Richard Castle: Raging Heat

“Your guy’s getting some sweet footage, too,” added Rook with a thumbs up to Dennis and his shooter across the room.

“As usual, Heat, you’re out of line and your timing sucks.”

“Think so?” said Nikki. “I think my timing may be just about perfect.”

“Hear me loud and clear. You are not going to make a scene in here. Especially not now.” Then he saw something over Heat’s shoulder that made his forehead tighten enough for the weathered creases to go smooth.

Across the room, Detective Rhymer stepped through the glass doors accompanied by two uniformed policewomen escorting Alicia Delamater. His spurned mistress gave him a hard glare that he broke off to sweep the area. All he saw were too many underlings. And press.

“Not in here.”

“No,” said Rook. “You can’t have a situation in the situation room.” And then, to explain, “ Strangelove . The movie, not you and Alicia.”

Gilbert put a hand on the shoulder of a woman who wore a headset. “Josephine, take over for a few, OK?” Then he turned back to Heat. “There’s a more private room.”

Nikki said, “I know.”

Keith Gilbert speed walked to a side door then up a short corridor as if he could, through swiftness, shake the police and the ex. But when he opened the door to the conference room he lurched to a halt. Because inside, Nikki Heat had arranged a tableau to greet him. Detectives Raley and Ochoa had entered moments before to set up the monitors and audio playback in the high-tech boardroom, and stood with arms folded. At the far end of the long mahogany table sat a pair of urban mercenaries in orange, flanked by standees Randall Feller, plus two uniformed NYPD officers holding M16s pointed to the floor. It wasn’t lost on Heat that they were guarding the very man who had put the mourning bands on their badges.

The dumbfounded commissioner remained in the doorway as Detective Rhymer, Alicia Delamater, and Rook filed in. Gilbert turned to the aide at his elbow and said, “Get Lohman.”

“Good idea,” said Heat. She gestured to the chair of honor and closed the door when Gilbert sat on the edge of the cushion, not quite ready to lounge back in the command pose he customarily adopted on that leather throne. “I’d want Frederic Lohman, too. I’d want the whole Dream Team. My guess is that it will take your lawyers a bit of time to get here. But look who I’m talking to. You’ve got all the latest data, so you know they’re a long way off.” His expression changed as if solving a puzzle and he started to rise. “And if you try to leave, we can always conduct this out there.”

“That’d make some campaign ad,” said Rook.

The commish sat down. Detective Heat left her spot by the door. “Alicia, I want to thank you for coming.”

“Like I had a choice when your detective and those other two showed up at my hotel this morning.” She indicated the policewomen whose backs were visible through the glass as they stood sentry outside.

“Legally, you could have refused,” said Gilbert. It sounded like parental disapproval wrapped in a scold.

“Yeah? Well maybe I’m glad I’m here.”

Perfect, thought Heat. Just what she’d counted on. Animosity, still raw and smarting. Once she knew Delamater had hidden the gun, Nikki hoped Alicia would still be pissed enough to give up her old flame as Beauvais’s shooter. Especially in exchange for dropping charges on illegal possession of a firearm. Get ’em while they’re hot, thought Nikki. She set a clear plastic evidence bag containing the Ruger on the table. Both Gilbert and Delamater went a shade paler.

Alicia whispered an “Oh my God.…”

“Where’d you find that?” said Gilbert as he cleared some phlegm. “Certainly not at my house.” So this is how bad it gets when it goes bad, thought Heat. If there had been a bus in that room, Ms. Delamater would be wearing tread marks. But then, Nikki — and everyone — got a surprise. Everyone, that is, except Keith Gilbert.

“Oh.…” Alicia’s mouth quivered as she lost her words.

Gilbert tried to shut her up. “Alicia. Stop. Right there.” To Nikki’s dismay, the lost woman responded to being directed, and began to consider his instructions. She might have just done that, stopped and asked for a lawyer. Except Keith had to add one more thing. “I’m serious, bitch. You’ve fucked up enough already.”

Alicia reacted with a small jolt, as if slapped by an invisible hand. Then a resolve came over her and she rotated her head to Heat. “I was there that night.”

“At Conscience Point?” Nikki gave her a sympathetic face to counter Gilbert’s bullying. “It’s OK, let it out, Alicia.” Rook offered a handkerchief from his pocket, which Delamater took without noticing, and dabbed her eyes.

“Yes. I was there for his meeting—”

“Alicia.”

“No, I want to say this.” Her stance was so firm, it went beyond plea bargains or concerns about hiding a gun. “I was at Conscience Point for his meeting with Fabian.”

“Beauvais?” asked Nikki for the record.

“Right. Keith told me about the blackmail. I didn’t know what it was about, just that Fabian was putting the screws to him about some shit he’d dug up, and he wanted hush money.”

Heat gave Gilbert a preemptive glance and said to her, “You’re doing fine, keep going. You followed him in your car?”

“No.” Nikki, Rook, and the other detectives flicked eyes at one another. This was veering from the scenario they had painted. “I was already there. Waiting.”

“Alicia, I’m pleading with you, you don’t have to do this.”

“Mr. Gilbert, let her speak.” Heat went back to her. “Alicia, why were you there waiting?”

“Because I had the gun.”

That surprise sent more furtive looks around the table. “You brought the gun for Mr. Gilbert?” asked Heat.

“No, he didn’t even know I’d be there.”

“Why don’t you just tell me what happened.”

Delamater nodded. Done with tears, a resolve had come to her as if this was her pivotal moment to say what she needed to, or regret it every eternal dawn of her life. “I knew he was meeting Fabian, so I got there early. I parked on the lawn behind the marina offices so they wouldn’t see my car and waited in the dark under the stairs.

“Fabian got there first, about a half hour before he said. He sat across the parking lot on the steps of the rec center like he told Keith he would.” She tilted her head Gilbert’s way. “When Keith pulled up and got out with the money, ten thousand, I think it was, and Fabian came forward…I stepped out and fired.”

“Oh, Alicia, don’t,” moaned Gilbert.

Heat asked, “How many shots?”

“Two. It was dark. I was nervous, and I missed. Fabian ran. Keith yelled at me.” She mimicked him disparagingly, “‘What the fuck did you do?’ then he drove off to catch him. But he got away.” That made sense to Heat, and would explain the second car the Conscience Point resident had heard speeding off. It was Alicia Delamater’s.

A troubled silence hung in the room. Even the hardened prisoners at the other end of the table seemed riveted. But the same way something noisy refuses to get ground in the garbage disposal, elements of this story felt way off to Heat. It was out of whack enough that she wondered if this was some fabrication the two had cooked up. Didn’t Beauvais say Gilbert shot him? But then again, Heat could understand how darkness and surprise might have led him to that assumption. She’d known seasoned cops to get it wrong in the fog of war. Nikki wished she had more time to reflect, but concern that Delamater would lose her impulse to unload her soul forced her to take a leap and trust her instincts.