Naked Heat

by Richard Castle

  The stalker's cell phone picture would be compelling evidence. In her own way Nikki was in debt to whatever sickness in Morris Granville had taken the picture and kept it since May. When she asked him why he hadn't come forward with it before or tried to capitalize on it, he said he wanted to protect his idol, Toby Mills. So, she had said, that raised the question, "Why show it to a cop now?" To that, Granville said, as if it was obvious, "He had me arrested." And then the stalker smiled and asked, "If he goes to trial, will Toby be there when I testify?" Heat reflected on the stalker mentality and those of them who loved their victims so much that when they couldn't get near, they destroyed them. Some killed them. Apparently others got them arrested. It was all about seeking relevance in an unrequited relationship. Choose your poison.

  In Toby Mills's version of the events following Club Thermal, the three of them rode around Manhattan with one objective: partying. Reed and Soleil already had a leg up, and Toby, who wasn't due to pitch until a Monday start at home against the Red Sox, was in the mood that Friday night to blow it out after a losing road trip that had just ended in Detroit. He laughed at the MLB random drug tests. Mills and many other players either banked or bought urine to keep the commish out of their downtime. Mills had with him a small gym bag full of recreational narcotics and was a generous host. He told Heat that while they were parked briefly at the South Street Seaport, watching the East River, Reed and Soleil started getting serious about their reunion sex, and since everyone was tired of riding around in the car anyway, they all went back to Reed's room at the Dragonfly House to continue the party there. Toby, who in normal circumstances would have been the third wheel, had the drugs, so he was most welcome. He confessed that a part of him was hot for Soleil, and he even said to Nikki that he had thought, "What the hell, who knew where the night would lead?"

  Where indeed?

  He told Nikki that what happened at the Dragonfly was all an accident. Up in Reed's suite they played a game reciting famous movie titles, substituting the word "penis" for key nouns--Must Love Penis. ET the Extra Penis. GI Joe: The Rise of the Penis--while Toby laid out the portable pharmacy on the coffee table. Heat pressed him for details, and he listed pot, cocaine, and some amyl nitrate poppers. Reed had a stash of heroin that didn't interest Toby and a bunch of Ambien he said he used to help him sleep. He also said it was awesome for sex, and he and Soleil both downed some with vodka straight from a bottle they kept jammed into a room service ice bucket.

  While Soleil and Reed went into the bedroom, Toby said he put on some music to drown out their screwing and watched ESPN with the sound off.

  When he heard Soleil screaming, he thought it was her orgasm at first, but Mills said she ran out into the living room naked, out of control, shouting, "He's not breathing, do something, I think he's dead!"

  Toby went in the bedroom with her and flipped on the lights, and Reed was all gray-faced and had saliva bubbles in the corner of his mouth. Toby said they both kept yelling his name and shaking him and got no answer. Toby finally felt his wrist and couldn't find any pulse, and they both freaked.

  Toby speed-dialed Jess Ripton and got him out of bed. His handler told him to calm down and to keep quiet and stay put in the room. He told him to turn off the loud music and not to touch anything else and just wait there. When Toby asked if they should call an ambulance, Jess said, "Fuck no," not to call anybody or even think about leaving the room. He amended that, directing him to call his limo driver and tell him to be out front and ready to go when he was, but not to say why or sound upset when he called. Jess said he would get there as soon as he could and would call when he was coming up. He warned Toby not to open the door for anyone else.

  But when Toby finished his call with Jess, he went to tell Soleil what was happening and she was hanging up the house phone in the bathroom. Two minutes later Derek Snow came to the door. Toby said not to let him in, but Soleil didn't listen and said the concierge would help, that they knew each other. As Nikki knew, Soleil had shot him in the leg only months before and had paid him off handsomely. Many relationships were built on less.

  Derek wanted to call 911, but Toby was insistent and started to think he'd have to do something about this concierge. But Soleil took Derek aside and promised him a lot of money to be cool. When Derek asked what he could do, Toby told him to chill and just wait for his man to get there.

  It turned out Derek was cooperative, and while Soleil finished getting dressed--not an easy feat considering all she had ingested--Snow helped Toby pack the drugs back into his gym bag. Twenty minutes later, Toby's cell phone rang. Jess Ripton was on his way up. When he came into the room, he told them it was all going to be OK.

  Jess wasn't prepared to find Derek there, but he took him as a fact to deal with and put him to use, ushering Toby and Soleil out of there using the stairwell. On their way out, Jess told Derek that only he should touch doorknobs and to come back up after he delivered them to the limo.

  Toby concluded his confession by saying that when they got outside the Dragonfly, Soleil was still freaked and didn't want to ride with him. The last he saw of her she was running off crying into the night. Then he told the limo driver to take him home to his family in Westchester.

  On Chambers Street, outside the front door of Stuyvesant High, Heat was about to get into her car when the Roach Coach pulled alongside her and stopped.

  "Still no sign of Jess Ripton," said Ochoa out the passenger window. "Not at Bouley, not at Nobu, or Craftbar. We checked all his other usual haunts and watering holes Toby gave us. Nada."

  "Think he's helping Jess duck us?" asked Raley.

  "Always possible," said Nikki, "but I think Toby wants his Firewall about now, not to have him be MIA like this. A good indicator is that I let him try to call Jess, thinking he'd need his handler."

  "Generous of you, Detective Heat," said Ochoa.

  "In a self-serving, clever, tricky way. Thanks. Anyway, all Toby got was Ripton's voice mail. We have someone staking out his apartment, but let's also detail somebody else to roam on this overnight. I'll ask Captain Montrose to pull a detective off Burglary who can keep making the rounds to Ripton's usuals. Parking garage, his gym, his office."

  Raley said, "But don't you think if Ripton's trying to go off the grid, he's too smart to go to any of those places?"

  "Probably. Might be wheel-spinning, but we have to check anyway," said Heat.

  Ochoa nodded. "Man, I know somebody's got to do it, but it sounds like a pointless exercise for some poor dude."

  Raley laughed. "Give it to Detective Schlemming."

  Roach scoffed, shook their heads, and muttered his nickname. "Defective Schlemming."

  "Sounds about his speed," said Heat.

  Ochoa's face grew serious. "I think we ought to quit picking on Schlemming. I mean, come on, just because a guy rear-ends the mayor's limo trying to shoo a bee out of his car is no reason to-- Aw, hell, yes it is."

  "Can I tell you something?" said Raley. "All those bodies. It's hard for me to buy Toby Mills as the contract killing type. And I'm a Mets fan."

  "Come on, partner, you ought to know one thing by now and that is that you can never know. His Yanks contract, all those endorsements? That's millions of motives for Toby Mills to clamp a lid on that mess."

  "Or Ripton," countered Raley. "He has a stake, too. Not just because he was the cleaner at Reed's hotel that night, but Toby's image is his meal ticket also. You agree, Detective?" He leaned over from the steering wheel to look across Ochoa out the side window to Heat. She was busy scrolling on her cell phone. "Detective Heat?"

  "Hang on, just reading this e-mail from Hinesburg. It's a forward from Hard Line Security of the list of the Texan's old freelance clients." She continued to scan and then stopped.

  "Whatcha got?" said Roach.

  "One of his clients? Sistah Strife."

  "Should that mean something?" asked Raley.

  "It sure does. It means Rance Eugene Wolf and Jess Ripton both worked
together for Sistah Strife."

  As Raley and Ochoa departed, Heat called in to elevate the search status for Jess Ripton to an APB with an alert that his known associate was a professional killer. Spent and aching from the ordeal of her day, she got into her Crown Victoria and felt her body begin to melt into the driver's seat from fatigue. Tired as she was, she felt bad for Rook that, in his journalistic diligence, he had to miss the Toby takedown. She tried his cell phone one more time to fill him in.

  The iPhone sitting on Rook's desk sounded with Nikki Heat's ringtone, the theme from Dragnet. The writer sat and stared at it from his chair as it continued to loop its ominous "Dum-dah-dum-dum . . . Dum-dah-dum-dum . . ." The screen header he had entered for her flashed "The Heat," and her ID badge photo filled the screen.

  But Rook didn't answer the call. When it finally stopped ringing, a melancholy swept over him as her image faded and the screen went blank. Then he shifted uncomfortably against the duct tape lashing his wrists to the armrests.

  Chapter Nineteen

  "You've got to be one smart aleck putting something like that on your phone," drawled the Texan.

  "If you don't like it, cut me loose and I'll change it," said Rook.

  Jess Ripton turned from the bookcase he was searching. "Can you button it?"

  "I can tape his trap if you want, Jess."

  "Then how's he going to tell us where it is?"

  "Yes, sir, I hear you," said the Texan. "Just say the word, though."

  Jess Ripton and Rance Eugene Wolf continued tossing Rook's loft in another search for the last chapter of Cassidy Towne's manuscript. Across the room, The Firewall was on his knees looking through a built-in that housed DVDs and even some dinosaur VHS tapes that Rook no longer had a machine to play. Ripton clawed them all out of the cabinet onto the floor. When it was empty, he turned to Wolf. "You're absolutely sure you saw him with it?"

  "Yes, sir. Got out of the cab and came up with a manila envelope. Same one he brought out of the mail drop."

  "You were following me?" said Rook. "How long were you following me?"

  Wolf smiled. "Long enough, I figure. Not hard to do. 'Specially if you don't know you're being tailed." He stepped around behind the desk, moving without registering any discomfort, which Rook attributed to heavy painkillers, a high threshold of tolerance, or both. He was dressed in new blue jeans that were tight on his lean frame and a Western-style shirt that had pearl buttons. Wolf had accessorized with a sheathed knuckle knife on his belt and an arm sling that looked like it was from a hospital supply store. Rook also clocked a .25 caliber handgun, holstered on the small of his back, when he turned to clothesline everything but the laptop off of Rook's desk with his good arm. Every item he and Nikki had so painstakingly replaced there--his pencil cup, framed photos, stapler, tape dispenser, copter controller, even his cell phone, hit the rug around his feet.

  The Texan then spun the laptop to face him and leaned over to read the draft of Rook's Cassidy Towne article.

  Ripton got up off the floor. "Where is it, Rook? The envelope."

  "It was from Publishers Clearing House. You wouldn't be interes--" The Texan smacked Rook's mouth with the back of his hand, hard enough to whiplash his neck. Dazed, Rook squeezed his eyes closed a few times and saw kaleidoscoping pinpricks of light. He tasted his own blood and smelled Old Spice. As he came out of his haze, the most disturbing thing to Rook wasn't just the surprise, the quick uncoiling of the violence. What chilled him to the core was that Wolf then went back to reading his computer screen as if nothing had happened.

  For a time, Rook sat in silence while Jess Ripton continued ripping apart his office and the Texan scrolled through his article an arm's length away. When Wolf finished, he said to Ripton, "None of the information that would be in that chapter is in here."

  "Information about what?" said Rook. When the Texan snapped down the lid of the computer, he flinched.

  "You know perfectly well what," said Ripton. He surveyed the mess on the floor and bent over, coming up with the unfinished Cassidy Towne manuscript her editor had supplied. "What's written in the rest of this." He tossed it on the desk in a discarding motion, and the fat rubber band holding it together broke, scattering pages.

  "I never got it. Cassidy was holding it back from the publisher."

  "We know," said Wolf casually. "She shared that with us a couple of nights back."

  Rook didn't have to think hard to imagine the ghastly circumstances of that confession. He pictured the woman strapped to a chair, being tortured, giving only that much up to them before they killed her. He reflected on how her last act was so in character with her life--the power play of giving them the assurance that there was something valuable they wanted, and then denying it to them, taking its whereabouts to her grave.

  Ripton signaled Wolf with a head nod. The Texan stepped out of the room and came back in with an old-fashioned black leather physician's satchel. It was weathered and embossed with a caduceus stamped with a "V." Rook remembered the FBI report on Wolf, whose father had been a veterinarian. And that the son liked to torture animals.

  "I told you I don't have it."

  Jess Ripton squinted at him like he was mulling which of two shirts to buy. "You have it."

  Wolf set the satchel on the desk. "A little help?" He couldn't manage the buckle one-handed, and Ripton gave him an assist. "Obliged."

  "You just read my article. If I had it, wouldn't the information you want--whatever it is--be in there? How do you prove a negative?"

  "I'll tell you how, Mr. Rook." Ripton touched his forefinger to his lips as he chose his words, and then continued. "In fact, I can prove you have it by negatives. One, actually. Ready?"

  Rook didn't answer. He just made a fast check of the Texan, who was placing his dental picks in a tidy row on the desktop.

  "The negative is as follows. In all the time since my associate and I got here, you never asked one simple question." The Firewall paused for effect. "You never once asked what I was doing here." A burning sensation grew in Rook's gut as the handler continued. "I never got a 'Hey, Jess Ripton, I know this cowboy is involved in all this, but you? You're Toby Mills's guy. What the hell does Toby Mills have to do with all this?' Am I right? You not asking that is what I call negative proof."

  Rook's head raced to cover his omission. "That? Well, that's simple. We talked to you a couple of times on this case, of course I wasn't surprised."

  "Don't insult my intelligence, Rook. When you and your lady cop checked out Toby, you were fishing with no bait. He was just a name on your list. And you certainly never had anything to connect Toby, ergo me, with Slim here." He waited, but Rook said nothing. "So by not asking, that tells me you know damn well why I am here and what happened that night with Toby and Reed Wakefield. And I want to know where the chapter is that told you that story."

  "I already said I don't have it."

  "Now, see, you think you're being smart," said Jess. "You think the only thing keeping you alive is that if we kill you, you can't tell us where that chapter is. But, see, here's the thing. In a couple minutes, my friend here is going to get you to tell us anyway. And in between . . . ? You're going to wish you were dead." He turned to Wolf. "Do your thing. I'll go check the bedroom." He went to the doorway and stopped. "Nothing personal, Rook. Given the choice, I don't need to see this."

  When he left, Rook struggled against his bonds, bucking in the chair.

  "Not gonna help, buddy," said the Texan as he picked up one of his dental tools.

  Rook felt something tear near his ankle. He pushed harder and succeeded in ripping one of his legs free of the duct tape. He slammed his foot onto the floor under his desk and shoved off, trying to jam the chair into Wolf. But the man was quick and snatched him in a choke hold with his left arm, trapping Rook's neck in a vise grip between his jaw and his armpit. Wolf still held the dental tool in his left hand, and slowly, trying to keep it steady against Rook's struggling and kicking, he began to curve his wrist
inward toward Rook's head. Just as Rook began to feel a sharp graze on the outer rim of his ear canal, he tried another tactic. Instead of pushing back against his assailant, he quickly reversed and threw his torso forward with desperate force.

  The dental pick skittered across the blotter, and for the moment, Rook's move worked. The momentum tossed Wolf forward onto the edge of the desk. He landed on his wounded right shoulder and cried out in pain, clutching his collarbone.

  The man sat down on the floor, panting like a dog in August. Rook tried to push himself away from between his desk and the wall, but the chair rollers were speed-bumped by debris on the floor. He had started kicking harder, in a futile attempt to get over a three-hole punch and his radio controller, when the Texan rose up to examine the quarter-sized circle of blood ghosting through the shoulder of his shirt. He looked from his reopened wound over to Rook and whispered a curse. Then he balled a fist hard enough to turn the knuckle skin white and drew back his arm to hit him.

  "Freeze it there, Wolf." Nikki Heat stood in the doorway, holding her Sig Sauer on the Texan.

  Rook said, "Nikki, careful, Jess Ripton is--"

  "Right here," he said as his arm reached in from the hall and he placed the muzzle of his Glock against her temple. "Let it fall, Detective."

  Heat had no alternative. With a literal gun to her head, she saw no option but to comply. There was an easy chair between her and the fireplace, and she tossed her gun onto the cushion, hoping to keep it close by.

  When Rook hadn't answered his phone the second time, her suspicion had grown and she couldn't shake it. She had never known him not to return a call, and Nikki couldn't get past the concern that there was a disturbance in the Rook Force. Ribbing aside about showing up unannounced, she decided that was exactly what she would do. If it was awkward, let it be awkward. Nikki decided she would rather deal with that than light up the radar with a door buzz if her worries were founded.