Richard Castle: Frozen Heat

“Word is you made quite a discovery this morning,” he said, not sounding so much interested in the actual discovery as praising his networking. Nikki kept her briefing to the broad strokes, building it as a multiple homicide worthy of high status and, most importantly, of added manpower from the beginning. The captain held out two palms to her. “Whoa, whoa, let’s not run away with the bit in our mouth here. Now, I understand your personal enthusiasm to hit code red with this, but, somehow, these resources have to be accounted for.”

“Captain, you see my numbers. You know I always exercise great restraint in overtime and-”

“Jeez, overtime?” He shook his head. “So it’s not just pulling uniforms and detectives from other squads, it’s OT for your crew, as well? Oh, man…”

“Money well spent.”

“Easy for you to say. You don’t know what it’s like to have this job and…” He realized the road he’d put himself on and slapped it in reverse. “Easy for you to say, is all.”

“Captain, this is big. For the first time in ten years, I have a fresh lead to my mother’s murder.” She had learned never to take his obtuseness for granted, so she spelled it out for him. “The stolen luggage is a direct link between the two cases, and I am confident that if I can find the killer of this Jane Doe, I can find my mother’s killer, as well.”

He softened his face into a doughy grimace attempting compassion. “Look, I know this is charged by a highly personal element for you.”

“I can’t deny that, sir, but I assure you that I would pursue this just as vigorously regardless of my-”

“Knock, knock?” Detective Sharon Hinesburg leaned in the door. “Bad time?”

Captain Irons beamed at Hinesburg and then reeled his unmoored attention back to Nikki, offering her a sober look. “Detective Heat, let’s put a pin in this discussion until later.”

“But a simple yes would wrap it up.”

He chuckled. “A for effort, I’ve got to respect that. But I need more convincing, and right now, I’ve got Detective Hinesburg on my calendar.” He made a gesture to his desk agenda as if that settled that.

Apparently, thought Heat, Hinesburg was now booking formal appointments for her brownnosing. She slipped by her detective, the low performer in her unit, on her way out of the office. “Squad meeting in three minutes, Sharon.” The glass door closed softly behind her and she heard muffled laughter.

Detective Heat put her irritation in her back pocket. Nikki was too professional to get sucked into that quicksand and too driven by the gravity of the new lead to let petty office politics draw focus from her mission. Raley had finished positioning the two large blank whiteboards in an open V-angle against the painted brick wall of the bull pen, and she went right to work, prepping the Jane Doe Murder Board first. At the top corner of the left-hand board, Heat posted eight-by-ten color prints of the victim from various angles: a facial close-up; a side view of her head; an overhead shot of her body in the fetal position inside the suitcase; and a detail view of the stab wound. Beside these, she put up photos of the delivery truck from five angles: front, rear, the two sides, and an overhead she had asked the photographer from the Evidence Collection Unit to grab from a fire escape. In New York City people did a whole lot of looking down at the street from their apartments and offices. The top view of the cargo box, including its telltale graffiti, might jar an eyewitness’s memory and help that wit track the vehicle’s journey. Any information like that, however small, could nail down how and when the suitcase got inside the truck. Or who put it there.

A burst of applause made her turn from the boards. Jameson Rook had entered the bull pen for the first time since he took the slug to save her life, and the full squad rose to its feet, cheering him. The intensity of the clapping grew as patrol uniforms, civilian aides, and detectives from other squads in the station gathered at the doorway behind Rook and joined in the standing o. He seemed taken aback and caught Heat’s eye, clearly moved by the spontaneous group welcome. As if the morning hadn’t been emotionally raw enough for her, Nikki found herself choking up at his reception and all that a gesture like that meant from the fraternity of cops, who weren’t known for overt demonstrations of sentiment.

When it died down, he swiped at one of his eyes, swallowed hard, smiled at the gathering, and said, “Garsh, do you do this for everybody who delivers coffee?” During their laughter, he crossed to Nikki and handed her a paper cup. “Here ya go. Grande skim latte with two pumps of sugar-free vanilla.”

“Perfect,” she said, and as soon as she had, Randall Feller’s face peered around from behind Detective Ochoa, wearing a slighted expression.

Rook noticed the group had remained in place, staring at him. “I guess I should say a few words.”

“Do you have to?” said Detective Raley, eliciting more chuckles.

“Just for that, I will. But I’ll be quick.” He indicated the Murder Boards behind Heat. “I heard there’s some new casework to be done, and I don’t want to slow it down.”

“Too late,” said Nikki, but she was smiling and they both laughed.

“I guess ‘thank you’ is my beginning and end. Thanks for the support, the cards, the flowers… Although a naughty nurse would not have been unwelcome.”

“As long as he didn’t have too much back hair,” said Ochoa.

Rook continued, “And I’ll say it for the last time. Thanks to Detectives Raley and Ochoa. Roach, thank you for rolling up your sleeves for my transfusion that night. I guess that now makes us officially…”

“… Creepy,” called out Detective Rhymer, who had come down from Burglary.

“No, man, it’s all good,” said Ochoa. “Know what you have now, Rook? You have the power of Roach Blood.”

Raley added, “Use it wisely.”

Nikki cleared her throat. “About done?”

“Done,” answered Rook.

Heat went official. “My squad, pull up chairs for the briefing.”

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.