"Cool your heels for a while. We finish up with Kiernan, there'll be plenty of time to chat with you."

Dylan grabbed Mike by the shoulder. "Don't play God with me, Chapman. This here's my son and there's something bigger than a lawnmower chewing up my guts from the minute Junior called to tell me about this. If it's my problem you want to know about, then deal with me and let go of my kid."

"What problem would that be, Jimmy?" Mike brushed his hand away.

Dylan nodded in my direction. "Where can we go to talk?"

"Right here. Right now. You think this is gonna be a secret, backroom conversation?"

"It's personal. It's confidential."

"I got news for you. It's not confidential anymore. Even Kiernan had a few things to say about it."

"He what?" Dylan said, pounding a tight fist into the open palm of his left hand.

The door opened again and a young man in a sweatshirt and chinos came into the room. One of the cops tried to stop him as he pulled out a business card to identify himself.

"Mr. Dylan. Frankie Shea," he said, approaching to shake hands. "Kiernan called you?"

"Yeah."

"I got a stable of lawyers. I got guys who do all the licensing for me with the SLA, deal with all the nuisances and aggravation. Why the hell did he reach out for you?"

Shea lowered his voice. "My office does a lot of-um-like violent crime stuff. My boss is on the panel for homicide assignments. Kiernan was just a little nervous about these guys who brought him in. One of you Chapman?"

"Mike Chapman, Mr. Shea. This is Detective Mercer Wallace and Alexandra Cooper, from the Manhattan DA's office."

Shea was short and wiry, with chiseled good looks and the edgy air of a lightweight boxer.

"You holding my client?"

"Yeah. He just had some chow. He wanted to take a nap till you got here."

"Want to tell me what this is about?"

"Sure. We'll step into the lieutenant's office."

Dylan roared again. "For me you had no place to talk, Chapman? You got a mouthpiece still green behind the ears-look at him-and you're going to tell him what's going on before you tell me?"

"Hey, Mr. D. He's got rights, you know what I mean?"

"Frankie, tell him I can sit in on this."

"Sorry, Mr. Dylan," Shea said, scratching his head to think of a way to say what he needed to without further infuriating his friend's father.

"There could, you know, be some kind of conflict down the road. I mean, if you and Kiernan-well, I just can't let you do it." Mike and Frankie Shea spent about fifteen minutes together in Peterson's small office before coming back to us.

"You fellows want to escort Mr. Dylan downstairs to wait for a bit longer?" Mike said to the two cops. "When Mr. Shea tells you he's ready, you'll get your shot."

Jimmy Dylan was fuming. He stood his ground until Shea urged him to make things easier by moving along.

Kiernan had been held in an interview room down the hall. Mike and I walked Shea to the door, and as we opened it Kiernan picked his head up from the table, where it had rested next to the debris from the sandwich and soda Mercer had given him.

Shea stepped in and patted Kiernan on the back a few times, before asking us to close the door and leave.

Jimmy Dylan had gotten no farther than the top of the steps. When he heard Mike's voice, Dylan asked to come back into the room. He was sweating profusely now, and the veins in his neck looked like they were pumping up to an explosion that would blow off the top of his head.

"If this is about that whore, Chapman, just let my boy go, okay?"

"Grab a chair, Mr. D." He waved the cops off and pointed to the door. "Which whore would that be?"

Dylan looked over at me.

"Now's not the time to worry about Ms. Cooper's sensibilities. She knows more whores than the Queen, I promise you. Give me a name."

"Amber Bristol."

Mike knew as well as I did that there was little chance we would get another word out of Kiernan Dylan after Frankie Shea finished his sit-down. He would chide his friend-his client now-for having talked too much already. He would advise him to take the hit on the ABC violation and walk out of court with no other formal charges held over his head.

The kid would carry with him just the ugly label that Mike had wanted to pin on him like a scarlet letter-person of interest in a homicide investigation. Maybe that would be enough to bring someone-a witness, a cohort, a conspirator-out of the woodwork to head us in the right direction.

"He didn't do anything to Amber. My Kiernan's a decent kid."

"You know what happened to her?"

"I know she's dead, Chapman."

"Murdered."

"Yeah, I heard that." Dylan reached for one of the napkins and wiped his sweaty face. "Kiernan had nothing to do with her. I mean, maybe he met her a couple of times. Stupid of me to let her into the Brazen Head to begin with, but I got rid of her on my own."

"You what?"

Dylan realized Mike thought he meant something more dramatic.

"Told her to get lost, get out of my life. That's what I mean."

"Why is that?"

"Look, Chapman, you probably know more than I do. The newspaper articles, they just talk about the temp job she worked. Maybe you and your investigators don't know what else she did to pay the rent."

Dylan paused to test the waters. "You know how crazy that girl was?"

"Just crazy enough to keep you interested in her, apparently."

"Yeah, well, I lost interest, okay? I wasn't into any rough stuff, you know what I mean? It was getting too far-out for me, Amber's shenanigans. And her big mouth, talking to some of these men about-well, about me and her relationships. She was getting to be a loose cannon."

"She didn't take the breakup very well, did she?"

Dylan didn't answer.

"You must have been scared shitless when she went off the radar screen."

"I didn't notice. It's exactly what I wanted, that she head back home to Idaho."

"Then why'd you bother to clean out her apartment?"

"Clean out her apartment? Talk to the Neanderthal superintendent who used to drool over her. You can't pin me with that."

"Why not? You didn't let Kiernan do it alone, did you?"

Dylan's eyes widened again and he shouted an answer. "Leave the kid out of this, for chrissakes. He's never been to her apartment. He wouldn't even know how the hell to find it."

Mike put his forefinger in his ear and shook it up and down. "Must be something wrong with my hearing. Coop, didn't Kiernan tell us something a little different?"

"What'd he say? What did he tell you? I do everything possible to give that kid every chance I can and now he steps in his own shit? What did he say?"

"Excuse me, Mr. D., but I think it was yours he stepped in."

"Where is he? Let me talk to him."

"See, it's a bit late, 'cause Kiernan's already given us some important information, so maybe you should just tell us what you know. Put it in perspective for us. If it makes things go easier for your kid, all the better."

Jimmy Dylan heard a door close in the hallway and Frankie Shea's footsteps coming toward us.

"Your man ready for us?" Mike asked the young lawyer. "Look, Detective Chapman. Of course Kiernan wants to do everything possible to cooperate with you in your investigation. What are you charging him with this morning?"

"We're waiting on word from the local precinct about the results of the canvass. Violations for serving alcohol to minors-how many counts and all."

"So the sign on the door, that's all for show?" Frankie pointed to the gold lettering of the word HOMICIDE.

"Three dead girls, and Kiernan Dylan knew two of them." Jimmy Dylan took a deep breath. "Two? Who's the other one?" Frankie Shea ignored Dylan. "I'm afraid your long ride uptown and the effort at intimidating my client did wonders for all of our sleep deprivation but very little for your case. He's got nothing more to say to you. From now on, you get the idea that you want to talk to Kiernan Dylan, you call me."