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Authors: Richard Castle
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challenge of the home invasion, which definitely relieved some pressure. And Randall Feller, the best street cop she’d ever seen, had Beauvais’s Brooklyn neighborhood covered. He’d even texted his plans to branch out and spend the afternoon circulating his picture around the Haitian caf é s and diners concentrated near Flatbush Avenue. Her decision to go came out of the axiom drummed into her by her late mentor, Captain Montrose: “When in doubt, follow the hottest lead.”
Right now, that pointed to the East End of Long Island, even though Keith Gilbert’s helicopter alibi had checked out. The JetRanger dropped him in Fort Lee, New Jersey, at seven-thirty, and he led a Port Authority conference there until four-fifteen yesterday afternoon.
“Made good time,” Rook said as they crossed over the canal from Hampton Bays into Shinnecock Hills. “An hour-fifteen, even without a siren, which—I’m just sayin’—would have been kind of awesome.”
Rook balled the wrapping from his Jersey Mike’s Number Thirteen and stuffed it in the bag with her untouched turkey and provolone. The heart of the season had passed and only light traffic laid ahead of them. Hints of autumn color painted the trees flanking the Sunrise Highway and the sign advertising pick-your-own apples ahead at the Milk Pail took her back to the fragrant vestibule of Bouley and the dinner that might have been. The grain of truth hidden in Rook’s joke wasn’t that she had chosen work over Us Time; she had postponed a landmark occasion in their relationship. Nikki rested a hand on his, knowing she would just have to live a while longer with the ache of curiosity.
Detective Sergeant Inez Aguinaldo greeted Heat enthusiastically in the vestibule of the Southampton Village Police Department. “Appreciate the courtesy call. We don’t always get that when outside enforcement comes to visit.”
“You’re welcome. But this is more than a courtesy call. You can help me with a case I’m working.”
Aguinaldo’s face brightened, but with no golly factor. Even though she was the lead detective of a small-town force, the plainclothes sergeant gave off the coolheaded ease of military seasoning. She nodded smartly then held the inner door open. “Is your partner coming in, too?”
“No, he’s…He’s good out there.” Rook had volunteered to wait in the car. Odd, for sure. Then Nikki glimpsed him jumping right on his cell phone during her walk through the lobby and wondered what he was up to.
Detective Aguinaldo arranged the mug shot of Fabian Beauvais and the sketches of the two goons from the Flatbush SRO in a spread array on her desktop. “I don’t recognize any of these men.” She studied them some more and said, “If you text me digitals, I’ll circulate them. With your permission, I mean.” Nikki liked this woman. There were too few cops who pulled off the professional command but were still human beings. Heat respected that, and felt immediately comfortable trusting her. Something she demonstrated by texting Aguinaldo the JPEGs right then and there.
Nikki’s instincts about her counterpart received validation by silence. Although clearly curious, Inez Aguinaldo let things rest there. She confirmed receipt of the photos on her iPhone, set it aside, and paused, leaving it up to Nikki whether to tell her more about why she was in Southampton. Heat ran it down in bite-size chunks. From the ghastly fall from the sky to the discovery of the money in the floor of the SRO. Then she took a pause, studying the local cop carefully as she mentioned the name of one of Southampton’s wealthiest and connected residents, Keith Gilbert.
“To be clear,” continued Nikki, “I’m not saying Commissioner Gilbert is even involved in this. Or, if he is, whether he is a victim of some kind of crime himself, or…” She let it go unsaid.
“First off, I appreciate your candor. Keith Gilbert’s about as big as they come. But know this: I don’t
Right now, that pointed to the East End of Long Island, even though Keith Gilbert’s helicopter alibi had checked out. The JetRanger dropped him in Fort Lee, New Jersey, at seven-thirty, and he led a Port Authority conference there until four-fifteen yesterday afternoon.
“Made good time,” Rook said as they crossed over the canal from Hampton Bays into Shinnecock Hills. “An hour-fifteen, even without a siren, which—I’m just sayin’—would have been kind of awesome.”
Rook balled the wrapping from his Jersey Mike’s Number Thirteen and stuffed it in the bag with her untouched turkey and provolone. The heart of the season had passed and only light traffic laid ahead of them. Hints of autumn color painted the trees flanking the Sunrise Highway and the sign advertising pick-your-own apples ahead at the Milk Pail took her back to the fragrant vestibule of Bouley and the dinner that might have been. The grain of truth hidden in Rook’s joke wasn’t that she had chosen work over Us Time; she had postponed a landmark occasion in their relationship. Nikki rested a hand on his, knowing she would just have to live a while longer with the ache of curiosity.
Detective Sergeant Inez Aguinaldo greeted Heat enthusiastically in the vestibule of the Southampton Village Police Department. “Appreciate the courtesy call. We don’t always get that when outside enforcement comes to visit.”
“You’re welcome. But this is more than a courtesy call. You can help me with a case I’m working.”
Aguinaldo’s face brightened, but with no golly factor. Even though she was the lead detective of a small-town force, the plainclothes sergeant gave off the coolheaded ease of military seasoning. She nodded smartly then held the inner door open. “Is your partner coming in, too?”
“No, he’s…He’s good out there.” Rook had volunteered to wait in the car. Odd, for sure. Then Nikki glimpsed him jumping right on his cell phone during her walk through the lobby and wondered what he was up to.
Detective Aguinaldo arranged the mug shot of Fabian Beauvais and the sketches of the two goons from the Flatbush SRO in a spread array on her desktop. “I don’t recognize any of these men.” She studied them some more and said, “If you text me digitals, I’ll circulate them. With your permission, I mean.” Nikki liked this woman. There were too few cops who pulled off the professional command but were still human beings. Heat respected that, and felt immediately comfortable trusting her. Something she demonstrated by texting Aguinaldo the JPEGs right then and there.
Nikki’s instincts about her counterpart received validation by silence. Although clearly curious, Inez Aguinaldo let things rest there. She confirmed receipt of the photos on her iPhone, set it aside, and paused, leaving it up to Nikki whether to tell her more about why she was in Southampton. Heat ran it down in bite-size chunks. From the ghastly fall from the sky to the discovery of the money in the floor of the SRO. Then she took a pause, studying the local cop carefully as she mentioned the name of one of Southampton’s wealthiest and connected residents, Keith Gilbert.
“To be clear,” continued Nikki, “I’m not saying Commissioner Gilbert is even involved in this. Or, if he is, whether he is a victim of some kind of crime himself, or…” She let it go unsaid.
“First off, I appreciate your candor. Keith Gilbert’s about as big as they come. But know this: I don’t
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