The Finishing School (7 page)

“Hey, yourself. How you been?” He smiled down at her with the bluest eyes she’d ever seen, tinged with sadness. Who was she kidding? She’d be hurting no matter what. This wasn’t just a sexual-attraction thing, never had been.

She feigned a nonchalant shrug. “Hanging in. You?”

He nodded. “Same.”

“Okay. Good.”

“You cut your hair,” he said. Her raven hair, which just skimmed her shoulders now, had been longer when they last saw each other. Dan’s arm twitched, as if he wanted to touch her but wouldn’t let himself.

“I cut it a while ago. It’s easier to manage this way.” She smiled again, looking down at her boots, heart pounding.

“Your boss is in fine form,” Dan offered after a pause.

“Yeah. It’s called ‘
Hello
, I want to be a judge.’”

“Oh, is that it?”

“Definitely. You never know, Seward could be our next senator. The Senate approves appointments to the federal bench, so she’s being
very
deferential.”

“She’s always got an angle, that one,” he said.

They fell silent again. Looking at him was like staring into the sun, so she looked away. Her gaze settled on the elevator call button.

“You didn’t press?” she asked.

“I’m waitin’ on this Mulqueen chick. She’s in the ladies’ room.”

“Oh.” She felt a violent stab of jealousy. Dan had volunteered to team up with Bridget to go interview Brianna Meyers’s family. Who knew? Maybe he was attracted to the young detective. The thought made her ill, which in turn reminded her she was supposed to stay away from this guy. She should just decide she hated him. There was no excuse for how he’d cut her off. A normal person would not have done that.

“Here,” he said, and pressed the button for her.

“Thanks.” Her stomach sank. He didn’t want to talk to her. Then again, she didn’t want to talk to him either. She did and she didn’t. She looked down at the floor again. Why didn’t he just walk away if he didn’t want to be here?

“So what was that about Whitney Seward’s bedroom windows?” she asked, zeroing in on work. Work always made her feel better.

“Maybe nothing,” he said. “But I had a case a few years back. Some jerk-offs hijacked a tractor-trailer loaded with Colombian cocaine. Thought they got away clean, but the Colombians hunted ’em down and killed ’em, one by one, like dogs. Anyways, one of the hijackers met his maker in some godforsaken little tract house on the edge of the Everglades. Middle of August, no trees anywhere around. Hundred and ten at high noon. But the body wasn’t discovered until a week after the murder. You know why?”

“Air-conditioning?” she guessed.

He smiled. “Very good. You haven’t lost your touch. Brand-new, heavy-duty A/C unit. Killer cranked it up to maximum capacity. It was so cold inside the house it was like the body was refrigerated. Nobody smelled anything. Not only was the killer long gone by the time the body was found, but the coroner couldn’t even determine the date of death. We caught the guy and took him to trial, but he walked. Whitney’s open windows reminded me of that.”

“It was probably just the Crime Scene team airing the place out because it reeked, don’t you think? That’s not as suspicious to me as cranking the A/C. Besides, we have no reason to think the Holbrooke girls were murdered.” She paused for a beat, eyes searching his handsome face. “Do we?”

He shrugged in a way that said there was enough to make him wonder. Dan was third-generation cop. He had flawless instincts, almost like something in the blood. He was generally right about stuff like this. On top of which, she had suspicions of her own.

“You have a weird feeling about this, too?” she asked.

“The windows bother me,” he said.

“
Seward
bothers me,” she confessed. “He took his time about calling the police. Says it’s because he was worried about the press. I don’t know, maybe I’m overreacting. But the building super was vague about the timing, too. It struck me as odd.”

“Did Seward have any reason you know of to want his stepdaughter dead?”

“She was obviously a wild girl. Maybe she was a campaign liability?” Melanie ventured.

“Not as much alive as she is OD’d. Think how bad
that
looks.”

“True.”

“I’m with you, though. I’m raised up, too. I noticed another thing looking at the pictures of the bedroom just now,” Dan said.

“What’s that?”

“Kinda strange. Whitney’s computer was set up with the mouse on the left side, so I’m guessing she was a southpaw. But the empty glassine was next to her right hand.”

Melanie flashed on those dead girls’ faces, and the hair on the back of her neck stood on end. Could someone have done that to them on purpose?

“You think the crime scene was staged,” she said.

“I’m not saying definitely. There could be another explanation. Like Whitney rolled over the Baggie when she was dying or something.”

“She was found in a sitting position, so I don’t think that could account for it. But there was something else about the positions of the glassines that bothered me.” She explained her concerns about Brianna Meyers’s clothes being found in the bathroom, away from her naked body.

“If the ODs were faked…” Dan began.

“Then the girls were most likely murdered,” Melanie finished. “And what would that say about Carmen Reyes’s disappearance? I have my doubts she ran away. She just doesn’t seem the type.”

“If she didn’t run away on her own steam…” Dan began, and Melanie knew just where he was going. Man, it was great how they
got
each other.

“Exactly,” she said. “Carmen could be kidnapped or dead somewhere, Dan. We better figure this out ASAP.”

“Your boss ain’t gonna be too happy if we start looking into apparent ODs like they’re something else,” he pointed out.

“Oh, great. Justice should be sure and swift, unless it damages Bernadette’s career? That’s not what I signed up for when I took this job,” she said, shaking her head in disgust.

“I always liked the way you talked.” He grinned, his eyes lingering on her.

“We’re going to investigate these deaths right, Dan. You and me. We’ll just,
you
know…”

“Keep it on the down low?”

“You read my mind,” she said.

“I’ll follow up on the crime-scene stuff right away, see if there’s anything else off,” he said.

“I’ll see what I can get out of this Salvadoran kid Carmen was hanging out with. We should follow up every last angle with Whitney and Brianna. Did they have secrets, enemies, anything?”

“Be careful, okay?” he said.

“I’m not worried. Look, if we find something, Bernadette will do the right thing. She always does in the end, if only to make herself look good.”

“She’s a pain in the ass, but she’s not stupid,” Dan agreed.

“And Albano seems like a decent guy.”

“Salt of the earth. He’ll keep her in line.” Dan nodded. He was about to say something, but then the elevator doors opened. Neither of them made a move to get in. Their eyes held. The doors began to slide shut, and Dan stopped them with his hand, still looking at her.

“It’s good to see you again,” he said.

“I’d better go,” Melanie said, her heart racing. “Ray-Ray’s downstairs waiting for me.”

“Oh, him. Right. I know that guy.” He shook his head.

“What? He seems fine.”

“If you like frickin’ SWAThead gun nuts.”

Melanie didn’t respond. FBI and DEA always hated each other, but Dan’s tone carried a whiff of more personal jealousy. He sighed and let go of the elevator doors, and she stepped inside.

“Catch you later,” Dan said.

Bridget Mulqueen came barreling down the hall. “Hey, wait! Don’t forget me!”

She plunged into the elevator, panting. Dan stepped in after her.

“So,” Bridget said to Dan as the doors closed, “long time no see.” She’d slathered on some hot pink lipstick, which stood out vividly on her pale tomboy’s face.

“Since you were in the bathroom?” Dan asked.

“No, I ran into you like two years ago at the Lion’s Den, that Super Bowl party? You remember? I told you I was Mary Alice Mulqueen’s sister? She went to Our Lady?”

“Mary Alice? Doesn’t ring a bell.”

“Yeah, you went out with her one time.”

“I never went out with any Mary Alice. You must have me mixed up with someone else,” he said, shaking his head.

“No way could I mix you up, Dan. She used to drag me to watch you play ball through the fence at St. Ignatius when I was, like, ten. Mary Alice Mulqueen? She was the same year as you, with the sisters when you were with the brothers? You’re probably confused because I’m younger and I don’t really look like her. Wait’ll I tell her I’m working with you! She’s married now, to an Italian guy who does masonry. Makes a nice living. They’re doing real good, four kids and all.”

Dan flushed. “Couldn’t’ve been me. I had the same girlfriend all through high school.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Bridget said, nodding exuberantly. “Diane Fields. Nobody could believe the way you let her walk on you. Sure, she was so beautiful she was famous in all the other schools, but still! You could’ve had any girl you wanted, and they woulda treated you a lot better than she did.”

They reached the lobby, and it wasn’t until the doors opened that Melanie realized she’d forgotten to push the button for her floor, so riveted had she been by the conversation. She got off the elevator with them, still listening. Back when they first met, Dan had told her that he’d been married once and that his first wife had left him. Diane, he’d said her name was. It had to be the same girl. That was the sum total of everything Melanie knew about Dan O’Reilly’s personal life. It bothered her to no end that Bridget seemed to know more about Dan than she did, and she found herself feeling irrationally angry at the girl. Melanie wondered what Dan had looked like, all those years ago when Bridget was watching him play ball through the fence. Considering how he looked now, probably pretty damn good.

Dan grabbed Melanie’s elbow. “Come interview Brianna Meyers’s mother,” he said.

“I can’t. I’m supposed to be debriefing Peralta, remember? I just forgot to push my floor.”

“Yeah, you’re coming with me, Dan,” Bridget said. “I’m parked a couple blocks over. I’m low man on the totem pole, so I’ll drive. Let me go get my car.”

Bridget strode off and pushed open the glass door, letting a gust of bitter wind into the lobby.

“Jesus,” Dan said, watching her receding back. “What a wack job. I have no idea who she is, or her sister either.”

“She’s some bigwig’s daughter,” Melanie said.

“Oh, Jimmy Mulqueen? That makes sense. Explains how she got her detective’s shield anyway.”

“Don’t say that. Maybe she earned it legitimately.” Melanie felt compelled to defend Bridget, if only to reassure herself that she wasn’t succumbing to irrational jealousy.

“You don’t know the PD,” Dan said.

“
We
don’t know Bridget. People hold this family connection against her. Shouldn’t we give her the benefit of the doubt?”

“You’re very open-minded, Melanie Vargas. That’s a nice quality in a person.” He gave her a smile like the sun coming out on the first day of spring. It reminded her of old times, and she could hardly bear it.

“It’s freezing down here. I’d better go,” she said, and ran back into the elevator, moving too quickly to catch the hungry look in Dan’s eyes.

“EVERYTHING OKAY?” Ray-Ray asked, turning with a start as Melanie slammed the door.

“Fine. Sorry.”

She’d better calm down and focus. This was an important interview. Juan Carlos Peralta might admit to providing the heroin, which would lay to rest any speculation about foul play in the girls’ deaths. He might even be able to tell them where to find Carmen Reyes. Whatever information he had, Melanie wouldn’t get it if she didn’t control her emotions. Seeing Dan again had left her even more shaken than she’d anticipated, but she needed to put those feelings aside now.

She walked slowly and deliberately around the small conference table and sat down across from Ray-Ray and Peralta. Ray-Ray introduced her to a second DEA agent who was acting as a sentry, leaning against the wall near the door.

Juan Carlos’s right hand was cuffed to the arm of the chair in which he sat. He leaned forward, holding a massive cheeseburger in his left. It dripped gobs of mayonnaise and ketchup onto the congealed fries in the round foil container below. The overpowering smell of grease so early in the morning turned Melanie’s stomach.

A short, beefy kid with a crew cut, maybe in his early twenties, Juan Carlos wore baggy but perfectly creased khaki pants. The sleeves had been cut off his spotless gray sweatshirt, though you might not notice, since his buff arms were sheathed in elaborate tattoos from shoulder to wrist, mimicking the look of a garment. That much tattooing must cost a pretty penny, Melanie reflected. Juan Carlos obviously had a steady source of income.

“Where do we stand?” Melanie asked Ray-Ray.

“Juan Carlos here was just giving me some intelligence on MS-13. The big Salvadoran gang out in Corona?” Ray-Ray said.

“Sure. Is that why you’re wearing that do-rag?” she asked, nodding toward the blue-and-white bandanna arranged just so around Juan Carlos’s thick neck. These
cholo
kids were very precise with their fashion.

“Yeah, this they colors,” he said, through a mouthful of burger. “I be initiated and shit. Know all about
la vida loca
. I got names, dates of meetin’s, anything you want. I ain’t never participate in nothin’ illegal, of course. I jus’ join for social purposes.”

Juan Carlos talked like any other gangbanger from the projects. You’d never guess he wasn’t born stateside. Luis Reyes had been right on the money about this kid.

“Intelligence on MS-13 is worth something, Juan Carlos,” she said, “but not enough to get you a plea deal. We need to hear about the heroin Agent Wong found on you, and we need to hear about Carmen Reyes.”

“Like I told your boy here, ma’am, those drugs ain’t mine. I be holding for a friend. I ain’t never sell.
Mi abuela
, she smoke me if she catch me scammin’ dope.”