"Still here?" Lee Rudden asked, standing in the doorway with a bottle in each hand. He was one of the best young lawyers in the unit. "Want a cold brew, Alex?"

"I'm out of here, thanks." By the end of the business day on Friday, most of the bureau chiefs brought in some six-packs to end the week with a collegial get-together.

"Let me take that off your hands," Mike said, taking the offered beer from Lee.

"Got a minute? Can I run something by you real quick?"

I took the brass hourglass from my desk and turned it over. "I'll give you three, and the meter is running." One of my favorite law school professors had amused us with a similar response. Every time a student asked for a minute, it inevitably had turned into no less than ten, and now it was the same with the members of my unit.

"You know that case you assigned me on Monday?" Lee asked.

I nodded at him, but the beginning of the week seemed like a lifetime ago.

"The girl who came in from Long Island for the Marilyn Manson concert, remember?"

"Yeah. Someone spotted her standing alone on the train platform at Penn Station, crying her eyes out. Called the police."

"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- ifhe 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?"