Killer Heat

FIFTY-EIGHT

You look good there," Mercer said to Mike.

Mike was sitting in Keith Scully's high-backed leather chair, smoking a Cohiba. "You'd look good just about anywhere tonight, Mr. Wallace. If you're still seeing double, then you'd better keep your eye on me for a while. Blondie's a mess."

It was late Tuesday evening and we were in the office of the police commissioner on the fourteenth floor of headquarters. Scully had left for another press conference with the mayor, this one announcing the capture of Troy Rasheed on Governors Island. The prisoner was still in surgery at Bellevue Hospital for the collapsed lung he'd suffered when I stabbed him. Pam Lear's parents had driven to the city from upstate New York to take her home.

I stood next to one of the large windows overlooking Lower Manhattan and the East River. The city appeared to have resumed normalcy after the storm. Power had been restored, traffic was flowing with a regular rhythm, and the Staten Island Ferry was back in service. The water looked as smooth as silk.

Mercer had been treated for the injuries from Rasheed's detonation of the sting grenade. He and Russell Leamer had been knocked out, literally unconscious, when Rasheed opened the door of the office and threw in one of the small spheres, which exploded right next to them. Leamer remained in the hospital overnight for observation, with trauma to his visual cortex. Mercer's vision had cleared by late afternoon

"Where did they find him?" I asked Mike, fixated on the placid scene outside.

I had been treated and released, too, like Mercer. I was only beginning to get details of the arrest.

"Right where you left him, kid. You not only need shooting lessons, but now we got to teach you some anatomy. Don't you know where a guy's heart is?"

Why did that question make me think of Luc? "I wasn't aiming to kill him. I just wanted to get out alive."

"You came pretty close to doing the job, Alex," Mercer said. "You clipped the left subclavian artery. Rasheed almost bled out on the spot."

"And there I was, holding on to Pam," Mike said, "figuring he had gotten himself off the island or was holed up, not wanting to be found. She became hysterical when I tried to leave to see what was taking you so long."

Mike wound up carrying her all the way to the small office. It must have been only minutes after Rasheed had forced me out. Once Mike had discovered Mercer and phoned for help, he started retracing his steps in a desperate effort to find me.

"You knew about Fort Jay?" I asked.

"I'd seen it years ago. I didn't know it had also been used as a military prison."

"It was?"

"Yes. During the Civil War. But it was only for officers-Confederate officers. The magazine was directly behind the room Rasheed took you to. It's the building where all the ammunition was stored. That way, if the rebels stormed the island and tried to rescue their officers, the men would get blown up along with the entire fort. I'm just glad the sally gate was too rusty to close. We'd never have seen you again."

I walked away from the window and sat across the desk from Mike. I shuddered at that thought. "The what?"

"There's a huge iron gate inside the drawbridge."

"Think of your knights in shining armor, Alex," Mercer said. His head was resting on the leather back of his chair, a cold compress on his brow. "Remember how they'd sally forth from their fortresses?"

"Fortunately, it hasn't been closed in years," Mike said.

"And the dry moat?" I asked. "For what?"

"Optical illusion, my dear lady. The bad guys storm the fort, infantry running up the hill, right at the counterscarp. They get to the crest and stop short-nobody needed to bother filling it with water, especially on an island that doesn't have any water source. The troops just keep coming, pushing one another off the grass into the moat, sitting ducks for the guys in the fort."

I poured another glass of water from the pitcher on Scully's desk. I'd been parched all day. Nothing seemed to quench my thirst. "When we will know about Kiernan Dylan?"

"Peterson will call when they're done with him," Mike said. "He's spilling his guts."

Jimmy Dylan had phoned the homicide squad at six o'clock. His son wanted to cooperate once the news of Troy Rasheed's arrest flashed on the air. He had been staying in seclusion, even from his family, with a friend from high school, not far from the city.

"What's he got to say?" I asked.

"The kid was really sure his father killed Amber Bristol. That's what the cover-up was all about. That's why he panicked and left town."

"But he cleaned out her apartment."

Mike took his feet off Scully's desk and blew a smoke ring before he explained. "Kiernan knew about his old man's dirty laundry. He'd met Amber at his father's bar, the Brazen Head. She started showing up at Ruffles after Jimmy Dylan broke it off. When Jimmy heard that, he told Kiernan to throw her out."

"And Kiernan passed the job along to Troy Rasheed," Mercer said.

"Troy, aka Wilson Rasheed. Kiernan asked a cop he was friendly with to do a name check. Came up no record, so no reason to poke around much more," Mike said.

"When Kiernan told Rasheed to get rid of her-drive her home- he gave him the keys to his van. Next night, he says Rasheed told him Amber asked Rasheed to come back, that she was ready to pack up her things and go on home to Idaho," Mercer went on.

"That's what we know so far. Kiernan gave him the keys the next night, too. Saturday night. Anything to get her out of town, out of his father's life."

"And that's the night Rasheed abducted Elise Huff," I said. "You think Kiernan Dylan had anything to do with that?"

"So far, he's denying it. Wasn't even there when she showed up. But she walked into the hands of a killer," Mike said. "She was on her way to find Kiernan, and she came right up against Troy Rasheed. He'd had his first success the night before with Amber Bristol. He needed to feed his habit again."

"And Connie Wade?" I asked.

"We'll have to see if Rasheed is talking when he comes out of surgery."

"My money's with Nelly Kallin. Manipulation, not a blitz attack," Mercer said. "He crossed paths with her somewhere the day she disappeared. Talked her into that white van. Offered her a ride back to school."

Don't get into that car, I thought to myself. Don't ever get into that car.

"You think they have room service here at headquarters?" Mike said to Mercer. "I'm famished."

Mercer took the compress off, smiled, and reapplied it to his forehead. "Unlikely, Mr. Chapman. Just fancier vending machines than the squad has."

"I know, Coop's going to tell me she isn't hungry."

"How would Troy Rasheed even know that dungeon was there? In Governor's House," I said.

" 'Cause they used to give tours of the place when he was a kid. The men who lived there knew all that history. It wasn't a ghost island then," Mike said.

There were footsteps coming through the outer office. Keith Scully and Guido Lentini were back from City Hall.

"You feeling a little better, Alexandra?" Scully said, resting a hand on Mercer's shoulder.

"Getting there."

"Mercer?"

"One hundred percent."

Mike got out of the commissioner's chair. "Guido, don't you think a bit of medicinal Scotch is in order? I didn't want to open any of the cabinets here without a search warrant, but you could give me a hint."

Scully was seated at his desk, ready to get back to work. "Then get me a surgical update on Rasheed, will you, Guido?"

"You got orders for me, too?" Mike asked. He was much too wired to slow down.

"The mayor's going to push me too far," Scully said. "He wants me to let him know when Rasheed is ready to leave the hospital."

"What's the problem with that?" Mike asked.

"He doesn't get the point. He wants to do a perp walk. Always looking for the photo op."

I glanced at Mike and smiled. When he lost his temper and locked up Kiernan Dylan at Ruffles, over my objection, the amateur photograph had captured Troy Rasheed's image. That accidental perp walk undoubtedly saved some women's lives.

"Tell him to check with Coop before he does. You know how I hate to cross her.