Richard Castle: Heat Wave

"Agda? About Mr. Starr?"

"Mister was always sweet. He would comfort me after she yelled at me. Mr. Starr would give me some extra money and treat me to a dinner out on my night off. Or take me shopping for clothes or…See, he gave me this Swatch."

"Was Mrs. Starr aware of this?"

"Oh, tvartom, no. Matthew said to keep it only to us."

Nikki was amazed by her guileless sharing, and decided to keep that ball rolling. "Was your relationship with Mr. Starr ever physical?"

"Of course."

"To what extent?"

"He would rub my shoulders to comfort me after I got yelled at. Sometimes he would hug me or stroke my hair. It was very soothing. He was so gentle."

"How old are you, Agda?"

"Twenty-one."

"Did you and Matthew Starr ever sleep together?"

"You mean have sex? Skit nej! That would not be appropriate."

There had obviously been some raucous laughter and jock snapping going on in the Observation Room during her interview with the nanny to the Starrs. It carried back to the bull pen when Roach and Rook followed her there.

"What's your take on Agda?" asked Raley.

Rook considered and said, "She's like Swedish furniture. Beautiful to look at but pieces missing."

"My favorite part," added Ochoa, "was hearing how this guy was basically horndogging her under his wife's nose and she says she didn't have sex with him because it would be inappropriate."

"That's called horndogus interruptus," said Raley from over at the coffeepot. "I think Agda's just one of the deals Matthew Starr never got a chance to close before he was killed."

Rook turned to Nikki. "Hard to believe she's from the same land that brought us the Nobel Prize. Did she tell you anything useful?"

"You never know until you know," said Heat.

The theme from Ghostbusters by Ray Parker, Jr., started to play. "Rook, please tell me that's not coming from your pants," she said.

"Custom ringtone. Like it?" He held up his cell phone. The caller ID read "Casper." "Ghostbusters, get it? Excuse me, Detective Heat, my source may have information related to this case." Rook strode off to take his call with an air of smugness.

In less than a minute, he returned, still on the phone but stripped of arrogance. "But I was the one who introduced you to her… Can't you just tell me?" He closed his eyes and sighed. "Fine." Rook extended his phone to Nikki. "He says he'll only share this with you."

"This is Nikki Heat."

"A pleasure, Detective. First, assure me that Jameson Rook is in anguish."

She looked at Rook, chewing his lower lip, straining to eavesdrop. "Quite."

"Good. If ever anyone needed a swift dismount from a high horse, it is he." The old man's soft, smoky tone warmed her ear. Hearing Casper without seeing him isolated his voice and she heard David Bowie with notes of Michael Caine's mellowness.

"To business," he said. "After your visit, I burnt some midnight oil because I could tell time was pressing on you."

"Never had a case where it wasn't," said the detective.

"And although you downplayed it, you do believe there is a murder connected to this art theft."

"Yes, I downplayed it, and yes I believe it. Perhaps two murders."

"A wonderful art appraiser, a fine woman who knew her business, was killed this week."

Nikki jumped to her feet. "Do you know anything about that?"

"No, I only knew Barbara from occasional meetings years ago. But she was among the best. Let's say knowing her death might be part of this only engages me more in your investigation."

"Thanks for that. Please call me with anything you find out."

"Detective, I have information right now. Trust me, I wouldn't have wasted either of our time unless I could provide substance."

Nikki flipped open her pad. "Has someone already tried to fence the paintings?"

"Yes and no," answered Casper. "Someone did sell just one of the paintings, the Jacques-Louis David. But that sale took place two years ago."

Nikki began to pace. "What? And you're absolutely sure of this?"

There was a pause and a half before the dapper art thief replied. "My dear, think of what you know about me and consider if you truly require an answer to that question."

"Point made," said Nikki. "I'm not doubting you, I'm just confused. How can a painting be in Matthew Starr's collection if it was sold two years ago?"

"Detective, you're smart. How good are you at math?"

"Pretty good."

"Then your answer is to do some."

And then Casper hung up.

The receptionist at Starr Real Estate Development popped back on and told Detective Heat that Paxton would be right with her. Nikki felt like she was straining at a leash. Even hearing Anita Baker on the hold music didn't soothe her. It wasn't the first time in her life she seemed to be moving at a different pace than the rest of the world. Hell, it wasn't even the first time that day.

At last, a ring-through. "Hi, sorry about the wait. I'm buttoning up a lot of Matthew's affairs."

That could have so many meanings, she thought. "Last call, I promise."

"It's no bother, honest." Then he laughed and said, "Although…"

"Although what?"

"I wonder if it would be easier if I just set up my office over there at your precinct."

Nikki laughed, too. "You could. You have the better view, but we have nicer furniture. How sad is that?"

"I'll stick with the view. So tell me how I can help you, Detective."

"I was hoping you could look up the name of the company that insured Matthew's art collection."

"Sure thing." He paused. "But you recall I told you he had me cancel that policy."

"Yes, I know. I just want to ask them if they kept documentary photos of the collection I can use to hunt it down."

"Oh, oh, pictures, right. Never thought of that. Good idea. Got a pen?"

"Ready."

"It's GothAmerican Insurance here in Manhattan." She heard sharp keystrokes and he continued, "Ready for the phone number?"

After she took it down, Nikki said, "May I ask you one more question? It will save me a call later."

She could hear the smile in his voice when Noah answered, "I doubt that, but go ahead."

"Did you cut a check for Kimberly Starr to buy a piano recently?"

"A piano?" And then he repeated, "A piano? No."

"Well she bought one." Heat looked at the CSI photo in her hand of the Starr living room. "It's a beaut. A Steinway Karl Lagerfeld edition."

"Kimberly, Kimberly, Kimberly."

"These list for eighty thousand. How could she afford that?"

"Welcome to my world, Detective. Not the craziest thing she's done. Want to hear about the speedboat she bought last fall in the Hamptons?"

"But where did she get the money?"

"Not from me."

Nikki checked her watch. She might be able to get to the insurance folks before lunch. "Thanks, Noah, that's all I need."

"Until next time, you mean."

"Sure you don't want to set up a desk over here?" she said. They were both laughing when they hung up.

Heat punctuated her "Yesss!" with a fist-pump when Raley finished his call to the archives manager at GothAmerican. They not only routinely maintained photographic documentation of insured art collections, they held them for seven years following the cancellation of a policy. "How soon can we get them?"

"Faster than you can microwave my leftovers," said Raley.

She pressed her detective. "Exactly how soon?"

"The archive manager is e-mailing them to me as an attachment now."

"Forward it to Forensics as soon as it comes."

"Already had GothAmerican do a cc to them," he said.

"Raley, you are the czar of all media." Heat clapped him on the shoulder. She grabbed her bag and hurried out to Forensics, brushing past Rook on his way in without seeming to notice him.