Richard Castle: Heat Wave

"People involved in this case are dying, Gerald. Are you sure you don't want to give me a name to help stop this before you join them?"

Buckley was incredulous. "He was a wild animal. He laughed when I called him Da Terminator. Nobody could kill him."

"Somebody did. Single shot to the head. Bet you know who." She waited a three count and said, "Who hired you to steal that art collection?"

The lawyer got to her feet. "Don't answer that."

"Maybe you don't know who," Heat said. Her tone was all the more intimidating because she was so casual. Instead of shouting or grilling him, she was washing her hands of him. "I'm thinking we're chasing our tails. We should spring you. Bail you out on your own recognizance. Let you think things over out there. See how long you last."

"Is that a bona fide offer, Detective?" asked the attorney.

"Ochoa? Get the keys to unlock his handcuffs."

Behind him, Ochoa rattled a set of keys and Buckley recoiled, hunching his shoulders at the sound as if it was a bullwhip cracking.

"Isn't that what you want, Gerald?"

The man was swaying where he stood. White saliva strings connected the roof of his mouth to his tongue.

"What…" Buckley swallowed. "What's happened to his…?" He gestured up and down his own face to indicate the burn area on Pochenko.

"Oh, I did that," said Nikki, sounding casual. "Burned his face with a hot iron."

He looked to Lauren, who nodded affirmation. Then he looked at Heat and then Pochenko and back to Heat. "All right."

"Gerald," the lawyer said, "shut up."

He turned to her. "You shut up." Gerald Buckley then looked at Nikki and spoke gently, resigned. "I'll tell you who hired me to steal that art."

Nikki turned to Rook. "You'll excuse us, won't you? I need you to wait outside while Mr. Buckley and I talk."

On their drive back from the M.E.'s office, Nikki didn't need to turn around to know Rook was pissed off in the backseat. She was dying to, though, because seeing his torment would have added to her wicked pleasure.

Ochoa was sitting back there with him and said, "Hey, homes, you carsick or something?"

"No," said Rook. "Unless I caught a chill when I got sent out in the hall when Buckley was going to talk."

Heat wanted to turn around so bad.

"Some play. You kicked me out during the last scene."

Raley braked at the light on Seventh Avenue and said, "Hey, when a subject's about to open up, the fewer the better. You especially don't want a reporter there."

Nikki leaned back on the headrest and scoped the digital temperature on the JumboTron outside Madison Square Garden. Ninety-nine degrees. "You probably know who Buckley named anyway, right, Rook?"

"Tell me and I'll let you know."

That brought a round of chuckles inside the Crown Vic.

Rook snorted. "When did this become a hazing?"

"It's not a hazing," she said. "You want to be all with the detectives, right? Do what we do and think like one."

"Except Raley," said Ochoa. "He doesn't think right."

"I'll even help you out," said Heat. "What do we know? We know the paintings were fake. We know they were gone when Buckley's crew got there. Shall I go on, or do you have it figured?"

The light changed and Raley drove on. "I'm developing a theory," Rook said.

At last, she hooked her elbow over the seat to face him. "That doesn't sound exactly like naming a name."

"All right, fine." He paused and blurted, "Agda." Rook waited for a response and just got stares, so he filled the silence. "She had full access to that apartment that day. And I've been thinking about her interview. I don't buy the naive nanny pose and the innocent shoulder rubs. That girl was doing Matthew Starr. And I think he dumped her like he did all his mistresses, only she got pissed enough to want some payback."

Heat said, "So Agda had him killed?"

"Yes. And stole the paintings."

"Interesting." She thought a moment. "And I guess you also figured out why Agda killed the art appraiser. And how she got the paintings out."

Rook's eyes lost contact with hers and fell to his shoes. "I haven't plugged every hole, this is still a theory."

She looked around to poll her colleagues. "It's a process. We get it."

"But am I right?"

"I don't know, are you?" Then she turned all the way around so he wouldn't see her smile.

Rook and Detectives Raley and Ochoa had to hustle to keep stride with Heat when they got back to the precinct. As soon as she entered the bull pen, Nikki beelined for her desk and pulled open the file drawer.

"All right, now I've got it," said Rook as he arrived in her wake. "When did Agda start working for the Starr family?"

"Two years ago." Heat didn't bother to face him. She was occupied sorting through pictures in a file.

"And when did Casper say that painting was fenced? That's right, two years ago." Rook waited, but she just kept shuffling her deck of pictures. "And Agda got the paintings out of the Guilford because she doesn't work alone. I think our Swede could be part of some art theft ring. An international art theft and forgery ring."

"Uh-huh…"

"She's young, she's pretty, she gets into the homes of wealthy people and has access to their artwork. She's their inside man. Woman. Nanny."

"And why would an international forgery ring be dumb enough to steal a bunch of fakes?"

"They weren't fakes when she stole them." He crossed his arms, quite satisfied with himself.

"I see," said the detective. "And you don't think they'd notice their nanny going out of the apartment with a painting? Or the space gaping on the wall?"

He reflected then shut down. "You have a question for everything, don't you?"

"Rook, if we don't poke holes, the defense attorneys will. That's why I need to build a case."

"Didn't I just do that for you?"

"Notice I'm still building." She found the picture she was looking for and slipped it into an envelope. "Roach."

Raley and Ochoa stepped over to her desk. "You're taking the Roach Coach on a short drive out of town with this photo of Gerald Buckley. Go to that place he mentioned back at the M.E.'s. Shouldn't be hard to find. Show the picture, see if you get any hits, and then I want you back here, pronto."

"Going out of the city, how'd I miss that? Oh, right, Buckley freeze-out again," said Rook. "Let me guess. You're going to see if Agda lied about NYU and was really somewhere else with the paintings?"

"Raley, do you have a map?"

"I don't need a map."

"No, but Rook does," said Heat. "He's been all over his."

After Raley and Ochoa left, she put the file away in her desk. Rook was still lurking. "What are we going to do?"

Nikki indicated a chair. "We? We, which is to say you, are going to park your Pulitzer Prize-winning butt and stay out of my way while I scare up some warrants."

Rook took a seat. "Arrest warrants? Plural?"

"Search warrants, plural. I need two of them plus a warrant for a wiretap." She looked at her watch and whispered a curse. "Day's half-shot and I need them like now."

"Um, I believe I can be of service if you're in a hurry."

"No, Rook."

"It's cake."

"I said no. Stay out of this."

"I did it before."

"Ignoring my instructions."

"And getting you your warrant." He glanced around to make sure the bull pen was empty and lowered his voice. "After the other night, aren't we past this?"

"Don't. Even."

"Let me help you."

"No. Do not call Judge Simpson."

"Give me one good reason."

"Because now that the judge and I are poker buddies," she grinned and picked up her phone, "I can call him myself."

"You sleep with me, then you make fun of my theories and steal all my friends." Rook leaned back and crossed his arms. "Just for that, you're not meeting Bono."