The Kills (17 page)

"Right.
Well, I finally got her in for the interview today. Twelve earrings in her left
ear, a pierced tongue and a navel to match. Eighteen years old. She came in to
Madison Square Garden with her friends, but they all got separated before the
concert. The others went to buy some dope."

"And
your girl?"

"She
just waited for them near the stage door, holding up a poster she made at home
to get the attention of the bassist."

"I'll
bite. What'd it say?" I asked.

"'Fuck
me, Twiggy!'"

Chapman
laughed as he swigged his beer. "Don't tell me she's complaining that he
actually did?"

"Nope,"
Lee continued. "Along came an enterprising young man who said he was part
of the band's stage crew. He offered to get Alicia front-row tickets in the
mosh pit, in exchange for a blowjob. So Twiggy could see the sign real
good."

"This
guy's taking scalping to a new level," Mike said.

"Alicia
didn't mind the price a bit. They went into an alley around the corner, on
Thirty-third Street, and she did the deed. The mook didn't come up with the
tickets, though. She never reconnected with her buddies, and she ended up using
the money for her train ride home to buy a cheap seat in the peanut gallery to
hear the band and hold up her sign hoping Twiggy could see it."

"So
the tears?"

"Tears
for Twiggy and the lost opportunity. Says she lied to the cop and told him she
was raped 'cause she once had a friend who was assaulted in the city, and those
cops drove her little buddy all the way home to Syosset, free of charge."

I shooed
both Mike and Lee out the door. "Doesn't sound like you need me at
all."

"Just
want to know whether you want me to charge her for filing a false report."

"Who'd
the cops lock up? The guy she had oral sex with?"

"Yeah.
Originally she claimed he forced her. Now she admits it was consensual. But
he's been in jail for five days."

"How
much time did the cop put in on this?" Mike asked.

"Spent
half the night with the kid at the hospital, then schlepping her home to Mom
and Dad and explaining the whole situation. The parents broke his balls, even
though he was just the messenger."

"Book
'er," Mike said. "Whaddaya say, Coop?"

"I'm
with Mike. Let's go, guys."

We turned
the corner into the main hallway, which was dark and quiet. A figure was
sitting at the security desk opposite the elevators, talking on a cell phone,
his back to us. It was long past the hour the guards remained on duty anyplace
in the building except the entrance lobby.

As we
passed the desk, the man in the chair spun around and spoke. I recognized
Graham Hoyt just as he said my name. "Ms. Cooper? Alex? Could I speak with
you?"

I took
Mike by the arm, knowing that he would recognize that as a signal to stay with
me. I wanted him there as a witness to any conversation I had with Dulles's
lawyer. "Sure. How'd you get in here at this hour?"

"Oh,
I dropped by to see one of my law school classmates, and had this idea I wanted
to talk to you about. I went by your office on my way out, and when I heard
voices, I decided to wait for you."

"Who's
that?" Mike asked, with an edge in his voice. "Your law school
classmate?"

"Jack
Kliger, in the Rackets Bureau. Took him a bottle of champagne. He and his wife
just had a baby."

Jack was
a bit older than I, and had gone to Columbia. It was true that his wife had
recently given birth to their third child. I could check Hoyt out with him next
week, but it seemed obvious he knew Kliger.

"What
did you want to see me about? I've got an appointment I'd like to keep this
evening."

He looked
at Chapman, and then back to me.

"Mike
Chapman," I said to Hoyt. "Homicide. He stays."

"I'm
in the middle of a difficult situation," Hoyt said, with some hesitation.
"Peter Robelon doesn't know I'm here. I think he-and Andrew Tripping-would
take my head off if they thought I was talking to you about Dulles. But I think
you and I ought to find a way to agree on some kind of solution that would be
in the best interest of the child."

"I
smell a setup here, Mr. Hoyt." I walked to the elevator and pressed the
button. "Aren't you the same guy who told the court just yesterday that
Dulles's injuries came from playing lacrosse? I don't think we're likely to
agree on anything."

"You've
got the detective here as a witness. What if I told you I think I can find a
way for the boy to talk to you?"

I turned
to face him.

"I'm
very willing to do that, Ms. Cooper."

"Then
why the hell did you say that to Judge Moffett about his bruises?"

"Because
I was standing in court next to Peter Robelon and Andrew Tripping. That's been
the party line, the defense to that portion of the case. You knew that."

"First
things first. Do you know anything about where the boy is right this
minute?" I pointed to the window that faced my colleagues' offices in the
Child Abuse Unit. "There's a massive man-hunt to find the child. If
there's something you know, that's our first obligation."

"I'm
well aware of that. I haven't a clue at the moment, but I'm here to see you
because I believe that
if
Dulles
ran away from the Wykoff home-and that's what I'm hoping, as opposed to someone
snatching him-
if
he ran away,
he's very likely to try to contact my wife or me before he calls Robelon."

"Because
you're the legal guardian?" I asked.

"Because
we've known him since he was born."

"What's
the connection?"

"Andrew,
Peter, and I all were at Yale together. I met Peter first, freshman year. We
were both in a lot of the same classes all the way through, we were both
heading for law school."

"And
Andrew?"

Hoyt was
quite direct. "I never liked Andrew very much. I was madly in love with
the woman he married. Dulles's mother, Sally Tripping. I dated her for a couple
of years. She was also a classmate of ours. Sally left me for Andrew."

"Doesn't
say much for you, pal," Chapman said.

"Andrew's
illness wasn't really in evidence then. He's quite smart. Brilliant, maybe. He
didn't spin out of control until after we left school. I think he was diagnosed
with schizophrenia when he was in the military."

"Were
you still in touch with Sally until her death-I mean, when she killed
herself?" I asked.

"No,
sad to say. That's one of the reasons I wanted to involve myself in helping the
boy. It's a bit of guilt, that perhaps she'd be alive today if I had been a
better friend. Of course," Hoyt said, "I still don't believe she took
her own life. Maybe things would have been different if you were on that
investigation, Mr. Chapman."

I was
interested in Hoyt's relationship with Dulles. "Maybe we should arrange
for you to talk to the Major Case detectives. Would you mind if we put a
recording device on your home phone, in case the boy calls?"

"Not
at all."

"Can
you take him over to the guys in Child Abuse?" I asked Mike.

"Sure."

"I
probably have more sophisticated caller ID equipment than the NYPD, but do what
you can."

"What's
in it for you?" I asked, puzzled by this offer to help. "I mean,
trying to arrange a meeting with me and Dulles."

"I
want a good life for this child, Ms. Cooper. I want him to have a life without
his father, to be absolutely honest with you. Now that puts me in a sticky
situation legally, which is why I hope this visit can be off-the-record. I've
made a lot of money in the last ten years."

"Practicing
law?" Chapman asked. "All Coop gets is a city paycheck every two weeks
and a shitload of aggravation."

"Investments.
Clients who've put me into lucrative deals. A bit of good advice and a lot of
luck. Bottom line? I've got a wife I adore, an apartment on Central Park West,
a beach house on Nantucket, and a ninety-two-foot yacht to sail me there. What
I don't have," Graham Hoyt said to both of us, "is a child. My wife
and I would like to adopt Dulles Tripping. We can give him a good life, a
stable one-maybe even a joyous one."

"And
Andrew knows this?"

"Of
course not. It's why I'd be thrilled to see you put his ass in jail. The best
that happens is that he might step out of the way and clear a path for us to
file for adoption. The worst would be that he's out of the child's life, behind
bars, until Dulles reaches his majority and can make decisions for
himself."

"How
about Peter Robelon?" Battaglia didn't trust him, but I assumed part of
that stemmed from Robelon's plans to run against him in the next primary.
"Does he have any idea what you're interested in doing?"

"Look,
Ms. Cooper. Why don't both of you sit down with me for an hour or two tomorrow?
I'll lay out everything for you. Hopefully, by then, Dulles will have come to
his senses and returned to Mrs. Wykoff-or called me. You tell me exactly what
it is you want to get from the child, and I'll give you all the family history
I can muster. We have the same basic goal, after all. Fair?"

The day
was shot anyway. "In the afternoon?" I asked. "Want to come
here?"

"I'll
tell you what. Meet me at my club at two o'clock. It's right in Midtown. We can
have lunch and figure out a plan."

He
reached for another business card and wrote out the address.

"I
was asking you about Robelon. Don't you think he'd have something to say about
this? Tripping must be paying him a good piece of change to defend him."

"Tripping's
got no money," Hoyt said.

"But,"
I answered, "I thought he inherited some when his mother died last
fall."

"He
inherited a run-down cottage on a half-acre of land in Tonawanda County, a
pantry full of his mother's homemade preserves, and his late father's gene for
madness."

"And
his business?"

"There
are enough legitimate former feds to do all the security consulting the
government or private enterprises need. Nobody wants to hire someone with
Andrew's psych background. He pulls in next to nothing from that. We all throw
him some odd jobs now and then, and help him with money to live-and make
bail."

"So
what's in it for Robelon?"

"Tell
Paul Battaglia not to lean on me until after the adoption procedure is
completed, and he'll be thrilled to know that Tripping can give him whatever he
wants on Robelon. That's the real reason I stopped in to see Jack Kliger
tonight. Tripping claims he's got information on several insider trading deals
that Peter Robelon engineered."

I was
incredulous. "He's blackmailed Peter into representing him for this
trial?"

Hoyt
picked up his briefcase and walked me to the elevator. "Peter Robelon
would kill to keep Andrew Tripping out of jail."

Mike put
me into a Yellow Cab and said good night, turning back from well-trafficked
Centre Street onto Hogan Place, to take Graham Hoyt up to meet the detectives
investigating Dulles's disappearance.

The ride
uptown took more than half an hour, city streets clogged with bridge-and-tunnel
suburbanites who made the Friday-night drive into Manhattan for restaurants,
theaters, clubs, and bars.