Killer Heat (38 page)

“He's pretty anxious to talk to you, too. Like right now.”

“Somehow, being naked in a bubble bath doesn't seem like the
most appropriate way for me to carry on an investigation, not even
with my favorite detective. We had dinner last night with Mercer
and Vickee,” I said. “I'm entirely up to speed on everything I need
to know.”

“Well, he sounds pretty desperate going through me just to get
to you.”

I dipped my toe in the water but it was too hot to step in.
“Mike's riding high and deserves to be. He flipped Clarita Munoz
yesterday. You know, the girl who was trying to get in to see me
the day Kerry Hastings and I got rammed in the cab.”

“What did he do?” Joan asked.

“Mike helped with her interrogation. Got her to admit that it
was her boyfriend-well, her ex-boyfriend now-Ernesto Abreu, who
took the shots at me at Rodman's Neck a week ago. Part of Pablo
Posano's posse.”

“But why did Abreu try it there?”

“Just what Mercer thought. The stuff of instant legends in the
twisted world of the Latin Princes. What could be more macho than
trying to take out the prosecutor Posano hates most at a police
shooting range, with scores of cops around? Prove yourself to the
man in the black hole. Maybe step up a rank in the
organization.”

“Well, I think Mike's worried about you. About letting Rasheed
get so close. About what almost happened to you. He was giving me
that stuff about getting you right back in the saddle with another
case so you don't get too frightened to try again.”

"I'll tell you something I didn't tell the shrink, Joannie. I
couldn't even think of doing my work without the relationships I
have that keep me grounded-Mike and Mercer, you and Nina, my
friends in the office, and now Luc. I think of what Troy Rasheed
did to the women whose paths he crossed and I know how blessed I am
to be alive, to be unscathed.

“But now I need a few days alone, some time to see if I can ride
the horse again without the help of anyone else. I need to test my
own fortitude, my own resilience.”

Joan's tone changed. “I understand, of course. I'm sure Mike
will, too.”

“We've spent so much time together since these killings started
that Mike's just having separation anxiety,” I said. “He'll get
over it.”

“Sure he will. And you know Jim and I are here for anything you
need, Alex.”

“Some of my best thinking happens underwater, Joannie. I'll be
fine. Speak to you later tonight.”

I put the portable phone on the sink, tested the temperature
again, and lowered myself into the tub. I slid down, rested my neck
against one end, and lifted my toes above the bubbles at the other.
My thoughts drifted from the horrors of the last ten days to plans
I had made for a September weekend on the Vineyard. I soaked for
almost an hour, until my fears had lost their edge and the water
had cooled enough to remind me to get out and dry off.

I draped a bath sheet around me and went into my bedroom. Luc's
package was addressed with stickers that repeated the words priority and urgent on every side.

The tab stripped open easily and I removed a thin box, wrapped
in white satin ribbon, from the carton.

I untied the bow and opened it. Inside was a short silk robe,
the same aqua shade as the dress I had worn the last time Luc and I
were together. It was trimmed with a delicate strip of ecru lace.
As I picked it up, my towel slipped off onto the floor, and I
wrapped the soft, sexy dressing gown around me, tying it with the
aqua silk belt.

There was a card nestled in the tissue paper on the bottom of
the box. I climbed onto my bed and lifted the flap.

Another key, this time a shiny new one, not a flea market
antique like the first one he sent me. The end of it was tied by a
ribbon to an airline ticket, one way, first class, to Paris.

"Dearest Alex. Come soon. Stay as long as you like. Meet you at
the Plaza Athénée on my side of the ocean. Room
888-the most beautiful view of the city and the Eiffel Tower. Bonne nuit, ma princesse.

Luc."

Those were the words he spoke when he kissed me good night for
the first time, after Joan's wedding, at my Vineyard home. Every
time I thought of him, called up his voice saying them to me, I
smiled.

I was determined not to waste time worrying about the bad
memories that were competing for space against so many strong,
vibrant ones. I settled back against my pillow and dialed Luc's
number.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

It seems that every day the city of New York reveals to those
who love her some of the secrets that she has harbored for
centuries. Whether it's her mean streets, ghost islands, or
historic landmarks, I never tire of exploring her mysterious
past.

I am grateful to the National Park Service and the Governors
Island Preservation and Education Corporation for the introduction
to their magnificent citadel, a hidden jewel for more than two
centuries. As always, the New York Times archives have
been an invaluable resource, as has Seitz and Miller's The
Other Islands of New York City.

The New York City Police Foundation has done
extraordinary work to make possible so many innovative programs for
the NYPD. I thank them for the tour of Rodman's Neck and for
instruction from the great men and women of the Firearms and
Tactics Section, especially Joseph Agosto and Elizabeth
Mayer-Feinberg.

Abbie Shoobs of Tiffany and Company was gracious enough to tell
me the history of the West Point rings and miniatures made by the
great jeweler and of the West Point Ring Recovery Program,
dedicated to returning these treasures to the families from which
they've been separated.

This novel tells part of the story of a character called Kerry
Hastings. I have taken the liberty of drawing some of her traits
from the woman to whom this book is dedicated: Kathleen Ham. It is
impossible to imagine the courage of Kathleen without letting her
look you in the eye and describe in her own words what the personal
toll of her battle has been. For thirty-two years her rapist was on
the loose, and Kathleen lived in what she called her own private
jail. The case went cold, but her courage never did. The man's
conviction-and her willingness to go public about her
ordeal-brought some measure of justice to Kathleen as well as
inspiration to crime victims all over this country.

One of my proudest legacies at the office of the New York
County District Attorney was the establishment of an offshoot of
the Sex Crimes Prosecution Unit that I led for twenty-six years.
The cold case unit is composed of two great prosecutors and
friends-Martha Bashford and Melissa Mourges-who have mastered the
art of solving violent crimes long after traditional investigative
techniques have been unsuccessful. They and their devoted partners
in the NYPD and the Office of the Chief Medical Examiner have used
DNA to revolutionize the way rape cases can be prosecuted.

Thanks to Kerry O'Connell, another former colleague and friend,
who tries a superb case and also introduced Coop to her Cohiba.

Every minute of working with Colin Harrison was an enormous joy
for me. He is a master of his craft, generous of spirit, and
wonderfully supportive. I shall always relish his check marks-and
the occasional double checks-with which he so kindly edited my
manuscripts.

Phyllis Grann has long given me the gift of her friendship. I'm
enormously proud and pleased to be in her professional hands now,
too. I'm thrilled and honored to be welcomed so enthusiastically at
Doubleday by Steve Rubin, for whom I have such great respect.

Esther Newberg gets all my gratitude for covering my back and
easing my transition to a new home with her usual wisdom and humor.
Thanks, too, to ICM's Kari Stuart and Chris Earle for their
competence and good cheer.

Special appreciation to my mother, Alice, and all my family and
friends, who understand my time spent at the keyboard talking with
Coop, Mike, and Mercer.

And to Justin Feldman-my very own comeback kid-you're all
heart.