Heat Rises Read Online Free PDF Page A

him.
    Heat’s phone buzzed with a text from Captain Montrose. “@1PP. In touch when I get sprung.” True to form, he was stuck downtown at headquarters for his ritual precinct commander accountability meeting. It made Nikki reflect on the downside of her impending promotion. One rung too many and your head shows over the parapet and becomes a big, fat target.
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    Thirty minutes later, just after 8 a.m., the Homicide bull pen was stand ing room only as Detective Nikki Heat walked her squad, plus a few extra attendees she had pulled in from Burglary and patrol, through the few details she had on the case so far. She stood in front of the big Murder Board and used magnets to slap two pictures of Father Graf at top center of the white enamel. The first, a death photo taken by CSU , was of much better quality than the cell phone snap she had taken herself. Beside it, she posted his protest march photo, cropped and enlarged to show only his face. “This is our victim, Father Gerald Graf, pastor of Our Lady of the Innocents.” She recapped the circumstances of his death and used a dry-erase marker to circle the times of his disappearance, estimated death, and discovery on the timeline she had already drawn across the board. “Copies of these photos are being duped for you. As usual, they’ll also be up on the computer server, along with other details, for access from your cells and laptops.”
    Ochoa turned to Detective Rhymer, a Burglary cop on loan, who was sitting on a filing cabinet in the back. “Hey, Opie, in case you wondered, that’s the typewriter with all the blinky lights.”
    Dan Rhymer, an ex-MP from the Carolinas who had stayed in New York after his army hitch, was accustomed to the needling. Even back home they had nicknamed him Opie. He put some butter on his Southern accent. “Laptop computer, huh? Goll-lly. No wonder I couldn’t toast my possum samwich on that thing.”
    During the chorus of “whoa”s Nikki said, “Excuse me? Anyone mind if I talk a little about the investigation?”
    “Oo, frosty,” said Detective Sharon Hinesburg. Nikki chuckled along until she added, “Trying out your new command mode for lieutenant?” The barb didn’t surprise Heat, it was the realization that her pending rise was out of the house rumor mill and in the air. Naturally, it came from Hinesburg, an only modestly gifted detective whose main talent was for annoying Heat. Someone must have once told Hinesburg her outspokenness was refreshing. Nikki thought that person had done the detective a disservice.
    “What do we have on cause of death?” said Raley, snapping things back to business for Heat and falling on the grenade Hinesburg had lobbed.
    “Prelim puts us in a gray area.” She made eye contact with Rales, who gave her an almost imperceptible nod that spoke volumes about camaraderie. “In fact, we can’t even officially class this as a homicide until after the autopsy. Nature of the death left open lots of doors for accidental. You’ve got potential health issues of the vic, intent of the practitioner . . .”
    “Or killer,” said Ochoa.
    “Or killer,” she agreed. “Father Graf was a missing person, which pushes the likelihood of foul play.” Involuntarily, her gaze ran to Captain Montrose’s empty office, then back to the squad. “But this is the time for us to keep open minds.”
    “Was the padre a freak?” Hinesburg again, subtle as always. “I mean, what the hell is a priest doing in a kink dungeon?” Not the most delicate phrasing, but not the wrong question.
    “That’s why our direction for now is going to be to work the BDSM angle,” said Heat. “I still need interviews with the housekeeper and others at the parish about the priest. Relationships, family, enemies, bad exorcisms—might as well say it—altar boys, you never know. Everything’s on the table, but what’s right in front of us is the sex torture. Soon as we get our warrant, which should be soon, Detective Raley,