The Finishing School (16 page)

“Wait here!” Bernadette commanded as they entered the anteroom.

Shekeya Jenkins looked up from her computer screen, contemplating Melanie sympathetically. Shekeya had been Bernadette’s secretary for years, the only one who’d ever lasted in the position. A big woman with elaborate braids bleached orangey red, long, gem-studded fingernails, and a sharp tongue, Shekeya was one of the few people in the office who could do battle with Bernadette on equal terms.

“What she on you about now?” Shekeya asked, blowing a bubble with Day-Glo pink bubble gum.

“She caught me doing my Christmas shopping online while I was waiting to meet with her.”

“Girl, don’t listen to that bullshit. I shop online all the time and e-mail my psychic, too. The boss don’t so much as look cross-eyed at me.”

“She’s probably afraid to, Shekeya.”

Shekeya laughed and slapped her knee. “You got that right! Get back in her face is all is takes. And I
know
you know how if you want to.”

“So what are you still doing here at this hour?” Melanie asked. Shekeya was normally gone by 4:55 at the latest.

“I can’t do a little overtime if I feel like it?” she asked, working the bubble gum with her tongue.

“Oh, I get it. Christmas and all. I could use some extra cash myself.” Unfortunately, attorneys didn’t get paid overtime for putting in additional hours the way support staff did. Melanie’s base salary was significantly higher, but she was expected to work as hard as it took to get the job done without additional compensation.

“No, it ain’t even about that,” Shekeya was saying. “You’ll be seein’ me around here all hours from now on. Khadija just got accepted in private school starting next semester. Public schools in my neighborhood suck. I want to give her the best possible chance in life, you know?”

“I’m with you there. I feel exactly the same way.”

“Got to pay for it somehow. So I went in to see the boss, told her I was picking up a night job cleaning, and she say to me, why not do the extra hours here? There’s always some filing or some shit needs doin’.”

Since all the lawyers on the unit pretty much did their own word processing, Shekeya’s job was limited to answering Bernadette’s telephone, filling out the occasional requisition form, doing her nails—and, apparently, online shopping and psychic consulting. Obviously Bernadette had just been trying to help Shekeya out. That was the thing about Bernadette. Just when you were most disgusted with her, she’d do something truly humane, and you’d say, Oh, if only she’d act like that all the time, how much better would life be?

Speak of the devil. Bernadette poked her head out into the anteroom. “Come on in, girlfriend,” she called. “I’ve got Lieutenant Albano on the line.”

Melanie walked in and sank into a guest chair, feeling utterly drained. The sky beyond Bernadette’s window was already ink dark. Melanie felt about a million years old, and like the day would never end.

“Vito?” Bernadette said.

“Still here, hon,” Albano’s voice squawked from the speakerphone.

“Melanie’s with me now. Melanie, can you please explain what the hell the deal is with this new cooperator?”

Melanie sat up straighter. “You mean Trevor Leonard?”

“That freaky kid I saw leaving your office an hour ago.”

“Yup, that’s Trevor. He was a close friend of Brianna Meyers. Trevor says Brianna and Whitney Seward were working as drug couriers for Jay Esposito, the nightclub owner. Esposito’s been investigated—”

“Jesus,” Bernadette exclaimed, dropping her head into her hands, “you were right, Vito.”

“I don’t see what the big tragedy is,” Albano said. “Sounds like a promising lead. We know about this Expo character from way back. Wouldn’t surprise me at all if he’s the supplier.”

“Supplier, fine. But did you hear what Melanie just said? The last thing I need is an allegation from some slacker freak that James Seward’s daughter was muling heroin.”

Albano was silent.

“Vito?” Bernadette said.

“Yeah, okay, I see what you mean. It’s a little sensitive.”

“Sensitive, my ass. It’s a lawsuit waiting to happen. Am I the only one who worries about the big picture around here?
Think
, people. What if the tabloids get ahold of it and then it doesn’t pan out?”

“So don’t tell ’em,” Albano suggested.

Melanie plucked a copy of that morning’s
Daily News
off Bernadette’s desk. It was the same one Brad Monahan had in court earlier, with the word “Suspect” emblazoned beneath Carmen Reyes’s photo on the front page.

“It
would
be better if nobody talked to the press,” Melanie said. “About anything.”

“Oh, what’s that supposed to mean?” Bernadette snapped.

“Leaking this thing about Carmen Reyes being a suspect—”

“
Leak
? Watch your language. ‘Leak’ means you disclosed confidential information without proper authority. I’m authorized to tell the press anything I damn well please, so by definition I
can’t
leak. I apprised the taxpayers of how we’re spending their money. They’re entitled to know. They pay our salary.”

“Fine, whatever you want to call it, but the point is—”

“And you seem to forget that Ray Wong found heroin with the Golpe stamp in Carmen Reyes’s locker.
That’s
why she’s on the lam, not because her picture’s in the paper. But instead of trying to locate a girl who’s obviously involved, you’re spending your time debriefing this highly problematic witness about potentially libelous allegations.”

“I
am
trying to locate Carmen, Bern. Believe me, I’m very concerned about her. And Trevor’s not problematic. Young, yes, but he’s quite credible when you talk to him. Like
you
always say, nuns and schoolteachers aren’t the ones with inside information about drug trafficking.”

“One look at this Leonard kid and anybody can see he’s gonna
tank
in front of a jury. He was probably on drugs when you debriefed him, for crying out loud.”

“He was
not
. Pretrial Services screens all defendants before arraignment and reports dirty urines. Trevor was completely clean. Besides, we’re not taking his word for anything. We’re doing a full investigation to corroborate him, including a buy tonight at Esposito’s club.”

“Yes, okay. That’s what we wanted to speak to you about. Vito, are you still there?” Silence from the speakerphone. “
Vito
?” Again silence. “Christ, so much for
him
,” Bernadette said irritably, and punched the button to hang up the line.

“Don’t worry, Bernadette,” Melanie began.

“What do they pay me for if not to worry about you hotheads screwing up? I can’t believe you’re actually sending this Leonard kid out to do a buy.”

“Bridget Mulqueen is doing the buy. Trevor’s just making the introduction to Esposito’s people.”

“That’s hardly better. I want you in there personally supervising, Melanie Vargas. Do you understand me?”

“Well, I
was
planning to meet the agents later to give them instructions on getting into Esposito’s club. But going in myself? Isn’t that
their
job? I thought you said no cops-and-robbers stuff this time.”

“
Don’t
quote me to myself! I said that in a completely different context. I’m not suggesting you personally make a drug buy. Just keep an eye on things and make sure they don’t fuck it all up, excuse my French. I don’t trust Mulqueen, and I
don’t
trust your cooperator.”

Melanie shrugged. “Okay.”

“I’m giving you some rope here by letting you explore this angle. Don’t hang yourself with it.”

“I won’t. Really, Bern, I appreciate your confidence in me.”

Shekeya buzzed Bernadette with a phone call. “If it’s Vito, he better have a damn good explanation for why he hung up on me,” Bernadette muttered, picking up the receiver. “
Who
?…Well, did you tell them she’s in a meeting?…Oh,
all right
, put it through.” Bernadette’s top line flashed red. She pressed the button and picked up the receiver, holding it out to Melanie with the tips of her fingers as if it were radioactive. “It’s for you.”

Melanie stood up and grasped the receiver, pulling the cord taut across Bernadette’s desk. “Hello?” she said tentatively.

“Melanie? Shavonne Washington from the Chief Medical Examiner’s Office. Sorry to interrupt your meeting, but I thought you’d like to know that we just completed the autopsies on Whitney Seward and Brianna Meyers. You should get down here right away.”

THE HULKING OCME BUILDING, at First Avenue and Thirtieth Street, loomed over the neighborhood like a haunted castle. By the time Melanie entered its depressing, institutional-looking lobby, Ray-Ray Wong was already seated in the reception area waiting for her. She needed an agent present to take chain of custody on the girls’ personal effects, and Dan and Bridget were busy setting up the heroin buy for later that night.

“Evening, ma’am,” Ray-Ray said, rising to his feet, nodding crisply.

They crossed a span of muddy brown carpet and signed in with the good-looking black guy behind the reception desk, who directed them to a freight elevator that would take them down to the morgue in the basement.

“So what were the autopsy results, ma’am?” Ray-Ray asked as he pressed the call button.

“Shavonne didn’t want to go into it over the phone, but apparently the deputy M.E. is waiting to give us a report.”

“Okay.”

“Any developments on your end?”

“Yes. Well, this might be nothing, but…”

“What?”

“I had Gidget run rap sheets on the faculty and staff at Holbrooke, like you said?”

“Yeah?”

“Not much. An English teacher with a couple of DWIs. The guidance counselor had a disorderly from fifteen years back, but no details in the record.”

“Probably some kind of political protest, knowing him.”

“Yeah, okay, but here’s the sort of creepy one. That lawyer?”

“Siebert?”

“Yeah. He’s in a sex-offender database.”

“Jesus, really?”

“Not because of an actual arrest. His name came up in an investigation. I contacted the NYPD guy whose case it is. He says Siebert was going on this Web site where a lot of teenage boys post profiles. It’s like a known site for older men looking to hook up with underage prostitutes.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No. I’m telling ya, this Siebert’s a fucking perv. He actually messaged a fifteen-year-old kid who’d posted a picture of himself wearing jeans and no shirt.”

“So why hasn’t Siebert been arrested?”

“Because. Apparently he never asked to meet the kid or anything. He just messaged him about baseball.”

“
Baseball
? You mean, like, how ’bout those Mets?”

“Right.”

“I’m not sure that’s a crime. How do we know he was even after sex?”

Ray looked at her like she was stupid. “It’s a known site. People don’t just wander into these things. Maybe he’s working up his nerve.”

“Huh. Well, but we have girls in this case. And so far there’s no known sex angle.”

“I know.”

“Ours looks like a drug thing.”

“Yes, I’m aware of that.”

The elevator came, and they got in.

“That’s weird,” Melanie said. “We should interview Siebert, find out what he’s up to. Who knows? Maybe there’s some connection, although it doesn’t leap out at me.”

“We can’t. I promised this detective I wouldn’t burn his investigation.”

“So we don’t specifically ask Siebert about the Web site.”

“Okay.”

“Anything else?”

“I examined the dead girls’ telephones with a guy from Tech.”

“And?”

“Brianna’s wasn’t very interesting, but Whitney’s phone was strange. First of all, you’ve got numerous saved photos of Carmen Reyes in Whitney’s apartment last night. It’s as if somebody decided to document Carmen’s presence there,” Ray-Ray said.

“Do we know when the pictures were taken?”

“Based on the time stamps, between seven-thirty and seven forty-eight P.M.”

“What’s Carmen doing?”

“Nothing really. Just standing around. But what really raised me up is, other than the photos and a couple of calls to a cell phone associated with Jay Esposito, the phone’s entire memory’s been erased. Including all records of calls dialed and received, phone numbers in the address book, everything. Some of that can be reconstructed using telephone records. But some of it can’t.”

“So somebody erased the memory purposely but left the photos of Carmen for us to find?” Melanie asked, thinking aloud.

“Looks that way.”

Melanie felt a tiny tingle of fear—not for herself but for Carmen. Somebody had been in Whitney Seward’s apartment last night, tampering with evidence, presumably at the same time Carmen was there. Whoever it was seemed to be trying to point the finger at Carmen. Why? Where was that person now? Wherever they were, Melanie had a bad feeling that Carmen was with them.

“Hey,” Melanie said. “Why would they leave the calls to Esposito?”

“I don’t know. Oversight?”

“Pretty stupid oversight. Do you think someone wanted us to find those calls? Like they’re setting Esposito up?”

“Is it called a setup when the victim is actually guilty?” Ray-Ray asked.

They reached the basement and got out. Brightly lit, spick-and-span, with cheerful green and white tiles, it nevertheless reeked of death.

“Yuck!” Melanie exclaimed, clapping her hand over her nose.

“Breathe through your mouth and you won’t smell it as much,” Ray-Ray suggested.

She tried it; it worked. “Huh. Thanks, I’ll remember that.”

“Learned that in the Gulf.”

They met up with Shavonne Washington at a booth near the back entrance. Shavonne stood guard over two white body bags that had been stacked on metal trays fixed to a wheeled gurney. Nodding hello to Melanie and Ray-Ray, she checked the bar codes on each body bag against a log, then wheeled the gurney carefully over to a narrow elevator. The elevator doors opened, and an orderly stepped out. Shavonne helped him maneuver the gurney carefully into the elevator.