Richard Castle - Raging Heat

“You did,” said Rhymer. “Actually both. I was there. But it was mostly him.”

“Maybe one of you could do me a favor before they try to pull the plug on this case anytime now, and just give me a report.”

“I’ll take this,” said Feller, flattening a palm on his chest. “My quadrant — the one you assigned me from the Murder Board for drilling down — included the interview we conducted with Fidel “FiFi” Figueroa. Lots to sift through there, but, skeevy as he is, the man gave us some good intel.”

“Is this you getting to the point?” heckled Ochoa from his desk.

“Remember, Detective Heat, how he used a term to describe Fabian Beauvais?”

“ Astucia ,” said Heat.

“Plus-ten for you. It occurred to me that you can’t go around exhibiting balls like that, bluffing your way into office buildings with a sandwich cooler to steal documents without setting off a few alarms here and there.”

“It’s an odds game,” offered Rhymer.

“Exactly. So I thought, let me take two elements.” Randall held one hand to the sky and said, “Fabian Beauvais and his astucia right here.…” And then held his other hand up. “And bad shit involving Keith Gilbert here.” He brought the hands together and interlocked his fingers. “So I got on the blower to the Real Time Crime Center and asked the detective on duty to run a computer search for incidents and complaints at the Gilbert Maritime tower on Madison, Midtown. Took a while to get back to me with the hurricane and all, but after we wrapped at Braun’s commando post in the Bronx, I get the call. A trespass complaint weeks ago. No arrest, but officers responded, so it was in the database.”

Nikki said, “I’m interested now.”

“Just wait. We paid a visit. The building’s closed like everything else today, but security’s working. I get the security chief to look at the mug shot of Fabian Beauvais. Guess what he says.”

“‘The sandwich guy,’” said Rook.

Feller made a slow rotation to him and said. “My punch line. I tell the whole friggin’ story and you steal the punch line.”

Rook shrugged contritely. “Sorry.…Inside thoughts, inside thoughts.”

Rhymer, ever earnest jumped in. “Can we not lose track of the fact that we have established that Beauvais did work Gilbert’s corporate HQ to steal documents in his cooler?”

“It’s an important piece. Thorough work, you two. After the interview Heat just watched, she certainly knew why Beauvais was targeting Gilbert. What she didn’t know was what kind of information he had gotten on him. At least she didn’t know yet.

Rook arrived at Nikki’s desk. “What’s up?”

“I’d like you to do something for me — that is, if you’re not too busy.”

“I smart with your implication. Don’t you think a small word of acknowledgment is in order for me getting Opal Onishi to give up her raw video without a First Amendment battle?” Rook searched her face, and all he got was a flat stare. “Apparently that will have to wait. What can I do?”

“You know your old girlfriend at CIA?”

He enjoyed this moment. “Hm. You’re going to have to be more specific. Which one?”

“Rook.”

“Yardley Bell, yes.”

“See if she’s reachable. I have a favor to ask her.”

“And that would be?”

“The one I will ask her when you get her on the phone for me.”

“Right.”

As he moved off to make his call, Sean Raley delivered a thumb drive to Heat. “Here’s the edit you asked for of the Capois video. I’d call it the greatest hits, but it’s more like low moments in humanity.”

“Not many lower.” As soon as the memory key left his fingers he rushed back toward his video realm. “You on a mission?” she called to him.

He turned, walking backward so he wouldn’t lose any time talking. “Got an idea from something in my quadrant that put me onto some video.”

“You look like you think you’re onto something but won’t tell. Are you onto something?”

“Could be useful, could be a bust. I need to scrub it to see if there’s anything.”

“Go to it, King.”

But Detective Raley had already hurried out in his eagerness.

Inez Aguinaldo had called to alert Heat that she was en route with evidence from her search of Alicia Delamater’s property at Beckett’s Neck. When the lead detective from Southampton Village PD arrived just after noon, Nikki couldn’t take her eyes off the brown paper forensics sack in her hand. But to show some grace for the courtesy and effort the Hamptons cop had extended, she minded her manners rather than ripping it from her like a three-year-old going for the presents at a birthday party.

After a hello to her buddy Rook — the bullet whisperer — and squad introductions, Heat thanked her for driving in. “Yeah, it was surreal, if you want to know. A ninety-minute trip that took me five hours. Thank God for all-wheel drive. Had to badge my way over the Throgs Neck Bridge just to get here. But I know you’re up against the clock, so let’s share our Sandy horror stories later, and get to the goods.”

“If you insist,” said Nikki, getting a laugh as she lunged for the property bag. Detective Aguinaldo held it open for her, and the squad tightened the circle around Heat as she reached in with a gloved hand and brought out a Sturm Ruger .38 Spl +P in a plastic Ziploc. “You get this at Alicia Delamater’s?”

She nodded. “Last night. A half hour before the lights went out and the Atlantic Ocean creeped in her front door.

“Tell me it’s his,” said Nikki.

“Make and serial number is a match for the handgun Keith Gilbert has registered with the Suffolk County sheriff. We didn’t do prints yet. I figured you’d want control of the lab process so there’s no potential inter-department contamination for his defense attorneys to plead. As for ballistics, same deal. Plus your techs can probably turn that around faster than we could.”

“You guys what, farm yours out to Korea?” said Rook.

Aguinaldo chuckled. “Might as well. The main thing is, I knew time was of the essence; want to get this in your hands right away.”

As Nikki signed the chain of evidence voucher, Feller nodded toward the Ruger and said, “So I guess it’s no longer the virtual smoking gun.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” cautioned Heat. “This is only one piece of many. And we haven’t labbed it yet.”

Detective Aguinaldo needed to hustle back to Southampton, and Nikki thanked her wholeheartedly her for all of the valuable assists all along the way. Handing Inez a thermal copy of the receipt for the revolver she asked, “Just out of curiosity, where did you find it?”

“In her home office trash can. Hidden under the plastic liner.”

“Amateurs,” said Ochoa. And the other detectives agreed.

Nikki drifted back to a week ago and said, “You never know what you’ll find in a trash can.”

Feller said, “Yeah, but she’s got the whole ocean right there. Why keep it?”

“No kidding,” said Rook. “Has no one ever heard, ‘Leave the gun, take the cannoli’?”

Heat’s e-mail chimed. She stepped to her desk, read the screen, and hung her head. “’S up?” asked Ochoa.

“From Zach Hamner at One PP. The interim precinct commander is on his way. With my orders for administrative leave. He’ll be here in less than one hour.” She typed a short reply and hit SEND. “Which means, I guess I’d better not be.”

Ascramble. Nothing else could describe the charged atmosphere in the Homicide Squad Room of the Twentieth Precinct. Nikki covered the phone and alternately called out directions or hollered answers to questions from her crew, all the while keeping a compulsive check on the clock.