Heat Rises

Nineteen

“They’re ready for you now.” Nikki had been staring at nothing because that’s what she needed, a glazed, checked-out, middle-distance fix on the posters and memos on the bulletin board across from her seat in the hallway at One Police Plaza. The administrative assistant came around to step into her line of sight, saw her swollen eyes, and gave her a tender smile. Sympathy. Please, no more sympathy. Nikki had had her fill of it in the last twelve sleepless hours and didn’t know which was worse, the pitying faces or the consoling words.

But she stood and returned the woman’s well-intended smile anyway. Then Nikki sealed the firewall once more. If she thought about Rook now, she couldn’t hold her emotions. “Ready,” she said. The aide opened the door for her. Heat drew a long breath and then stepped through it.

Rooms didn’t come much more stony or intimidating than the tenth-floor conference room at 1PP that morning. The last time Nikki had been in there it had been just she and Zach Hamner — with the added attraction of the duo from Internal Affairs to confiscate her shield and piece. That had been frosty enough. Now she was being scrutinized by a full conference table of deputy commissioners, chiefs, and administrators, who halted their conversations to give her The Big Appraisal as she entered.

Zach had been waiting for her inside the door and led her to the empty chair at the head of the conference table. On her way along the row of weathered faces belonging to the NYPD’s top brass, her eye caught a friendly wink from Phyllis Yarborough. Heat nodded her acknowledgment to the deputy commissioner and took the seat.

Todd Atkins, the deputy commissioner for legal matters, faced Heat from the opposite end. As soon as The Hammer perched on the folding chair behind his boss, Atkins began quietly, saying, “Thank you for coming in. I know this must be an awful time for you, and you have all our best thoughts.”

Nikki fought away another wave of crushing sorrow and managed to say in her most professional voice, “Thank you, sir.”

“We wanted you in to address this matter immediately,” continued the Department’s lawyer. “The commissioner would be here himself, but he is in a committee meeting on Capitol Hill about now and we felt it was important to remedy the miscalculation made by this body vis-à-vis your status.” While he continued on, speaking in his coded language for their screwup, Nikki felt herself tumble into the kaleidoscopic tunnel that had swallowed her at Belvedere Castle in the aftermath of her attack. She held eye contact with Atkins, but all the while random images turntabled around him. Rook draped on her after the gunshot... Montrose cursing at his performance data printouts... Rook’s ashen face... Van Meter pulse-checking Steljess in the auto salvage yard... Rook’s blood in the sink when she finally washed her hands... the Murder Board after Captain Irons carelessly erased it, leaving red smears from her marker...

A wrap-up tone in Atkins’s voice pulled her back to the moment. “It was a rush to judgment,” he said, “and for that, we sincerely apologize.”

“Accepted, sir.” And then she added, “And appreciated.” The Mount Rushmore of faces around the table relaxed. Some even smiled at her.

“It’s our decision to reinstate you immediately to active status, Detective Heat,” continued Atkins. “I should also say it’s no secret that you had one major champion through this ordeal.”

“No secret because she won’t let us forget it,” blurted the Personnel chief, with a laugh that lightened the mood around the room.

“And so,” Atkins said, “I’m going to give the floor to the Deputy Commissioner of Technological Development. Phyllis?”

Midway up the mahogany, a beaming Phyllis Yarborough leaned forward, tilting her head for a better view of Nikki. “Detective Heat... Nice to be able to say that again, isn’t it? Well, don’t get used to it. I have been given the privilege and personal honor to inform you that you are not only reinstated as a detective, but today you will be given your gold bar and sworn in as a lieutenant in the NYPD.” Nikki’s heart galloped in her chest. Phyllis waited for the applause to settle. “Congratulations. And may I add that we have no doubt that this is just one rung on the ladder of your ascent within this department.”

The applause grew louder and included a number of “hear, hear”s. When it died down, heads swiveled to Nikki, and it was clearly her moment.

Heat rose.

“I want to repeat what I told the Orals Board a few days ago. Police work — police work on the NYPD — is more than a job to me, it’s my life’s work. To whatever degree I am a professional, it is because I take it so personally. Which is why I wholeheartedly accept reinstatement and thank you for that.” There was brief clapping, which she interrupted by holding her hands out. When they were quiet again, she said, “It is the same reason that I respectfully decline the promotion to lieutenant.”

Astonishment hardly described the reactions before her. Sober, life-worn, career cops with poker faces were visibly stunned. Not the least of which was Phyllis Yarborough, who shook her head no to Nikki and then searched the others for some sort of understanding.

“So that I don’t seem ungrateful — because I truly am thankful — I can help you understand why I made this decision by going back to what I said a moment ago. This is my life’s work. I joined the NYPD to help victims of crime. And over time, I have grown to love it even more because of the proud association and friendship I have working with the finest cops in the world. But the process of gaining this promotion, as well as some insights I’ve gained over recent weeks, has made me realize that stepping up the ladder is a step away from the street. A step away from why I am a New York cop. Administrators do important work, but my heart is not in CompStat data, or scheduling, and all that. It’s in doing what I’m born to do. Solve crimes. Out there. I thank you for your confidence and for hearing me out.”

Nikki surveyed the table one by one and saw in most of their faces cops who knew all too well what she meant. They might not say it, but they admired the courage of her choice. And, to be honest, she also saw one or two who could not mask their bitter annoyance. “So,” she asked, “am I really a cop again?”

Deputy Commissioner Atkins said, “I think I can speak for the group when I say, this isn’t how we expected this to transpire, but yes, Detective Heat, yes, you are.” He gestured to Zach Hamner, and the political cockroach who had so callously stripped her of her job and protection got up and strode to her end of the table to present Heat with her own shield and weapon, grinning as if they were gifts from him.

Nikki reached into her coat, pulled out her empty holster, and held it up for them to see. “I was hoping.” That drew some chuckles. After she clipped her badge and her Sig Sauer to the old familiar places on her waist and adjusted them, Detective Heat said, “And now that I am officially a sworn officer, I would like to make an arrest.”