"Then we can-"

"You don't even know how to get there, do you?"

"What difference does that make?"

"Take the Belt Parkway for starters. Very close to where Elise Huff's body was dumped."

"Mike, I agree the kid looks good for this," I said, pulling on his arm to hold him in place. "But let's slow down and try to build a case."

"What? Leave him out so he can destroy evidence? So he can skip town, like that doctor you didn't fight to put behind bars? Half the Dylan family is still in Ireland. They'll take Kiernan in with open arms. C'mon, Coop. You've fallen for that crap before."

"Lock him up for a couple of misdemeanors and he'll still be out of jail before you finish your paperwork on the arrest. It's been a long day. Let's get some rest and look at it fresh in the morning."

"I don't want to argue the point with you. You don't like it? Take a hike. I'm not half as tired as you are." Mike was peeved at me, perhaps for personal reasons, and ready to dismiss me.

"You ought to lay off him and let me go at him for a while. Different style."

"Bottom line is, I'm bringing him in."

"Not for murder."

"Of course not. But I just can't take the chance that we leave him out here when three women are dead and he's got a clear connection to two of them. At least we can shut this place down and have the SLA pull the license so nobody else gets hurt."

The bathroom door opened and Kiernan Dylan slowly walked over to us.

"I'm not answering any more of your questions, okay? I'd like you to get out of here."

I put out my hand to grab Mike's arm but he pulled away.

"We're leaving, Kiernan. But you're coming with us."

"What the fuck does that mean?" He was fired up now.

Mike flipped open his cell phone and hit the speed dial for Mercer. "C'mon inside. Ask for Charlie, the bartender, and tell him Kiernan wants you to come upstairs."

There was nothing close enough for the young man to throw or kick this time. "What'd I do?"

"Let's start with your liquor license. We'll worry about the dead girl later."

"You arresting me? Is that what you're telling me?"

"You act like a gent and I won't cuff you in front of all your friends. You're going to leave here and come back to my office to talk to us."

"I want to make a phone call."

"You'll get your call," Mike said, "as soon as we get up to the squad."

The door opened and Mercer entered the room. The fact that he was bigger and taller than Kiernan Dylan was comforting to me, and surprising to the angry young man.

"Coop, you go on ahead. Call Peterson and tell him we're on the way. The precinct needs to send a squad car to come by and keep things quiet," Mike said. "And get the bar car back ASAP to get as many names and identifications as they can.

"Mercer, you and I will flank Mr. Dylan here as we walk through the crowd of his admirers. No cuffs as long as he behaves. And you, sir, you can tell your man Charlie to make it last call in about ten minutes, once we're out of the way. You think your pit bulls are guarding the door?"

Dylan was speechless now. He nodded his head.

"Well, just tell them to be cool with this while we leave here and the rest will go down easy."

I worked my way through the bar area and out onto the street. I crossed to the curb on the far side of Mercer's car and made the call to Lieutenant Peterson.

Minutes later, the front door of Ruffles opened and Mercer stepped out, followed by Dylan and Mike. Kiernan told the two rough-looking men in black on either side of the entrance that he was going off with the police.

The line of patrons waiting to get in was almost a block long. Several kids recognized Kiernan and shouted out his name. Near the front of the group were four guys who seemed to be friends of his. One called out, saying they had come to meet him and asking where he was going. Kiernan hesitated, and Mike and Mercer paused with him.

The dark-skinned bouncer told the group to shut up. "Back off," he said. "They're cops."

The most vocal of the foursome took his cell phone from his pocket and aimed its little camera lens at the departing trio, framing them under the Ruffles sign as his flash went off.

"Get ready to hit the gas, Mercer. Coop, you're riding in front." Mike opened the rear door of the car and got into the backseat with Kiernan. "The last thing I meant to do tonight was stage a perp walk.

Where's my kid, Chapman? I want to see my kid."

Five o'clock on a Sunday morning and the Manhattan North Homicide Squad room was as quiet as the morgue. Jimmy Dylan's basso voice shattered the silence as the heavy door swung shut behind him.

"Jeez, Mr. Dylan. I got a funny feeling you're the last guy in the world he wants to talk to right now."

Mike, Mercer, and I were chewing on the remains of egg sandwiches that Mercer had picked up at one of the greasiest spoons in all of Harlem, a block away from the station house.

"Your father used to look the other way now and then. Decent people, hardworking people-he gave them a break first time out," Dylan said, his green eyes aflame with rage. He was about Mike's height but much stockier, with red hair and sideburns tinged with gray. "You're a disgrace to his name."

"Fortunately for you, Kiernan didn't fall too far from the tree." Mike had predicted that Jimmy Dylan would show up before daybreak. Kiernan must have had second thoughts about calling one of his father's business lawyers, hoping he could skate through the ABC violations-Alcoholic Beverage Control laws-and be out of court before he was missed.

Instead, he had phoned one of his high school friends-a defense attorney-who was driving in from his vacation at an inn in Montauk, almost three hours away. But Charlie the bartender must have gotten the news to Kiernan's brothers and given them the choice of telling their father.

"Where's my boy, Chapman? What the fuck do you mean bringing him here to a homicide squad office?"

"Temper, temper, Mr. D. Can't you see there's a lady here?" Dylan's ruddy complexion deepened in color, as the flush streaked down his neck and disappeared beneath his blue and white striped oxford cloth shirt.

"I wouldn't give a damn if she was Mother Mary. Where's Kiernan?" Two uniformed cops came pounding up the staircase and pushed open the door behind Dylan. Mike got to his feet and held out his arm.

Mercer stood up next to him.

"Game's up for the moment, Mr. D. We're talking to Kiernan. You can see him when we're done."

"He's got rights, dammit. He's got the right to see me."

"I'm the prosecutor working with the detectives. Your son actually didn't want us to contact you. He was very firm about that. Kiernan's called a lawyer," I said, standing behind Mercer. "They can meet as soon as he arrives. Meanwhile, he's comfortable and having something to eat."

Dylan took a step in my direction, wagging his finger at me. "He's…

he's just a kid, missy. You keep me away from him and there'll be hell to pay. You'll never set your ass in a courtroom again."

"I'm handling this, Coop, okay?" Mike gave me his most exasperated look before he turned back to Dylan. "Trust me, Mr. D., you got no more control over where that skinny ass goes than the rest of us do.

No more threats, got it?"

"Kiernan's got rights."

"Jeez, you sound like all the lowlife morons I take off the streets.

Everybody and his mother's got rights. Don't know what they are or how to use 'em but slap the cuffs on any scumbag around and bam! He's got rights. Kiernan may be your son but he's a grown man. Only kids that have a right to be questioned in the presence of a parent are minors, under the age of sixteen."

"I want to be with him. I want to make sure he knows what he's doing," Jimmy Dylan said, wiping the sweat off his neck with the cuff of his shirt. "What's with this homicide bullshit?"