“Kitchen crew found him, when they opened for lunch prep,” began Raley.
Ochoa picked right up. “They thought it was hinky that the oven felt warm. They
popped the oven door and found our crispy critter.” Roach exchanged self-satisfied
grins.
“You do know that just because Rook isn’t here, you don’t have to guest-host.”
She held her palms to the oven. It felt warm but not hot. “Did they turn it off?”
“Negative,” said Raley. “Cook said it was off when they came in.”
“Any idea who our vic is?” she asked, peering inside the oven. The heat damage
would make him hard to recognize.
Ochoa flipped to his notes. “We assume the victim to be one Roy Conklin.”
The medical examiner, Lauren Parry, rose up from her lab kit. “But that’s a guess
until we can run dental records and DNA.”
“An educated guess,” said Ochoa. Heat read the gentle tease of Dr. Parry, his
not-so-secret girlfriend. “We did find a wallet.” He indicated the stainless steel
prep table and the evidence bag on it holding the disfigured leather block and a
buckled New York State license.
“And the weird gets weirder,” said Raley, taking a Mini Maglite from his vest
pocket and focusing it on the corpse. Heat moved closer, and Raley said, “Weird
enough?”
Nikki nodded. “Weirdest.” Around the victim’s neck hung the laminated ID of Roy
Conklin, New York City Department of Health and Mental Hygiene.
Ochoa moved beside her. “We already put in a call to DHMH. Ready for this? The body
in that oven is a restaurant health inspector.”
“That’s definitely a violation.” All heads turned toward the familiar voice. And
the wisecrack. Jameson Rook strolled in, a vision to Nikki in his perfectly cut navy
Boss suit and a purple and white spread-collared shirt—plus the charcoal and purple
tie she’d chosen for him. “This joint will have a Grade-B in the window by
tonight, you watch.”
Heat came up beside him. “Not that I don’t appreciate your help, but what
happened? Don’t tell me you got bored by your big red-carpet event.”
“Not at all. I was going to stay for the after-crowd handshakes, but then Raley
texted me about this. And thank God he did. Why hang around for another grip-and-
grin when you’ve got a chance to see…” He peered in the oven. “Hot damn. An
alien from Area 51.”
Roach appreciated the gallows humor. Lauren Parry, not so much. “What’s that on
your shoulder, glitter?” said the ME. “Out, before you contaminate my area.”
Rook grinned. “If I had a nickel for every time I’ve heard that.” But he stepped
out to the dining room and left his coat on the back of a chair. He returned just as
a pair of techs from OCME were removing the body from the oven. Ochoa handed him a
pair of blue nitrile gloves to put on.
“Check out this badge,” said Raley. Heat got on one knee beside him for a closer
look. Conklin’s ID badge and its lanyard showed absolutely no signs of scorching or
melting.
Rook knelt with them. “This means whoever killed him must have waited for the oven
to cool down or come back later and put this around his neck.” Nikki turned and
gave him a look. “Hey, not fair. That’s your wild conjecture face. Don’t tell me
you’re also going to bust my balls for a timely summary of facts.”