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night between six and eleven?” Nikki widened the time frame since she hadn’t gotten the official from Lauren Parry yet.
    “Yes, I can. I was at dinner and then the movies with my husband.”
    After Heat wrote down the name of the restaurant and the movie, she asked, “And your husband can vouch for this?”
    Simmy Paltz nodded. “You bet I can.”
    Nikki Heat looked from the old coot to Roxanne and made another note, this one mental. A reminder not to assume. Not in New York City.
    Hadn’t she just learned that painful lesson from Rook?
----
    She called Detective Ochoa to find the domme while Roxanne and her husband were still in Interrogation, so they wouldn’t have a chance to tip her off. Heat had given them some mug arrays of violent sex offenders to pore over, knowing it was busywork but the kind of busy that would keep them out of her way. Ochoa was only a few blocks from Andrea Boam’s address in Chelsea, and just fifteen minutes later he rang back to report that her roommate said Ms. Boam had been away on vacation since the weekend. Nikki asked, “Did the roommate say where?”
    “Amsterdam,” said Ochoa. “The city, not the avenue.”
    “Imagine that. Amsterdam. For a dominatrix.”
    “Yeah,” he agreed. “Sounds like a busman’s holiday, if you ask me.”
    “Do a follow-up with Customs to run her passport, just to make sure she went,” said Heat. “Smells like a solid alibi, though. Any luck with the priest’s picture?”
    “
Nada
. But. Canvassing these clubs isn’t a total loss. Mostly, I’ve been interviewing submissives, and it’s doing wonders for my self-esteem.”
    Heat was eager to know what was up at the rectory, but Lauren Parry texted her that the autopsy was complete on Father Graf, so she waited until she got to her car on her way to the coroner’s before she called Detective Hinesburg.
    “What’s going on, Nikki?” asked Hinesburg.
    “Just driving down to the OCME wondering what you discovered in the last hour and a half.” Heat didn’t do so well at keeping the irritation out of her voice, but it annoyed her to have to chase her detective down for a simple update. One of Sharon Hinesburg’s dubious qualities was that a fair amount went over her head, and if there was any sting on Heat’s comment, she didn’t seem to notice.
    “What are you going to say to that writer bastard?” said Hinesburg. “Guy screws with me, he doesn’t get an encore, hear what I’m saying?”
    Heat wanted to shout loud enough to make her ear bleed. Instead, she counted to three and calmly said, “Sharon? The housekeeper?”
    “Right. Mrs. . . .” Pages flipped.
    “Borelli,” prompted Nikki. “What did Mrs. Borelli tell you about the missing objects?”
    “Quite a bit, really. She’s something else. Treats the job like a mission. Knows every inch of this place like she was running a museum.” On the other end, Hinesburg turned more pages. “So the bottom line so far is a missing medal from a jewelry box.”
    “What kind of medal?”
    “A holy medal of some kind.” There was muffled talk as Hinesburg covered the mouthpiece, then came back on. “A St. Christopher medal.”
    “And that’s the only thing she says is missing?” ask Heat.
    “So far. We’re still doing inventory together,” Hinesburg added, making sure to sound busy. “But the other thing is, Mrs. B. says things are a little off here. Small things. Drawers with shirts and socks not stacked neatly like she does, books slightly out of alignment, a china cabinet closed but not closed all the way.”
    Nikki was beginning to get the picture and it was no small thing. It was sounding like someone had done a search of the rectory for something, and it was methodical, not a tear-apart job like she saw most of the time. This was starting to feel careful. Professional, maybe. Her thoughts ran to Montrose. Would he have done a search like that?
    “Sharon, keep an inventory, even though Evidence Collection is doing