Killer Heat (37 page)

The bright green and red bell buoy was more than twenty feet
tall. The huge base on which it rested, once bobbing in the sea to
warn passing ships, was waist high. I climbed onto it, resting the
bloody knife on the ground, working my way inside the frame of the
structure.

The brass bell resting in the metal grid was five times the size
of my head. I grabbed it with both hands and stood back. With a
deafening clang, the clapper struck against the side of the bell.
It rocked from side to side, with a clamor that should have alerted
anyone in the city that there was life on the little island.

Once it settled down, I released it a second time, then jumped
down from the buoy and started on the roadway to check on Mercer
and call for help.

I was running on pure adrenaline now. Halfway down the hill, I
heard Mike calling my name.

“Coop,” he shouted. “Where are you, Coop?”

He must have been standing in front of Leamer's office. The
sound was coming from that direction.

“Stay where you are,” I yelled back. “Don't move. I'm almost
there.”

I didn't want Mike venturing out any farther into territory that
might have been sabotaged by Troy Rasheed. I didn't want him to
encounter that wounded animal, still armed with Mercer's gun.

I ran the rest of the distance as fast as I could. There was a
black Bell helicopter dipping its nose toward the spot in the
distance where Joe Galiano had let us off so many hours ago.

The instant I saw Mike Chapman jogging up to meet me, he opened
his arms and I fell into his embrace. It took him a few moments-and
a reassurance from me-to realize the blood on my shirt was not
mine.

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.

FIFTY-NINE

Why aren't you answering your phone, Alex?“ Joan Stafford asked.
”Why isn't your machine picking up messages? It was Friday
afternoon and I was alone in my apartment. "I'm being selective,
for a change. I turned it off. That's why I'm calling to let you
know that I'm okay. Joan had been checking on me every couple of
hours after the news of our showdown with Troy Rasheed was made
public.

“Just 'okay'?”

“Better than that, Joannie. I promise you I'm better. I was a
good soldier all week. Played by all the rules. I've been debriefed
and redebriefed. Every inch of me was examined by the doctors. My
scratches and bruises were measured and photographed. I came home
from the medical appointments the other night dressed in a hospital
gown with Scully's trenchcoat covering me, so that my clothes could
go to the lab and be cut up and analyzed for body fluids and trace
evidence. The commissioner even insisted the department shrink try
to have a go at me for a couple of hours.”

“Sounds like everyone except the forensic pathologists had a
piece of you, and thankfully they weren't given the chance. So did
you tell the shrink anything Nina or I don't know, darling?”

“I have no secrets from you, Joan.”

“Then come spend the weekend with Jim and me. We're driving out
to the beach. You can rest there and I'll wait on you hand and
foot.”

“I'm happiest in my own cocoon right now, about to get into a
steaming hot bath, with scented bubbles up to my nose.”

“Alex, it's ninety-five degrees outside. Haven't you had enough
heat?”

“I've got the air-conditioning going full blast, and I'm going
to try to soak all the aches out of me.” I felt safe inside my
home, after all the turmoil of recent days. I didn't want to leave
for any reason.

“You'll starve to death if you're alone all weekend.”

“I think takeout was invented for me, Joan.”

She paused. “You need this time by yourself, don't you?”

“I wasn't able to sleep for a couple of nights,” I said.
“Nightmares, flashbacks-I didn't even want to close my eyes. About
four this morning, I gave in to it. I almost feel human again
today. I didn't wake up until eleven. I still haven't gotten
dressed. It feels wonderfully decadent.”

“Did you dream, Alex?”

With my left hand I unbuttoned the old shirt I was wearing. “A
very pleasant dream, actually, for the first time in several
weeks.”

“In English or French?”

“Nothing that needed translation, Joan. A delightful foreign
intrigue, but my lousy accent never got in the way of any
action.”

“Then turn your phone back on. I've been running interference
for you all day. You're driving your friends crazy with worry. And
Luc can't get through. He called me to ask if you received the
package he overnighted to you from his home.”

“I wasn't expecting any deliveries today. I asked Vinny not to
call up.”

“Luc instructed the valet to leave it right in front of your
door. Check while I'm on the line with you.”

I walked through the foyer and unlocked the dead bolt. I peeked
out to make sure no one was in the hallway to see me, tousled and
barely clothed, and swept up the newspapers and the light cardboard
carton on top of them.

“Yes, Joan. There's something here.” I left the papers in the
living room-there was no news I wanted to read about-and carried
the box with me.

“Good. Take your bath. I'm so happy you're beginning to relax.
Then open the gift later. And call Luc, will you?”

“I haven't forgotten all my manners, madame. I'll speak to you
tonight, before I go to sleep.”

The bathtub was full. I closed the door and slipped out of my
shirt.

“And Mike,” Joan said.

“What about him?”