The Finishing School (27 page)

“Frankly,” Melanie continued, “that seems quite out of character for you, based on what I’ve observed about how carefully you run this school.”
In other words, I don’t believe you
.

“What can I say? I reacted emotionally, out of deep disgust. Everybody’s human.”

“What
are
you planning to do about this alleged sexual relationship?”

“I’ve already confronted Harrison. He knows he’s going to be suspended as soon as the gala is over and the endowment campaign closes. But given the furor over the ODs, I couldn’t do it before then without hurting the school. I promise you, Harrison won’t be left alone with any of the girls between now and then.”

“When you confronted him, did he admit to having a sexual relationship with Whitney?”

“No. He denied it.”

“So what do you plan to use for proof if you deleted the e-mails?”

“Look, I made a mistake. I’ve admitted that. What do you want me to do?” Patricia said. This woman was a tough opponent; she had her story and she was sticking to it. But Melanie was pretty convinced she was lying. Maybe the e-mails had never existed at all, or maybe they’d existed but Patricia had never erased them. Either way, it looked like Melanie would have to get a search warrant and check through Holbrooke’s entire computer system, which was going to be an annoyingly time-consuming process.

“You’re not planning to go public with this, are you?” Patricia asked.

Melanie hesitated. She wasn’t, but let the headmistress sweat it. “I haven’t decided yet.”

“If you ever did, I can tell you what Harrison’s defense would be: that Whitney sent the e-mails unsolicited and that he didn’t stop her, because he was playing therapist.”

“You don’t believe him?” Melanie asked.

“Psychobabble. Lies.”

“Well, like I said, it seems to me you’re going to have a difficult time making your case, since you destroyed the best evidence. Anyway, I’m not wasting any more time on Dr. Hogan right now. Let me ask you about another staff member. I’ve found Ted Siebert somewhat…difficult. Hostile.”

The headmistress nodded, smiling. “That’s Ted for you. He’s a good lawyer.”

“Is there anything about
him
that I should know about?”

Patricia flushed again. “No. Not that I’m aware of.”

Melanie studied the headmistress’s face. She had the feeling she just wasn’t getting straight answers out of this woman. “Hmm. Okay. One more question, then, Mrs. Andover, and I’ll let you get back to work. I’m sure you understand, we need to cover all bases. This is simply a matter of gathering information for the record.”

“Fine. Fire away.”

“Where were you on Monday night when the girls OD’d?”

The headmistress stroked her dog, considering for a moment. “May I ask why you’re interested in
my
whereabouts, Miss Vargas?”

“As I said, only as a matter of routine. We’re asking the same question of everyone we interview.”

“Of course. I understand. I appreciate how thorough you’re being. Well, I must confess to being rather dull. I was home alone on Monday night with the doggies. I took a bath, drank a glass of wine, and turned in early.”

“Okay, thank you.” Melanie made a note on her yellow legal pad, then looked coolly back at Patricia. “You wouldn’t happen to know, would you, where James Seward was then?”

Patricia went bright red. Her mouth fell open a split second before she was able to get any sound out. “James Seward? I…uh, no, I don’t,” she said, then closed her mouth again, doing her best to act as if that were a perfectly normal question.

AFTER DELIVERING the wiretap lecture at ENTF headquarters, Melanie searched out Ray-Ray Wong. She found him speed-typing reports in his pathologically neat cubicle.

“Holbrooke is apparently a hotbed of corruption and lies,” she said cheerfully. “Let me ask you, from what you saw on the blog, did Whitney Seward send any of her dirty pictures to a Holbrooke e-mail address?”

“What’s a Holbrooke e-mail address look like?”

“I think it’s the person’s first and last name, at Holbrooke dot e-d-u.”

“Definitely not. I would have noticed something that obvious. Why?”

“Because Patricia Andover claims to have intercepted dirty pictures that Whitney sent to Hogan.”

“Hogan, the school psychologist?”

“Yes.”

“There weren’t any. I’m sure of it. Could Andover be making that up for some reason?”

“
Hogan
says she is. But Whitney’s cell-phone records say different. I went through them very carefully when we were working on the wiretap affidavit. It turns out Hogan is all over them, going back almost a year. Long calls, late at night, mostly between her cell and his home telephone, some to his cell and his office. The volume can’t be explained by ‘You’re failing English’ either, though that’s what he claims.”

Ray-Ray shrugged. “Doesn’t surprise me if he was bangin’ her. All those longhaired sixties throwbacks are morally corrupt.”

“We need to subpoena Hogan’s phone records to see what else comes up and get a warrant for the Holbrooke computer system as well, to track down the e-mails.
Someone
figured out how to access Whitney’s blog and take it off the Web altogether. Maybe it was Hogan. Maybe he erased all the e-mails to himself, and that’s why you didn’t find them.”

Ray-Ray looked at her like she was insane. “Not for nothing here, ma’am, but we’re up on a drug wire on an extremely viable target, and so far it ain’t going too well. Very few pertinent phone calls. We should be concentrating on that, instead of trying to find out if Hogan was in Whitney’s pants. Let’s just agree he was and move on, all right? I mean, it’s a safe bet.”

“We should definitely pursue the wire aggressively, but we can’t just drop other leads. What if the drug smuggling isn’t why the girls died? What if there was something strange going on at Holbrooke?”

“Brianna Meyers had balloons of heroin in her stomach! How can that not be why they died?”

Melanie frowned. He had a point there.

“Esposito and the drug-smuggling angle are what matters,” Ray-Ray continued. “
Not
who was bangin’ Whitney. Shoot me for thinking that—I’m a DEA agent.”

Melanie sighed. “Oh, hell, maybe you’re right. I’m just frustrated that we don’t have more leads on Carmen Reyes.”

“Yeah, about that?”

“What?”

“I hate to be a downer, but it occurred to me: If Carmen’s not a drug dealer, if she’s just a witness like you said, who stumbled across something at Whitney’s house…” Hehesitated, looking uncomfortable.

“Yeah? Spit it out,” she said.

“Don’t you think Esposito’s killed her by now?”

RAY-RAY WONG’S SUGGESTION that Carmen might already be dead left Melanie feeling desperate. She decided it was time to get more aggressive. Trouble was, the only plan she could come up with to help Carmen Reyes would put Trevor Leonard in danger, and she had no intention of simply trading one young life for another.

Melanie got off the elevator, buzzed herself through the bulletproof door, and walked toward her office, so lost in thought she almost didn’t notice the note taped to her door. “SEE ME NOW— B. DeF,” it read in black felt-tip marker.

“Great. Just what I need,” Melanie muttered, tossing her coat and briefcase on her chair and heading down the hall.

It was nearly eight, but Shekeya was still at her desk in the anteroom. A large plastic plate sat before her, piled with vivid orange cheese cubes and rubbery shrimp cocktail. Despite the dubious look of the food, Melanie’s stomach rumbled. Shekeya glanced up and caught the greedy expression on her face.

“Oh, no, you don’t!” Shekeya said. “The Christmas party on for another hour. Go get you own.”

“If I had time for that, I’d be in there partying with everyone else,” Melanie said.

“That your own problem. Don’t expect me to share. I ain’t missin’ no meals for nobody.”

Melanie raised her hands in front of her, stuck out her tongue, and started begging like a dog.

“Don’t
think
you cute, because you ain’t!” Shekeya insisted, but Melanie kept on panting. “Girl, wasn’t you on some diet anyway?…Oh, all right, take some. You lucky I lost my appetite watchin’ you act like a fool.”

“Really? Oh, thank you, thank you!” Melanie exclaimed.

“Yeah, you better hurry up before I change my mind.”

Melanie plucked a napkin off the desk and loaded it with cheese and shrimp, which still left plenty on the groaning plate for Shekeya.

“You should check out the party anyway. Judge Warner runnin’ around in a Santa suit. Quite a sight,” Shekeya remarked.

“That’s what they call ironic,” Melanie said, sticking a shrimp in her mouth. It tasted unpleasantly of ammonia, but she was too starved to care. “I don’t know why everyone thinks I’m on a diet. I’m not,” she said, mouth full.

“The way you chowin’ down, obviously not.”

“I need to keep my strength up to talk to the boss. She in?”

“Yes, she is, but you don’t
wanna
be goin’ in there. She bustin’ on poor Joe Williams for some shit he did when Susan be gone. I brang in some paperwork for her to sign, and he sittin’ there with his head in his hands like he gonna faint. I love the boy to death, but I swear he the timidest black man on God’s earth, let a woman treat him like that.”

“Joe’s not timid, he’s sensitive. Besides, you know what
she’s
like.”

“Yes, I do, which is why one of these days y’all gonna be bailin’ me out after I commit justifiable homicide.”

“So how’s the working late going?” Melanie asked, finishing the food and wiping her hands with the napkin. She had a bad taste in her mouth now.

“Sucks. I miss my kids.”

Didn’t she know it! Melanie looked at her watch again. The minutes were ticking away, and every one that passed made it less likely she’d see Maya tonight. Third night in a row she’d miss bedtime. Melanie visualized her daughter’s chubby face and imagined sitting in the glider rocker swaying gently back and forth with Maya in her lap. God, she was about to make herself cry. And if this was how
she
felt, what must Maya feel? Maya couldn’t even understand why her mommy was gone or when she’d be coming home. Melanie had a sudden powerful impulse to rush into Bernadette’s office and resign. But then what would she do for money?

“Do you ever worry about what it does to your kids? This working-late stuff?” Melanie wondered aloud.

“I don’t let myself go nowhere near that one. What the use? Less I hit Powerball, I gotta work.”

“This OD case I’m working on now? Never would’ve happened if the parents were around more.”

“Shut up, girl, you depressin’ me.”

“I know. I’m sorry, Shekeya. It’s just, I’m really blue about it tonight.”

“And now you goin’ to Puerto Rico and all.
Girl
, I feel for you. Oh, that reminds me, I gotta get your seat assignment. You prefer window or aisle?”

“What?”

The door to Bernadette’s inner sanctum flew open, and Joe Williams sprinted through the anteroom with his head down, looking extremely upset. Bernadette appeared in the doorway, her color high, a smug expression on her face.

“Oh, there you are, Melanie. Come on in,” Bernadette said.

Melanie walked in and stood facing her boss. Between the shrimp cocktail and what Shekeya had just told her, she felt like throwing up. “Bernadette, what’s this about me going to Puerto Rico?”

“Yes. I’m
so
pleased about this Esposito wiretap. I had a long talk with Vito Albano about what a unique investigative opportunity this is.”

Melanie had spoken to Albano privately about convincing Bernadette to start supporting their investigation instead of interfering with it. Apparently he’d done his job too well. Now Bernadette was so enthusiastic that she was sending Melanie traveling with no notice.

“You know,” Bernadette was saying, “Vito really changed my mind about some of the angles you’re pursuing. And guess what?” Bernadette giggled girlishly. “He asked me out. We’re having dinner at this cute little place he knows in Bensonhurst. Do you think he’s attractive?”

“Uh…”

“
I
do! You know what they say. Power is the great aphrodisiac. Anyway, Vito and I decided to send you and some of the agents down to San Juan to monitor the drug shipment. Isn’t that fabulous? It’ll be great for the case. I want to take some time now to go over strategy. Then you can run home and pack a bag.”

MELANIE THANKED her lucky stars that her current baby-sitter was flexible. Sandy was originally from Trinidad, tall, stately, and quiet, twenty-seven, recently married. She was trying to pull together a down payment for a two-bedroom in Crown Heights, so she didn’t mind working overtime to earn some extra money. When Melanie got home on the nights Sandy stayed late, she always found Maya sleeping, the kitchen spotless, and Sandy sitting quietly reading her Bible. Overall an excellent situation, as good as Melanie could ever wish for. But it hardly made her feel better as she headed back to her office after a lengthy meeting with Bernadette. Melanie didn’t know what upset her more—the fact that she was being told to fly to Puerto Rico with no notice or the fact that it was now almost nine o’clock, meaning Maya was fast asleep.

The stress was catching up with her. Melanie walked through her office door, swept her coat and briefcase to the floor and collapsed into her swivel chair in a total funk. The very next second, her phone rang. Just as well. She wasn’t cut out to be a drama queen. Dwelling on your problems did nothing to solve them.

“Melanie Vargas,” she answered, trying to sound composed.

The person on the other end of the line drew a sharp breath but said nothing.

“Who
is
this?” Melanie demanded. It was creepy enough around the office at night without some heavy breather harassing her.

“What’s up?” Dan O’Reilly said sheepishly.

“Oh, it’s you,” she said, relieved. “Making obscene phone calls now?”

“You took me by surprise, is all.”

“
I
took
you
by surprise? I tell you never to speak to me again, and you call the same night and start breathing into the telephone?”