The Finishing School (12 page)

“Brianna Meyers, too?”

“What about Brianna?” Trevor looked blank. Melanie glanced over at Dan, who shook his head almost imperceptibly. He hadn’t broken the bad news to Trevor yet.

Melanie looked Trevor in the eye. “I’m sorry to inform you that Brianna Meyers OD’d last night also.”

Trevor swallowed hard. His strange eyes welled up. “Did she…did she
die
?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Jesus. I didn’t know that.” He fell silent, his face reddening. Tears began to slide down his cheeks.

“Uncuff him,” she instructed Bridget. Melanie stood up, got a box of Kleenex from a side table, and handed it to Trevor. Shoulders heaving, Trevor rubbed his wrist, then pulled out some tissues and pressed them to his eyes with both hands.

“Are you okay to talk, Trevor?” she asked, resting her hand on his shoulder for a moment.

“Yeah, okay. I had no idea.” He took the tissues away and shook his head like he couldn’t believe what he’d just heard.

“Did you know Brianna was using heroin?” Melanie asked gently, settling back into her seat.

“No. She wasn’t. I mean, you can tell me that, but I don’t buy it.”

“You were dating Brianna?” Melanie asked.

“I’ve known her since nursery school, but dated, no. We’re like BFFs.”

“BFF?”

“Best friends forever. It’s only since she started hanging with Whitney that things got weird with me and Bree. Whitney had Brianna pretty brainwashed. She only let me hang with them if I paid for shit, and it was at the point where Brianna was going along with her on that.”

Melanie waited as Trevor blew his nose and wiped his eyes some more.

“What kind of stuff did they want you to pay for? Like, drugs?” she asked.

“No. I mean yes, but not only. Just
everything
, you know? Whenever we went out. My parents are divorced, and my dad’s a dentist, which doesn’t rate shit on the Upper East Side. So I start saying no, because I really couldn’t afford it, and Whitney goes, ‘Oh, Trevor, I used to like you when you gave me money, but now you bore me,’” he said, adopting a high falsetto. “The fucking bitch, I’m glad she’s dead,” he added, wadding the Kleenex into a ball in his fist, though his tears were still flowing. Melanie fed him a few more from the box, until he got himself somewhat under control.

“We’re trying to figure out where they got the drugs that killed them, Trevor. Tell us anything you know. About Carmen Reyes, too,” she said.

“Carmen? The custodian’s daughter? What’s she got to do with it?” Trevor asked, sniffling, his eyes and nose still streaming.

“She was there last night when they did the drugs, and now she’s missing. We’re wondering if she’s involved somehow,” Melanie said.

“You’re messing with me!” He sat up straighter.

“No. Why?” she asked.

“Carmen’s this, like, uptight priss. They just use her to cheat on tests and shit because she’s a nerd, but they weren’t
friends
. If Whitney scored some hayron, she would never share it with Carmen. She didn’t owe Carmen favors like that, see? Carmen owed
her
, ’cause Carmen was a nobody and Whitney was the man.”

“So you didn’t know Carmen Reyes to be involved with drugs?”

“No way. That surprises me. But then again, I barely knew the girl. She wasn’t part of the scene, you know?”

“What about Brianna and drugs?” Melanie asked.

Trevor smiled fondly through wet eyes. “Aw, y’know, me and Bree’d smoke weed and shit. I mean, we been doing that since we were ten years old. But it was all pretty mellow. Get high, watch old movies, and order takeout from this Szechuan place on First Avenue. That was our thing.”

“Just marijuana? Brianna wasn’t doing any other drugs, as far as you knew?” Melanie asked.

“Once in a while, I’d get her to do a hit of X so, you know, maybe she’d blow me or something.” Trevor shrugged, blushing and looking down at the table.

“I thought you said you weren’t dating.”

“Oral sex isn’t dating. It’s just a way to pass the time.”

Melanie raised her eyebrows. Kids today. She was gonna lock Maya in her room until the
chiquita
turned twenty-one. Make that forty.

“Seriously,” Trevor said, noticing her reaction. “Holbrooke girls are pretty fast that way. They’ll blow the delivery guy instead of giving him a dollar for the tip, but since most of ’em don’t, like, actually fuck anybody, they pretend to be all virginal. It’s kinda bogus, when you think about it. You heard of rainbow parties?”

“No.”

“It’s where every girl wears a different-color lipstick, and they all suck off some, like, football player or—”

“Trevor, we really need to focus in on what you know about these three girls and heroin, okay?” Melanie said.

“Right. Okay.” He nodded, wiping his nose.

“Tell me what you know about Whitney’s relationship with Jay Esposito,” Melanie prompted.

“Like I said, Whitney was hooking up with him.”

“Hooking up. You mean sex?”

“Yeah. Now,
Whitney
was no virgin. And, like, recently she made a buncha trips to Puerto Rico with Expo. She started getting Brianna into it, too. I got weird vibes about what they were up to, but Brianna was holding back on the details.”

Dan shot her a glance, and Melanie instantly caught his meaning. Trips to Puerto Rico. Supposedly Esposito was moving heroin from Puerto Rico to New York. Could there be a connection?

“Whitney Seward went to Puerto Rico with Jay Esposito?” she repeated.

“Yeah. A few times. More than a few.”

“Did she tell you anything about the trips? Why they went, where they stayed, what they did there? Anything?”

“I mostly heard about it from Brianna. She was jealous because Whitney always had a great tan and a lot of money. See, money was a problem for all of us.”

“Well, Whitney was rich, right? I mean, did the money come from the trips, or was it just Whitney’s own money?” Melanie was careful to keep the excitement out of her voice. Sometimes, when witnesses were eager to cooperate, they’d say whatever they thought you wanted to hear. Best not to clue them in as to what that was, or you’d get unreliable information.

“Oh, Expo was giving Whitney money,” Trevor said definitively.

“How do you know?” Melanie asked, exchanging glances with Dan again.

“Brianna told me. She said every time Whitney went to Puerto Rico with Expo, she’d come back with, like, a lot of Benjamins and buy some amazing shit. Like, one time it was a Christian Dior bag with crystal charms on it, another time this kinda fetishy, like, Gucci dress. All stuff that cost thousands. And I saw it, really.”

“Brianna said Benjamins? Meaning cash?”

“Yes.”

“That was the exact term she used?”

“Yeah.”

“But isn’t it possible that Whitney was just spending her own money? That it didn’t have anything to do with Esposito?” Melanie asked.

“No. That stuff about the Sewards being so rich? Done! They’re burnt. The money’s
gone
—at least that’s what everybody says. It’s tied up in the apartment and the houses or something, and there’s not much else. That’s why Whitney was always hitting me up to pay for shit. Either that or she was really cheap, which I guess is possible.” He gave a harsh laugh, like a bark.

“Why would Esposito give Whitney such large amounts of money?” Melanie asked.

“Well, she
was
a hot blonde with a slammin’ bod, and Expo was definitely doin’ ’er.”

“You’re saying he was paying her for sex?” Melanie asked.

“Maybe, maybe not,” Trevor replied, shrugging.

“What else could it be?” Melanie asked.

“Well, okay, something weird happened this weekend,” Trevor said, kneading his eyes and sighing. “On Saturday I was supposed to hang with Brianna, right? But she texted me that morning and said she was on a plane to San Juan with Whitney.”

“She texted you from the plane?”

“Yeah. Both ways, going and coming.”

“It was just Brianna and Whitney? Did Esposito go also?”

“I think so. Because Brianna texted me Sunday, from the plane coming back. And she seemed scared.”

“Wait a minute, let me get this straight. Brianna, Whitney, and possibly Esposito traveled
to
San Juan on Saturday morning and
returned
Sunday at what time?”

“Really late. I think they missed school yesterday, actually.”

“I’ll pull the manifests of all possible flights and see if we can corroborate that,” Dan said.

“Do you happen to know which hotel they stayed in?” Melanie asked.

“Brianna said the El San Juan.”

“Okay. Now, explain to me what made you think Expo went with them,” she said.

“If you give me my phone, I can find the message.”

Melanie nodded to Dan. He pulled a small silver phone from an evidence envelope and handed it to Trevor. Trevor fiddled with the buttons and handed the phone to Melanie.

“Here,” Trevor said.

The message read: “Hey Tinks miss u DB is creeping me out with her fucked up shit her friend too you wouldn’t believe who’s here anyway she’s coming back to the seat in a minute if I ever see you again give me a brain transplant don’t let me do this again Friday for a fucking FB totally not worth it what was I thinking wanna smoke weed when I get home really really miss u luv bree.”

Melanie looked at Trevor. “Translate this for me. I don’t understand all the abbreviations.”

Trevor took the phone back. Tears began rolling down his cheeks again as he scrolled through the message. He wiped them away with the back of his hand, sniffling violently, as he read.

“DB is Whitney. Short for Diva Bitch. And FB is Fendi bag. Brianna’s saying, like, the bling isn’t worth it, because whatever Whitney has her into is so fucked up that it’s scaring her. Like, she realizes she made a mistake. And see, here it says ‘her friend too you wouldn’t believe who’s here.’ So somebody else was with ’em. I’m just guessing it was Expo.”

Melanie took the phone back. “What does she mean, ‘if I ever see you again’?” she asked Trevor.

“Beats the hell out of me. But it sounds like she’s scared, doesn’t it? Like she agreed to something thinking it was gonna be a big party, and now she’s in over her head.”

“What about ‘don’t let me do this again Friday’?”

“They must’ve wanted her to go back at the end of the week,” Trevor said.

“Where were these girls’ parents? I can’t believe they just let their teenage daughters go off with a thug like Esposito,” Melanie said, shaking her head.

Trevor shrugged cynically. “All Brianna had to do was say Whitney’s name, and her mom would be, like, How fast can I pay for your plane ticket? Buffy was pumped her daughter was hanging with a Seward. The Meyerses were Jewish, like me, and Holbrooke is WASP Central. Brianna didn’t fit in. Whitney taking her up changed everything for her socially.”

“What about Whitney’s parents? Were they totally out to lunch? I mean, these girls were only sixteen years old.”

“Yeah, Whitney’s parents
were
out to lunch. Out to something anyway. I was at her house a bunch, and I never once saw her parents. Her dad was always gone. Her mom stayed in her bedroom with the door locked, mainlining like OxyContin and vodka or some shit. If Whitney wanted to talk to her, she’d call her on the intercom, and most of the time her mom wouldn’t even answer.”

That certainly added up with the picture the tabloids painted of Charlotte Seward. Melanie briefly considered the implications of Whitney’s mother’s drug problem. Was it possible Charlotte had, knowingly or not, supplied the heroin that killed the girls? Perhaps she had a private stash and they swiped some? That would explain a thing or two—like why James Seward delayed calling the police.

“Dan, can you please make a note that we should interview Charlotte Seward right away?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Now, Trevor, did Esposito ever give any money to Brianna? Not Whitney. I’m talking about Brianna.”

A vein began to throb in Trevor’s temple. “I really wouldn’t know,” he said.

He avoided her eyes, and a light sheen of sweat appeared on his forehead. Suspects held out on Melanie on a daily basis, but few were this obvious about it.

“I don’t believe you, Trevor,” she said matter-of-factly.

“Well, that’s rude,” he sputtered, flushing bright red. “Fine, then. Believe whatever you want. How should I know if Expo gave Brianna cash? I wouldn’t know that. Jeez.”

Melanie looked at him steadily. Trevor became even more uncomfortable and shifted in his seat.

Bridget Mulqueen had been shredding the label off a bottle of Poland Spring water, seemingly miles away mentally, but now she looked up. “Hey, Melanie, toss me that phone.”

“What?”

“Trevor’s phone. Chuck it over here.”

Melanie hesitated but then did as requested. Bridget began scrolling through the text messages.

“What are you doing, Bridget?” she asked nervously. All Melanie needed was Bridget erasing her evidence by mistake.

“I looked through these before. Hold on a second. Here it is. What’s this, Trev?”

Bridget held up the phone so Trevor could read the display. Without so much as a glance at it, Trevor thrust his chin out and said, “I don’t have a fucking clue what you’re talking about.”

“Let me read it to you, then, jog your memory. ‘That lechuga is in locker 4703 near the Delta counter but only get it if something really happens to me then blow it all on something nice in my memory wuv u Bree,’” Bridget read.

Lechuga
—“lettuce” in Spanish—was common parlance for cash among drug dealers, rap artists, and the teenagers who loved to imitate them. Melanie, Dan, and Trevor all stared at Bridget in astonishment.

“How much money is in the locker, Trevor?” Melanie demanded.

“Brianna wanted me to have it,” he whined.

“You’re in a lot of trouble already. Don’t make it worse for yourself. How much is in there?” Melanie said.

“Ten thousand,” he replied in a small voice, averting his eyes. Debriefing this kid was like taking candy from a baby, after the hardened characters Melanie was used to.

“Cash?” she asked.

“Yes.”