Killer Heat

TWENTY-SEVEN

Isqueezed in between two twenty-somethings and took the last stool at the bar. Mike planted himself behind me and threw down a fifty-dollar bill-mine, of course-to get the attention of one of the bartenders. The scene was too white and too young for an over-forty African-American, so Mercer waited in the car across the street

I'm surprised there was no line to get in," I said

It's not midnight yet, and that rain has to dampen the enthusiasm of even the most desperate broads looking to get lucky."

The downtown scene picked up between twelve o'clock and four on weekends. Velvet ropes blocked access to the hottest doors in town, and bouncers were usually on hand to dispatch the unruly as well as to select the sexiest to jump ahead of the crowd.

"Welcome to Ruffles," a short, stocky guy with sandy hair said, squaring off opposite me. "What are you drinking, sweetheart?"

"Sweetheart's starting with a club soda," Mike said. "She got hammered last night, so we'll tune her up a bit later. What have you got in single malts?"

"If this stuff is too heavy for you, I do a wicked watermelon martini." The bartender was talking to me as he handed over a small Lucite stand framing a list of drinks. Printed on one side were microbrews and wines by the glass; on the other was the assortment of fine Scotch.

As Mike looked over my shoulder, I pointed at the logo and message written in italics across the bottom of the page: Ruffle: To create a disturbance (Webster's Dictionary). Kiernan Dylan, Proprietor.

"Make a decision?"

"I'll take a Lagavulin. Neat," Mike said.

"Intense, man." The bartender turned to the well-stocked shelves behind him and brought over a full bottle of the smoky, amber-colored Scotch.

I swiveled on the stool and took in the scene. After Mike got the call about Ruffles, I had put my hair in a ponytail to affect my most youthful look and dressed in a tank top and tight jeans.

Fresh-faced young women continued to arrive in twos and threes. Guys at the bar looked them over, some moving in on the groups before they had even settled at one of the small round tables against the wall. The place was filling up, and while young men chatted up girls on their first and second drinks, those anxious to hook up with someone before last call would begin a more frantic pursuit as the hours wound down.

Waitresses in white ruffle-trimmed blouses and black cotton slacks worked the floor from the service bar, not far from where I sat.

"Dylan's Law," Mike said, pointing as new arrivals stood in the doorway. One looked poised for a walk down a Seventh Avenue runway, while the other had thick makeup troweled on and enough dark eyeliner to resemble a raccoon.

"What law would that be?"

"For every pretty girl, there's an ugly roommate."

"Jimmy Dylan?"

"You got it. I told you he was a pig. He'd stroll through the Brazen Head watching all his kids' friends getting their load on, passing judgment on the crowd."

The bartender was keeping an eye out for glasses that needed a refill.

"You Kiernan?" Mike asked.

"Nah. Wouldn't be working back here like an ordinary stiff if I was one of Dylan's kids," he said, wiping the water marks off the wood. "I'm Charlie."

"Good to meet you, Charlie. I'm Mike. I thought Kiernan takes a turn every now and then."

"Sure he does. Covers for us while we take our breaks, when he's here. For him, though, it's just amusement. He walks away when he's got something better to do and leaves me with all the drunks. You looking for Kiernan?"

"Nah," Mike said, "I know his big brother. Just thought I'd say hello."

"Junior? You a friend of Junior's?"

"Yeah, you could say that. I know him from uptown. From the Head. How long has Kiernan had this place?"

"His father set him up over the winter. Six, seven months now."

A girl who couldn't have been more than sixteen wedged herself between me and Mike, extending her arm and putting her empty glass on the bar top.

"What can I do for you, love?"

"Whatever that last one was you gave me? It was delicious. You know, that sort of blue thing with the vodka in it?" She was giggling and flirting with Charlie.

"Coming right up."

"That guy over there in the corner, with the navy blue T-shirt," she said. "He said to put it on his tab."

While Charlie stepped away to mix a concoction for the kid, Mike chatted her up. "I know I've seen you somewhere before. Do you go to Nightingale? I've got a little sister. Maybe you've been to a party at our apartment."

"Like, who's your sister?" she said, shaking her head. "I go to Spence, but I hang with a lot of girls from there. What's her name?"

Mike had made his point. He pretended he had a sister at one of the city's premier private schools and got the teenager to admit she was still a high school student.

"Ava. Ava Gardner," Mike said, knowing the kid wouldn't have a clue that he'd named his nonexistent sister for one of his favorite movie stars.

"I don't think I know who she is," the girl said with a pained expression, as if he had asked her to determine the square root of 327. She used Mike's arm to pivot away from the bar with a full glass of blue liquid, then sipped from it and giggled again. "Don't tell Ava, but I'm a senior at Princeton for the night. I've got an older sister, and she'd kill me if she caught me here. It's so fun, isn't it?"

She headed back to Mr. Navy Blue T-Shirt, who was surrounded by three other teenagers.

"I'd say we got Kiernan for serving minors, in case he turns uncooperative," Mike said to me. "It must be in his genes."

Charlie was at the service counter, filling an order for one of the waitresses, before he turned back to us. "Ready for something else?"

"Actually," Mike said, "I was hoping to talk to Kiernan. Is he still around?"

"What do you mean 'still'?"

"One of my buddies was in earlier tonight. A guy who knows him. Said he was here."

"You looking for a job? I'll give you a number to call."

"Nope. It's kind of a personal thing."

The bartender had braced his arms against the wooden counter, glancing from time to time at the narrow hallway at the rear of the room. "Then give him a personal call. This here's his business."

"Well, if I knew how to reach him, I might do that."

"If it's personal you should know how to reach him." His genial manner had turned cool.

A second girl, as young-looking as the first, wobbling on four-inch heels, stood behind Mike and asked for another margarita.

"Let me see that ID, will you?"

"C'mon, Charlie. It's still just me," she said, fumbling in her pants pocket for a driver's license that was undoubtedly fake.

I guessed that the bartender's sudden attention to the rules meant that he had figured Mike for a cop.

"Lucky for you," Mike said, "I'm a patient man. Don't you think if I wait long enough, Kiernan will come around?"

Charlie looked to his left again. There was something besides the rest rooms down that hallway.

"Lucky for me is that any minute now my two bouncers will show up and remind you where the door is."

"Even if I haven't ruffled anything? Caused any disturbance?"

"Hold my spot, will you, Mike? I need the ladies' room." I slipped off the stool and started for the hallway.

Charlie seemed to think about abandoning his busy post to follow me, but a tall, well-dressed young man moved in next to Mike, put down some bills, and ordered a Jack Daniel's and a Cosmopolitan.

The dark passageway had four marked doors. The first two had symbols for men and women posted above them. The one after them was tagged with a metal sign for the basement, and at the far end, I could read the word Office in the dim light from the overhead bulb.

Mike got off the stool as I approached and started to sit down.

"Look," Charlie said to me, "if you're not drinking, love, I've got people who'll be glad to give me the business. I can use your seat."

"I'm not feeling all that well," I said to Mike, so that Charlie could hear. "I think I'm going to be sick. Would you walk me back to the ladies' room?"

I took Mike by the hand and started to lead him through the groups of drinkers, while Charlie called after us. "Take it outside, okay? Don't be messing up in here."

A couple claimed our seats as soon as we were out of the way. Charlie looked around desperately for someone to give him a hand. He called out to one of the waitresses, but she couldn't hear him over the music and laughter.

As we disappeared into the hallway, I looked back and saw Charlie reach under the bar and come up with a telephone receiver. "You really overdid it last-"

"I'm fine, Mike. I was just scouting for a place where Kiernan might be holed up," I said, pointing to the sign on the last door. "You want a shot at him? If he didn't see tonight's news, we're way ahead of the game."

Mike brushed past me and opened the door. There was a staircase going up a flight, but no lights. He went up the steps as quickly as possible and I followed behind him.

At the top was another door, and the sound of scuffling behind it. I could hear voices, two people talking to each other. Mike jiggled the handle but the door was locked, so he pounded on it.

"Whaddaya want? Who is it?"

"Police. Open up. C'mon-right now."

"Police? What are you, crazy?" a male voice called out. "You got a warrant or something? I'm gonna make a phone call."

"I don't need a warrant, Kiernan. I'm not here to search anything," Mike said. "Calm down. You don't make a call and I won't make a call."

"Whaddaya mean? Whaddaya mean you won't make a call?"

"Walk to the front of the room and look out the window. You're gonna see a black Crown Vic. We've got the place staked out, up and down the block. Take a look, Kiernan. I'll wait that long. One call from me to my crew, they come marching in the front door of Ruffles and all those cute little twinkies whose blood alcohol level is higher than their SAT scores? The next time you see any of them-or a liquor license-you'll be too old to know what to do with them."

There was no noise for a minute, and then I could hear the man's footsteps march away, toward the window facing the street. Slowly, he made his way back and cracked open the door.

"Chapman, Mike Chapman. NYPD." Mike left out the homicide reference. It was often the fastest way to end a conversation. "This is Alex Cooper. She's with the DA's office."

"Kiernan Dylan." He said his name but blocked the entrance with his large body.

"We'd like to come in."

"This isn't a really good time. I've got somebody with me. If you just want to talk, we can do it this way."

"I'm afraid of the dark," Mike said, pushing the door open and walking past Kiernan. "I'd prefer it in here."

I took a few steps in and heard a sniffling noise from someone huddled in an armchair in the corner.

Mike found a floor lamp and turned it on. "You okay, young lady?"

The black-haired teenager wiped her nose with the back of her hand and looked up at Kiernan before answering. "Uh-huh. Yeah."

I saw him cover his crotch and heard the sound of his fly zipping up. In addition to the desk and several file cabinets on the side of the room, there was a large futon under the window. I assumed from the disarray of the sheets that we had interrupted an intimate encounter.

"Can I go?" she asked. Her eyes were red and her nose was running. Hard to know whether she had been crying or snorting cocaine, until I saw the razor blade on the glass-topped table. A bottle of tequila and two paper cups were on the floor beside it.

"What's your name?" Mike asked, kneeling to make eye contact with her.

Again, she looked at Kiernan before speaking. "Sally. Sally Anton."

"How old are you?"

Kiernan started to answer for her but Mike held out his arm and he stopped. "I'm twenty-um. I'm twenty-two."

"Let's see your ID."

"Look, Chapman. Everybody gets carded here, okay? The SLA has no beef with me. I don't know why you cops think you can barge in-"

Mike looked at the license. "What year were you born?"

Sally looked at the ceiling and sucked on her lower lip, trying to do the math. "Like, um, nineteen eighty um…"

Mike snapped his fingers a few times as he stood up. "You got to get that down, Sally. Next ID you buy," he said, pocketing her fake license, "you've got to learn to memorize the date of birth, not just your age."

Tears rolled down her cheeks as she pulled up her strapless halter top.

"How are you going to get home?" I asked her.

"Well, he was going to go with me."

Kiernan took twenty dollars from his pocket and handed it to her. "Tell Charlie to have one of the guys put you in a cab, babe."

"What guys?" Mike asked.

"The ones who work the door," Kiernan said, looking at his watch. "They'll be on any minute. Take a cab, Sally. I'll call you later."

The young woman collected her belongings-pocketbook, cell phone, and a thong that was on the futon, tangled up in the wires of her iPod-before closing the door behind her.

"Have a seat," Mike said to Kiernan. We pulled three chairs in a circle.

"What's this about?"

Kiernan Dylan was built like a fullback. He was taller than Mike- at least six three-and looked like he weighed more than 240 pounds. His eyes were set too close and his nose appeared to have been broken several times.

"How old are you?"

"Twenty-eight," he said, leaning back so that the two front legs of the chair tipped off the floor.

"Ever hear of statutory rape?"

The chair thudded down and Kiernan slammed his hand on the desk. "What? You must be crazy, man. I don't have to rape anybody. I got girls-never mind."

"I know Sally isn't twenty-two. Here's hoping she's at least hit eighteen."

"That's what this is? You policing my social life? Not even my mother does that, Chapman."

"You go to college, Kiernan?"

"Yeah. Boston University."

"Any military service?"

"ROTC. I was ROTC at school."

"Did you like it?"

"Yeah, yeah, I liked it. My father wanted me to go into the marines- like him-but I didn't do it."

Mike was stone-faced. "Did you listen to any news tonight?"

"What news?"

"Some people, they're interested in world affairs or local politics. Sports. Weather and traffic. Winning lottery numbers. Sound familiar? The news, Kiernan, you watch any?"

"Not lately."

"How about last week?"

"I'm asking you, what news?"

"Your friend Elise Huff. Anybody tell you she's missing?"

"My friend who?" Dylan's heavy eyebrows vibrated like a thick caterpillar across the center of his forehead.

"Elise Huff. The girl who was supposed to meet with you two weeks ago at the Pioneer."

"I don't know who you're talking about. Why would I go to the Pioneer when I've got my own place?"

" 'Cause a lot of your friends still party there," I said. " 'Cause maybe you didn't want to bring another girl in here, when so many others are waiting to play with you."

"Elise Huff," Mike said again. "From Tennessee. Worked for an airline."

"Oh, yeah," Kiernan said, his mouth agape. "The stewardess. I didn't even know her last name."

Or the sales agent who told people she was a stewardess.

"How many times did you see her?" Mike asked.

"Why?" he asked, his large hand grabbing a rubber band from the desk and stretching it as he talked. "She's got no gripe against me. I never touched her."

"I asked you how many times you saw her."

"I met her one night. Once."

"Where?"

"At the house of a girlfriend of hers. I was just along for the ride with one of my college buddies. Just hanging out, is all. She was like a stalker, you know what I mean? Followed me around all night like a puppy dog. Kept calling me all the time after that. Trying to get together with me. Really annoying, she was."

"Nothing sexual that first night?" I asked.

"Maybe we made out and stuff. If she thinks that entitled her to anything else, then she's dumber than I thought she was."

"She had your cell number? How'd she get that?"

Kiernan stared at Mike. "Okay, so I gave it to her. Is that a big deal? I got lots of friends. I'm always trying to get people to come downtown, show them the bar. I give it out a lot-maybe more than I should. Look, I don't know what you're after but you're wasting your time."

Kiernan stood up and kicked the chair back behind him.

"Sit down."

"Finish up, Detective. I've got work to do." He put his hands on his hips and seemed to puff up his solid chest.

Mike stood and faced off with Kiernan. "You see Elise Huff a second time? On a Saturday night, two weeks ago?"

"I told you I never went to the Pioneer to meet her."

"And I didn't ask, this time, if you went to the Pioneer, did I? Did she show up at Ruffles? Did you meet her somewhere else? Did you return her calls that night? Sit down, take it easy, and let's go over my questions one by one. There'll still be some talent waiting for you downstairs when I'm done."

"I don't even remember what the girl looks like. I don't think I ever saw her again, to be quite honest with you. You'd have to show me a picture."

"You come to the office with me, it just so happens I can do that," Mike said. "Which would you rather see? Her college yearbook or the autopsy photographs?"

Kiernan Dylan exhaled. His voice was quiet now, and his cheeks reddened. "What autopsy photos? What happened to her?"

"She stayed out pretty late one night, looking for you. That's an answer I figured you had for us."

The rubber band snapped, hitting Kiernan on the chin. He picked up a stapler from the desktop and heaved it against the wall. It ricocheted and smashed several wine glasses that were lined up on a side table.

"There's that Dylan temper," Mike said. "A chip off the old block. You must make your old man proud."

"Shit! You leave my father out of this. You didn't tell me you knew him. What the hell are you looking to do? Shut me down? For what?"

"Just take a minute and pretend that you feel bad about the fact that the girl is dead. Can you do that for me?"

The phone rang.

"Ignore it, kid."

"It's only the intercom. It's Charlie, wanting to know if everything's okay up here."

Mike nodded and Kiernan picked up the receiver. "No problem. I don't need anybody. Take care of Sally for me."

Kiernan lowered his big body back onto the chair. "Where were we?"

"You were going to tell me how bad you feel about Elise."

"Sick to my stomach bad."

"Pleased to hear it. For her or for you?"

"I'm telling you I met her one time."

"Quite an impression you made."

"Everybody was talking about Ruffles that night. The place is doing really well. Kids that used to be all over the Brazen Head are coming downtown now. She wanted to be part of the mix, I guess. She wanted to meet guys, she wanted to have a good time."

"That first night you met Elise," I said, "where was the party?"

"I'm not exactly sure of the address. I went with friends. It was the house of some girl they knew. Her mother and father were away, out of town."

"East Side? West? Downtown? C'mon. Help us with this."

Kiernan looked at me, surprised that I didn't know the basic facts. "It wasn't in Manhattan. I was out at my parents' place for the weekend."

"Where's that?"

"Breezy Point."

I didn't know much about the beach community on the far western Rockaway peninsula of Long Island, in Queens, but Mike would fill me in later.

"So you met Elise out at the beach?" Mike said, picking up the thread. I knew he must be thinking, as I was, of the olive green blanket in which her body had been wrapped, and the sand that Dickie Draper had found in it.

"I met her at somebody's house, okay?"

"A warm summer night, a few cocktails, a walk along the ocean, a little action. No wonder she was chasing you after that. You call her the next day?"

"She called me. Monday." He had picked up another rubber band and was twisting it around his fingers.

"To make a date?"

"I guess."

"Well, isn't that what Elise wanted?"

"She wanted passes to Ruffles. I was handing them out to friends, so they could drink for free the first time they came. And VIP cards to get past the lines."

"But she was interested in you, wasn't she?"

Kiernan shrugged his huge shoulders. The rubber band was twisted so tight around the ends of his fingers that the tips were turning white.

"When did you go to Breezy Point next?" Mike asked.

"I'm back and forth all the time. My folks have had the place since I was a kid. I've always spent summers there."

"You take Elise out with you?"

"No way. She was nothing to me. I told you, I saw her once and that was it."

"Gets crowded out there in the summer, doesn't it?"

"The Point? Yeah."

"I was thinking about your family's house, in particular."

Kiernan didn't know where Mike was going with this. He cocked his head and squinted, his eyebrows rolling into the shape of a fuzzy V.

"What with all those brothers and sisters of yours, your mother-"

"She spends the month in Ireland, with my grandparents."

"Your father, too. But I guess he's had a playmate to keep him company while your mom's gone, then. What's his friend's name? Amber? Isn't it Amber Bristol?"

Kiernan Dylan opened his clenched fists and spread his fingers wide, snapping the band off as he did. He stood up and kicked the drawer of the heavy old oak desk, moving it back almost a foot.

"That bitch has nothing to do with him anymore. You understand that, Detective? Amber won't be back, so you can just leave Jimmy Dylan out of my business. You coming after me? Then leave my father alone.