Cold Hit by Linda Fairstein

Wouldn’t want to slight all the artists and clients who couldn’t get here on short notice. But you better cut this exercise in futility short, ’cause we need some help.”
    “With what?”
    “Looks like we found the car Deni’s body was transported in. Need you to do a warrant.”
    “Great. How’d you get it?”
    “Uniform cop in the Bronx noticed an abandoned station wagon this morning. Not far from the water. K-
9
Unit took a dog up there a little while ago and got a positive hit. Looks like there’s blood on a canvas tarp in the back, too.”
    “Any plates? Whose is it?”
    “Stripped clean. VIN number’s been scratched out a bit, but the computer still came up with a list of possibilities.”
    “And?”
    “One of them comes back to an employee who works in Deni’s Chelsea gallery. Bingo.”
    I stepped back and smiled at the judge. “That’s it, Your Honor. No further argument. We’ll rest on our papers.” I grabbed my files off the table and followed Mercer and Mike out of the courtroom.
     
9
     
    Laura tried to pass the telephone to me as I swept through her alcove. “It’s Rose. She just wants to warn you that Battaglia said he’d like an update on the Caxton investigation.”
    “Tell her that he’ll have it by the end of the day.”
    Mike was at my desk, using the private line. “It’s a girl!” This time I grabbed the receiver out of his hand. Sarah’s baby had been born during the night, and she was calling to tell us about it, urging us to come visit Janine as soon as possible.
    “You okay?”
    “Much easier this time. When are you coming up to the hospital? I’ll only be here until Wednesday.”
    “Don’t worry. We’ll come see her tonight or tomorrow. Give her a kiss and tell her we’ll all be up the first break we get.” I placed the phone back in its cradle.
    “See, Alex, that’s what you should be doing with your life instead of chasing around after scumbags like we do all day.”
    “You’re beginning to sound like my grandmother.” I turned to Mike as I sat down at my desk. “Have you ever done one of these before? I mean, a search warrant based on a
dog
as the informant?”
    “No, but I got the officer right outside who knows how.” He walked to the door of my office and signaled to a plainclothes cop who was reading the
Daily News
on a chair in the hallway. “This is Detective Loquesto,” he said, introducing me to a sandy-haired man with a crooked smile that seemed to align with his long, hooked nose. “Armando, meet Alex Cooper.”
    “Good to meet you. Thanks for the break.”
    “Don’t thank me,” he said. “Tego did it. Latin word for ‘I protect.’ I’m just the handler; the dog does the heavy lifting.”
    “Can you walk me through the affidavit?”
    “No problem — do it all the time.”
    I pulled up my standard search warrant application form on the computer, quickly punching in the information Chapman fed me about the target automobile, a ’ 91 light blue Chevy wagon, partial vehicle identification number 6683493 , registered to Omar Sheffield.
    “How’d you connect Sheffield to one of the Caxton galleries?” I asked.
    Mercer spoke up. “Caxton’s aide, Maurizio, faxed me a list of all the employees. It was on my desk when I walked in today. Also had the names of some of Denise’s clients — said we’d have to get the rest of them from Daughtry.”
    I fleshed out the paragraph delineating that there is reasonable cause to believe that we might find blood, hair, fibers, fingerprints, and other evidence of the presence of the body of Denise Caxton. Then I added in the “moreover” clause, asking the judge to believe that this property was used to commit or conceal the commission of a crime.
    It was essential to explain to the court how, when, and where the body of the deceased had been found, and that her death was the result of a homicide. When I finished that paragraph, I looked up at Armando for help. “Now what?”
    “You