As the visitors departed and her people began to form up around the Murder Boards, Rook got close and studied her, speaking in a gentle voice. “Hey. You doing any better since our call?”
She shrugged ambivalently. “I’ll be fine. Putting the shock behind me. I’m sort of in all-out task mode now. Except I got Iron-gated.” Rook followed her glance to Irons, who was still in his office with Hinesburg. “He’s balking at giving me OT and resources.”
“Drone.”
“I don’t know what I can do to convince him.” She shook it off. “Hey, thanks for the latte. Any chance you can swing by my apartment to see how it did in the quake?”
“Already did. Minimal breakage. I re-straightened the pictures, refruited the fruit bowl, re-tchotchked your tchotchkes, and sniffed the range for gas. All is well. Oh. Except your elevator is out. Three flights was no picnic, but I’m a trouper.”
Nikki thanked him, but instead of saying you’re welcome, he rolled up a chair. “What are you doing?”
“Getting ringside for my briefing.” He read her objection and said, “Come on, you really didn’t think I came all the way up here to bring you coffee, did you?”
Heat began with details. The major headline, she didn’t need to put into words. Not with this group. It rang loud and clear to everyone in that room who knew the lead detective and her history. If that didn’t say it, the parallel boards and her ultra-focused demeanor did. This was The Big Case. The case of Nikki Heat’s lifetime.
Attention was sharp. Nobody interrupted, nobody joked. Nobody wanted to blow this for her. They all shared one thought: Bring this one home for Detective Heat.
Quickly recapping the discovery of the suitcase by the bomb squad, she used the Jane Doe photos as reference for her grand tour of the victim, explaining her frozen state, lack of ID or personal effects, and apparent—but unconfirmed—death by single stab wound to the back, expertly delivered. Next she indicated the array of truck pictures. “The driver is cooperating fully, and, along with his employer, we are establishing the timeline of deliveries to see when the suitcase got put in there. We can assume the luggage was deposited along his delivery route, but I want no assumptions. None. That brings us to my first assignment. Detective Hinesburg.”
Nikki caught Hinesburg off guard as she joined the meeting late from the captain’s office. “What’s up?” she asked from a half-sit.
“I want you to run a check for priors on the truck driver and anyone at the loading dock who had access to that vehicle before it rolled out this morning. That means anyone who cleaned it, loaded it, inspected it, or who could have slipped the suitcase in there before it left the facility.” Hinesburg found a seat and nodded. “Sharon, do you want to write any of this down?”
“No, I got it.” And then, as she processed, Hinesburg added, “If the driver called in the 911, we probably don’t like him as the perp, do we? Isn’t this kind of busywork?”
If thought bubbles were visible in life, the one over Heat’s head would have said, You bet. Nikki had learned the hard way that the best way to contain the damage Sharon Hinesburg caused on a case was to give her assignments where her laziness and sloppy detail work would do the least harm. “Guess we’ll only know after you get busy, Detective.” She scanned the room. “Detective Feller.”
“Yo.” He had been leaning forward, intent, with his elbows on the thighs of his jeans. Hearing his name, he sat tall and poised his pen.
“You’ll work the delivery route. That means not only checking out the workers at the delis and bodegas he hit, but did he stop for gas? Did he leave the truck to use a restroom? Does he have an affair going on the side that made him park for a quickie? Is he skimming food off the books and dropping calamari at his uncle’s with the loading door unlocked? You get the idea.”