Heat Rises

Acknowledgments

A chef never makes a meal alone. I learned this the hard way as a latchkey kid, bored and hungry with a craving for cherries flambé. Who knew cognac could take off like that? Or that my mother wouldn’t appreciate the irony of coming home from her triumphant Broadway performance in Burn This to charred walls and a disapproving hook-and-ladder crew?

Much like cuisine, you need help making a book (although there’s less risk of fire — unless you count the unfortunate book burning of one of my early Derrick Storm novels). So these pages are reserved for me to tip my big, tall, chef’s toque to the many cooks who actually improved the broth.

As ever, I am in the debt of the top professionals at the 12th Precinct who tolerate me still. Detective Kate Beckett has shown me the ropes of homicide investigation, not to mention how to make sense of songs. Her colleagues, Javier Esposito and Kevin Ryan, have welcomed me like the brothers I never had. And the late Captain Roy Montgomery, to whom this book is dedicated, was a great mentor to all who worked under him and an even greater man to all who knew him.

Dr. Lanie Parish at the Office of Chief Medical Examiner has given me almost as many insights as she has eye rolls. I may be a pain in the ass sometimes, but I do like to think I break up a day when you work in a refrigerated environment.

While my thoughts are on 30th Street, let me give special thanks to Ellen Borakove, the Director of Public Affairs for the Office of Chief Medical Examiner in Manhattan, who gave generously of her time while I researched this book. She is a shining example of the compassion, dignity, and respect evident throughout the staff there. I am grateful to Ellen for all she taught me on my guided tour of the facility — especially how to breathe.

The folks in the Clinton Building at Raleigh remain my heroes. You amaze, surprise, and keep it fresh always. And Terri Edda Miller, ever by my side, thank you for choosing the title. So much better than Heat, Heat, Heat.

The lovely Jennifer Allen continues to teach me the secret o’ life. May it be a long lesson.

To Nathan, Stana, Seamus, Jon, Ruben, Molly, Susan, and Tamala — you remain the embodiment of dreams that come true relentlessly and tirelessly. You always bring the heat.

I have gone too long without mentioning my darling Alexis, whose every glowing, beautiful, pure, and wise moment causes me to soar with pride and to recheck the birth certificate. Yes, thankfully, she is my daughter. And let me also celebrate my mother, Martha Rodgers, who taught me that a story can be performance, that life can be art, and that the cognac goes in the pan when it’s off the burner.

Thanks to Black Pawn Publishing and, especially, to Gina Cowell for giving me the space to follow my bliss. Gretchen Young, my editor, continues to be a staunch ally and cherished colleague. A shout out to her, Elizabeth Sabo Morick, and to everyone at Hyperion for believing. Melissa Harling-Walendy and her team at ABC continue to make this a dream association.

My agent, Sloan Harris at ICM, has been in my corner since our first handshake years ago. He deserves my deepest gratitude for the unwavering support and faith he has shown.

There is an empty chair at my weekly poker game. Connelly, Lehane, and I decided to keep dealing you in, Mr. Cannell, and somehow you keep winning. As it was in life, my friend and mentor. You had me at Rockford.

Andrew Marlowe is a gift. He inspires, he guides, he creates, he performs, he simply makes it all work. How many people are you glad to hear on the other end of your phone when it rings? Andrew, for your talent, bravery, and, mostly, your friendship, thank you. And Tom, you had a hand in this one again, too. Like I said, bad things can happen when the chef’s alone in the kitchen. Thanks for working the line, braving the burners, and pulling your share of late shifts along the way.

Finally, to the fans, please know how you are admired and honored. You are the reason for it all.

RC

New York City, June 2011