Killer Heat (31 page)

“I'm thinking nothing good, pal,” Mike called over his
shoulder.

Then he put his head down and one hand on top of it to hold his
thick black hair out of his eyes. “Don't know if she's here or in
the deep blue yonder or in a better place. But we've got a maniac
on the loose- or two.”

He turned to Mercer and me. “We're looking for a serial rapist
who likes to torture his victims and thinks he's safer by killing
them. And a despondent Dylan-or his old man-who probably used this
park as a playground.”

I could see Dickie Draper through the open side of the former
offi cers' club. His weight served him well today. He was anchored
upright to the ground despite the wind, while the rest of us were
fighting it head-on.

Before I could reach the covered building, there was a huge clap
of thunder and a streak of lightning off in the distance. The
cloud overhead burst and the rain poured down in torrents. I dashed
the rest of the way for cover.

In the far corner of the windowless room, a thin young woman sat
alone on a bench, wrapped in a trenchcoat. A policewoman wearing a
Suffolk County uniform stood behind her.

“You and me will have to share this one,” Draper said. “No need
to bring in someone from the Queens DA's office till we know what
we got.”

“I'd be happy for help, Dickie. But we might as well get right
on it.”

Mike turned to Ranger Barrett as I approached the girl. “Nobody
stops. I don't care if they're soaked to the bone. The search goes
on until your men find every underground bunker and whatever else
is hiding in the sand. I want this girl alive.”

Mercer was on the phone to Peterson to demand more backup. “I'm
Alex Cooper,” I said. “I'm with the Manhattan District Attorney's
Office.”

“This here's Lydia,” Draper said.

I sat opposite her, on another old bench with wobbly legs. She
kept looking at Draper as though he had a second head, less than
charmed by his manner.

“She's been telling me about Pam. She says that-”

“I think it's better if we back up a bit.” I wanted this
information from Lydia, not filtered through Draper in the
retelling.

Lydia's eyes darted back and forth between the two of us. “Do
you understand what this is all about?”

“I'm beginning to, I think.”

“There's no detail too insignificant for what the detectives
need to do. Every word, every description, every fact you know
about Pam might be useful,” I said. I needed the most critical
information first, but I also needed to know something about
Pam-her judgment, her strengths, and her vulnerability.

“I don't know her well,” Lydia said. “She's a student at Stony
Brook. She had an ad on MySpace for an apartment rental for the
summer. I- um-I answered the ad. I had to make up some classes at
summer school.”

The two had gotten along well as casual acquaintances but were
not close friends. Pam was a serious student, majoring in history,
who loved her internship with the Park Service because it combined
her interest in American history with her desire to spend time
outdoors. “Tell me about this weekend. About Sunday,” I said. “Did
you see Pam?”

“No. No, I didn't. She had to be at the park-I mean here-by
eight o'clock. I had dinner with her on Saturday. But then I went
out for a while, so I slept in on Sunday morning.”

Lydia's long brown hair hung on her shoulders. Her hands were in
the pockets of her coat. Every time a roll of thunder sounded in
the distance, she seemed to get more agitated.

“Did you speak to her after that?”

“Yeah, yeah, I told Mr. Draper that I did.”

“How many times?”

“Twice. Twice more.”

“When?”

“I guess the first time was around noon. She was supposed to
turn in a bunch of things that the NPS had given her to use during
the summer, for orientation. Pamphlets and stuff. She also had to
return her ID and her uniforms,” Lydia said. “But she accidentally
left her backpack somewhere, so she called to ask me if it was in
the kitchen, 'cause if not she was afraid she had lost it on the
bus.”

“How long was the conversation?”

“Like a minute or two. I went to look around the apartment, and
the backpack was still on the floor, near the front door. Pam told
me she was relieved-she could always turn the stuff in on Monday.
She asked if I wanted to go out for dinner, you know, to celebrate
the end of her job. I told her I had to study for a final exam on
Monday morning and I wasn't in the mood to celebrate. That I'd let
her know if I changed my mind.”

“Did she say anything else in that first phone call? Anything
about who she was with or what she was doing?”

Lydia shrugged. “No.”

“The second call, did you make that one or did she?”

“It was Pam who called me again.”

“What time? Why?”

Lydia looked past me at the roiling surf. “I'm not sure. Maybe
two thirty. Maybe three. I was curled up in my bedroom with the
door closed,” she said plaintively, trying to explain what now
seemed like indifference to Pam's situation. “I was cramming for a
chemistry test. I resented every interruption, every phone
call.”

“Why did Pam call?”

“I don't know that either.” Lydia's fingers were nervously
scratching the inside pockets of her trenchcoat.

“What did she say, exactly?”

“She was all hyper, like excited. Sort of talking fast. Some of
it making no sense.”

“About what?”

“The first thing she asked me was what time did she have to be
home for dinner. I told her I didn't know what she was talking
about, that I'd already told her I couldn't go out with her. But
she repeated something about our dinner date-looking forward to it
and all. Then she said for sure she'd be home by eight.”

“Do you know what Pam meant?” I asked.

“I thought she was showing off for someone, pretending she had a
date. That's why I was kind of annoyed with her. I asked her what
was going on, and that's when she told me she was with a guy.”

“What guy? Did she tell you anything about him?”

The men had formed a semicircle behind me. Lydia looked around
at their faces and hunched her shoulders as the thunder boomed
again.

“You're all staring at me like I'm supposed to solve this for
you,” she said. “I barely know the girl, and I have no idea who
she was talking to. I didn't know anything about a serial killer
when she was on the phone.”

Lydia removed her hands from her pocket. I took them between
mine, clasped them together, and tried to keep her engaged and
cooperative.

"We understand you had no reason to connect any of this to
Pam.

Please keep talking, Lydia. Please tell us everything she said
to you.

What did she tell you about the guy?"

“Weird. I even asked her, 'What guy?' Twice she said to me, 'You
know, the one who comes to the fort every week.' ”

“That's great, Lydia. Pam had talked to you about this young man
before Sunday.”

“That's what's so odd, Miss Cooper. She had never mentioned him
to me. Pam talked about her job, about the other interns. She
loved anything that had to do with history. But she didn't have a
single date these two months, much less say anything about a guy
she met at work.”

“You're certain? You just didn't miss something while you were
studying?”

"Pam never talked about a guy. Not once the entire summer.

I mean, she was hoping to meet someone interesting, but it
didn't happen."

Either Lydia had been too deeply immersed in her periodic table
of elements to listen to the earlier references or Pam was trying
to make a point during that second phone call.

“What did she say?”

“I told you. She was with somebody, like I was supposed to know
about who she meant,” Lydia said. “Only I didn't.”

“What were her words, her exact words?”

Lydia took her hands from mine and tucked her feet under the
bench. She seemed to be trying to think.

I pushed her. “The words Pam used, tell me those.”

" 'I haven't forgotten about dinner. I'll for sure be home by
eight.' That's how she started. I told her I didn't know what she
was talking about. Then she said. 'You know that guy I told you
about? The one who comes here every week? Knows all these hidden
places in the old fort?' 'What the hell are you talking about?' I
asked. Then it was something about history. That he wanted to show
her something historical.

Like a family place."

“Family place?” I turned my head and looked at Mike. Whose
family, I wondered, and what kind of place.

“I think what she said was where his family went for holidays.”
The rain was teeming now and the tide was rising on the beach. I
couldn't imagine Troy Rasheed and his family on a holiday outing,
but I had visions of the Dylans at their vacation house a few miles
away. I was as confused as Lydia.

“What holidays?”

Her words were clipped and firm. “I don't know. If I hadn't been
so annoyed about the interruption, maybe I'd have asked more
questions. It was just so unlike Pam. Then she said she was going
and that she'd call me again when they got there.”

“Got where?”

“Wherever the hell she agreed to go. Look, Miss Cooper,” Lydia
said, standing up, "at the time she called, I thought she was just
showing off for this guy, pretending she had something else to do
that night. I studied, I went to sleep and got up early. Pam
wasn't there.

Great. I figured she and her history pal hit it off. Nothing
strange about that. I took my exam, went out with a bunch of
friends from school, spent the evening at the library, and when I
came home late last night I realized Pam's backpack was still by
the door."

“Did you try to reach her?”

“Yeah. Sure. I called her cell but it didn't even go to voice
mail. I called five times. It just isn't like her not to follow
the rules, you know? Not to turn in the park uniforms and stuff,”
Lydia said, laughing a bit.

“She's such a nerdy kind of good girl.”

Lydia walked to the end of the bench, facing out to the rough
sea, and sat down. “I had no one to call, didn't know the people
she worked with. Then I was watching the late news, and the story
about these girls who'd been killed came on. It didn't seem
possible that it could have anything to do with Pam. But I kept
watching, and there was a local news story that showed one of the
bodies was found in Brooklyn, not too far from here.”

Elise Huff, wrapped in the green blanket, was dumped in the
marsh off Belt Parkway, right across Jamaica Bay from where we
stood. “That's when you called the Suffolk police?”

“Yes, ma'am. Just a few hours ago.” Lydia dug her hands back
into her pockets. “I'm kicking myself now 'cause I think maybe Pam
was trying to signal me.”

“How do you mean?” I asked.

“She was so wound up, I guess she was really excited about
whatever she thought she was going to see. But at the same time she
was making a point to whoever was with her, if he was listening,
that she had to be somewhere, with someone, by eight o'clock. Pam
was obviously trying to let him know that she had talked
about him before, even though she hadn't, I swear it. Like maybe
she was a little bit afraid and wanted to warn him someone knew
she was with him.”

“You're doing very well, Lydia. Everything you know, every idea
you put together-it all helps us,” I said. “Has anyone asked you,
did Pam say where she was when she called that second time?”

“Oh, yeah. She was right here.”

“On her post, at Fort Tilden?”

“Yes, she and her friend-well, this guy-they were driving around
the beach.”

“I got them working the Lear girl's cell phone already, Alex.
Looking for pings. Seeing if we can trace where she's gone. Getting
nothing from it so far. Could be he ditched it,” Dickie Draper
said, waddling closer to me. Then he looked at Lydia. “Must be
wrong about where Pam said she was. Think harder. They don't let
anybody drive on the beach here. The only vehicles these park
personnel are allowed to use going over the sand are dune
buggies.”

Lydia pursed her lips. "I'm telling you what Pam said,
Detective.

That he was driving her all over the beach, showing her things
she'd never seen before. In his jeep. I'm pretty sure she said he
had an old army jeep.

FORTY-SIX

An old army jeep,“ I said, as I watched the Suffolk officer lead
Lydia to the patrol car to get her back to the mainland before
travel became impossible. ”What's the description of Wilson
Rasheed's jeep that Edenton put out on the APB?"

“Willy MB, 1944,” Mercer said. “Manufactured for the Department
of the Army. Those little workhorses that could handle any
terrain.” Mike was giving Dickie Draper directions to Jimmy Dylan's
Breezy Point house. “It's a five-minute drive from here. See who's
at home. We need to reel Kiernan in.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, Mikey. Who died and made you the commanding
officer? This frigging breeze is turning into a hurricane. I'm
outta here.”

“Don't panic just because they don't make life rafts big enough
to hold you, Dickie. I didn't happen to come by car, so I'm
counting on you to check it out.”

The thunder and lightning were getting closer. It was almost
high tide and the surf was raging. Joe Galiano came trotting over
from the broken-up concrete pad on which we had landed. “We've got
to get out of here now. It's going to be dicey. Winds are up to
fifty miles an hour.”

Mike didn't need to be told a second time. “Let's go, Coop.”

“One call. Give me one minute.” I held up a finger and backed
into a corner of the long room so that I could hear once I dialed
the number.

“You can fly in this?” Mike asked Galiano, as his hair whipped
across his face.