Heat Wave

NINETEEN

Heat, Raley, Ochoa, and Rook crossed through the lobby of the Guilford to the elevators. When the doors opened, Nikki put the palm of her hand on Rook’s chest. “Whoa, whoa, where do you think you’re going?”

“With you.”

She shook her head. “No way. You stay down here.”

The automatic doors kept trying to close. Ochoa braced them open with his shoulder to keep them from bouncing.

“Come on, I did what you said. I thought like a detective and I deserve to be there when you take her down. I’ve earned that.” When all three of the detectives broke into laughter, Rook walked it back a hair. “How about I just wait in the hall?”

“You told me you’d wait in the hall when I arrested Buckley.”

“OK, I got impatient once.”

“And on our raid in Long Island City, what did you do after I told you to stay behind?”

Rook kicked the toe of his shoe against the lip of the rug. “Look, this is starting to sound more like an intervention than an arrest.”

“I promise, we won’t make you wait long. After all,” she said with mock solemnity, “you’ve earned that.” She got in the elevator with Roach.

“Just for that I may do my whole article about someone else.”

“Break my heart,” she said as the doors shut on him.

When Detective Heat entered through the front door of the apartment, she found Noah Paxton by himself in the living room. “Where’s Kimberly?”

“She’s not here.”

Raley and Ochoa stepped in behind Nikki. “Check all the rooms,” she said. Ochoa disappeared with Raley down the hallway.

“Kimberly’s not back there,” said Paxton. “I already checked.”

Heat said, “We’re do-it-yourselfers. We’re funny that way.” Her gaze went to the room full of artwork, hanging as it always had been, floor to ceiling. Nikki marveled at the sight. “The paintings. They’re back.”

Noah seemed to share her bewilderment. “I don’t understand it, either. I’m just trying to figure out where the hell they came from.”

“Relax, you don’t have to playact anymore, Noah.” She watched the furrows crease his brow. “They never left the Guilford, right? We tapped her phone call to you not twenty minutes ago.”

“I see.” He thought a few seconds, no doubt sorting through his side of the conversation, wondering if he could be an accessory after the fact. “I told her she was nuts,” he said.

“Now, that’s a good citizen.”

He opened his palms to her. “I apologize, Detective. I knew I should have called you. Guess I still have my protective instinct for the family. I came over here to talk sense into her. Too late now.” Nikki just shrugged. “When did you find out she stole them? During that phone call?”

“No. The alarm bells sounded for me when I heard our widow-in-mourning bought a piano and left town for the delivery. Does Kimberly strike you as someone who’d leave rearranging her precious antiques to a work crew and a dimwit nanny?” Nikki ambled to the Steinway and tinkled one key. “We checked with the building super. He confirmed the piano movers came here in the morning with a huge crate, but didn’t recall them leaving with one. It fell off his radar, I guess, after all the confusion around the blackout.”

Noah smiled and shook his head. “Wow.”

“I know, pretty sneaky, huh? They never left the building.”

“Ingenious,” said Paxton. “And not a word I associate with Kimberly Starr.”

“Well, she wasn’t as smart as she thought.”

“What do you mean?”

Nikki had run this over and over in her head so that it was crystal clear to her. Now she would bring Noah along on the ride. “Did you know Matthew had changed his mind about selling his collection?”

“No, I didn’t know anything about that.”

“Well, he had. The same day he was killed, a woman from Sotheby’s named Barbara Deerfield came over here to appraise it. She was murdered before she got back to her office.”

“That’s horrible.”

“I believe her murder was connected to Matthew’s.”

His brow darkened. “It’s tragic, but I don’t understand the connection.”

“Neither did I. I kept wondering, Why would anyone kill an art appraiser? Then I discovered that Starr’s entire art collection was made up of forgeries.” Nikki watched a pallor wash out Noah Paxton’s face.

“Forgeries?” He let his gaze wander the walls. Nikki saw his eye fall upon a piece of art near the archway. The one covered by a shroud.

“Fakes, Noah.” His attention snapped back to her. “The whole collection.”

“How can that be? Matthew paid top dollar for these paintings, and from reputable dealers.” Paxton’s color was coming back and then some as he grew more agitated. “I can assure you when we bought these they were not fakes.”

“I know,” said the detective. “The insurance documentation pictures bore that out.”

“Then how could they now be fakes?”

Nikki sat on the arm of a sofa that cost more than most people’s cars. “The appraiser took her own set of photos of the collection as notes. We found her camera and her pictures didn’t match the insurance shots. She had documented a roomful of forgeries.” Heat paused to let that sink in. “Sometime between the purchase and her appraisal, someone switched the art.”

“That’s unbelievable. You’re sure of this?”

“Absolutely. And Barbara Deerfield would have come to the same conclusion if she had lived to study her pictures. In fact,” said Nikki, “I’d say that the reason Barbara Deerfield was killed was because somebody didn’t want it to get out that the sixty-million-dollar Starr Collection was bogus.”

“Are you saying Matthew was trying to palm off fakes?”

Heat shook her head no. “Matthew never would have hired an appraiser if he knew they were fakes. And after all the money and ego he invested in his Little Versailles? He’d have had a meltdown if he ever found out.”

Noah’s eyes widened in revelation. “Oh my God. Kimberly…”

Nikki rose and strolled over to the John Singer Sargent oil of the two innocents, enjoyed it for just a glance, and said, “Kimberly beat someone else to stealing that art collection. I arrested a second crew that broke in here later, during the blackout, and they found nothing but empty walls.”

“Everyone went to a lot of trouble just to steal something that’s worthless.”

“Kimberly didn’t know the paintings were worthless. The grieving Mrs. Starr thought she was scoring her multimillion-dollar Lotto hit for a shitty marriage.”

“Obviously the other burglars thought it was valuable, too.” Paxton gestured to the art. “Otherwise why would they try to steal it?”

Nikki stepped away from the painting and faced him. “I don’t know, Noah. Why don’t you tell me?”

He took his time before he answered, looking at her to gauge if she was asking a rhetorical question or something with more stink on it. He couldn’t have liked the way her eyes were boring into him, but he went for rhetorical. “I could only guess.”

If her session at the medical examiner’s that morning was theater, for Nikki this was Brazilian jujitsu and she was done boxing. On to the grappling. “Do you know a Gerald Buckley?”

Paxton squeezed his mouth into an upside-down U. “Doesn’t sound familiar.”

“Curious, Noah. Gerald Buckley knows you. He’s the overnight doorman here.” She watched him work his earnest face. Nikki found him almost convincing; he wasn’t bad. She was better. “Here’s a refresher. Buckley’s the man you hired to set up the second burglary during the blackout.”

“That’s a lie. I don’t even know him.”

“Now that is truly weird,” said Ochoa from the archway. Paxton was edgy. He hadn’t seen the other two detectives return, and he flinched when Ochoa spoke. “Me and my partner took a drive up to Tarrytown this afternoon. To a bar there.”

Raley said, “Place called the, uh, Sleepy Swallow?”

“Whatever,” said Ochoa. “Guess that’s your regular hang, right? Everybody knows you. And the bartender and a waitress both ID’d Mr. Buckley sitting at your table for a very long time a few nights ago.”

“During the blackout,” added Raley. “About the time Buckley should have been in for that shift he canceled.”

“Buckley is not your strongest point man,” said Heat. Noah’s eyes were getting less focused and he whipped his head from detective to detective as each spoke, like he was following the ball at a tennis match.

“Dude caved like a sandcastle,” added Ochoa.

“Buckley also says you called him up and told him to hurry over here to the Guilford and let Pochenko in the rooftop door. That was just before Matthew Starr was murdered,” said Nikki.

“Pochenko? Who’s Pochenko?”

“Smooth. Not going to trip you up, am I?” said Heat. “Pochenko’s somebody whose picture you didn’t recognize in my photo array. Even though I showed his picture to you twice. Once here, once at your office.”

“You’re fishing. This is all speculation. You’re putting everything on hearsay from a liar. An alcoholic who’s desperate for money.” Paxton was standing in a direct sun ray from one of the high windows, and his forehead glistened in the light. “Yes, I’ll admit I met this Buckley guy at the Swallow. But only because he was shaking me down. I used him a couple of times to arrange hookers for Matthew and he was trying to extort hush money out of me.” Paxton raised his chin and thrust his hands in his pockets, body English for that’s my story and I’m sticking to it, thought Nikki.

“Let’s talk about money, Noah. Remember that little transgression of yours my forensic accountants uncovered? That time when you fudged the books to hide a few hundred grand from Matthew?”

“I already told you that was for his kid’s college.”

“Let’s pretend that’s the truth for now.” Nikki didn’t believe him but was applying another rule of jujitsu: When you’re closing in for a takedown, don’t get faked into a sucker hold. “Whatever your reason, you managed to cover your tracks by putting that money back two years ago, right after one of the paintings from this collection, a Jacques-Louis David, got fenced for that exact amount. A coincidence? I don’t believe in coincidences.”

Ochoa shook his head. “No way.”

“The detective is definitely not coincidence-friendly,” said Raley.

“Is that how you started, Noah? You needed a few grand so you had one of his paintings forged and then swapped it for the real one, which you sold? You said yourself that Matthew Starr was a philistine. The man never had a clue the painting you put on his wall was a fake, did he?”

“That’s bold,” said Ochoa.

“And you got bolder. After you saw how easy it was to get away with that, you tried it with another painting, and another, and then started flipping the whole collection like that, piece by piece, over time. Do you know Alfred Hitchcock?”

“Why, is he accusing me of the Great Train Robbery?”

“Somebody asked him once if the perfect crime had ever been committed. He said yes. And when the interviewer asked him what it was, Hitchcock said, ‘We don’t know, that’s what makes it perfect.’ ”

Nikki joined Ochoa and Raley near the archway. “I have to hand it to you, swapping the real paintings for the fakes was the perfect crime. Until Matthew suddenly decided to sell. Then your crime no longer would be secret. The appraiser had to be silenced first, so you had Pochenko kill her. And then you had Pochenko come here and throw Matthew over that balcony railing.”

“Who is this Pochenko? You keep talking about this guy like I’m supposed to know who he is.”

Nikki beckoned him to her. “Come here.”

Paxton hesitated, eyeing the front door, but he came over to stand near the archway with the detectives.

“Take a look at these paintings. Any one you like, Noah, take a good long look.” He leaned closer to one, gave it a cursory examination, then turned to her.

“OK, so?” he said.

“When Gerald Buckley gave you up, he also gave up the address of the storage facility where you instructed him to deliver the stolen paintings. Today, I got a search warrant for it. And guess what I found there.” She gestured to the collection hanging there in the glow of the orange light of the setting sun. “The original Starr Collection.”

Paxton tried to keep his cool, but his jaw dropped. He twirled to look again at the painting. And then the one beside it.

“That’s right, Noah. These are the originals you stole. The forgeries are still in the piano crate in the basement.”

Paxton was coming unglued. He stepped from painting to painting, shaken, his breath rasping.

Detective Heat continued, “I must say that storage facility you rented is first-rate. Climate-controlled, state-of-the-art fire technology, and very secure. They have the highest definition surveillance cameras I’ve seen. Look at one of the freeze-frames I got off it. It’s a small picture but quite sharp.”

Paxton held out an unsteady hand. Nikki gave him a still-frame print from the storage security camera. He became even more ashen.

“We’re still going over their archives. So far, they have video of you bringing one piece of Matthew Starr’s art into your storage unit about every eight weeks. This particular shot of you was taken a month ago, carrying a very big painting.” She pointed across the room to a large-format canvas. “It’s that one over there.” Paxton didn’t even bother to turn; he just gaped at the photo in his hands. “But that’s not my favorite picture. This is my favorite.”

She nodded to Ochoa, who yanked the shroud off the frame on the wall beside him, revealing a blow-up of another security still. “Time code says it was taken one-point-six seconds after the picture in your hands. That is one jumbo canvas, Mr. Paxton. Too unwieldy and too valuable for one man to risk carrying it by himself. And look who that is coming around the corner helping you by holding the back end.”

Paxton forgot all about the photo in his hands and let it flutter to the floor. He stared in disbelief at the framed surveillance picture on the wall of him carrying the painting, assisted by Vitya Pochenko.

He dropped his head and his body sagged. He fumbled to brace himself on the back of a sofa.

“Noah Paxton, you’re under arrest for the murders of Matthew Starr and Barbara Deerfield.” Nikki turned away from him to Raley and Ochoa. “Cuff hi—”

“Gun,” shouted Roach in tandem. Raley and Ochoa went for their hips. Nikki already had her hand on her Sig in its holster. But when she whirled back to Paxton, he was holding his gun on her.

“He got it from the couch cushion,” said Raley.

“Drop it, Paxton,” said Heat. She didn’t draw but took a step closer, trying to position herself for a disarm. He took two steps back, well out of reach.

“Don’t,” he said. “I’ll do it, I will.” His hand was quaking and Nikki worried he’d fire by accident, so she stayed put. Plus Raley and Ochoa were behind her. If she went for him, she would take the risk that a wild shot might hit one of them.

Her plan was to buy time by keeping Paxton talking. “This isn’t going to work, Noah. It never does.”

“It’s only gonna be ugly,” said Ochoa.

“Don’t be stupid,” added Raley.

“Quiet.” Paxton took another backward step toward the front door.

“I know what you’re doing, you’re trying to think of a way out, but there isn’t one.” Behind her, Nikki could hear the soft rug steps of her two detectives slowly spreading out to flank Paxton. She engaged him to give them time. “You should know there’s a cruiser out front and cops in the lobby. It’s the same detail that’s been tailing you since this morning when Buckley tagged you.”

“You two. Stop. I swear if you move, I’ll start shooting.”

“Do what he says.” Heat turned around to face them and said, “You guys hear me? I mean it.” Nikki used her rotation to block Paxton from seeing her unholster her Sig. She let her hand drop to her side and held the gun tight against the back of her thigh when she faced Paxton again.

Meanwhile, he had retreated another step. His free hand rested on the doorknob. “Everybody back up.”

They held their positions. Nikki continued trying to talk him down, even as she gripped her weapon behind her. “You’re the expert with numbers, right? What do you think your odds are of making the street?”

“Shut up, I’m thinking.”

“No, you’re not thinking.”

His hand started to shake even more. “What’s it matter? I’m screwed.”

“But you’re not dead. Would you rather leave this to your lawyer or your undertaker?”

He pondered a brief moment, moving his lips in some silent inner dialogue. And just when Nikki thought he might have come to his senses, he threw the front door open. She brought her piece up, but Paxton had already lunged behind the door and run out into the hallway.

Everything that happened next happened fast. The door slammed hard as Nikki scrambled for it. Behind her she heard guns clearing holsters, footfalls, and Raley on his walkie-talkie. “Suspect is ten-thirty-two. Suspect is armed, repeat armed, with handgun on sixth floor. Detectives in pursuit.”

Heat slammed her back flat to the wall, shoulder even with the door frame, and her Sig Sauer up in an isosceles stance. “Cover,” she said. Ochoa performed like clockwork. He went low, crouching on one knee, fisting his Smith & Wesson in his right hand and grabbing the knob with his left. “On yours,” he said.

Without pause, Detective Heat calmly said, “Go.”

Ochoa pulled the door and held it open for her. Nikki pivoted around the jamb, squaring her aim up the hall. She stopped, still holding her combat stance, shook her head, and mumbled, “Mother…”

Ochoa and Raley rolled out behind her and stopped, too. Raley spoke quietly into his radio, “All units, we have a hostage.”

Rook was standing halfway up the hall with Paxton snugged behind him holding the gun to his head. He looked at Nikki sheepishly and said, “So, I’m gonna guess it’s Noah.”