughter, Chloe Masterson?”

  He pressed the flats of his hands against the sides of his head, as if he could squeeze out the pain he was experiencing. “It’s my fault. I told her to stop, but she wouldn’t. I told her she was going to get herself in too deep. ‘You’re going to get in too deep,’ I told her, ‘and then it’ll be too late.’”

  “Mr. Foti,” Nikki said again, “did you kill Chloe Masterson?”

  He hung his head, his skin turning red from the pressure of his hands against the sides of his face. “I led her right into the lion’s den. It’s my fault. I didn’t kill her, but I might as well have.”

  He got up and stumbled to the bedroom, collapsing onto his stomach on the bed.

  “Mr. Foti,” Heat said from the doorway of the room. “Where was Chloe killed? Who killed her?”

  “Into the woods,” Foti murmured before he passed out. He wasn’t going to give them any more information at that moment.

  Rook’s face had grown flushed. He debated something silently, then grabbed Nikki’s hand and dragged her back outside and to the car. Once he’d closed the door behind her and had slid into the driver’s seat, she turned to him. “We need to call the local police.”

  “Fine, fine,” he said, but she could see that he had something else on his mind. She’d seen the look a thousand times before. He was going to construct a narrative, and Nikki was all ears. This was Rook’s gift. He could see things that she didn’t. Not for lack of effort, but because they viewed life through different lenses.

  “Did you notice Foti’s tattoo?” he asked her.

  “Inside left forearm.”

  “Very good, Detective Heat. Do you know what the tattoo is?”

  “It was mostly hidden under his sleeve, so no.” She angled her head at him. “Did you see it?”

  “Enough of it,” he said. “At first, I saw only the lower two lines, one thick, the other, just above it, thinner. But then his sleeve pulled up, revealing more. It’s a triangle,” he said triumphantly.

  “Like the Tektōn symbol?”

  “Yes...and no. The shading inside the triangle was quite dark. While you were pressing him on his confession, I managed to get a closer look. I could only see part of it, but I’m sure that inside that triangle is an eye. Chloe had drawn eyes on that pad in her room.” He paused for dramatic effect, as he was known to do. “An eye, Heat. A triangle. An eye.”

  She narrowed her eyes, visualizing it. An eye inside of a triangle. They looked at each other as realization dawned. “The Illuminati,” she said.

  He nodded. “Exactly. The Illuminati.”

  The police station was as deserted now as it had been the first time Nikki had visited. Cambria seemed to have a surprisingly low amount of crime happening. They also only seemed to have one other visible officer, the much-put-upon Officer Breckenstein. Nikki asked for Ian, but Breckenstein was stony-faced behind the bulletproof glass. Her chestnut hair was pulled into the same severe bun it had been a few days ago. Her uniform was pressed just as crisply. It felt like Groundhog Day.

  “Detective Heat. What can I help you with?” she asked. Her voice was as stern as her demeanor, and she did not sound as if she wanted to lift even a single finger for Nikki.

  “It’s a personal matter,” Heat said, annoyed. It was none of Breckenstein’s business. She geared up, ready to give a retort that would put the young officer in her place, but Rook flashed one of his signature smiles. “We’re helping Chief Cooley look into the murder of Chloe Masterson, Officer.”

  Heat grumbled under her breath, but she stood back and folded her arms over her chest. She knew her demeanor was tough and unyielding, but it was okay by her. She was done playing games with this rookie. Let Rook play a hand.

  The young officer’s face softened just a bit with Rook smiling at her. “That was so sad.”

  “Yes indeed. Poor girl.” He frowned, closing his eyes for a moment as he nodded his sympathy.

  Officer Breckenstein slid open the glass divide, eliminating the barrier between her and Rook. Nikki stood back and let Rook work his charm. His winsome personality was a definite asset in his career. It didn’t hurt in situations like this, either. The officer responded by leaning into the now open window. “That’s what we want to talk to the chief about. Is he in?” Rook asked her.

  Heat felt the rookie’s hard facade start to crack, but then she caught sight of Nikki again and the air in the room suddenly felt heavy. It shouldn’t be this hard to give a message to the chief, she thought. She could hold the officer’s gaze all day, if necessary, but after another few seconds, the woman broke eye contact. Breckenstein tried to maintain her stern manner, but Heat could see that she was unnerved by the detective’s mere presence. It had been a game of chicken that the younger woman had no chance of winning. Nikki was a veteran cop; she knew how to handle people. Identifying their weaknesses and playing to them was one of her strengths. Officer Breckenstein was still green and insecure in her role. Nikki suspected that the young officer didn’t usually get any pushback from the citizens of Cambria. She’d been able to use that to her advantage.

  Officer Breckenstein averted her gaze from both Heat and Rook and snatched up the wireless phone receiver, aggressively punching in a series of numbers. Her voice wavered slightly as she spoke, a sign of her agitation. Nikki almost felt sorry for her. Almost. She ended the short conversation with a brisk, “Yes, sir,” then punched the OFF button on the phone.

  Officer Breckenstein glared at Nikki. “He’ll be right out,” she said, her tone even more clipped than before.

  “Great,” Nikki said. “We’ll just wait over here.”

  She and Rook stood by the door, awaiting Ian, but Officer Breckenstein kept her eyes on them. “If looks could kill,” Rook muttered.

  “Right? She’s not the most astute police officer. Flies and honey, sweetheart, you attract more flies with honey.”

  Rook rubbed her shoulder. “Sadly, not everyone has the top-notch brain capacity that you do, Heat. You put most people to shame.”

  Her lips curved up into a smile. “Why, Jamie, you do know how to get me hot and bother
ed. Complimenting my intelligence. Brilliant.”

  He slipped his arm around her and pulled her close. “Brainy and beautiful. It’s a winning combination, and you wear it well.”

  She felt her cheeks flush. She loved Rook more than she ever thought she could love anyone, and he knew just what to say to make her whole body tingle with need. She lightly kissed his lips, but they pulled apart when they heard the click of the door behind them.

  Ian Cooley sauntered into the police lobby. “Sorry, am I interrupting?” The sarcasm dripped from his words.

  “Not at all, Ian,” Nikki replied. She gave Rook’s hand a squeeze before letting it go. Right now she was Captain Heat, not the brainy and beautiful wife of Jameson Rook.

  Cooley folded his arms and rocked back on his heels. “Well then, to what do I owe the pleasure so soon after we parted ways?”

  What was it with her and choosing men who had a flair for the dramatic?

  Apparently he wasn’t going to invite them back to his office, so Nikki got right to the point. “We’d like to take a look at Chloe Masterson’s notebook. We have a theory, but need to refresh our memories.”

  “Since you looked at it yesterday?”

  She didn’t need to actually respond for him to know her answer was yes. “It’s a theory, but one worth checking out.”

  “What kind of theory?”

  Nikki scanned the empty room, letting her gaze linger on Officer Breckenstein. “I’d rather not go into it here,” she said.

  “Come on, then,” he said, punching in a code on the security pad next to the door. The lock clicked, they all passed through to the back of the station, and they headed down the hallway to Ian’s office.

  It was much smaller than Nikki’s, but then she was captain of the Twentieth Precinct, not of a small upstate New York college town. It had all the basic elements it needed: a desk and chair, two chairs opposite the desk, and a tall bookshelf. A long table sat flush against the wall behind his desk. It held a compact black printer and various stacks of paper and binders. A computer sat on the desk, and despite an organizational three-tiered tray set, the desk itself was littered with paper.