Heat Rises by Richard Castle Read Free Book Online Page A

gave Nikki a look of significance and raised the sheet. “Take a look at these burns on his skin. These are electrical burns. Probably from a TENS ,” said Lauren, referring to a transcutaneous electrical nerve stimulator, a portable electrical generator used in torture play.
    “I’ve seen TENS ,” said Nikki. “I came across them in Vice.”
    “Then you also know they warn against ever using it near the chest.” She lowered the sheet to expose Graf’s torso, where the electrical burns were intense, especially near his heart. “Looks to me like someone wanted to put a big hurt on him.”
    “The question,” said Nikki, “is why?”
----
    They rode up together to the first floor. Heat said, “Got a question for you. You ever seen anything like that before?”
    “ TENS burns as severe as those? Not like that.” As they reached the door to the NYPD office, Lauren said, “Know who I hear had some? That actor’s kid who was always in trouble and got killed in ’04 or ’05.”
    “Gene Huddleston, Jr.?” said Nikki.
    “Yeah, him.”
    “But he was shot to death. Some drug deal, right?”
    Lauren said, “Right. It happened before I started here, but conversation was that he also had TENS burns all over. He was one wild kid. They figured it was part of his freak.”
    The NYPD office was empty. Nikki got her coat off the hook, but before she left, sat down at one of the computers. She logged on to the department server and requested a digital copy of the case file for Gene Huddleston, Jr.
----
    As Nikki made her way through the vestibule to the precinct lobby, a woman standing near the blue velvet rope that cordoned off the wall of honor roll photos and plaques took a step into her path. “Excuse me, Detective Heat?”
    “That’s me.” The detective stopped but made a quick check of the woman’s rising hand. Someone had decided it was open season on cops this year, even in police stations, and Heat’s natural caution kicked in. But all the woman held was a business card. It read, “Tam Svejda, Metro Reporter,
New York Ledger
.”
    “I was wondering if I could have a few moments to ask you a couple of questions.”
    Heat returned the reporter’s smile politely but said, “Look, I’m sorry, Ms. . . .” She looked at the card again. Nikki had seen her name in the byline but wasn’t sure how to pronounce it.
    “Shfay-dah,” came the assist. “My dad’s Czech. Don’t feel bad, it stops everybody in their tracks. Go with Tam.” She gave Nikki a warm grin, revealing a perfect row of gleaming teeth. In fact, her whole look was one-off supermodel: highlighted blonde with a great cut, wide green eyes that showed intelligence and a hint of mischief, young enough to get away without much makeup—probably not yet thirty, tall and slender. It was a look you’d associate more with a TV reporter than the pencil press.
    “Good. All right, Tam works,” said Nikki. “But I’m just here for a minute and then I’m on my way out of here. I’m really sorry.” She took a step toward the inner doors, but Tam moved with her. She was taking out her reporter’s notebook. A spiral Ampad, same as Heat used.
    “A minute will do nicely, then I won’t keep you. Are you classifying Father Graf’s death murder or accidental?”
    “Well, I can keep this short for you, Ms. Svejda,” she said with flawless pronunciation. “It’s too early in our investigation to comment on any of that yet.”
    The reporter looked up from her notes. “A sensational murder—a parish priest gets tortured and killed in a bondage dungeon—and you really want me to go with just that? A stock ‘no comment?’ ”
    “What you print is up to you. This is a young investigation. I promise when we have something to share, we will.” Like any good interrogator, Heat found herself gaining information even when she was the one being questioned. And what she was learning from Tam Svejda’s interest in the Graf case was that Nikki wasn’t