Heat Rises by Richard Castle Read Free Book Online Page B

the only one who felt something more than just another homicide was going on.
    The reporter said, “Got ya,” but without missing a beat added, “Now, what can you tell me about Captain Montrose?” Heat studied her, knowing even her next “no comment” had to be carefully delivered. Tam Svejda would be writing this, not she, and Nikki didn’t want to inspire some reporter-ese about circled wagons or tight-lipped cops. At last Svejda said, “If this is uncomfortable we can go off the record. I’m just hearing a lot of not so flattering things, and if you can steer me in my investigation, you could be doing him some good. . . . If the rumors are untrue.”
    Detective Heat chose her words. “You really don’t think I’d dignify rumors, do you? I think the most productive thing I can do is to go in there and get back to my job working Father Graf so I can get you some solid information. Fair enough, Tam?”
    The reporter nodded and put her notebook away. “I must say, Detective, Jamie did you justice.” When Nikki furrowed her brow, she explained, “In your cover story, I mean. Meeting you, seeing how you handle yourself. Rook sure got you right. That’s why Jamie gets the covers and the Pulitzers.”
    “Yeah, he’s good.” Jamie, thought Nikki. She called him Jamie.
    “Did you see his picture in our morning edition with that piece of work, Jeanne Callow? That bad boy sure gets around, doesn’t he?”
    Nikki closed her eyes a moment and wished Tam Svejda would be gone—
poof!
—when she opened them. But she wasn’t. “I’m running late, Tam.”
    “Oh, you go ahead. And say hi to Jamie. If you talk to him, I mean.”
    Heat had a distinct feeling she had more in common with Tam Svejda than a reporter’s notebook. Quite possibly it was a reporter.
----
    When Detective Heat got back to the bull pen, Captain Montrose was slouched in his office chair with the door closed, his back to the squad, staring out his window down to West 82nd Street. He might have seen her drive into the precinct lot below him, but if he did, he made no move to greet or look for her. Nikki made a quick scan of the While You Were Outs on her blotter, saw nothing that couldn’t wait, and felt her heart race as she walked to his door. When he heard her knock on the glass, he beckoned her in without turning. Heat closed the door behind her and stood looking at the back of his head. After five eternal seconds he sat upright and swiveled in his chair to face her, as if willing himself out of some trance and down to business.
    “You’ve had quite a day already, I hear,” he said.
    “Action-packed, Skip.” He gestured to the visitor chair and she sat.
    “Wanna trade? I spent my morning wearing the dunce cap at the Puzzle Palace,” he said, using the less-than-flattering cop slang for One Police Plaza. And then he shook his head. “Sorry. I promised I wouldn’t complain, but it’s got to come out somewhere.”
    Nikki’s gaze went to the windowsill and the framed photo of him and Pauletta. That was when she realized Montrose hadn’t been staring out the window but at the picture. It had been almost a year since a drunk driver killed her in a crosswalk. The pain of his loss was borne stoically, but the toll was written on his face. Suddenly Nikki wished she hadn’t initiated this meeting. But she already had.
    “You called about something?”
    “Yes, about the priest, Father Graf.” She studied him, but he was passive. “I’m working the BDSM angle first.”
    “Makes perfect sense.” Still just listening.
    “And there are indications of a search at his rectory and an item or items missing.” She regarded him more closely, but he gave nothing back. “I have Hinesburg up there on it.”
    “Hinesburg?” At last a reaction.
    “I know, I know, long story. I’ll do my own follow-up to backstop her.”
    “Nikki, you’re the best I’ve ever seen at this. Better than me, and that’s, well, that’s pretty damn good.