I dial Sarah Patel’s number.
“Luz can bring me to Calabrese’s today,” I tell her. The sedan is still outside, waiting for me. The driver hides behind his newspaper, the front page rustling a little as he peers over the top of it. I make a mental note of the license plate: HB-778.
“Nell, it can’t be you. It’s too close for comfort. What if Calabrese recognizes you?”
“How would he recognize me?”
“He knows your father. And what if he wants you to work a party? You can’t go in there. It will be swarming with cops.”
She has a point.
“So what do we do?”
“Can Luz go in herself? We could wire her up and send her in.”
“That’s too risky. She’s just a kid.”
“I can’t get an agent up there today. It’s too tight.”
“Why don’t I go with her? Just to meet him. She can always tell him later that I changed my mind.”
“I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
I sigh. “Okay. I’ll think about it. But we have to move fast.”
“Just be smart, okay? Don’t take unnecessary risk here.”
“I never do,” I tell her, even though it’s far from true.
I hang up the phone and cross the street in a few long strides. I stare straight ahead, my shoulder aching but held back; I’m careful to move quickly but not too quickly. I won’t let him see me sweat. Before I left, I told Elena to lock her door and call me if she felt uncomfortable. As I lock the truck, I wish I had someone to call myself.
I’m pulling away from the curb when my phone rings. It’s Lee. I clench my jaw, debating whether or not to answer. I still haven’t worked out how I feel about him. On one hand, I don’t think he would have dragged me into this investigation if he knew it would lead back to the department. On the other hand, Dorsey’s his boss. It’s possible that Lee has been watching over me all this time, just like the guy in the sedan.
Curiosity gets the better of me, as it usually does.
“What’s up, Lee?” I turn the phone on speaker and pull out onto Pulaski Street. It only takes a second for the sedan to do the same. I speed through a yellow light, testing him. He guns his engine so as not to lose me, causing an oncoming driver to lean on his horn.
“Where are you, Nell?”
“Riverhead. Why?”
“Morales confessed to both murders.”
“I heard. Shouldn’t you be out celebrating?”
“Dorsey’s organizing something tonight. Hank’s place, five o’clock. He wants you to be there.”
“Great. Can’t wait for that.”
“We really need to talk.”
“I’ll be there tonight.”
“Can you meet before that?”
“I’m a bit tied up right now, to be honest.” I glance back in my rearview mirror. The sedan’s still there, despite my foot pressing down on the accelerator like lead. I’m doing nearly eighty in a forty-five zone, and it’s possible I have a cop on my tail. I probably shouldn’t have picked up the phone.
“I ran a check on the clothes. From Adriana’s closet.”
“Oh yeah?”
“A woman named Manon Boucher purchased them. She works for James Meachem.”
“Mm-hmm.”
I can’t focus on what Lee is saying with this asshole on my rear. I consider my options. It could be anyone. One of Dorsey’s guys, keeping tabs on me. It could also be Giovanni Calabrese or someone who works for him. Maybe he checks out his girls before he sends them out to work. It’s possible it’s one of Dmitry Novak’s henchmen, here to finish what we started a month ago, but I doubt it. Novak’s a trained killer. If he wanted me dead, I’d be dead. I wouldn’t see him coming, either.
“Also, I tracked down some info on the woman you mentioned. Maria Cruz.”
“Oh yeah? Do you know where she is?”
“I think she’s in Miami. Let’s talk about it in person.”
“Fine. I’ll see you at Hank’s tonight.”
“Okay. Are you all right? You sound tense.”
As he says it, I swerve from the middle lane onto the exit for Hampton Bays. I skate in front of an SUV, its fender barely missing the broadside of my truck. Horns go off all around me, but I don’t care. I can’t care. If the sedan gets me alone on an empty stretch of road, there’s no telling what will happen. As I turn onto the roundabout, I see the sedan fly past. The driver’s head swivels around. I smile and give him a wave. He’ll be back, I’m sure. But for the time being, it feels good to be alone.
“Yeah, everything’s okay,” I say, exhaling slowly. “It’s just been a long day.”
“For you and me both.”
“Listen, I need another favor.”
“What can I do?”
“A car’s been following me around all day. Maybe it’s nothing, but I want to be sure. Could you run the plate for me? It’s a New York plate, HB-778.”
“Yeah, I’ll do it now. See you tonight.”
* * *
—
WHEN I PULL into the lot outside of Ty Haines’s garage, I cut the engine and sit still, listening to the rush of traffic on the Sunrise Highway. My heart is pounding. It takes me a minute to unwrap my fingers from the steering wheel. I’ve lost my tail, at least for now. I have to assume he’ll find me again soon. Next time, he might get aggressive.
Ty Haines’s place is one of a handful of auto-body shops in town, but it was the only place Dad trusted to take care of his bikes. Ty, like my dad, was a Marine Corps vet and a collector of classic motorcycles. He approached them with the same meticulous touch that my father did; a tenderness that I can only describe as love. When my father was having trouble finding a new part or fixing something on his own, he’d take the bike over to Ty’s. Some Saturdays, I’d come along. I’d watch them tinker together in near silence, amusing myself with whatever I found around the shop.
I find Ty in the back, lying beneath the carriage of a vintage Aston Martin. I wait until he slides himself out so as not to startle him. When he sees me, his face lights up.
“Look at you,” he says, pushing himself up to stand. He opens his arms and wraps me up, holding me for an extra second or two. “It’s real good to see you. Man, the last time was, what, ten years ago?”
“Something like that. It’s good to see you, too. Thanks for doing this.”
“You kidding? Anything for you.”
“This a bad time?”
“No. I was going to call you today. Follow me. I want to show you something.”
I follow Ty past a row of cars to the rear door of the garage. There’s a small yard out back, with tarps set up to cover spare parts from the rain. At the edge of the property, there’s a shed with a padlocked door. Ty pops the lock and ushers me inside. A shaft of light filters through the screened-in window, glinting off the silver body of my father’s bike. It lies on its side on a drop cloth, like a patient undergoing surgery.
“I want to talk straight to you, Nell.”
“I’d appreciate it.”
“I’m no crime lab expert, but looks to me like someone cut your dad’s brake line.”
“You’re sure?”
Ty grimaces. I can read the answer in his face. “It’s a clean cut. Look, I can show you.” He squats down, beckons me to do the same. “See this here?”
“Yep.”
“Brakes usually fail when there’s rust from poor maintenance. Now, you and I both know your dad. He kept his bikes in pristine condition. And there’s no sign of rust in the fluid. Everything is in perfect working order, except the line is severed clean across.”
I stare at the brake. It looks like a bone that’s snapped in half. Ty doesn’t need to explain it to me: I can see it myself. The cut was intentional. The intent was murder.
&
nbsp; “Any idea who would do a thing like this?” he asks.
“I have a few ideas.” I stand up. “Listen, Ty, can you keep this between us? Don’t let anyone know you have this bike in your shop. Okay?”
“Of course. Between us. That’s why I have it out back here.”
“Do you mind keeping it for a day or two?”
“Nope. No one comes back here but me.” He crosses his arms and stares down at me, his brow furrowed. “You gonna be okay? Maybe you should call one of your dad’s buddies from the force.”
“No. I’ll be fine. This is something I need to handle on my own.”
“Listen. Whoever did this to your dad’s bike meant business, so be careful. Watch your back. I don’t want to see you getting hurt.”
“That makes two of us.”
* * *
—
AS I WALK away from Ty’s garage, I dial Luz’s number. There’s no time to lose.
“Call Giovanni,” I tell her. “Tell him we’ll come by tomorrow.”
“Okay,” she says. I can hear the fear in her voice. “And then what?”
“You just have to introduce me, that’s it. I’ll take care of everything else. By the time I’m meeting with him, I’ll make sure you and your brother are on your way into protective custody.”
“Be careful. Gio’s got a temper. He’s not someone you want to piss off.”
I cock the phone between my ear and shoulder to check my weapon. “I get it. But listen, Luz: neither am I.”
21.
The parking lot outside of Hank’s is mostly empty. I pull in next to Dorsey’s Jeep and wait, hoping that Lee will materialize. It’s a few minutes past. It’s possible he’s already inside. I stash my weapon in the glove compartment. I check my phone one last time and step out of the car. My breath crystalizes in the cold night air. I turn up my collar, shove my hands in my pockets. In the distance, I hear a motorboat out on the bay and the whir of traffic crossing over the Ponquogue Bridge.
The lights are on inside. There isn’t any music playing, at least not yet, and if a crowd has gathered, it’s a small one. I push the door open and scan the room. It’s empty but for the back booth, where two men sit in close conversation.
Their heads swivel as I enter. Dorsey and DaSilva. They stand to greet me. I glance sideways at the bar, hoping to see Hank, at least. He’s not there. No one is. The whole joint is empty except for me and the two men.
“Hey, Nell, glad you could join us,” Dorsey says. His voice is congenial. Friendly, even. Still, there’s something off about him, about this whole scene. As he strides toward me with a thin-lipped grin, my stomach tightens in fear.
“Can I get you a drink? Bar’s open.”
“Am I early? Or late?”
“Neither. You’re right on time.”
“Where’s Hank?”
“He stepped out. We asked him to give us the place for the night. I’m sure some other guys will be along shortly.”
I consider the distance to my truck and then from the parking lot to the road. I won’t get far. The parking lot is empty and surrounded by boats on dry docks. If Dorsey wants to shoot me right here, right now, he can. Most likely, no one will hear it.
DaSilva stands at the back of the bar, his thick arms crossed against his chest. With angry, blunt features and a reddish face, DaSilva always looks like the kind of guy that’s out for a fight. Of Dad’s friends, he was the only one who lingered in the Third Precinct. Maybe he liked the violence. Maybe he hated the residents. Even as a child, I was aware that my mother didn’t like him or maybe, more accurately, that they didn’t like each other. I think about the way Luz’s face soured when she said his name.
“Take a seat,” DaSilva says, more of a command than an offer. “Let’s have a chat.”
I do as I’m told. I didn’t want to excite anyone by showing up armed, but now I realize that might have been a foolish decision. Then again, I’m outnumbered. Even if I had a weapon, I’m not sure it would do me any good. I wonder if there’s a chance that Lee is going to show up. He could be running late. Or maybe he sold me out. Heat rises to my cheeks as I consider that possibility. I’ve always sensed there is something amiss about Lee, about the quick way he drew me in and tried to befriend me. It’s my fault. I should’ve known better. Right now, I shouldn’t trust anyone at all.
“What can I get you?” Dorsey says from behind the bar.
“I’m fine.”
“Oh, come on, Nell. Have a drink with us at least. We’re celebrating.”
“Okay. I’ll have a Macallan neat.”
“Just like your old man.”
“I heard he was on the wagon, actually.”
Dorsey chuckles. “Who told you that?”
“Hank. In fact, he said Dad was sober the night he died.” I look at DaSilva. “He was supposed to meet you that night, right? But you didn’t show?”
“No. I don’t think so. Must’ve been a mix-up.” DaSilva frowns. A vein pulses at his left temple. He’s not a particularly convincing actor.
“Well, it got me thinking about his accident.”
“Thinking what, exactly?”
“Well, if he wasn’t drunk, maybe it wasn’t an accident after all.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means maybe someone cut his brakes.”
“Who would do that?”
“All cops have enemies.”
DaSilva swallows. “That’s true. But it was a foggy night. And it was late. And the curve where he crashed was a tricky one. They oughta put a sign up. It can sneak up on you if you’re not paying attention.”
“Yeah. A sign.”
Dorsey sets the drink down in front of me. He slides into the booth next to DaSilva, breaking the tension between us.
“Cheers,” I say, raising my glass. I look Dorsey in the eye as he raises his drink and touches the rim to mine. “To Dad.”
“To Marty.”
“Your dad worked that Pine Barrens case for a year. He’d be proud of you.”
“For what?”
“For helping out with the Morales arrest. You finished what he started.”
“Did I? He didn’t think Morales did it.”
Dorsey shakes his head. “That’s not true. He just couldn’t prove it.”
“What were you doing at Elena Marques’s house today?” DaSilva asks, impatient. He’s tipped his hand, but he doesn’t care. That alarms me. I sit up straight, unnerved.
“Elena told me a cop had come to her house the day she filed the missing persons report. This cop had the same last name as me. Flynn. Now, why do you suppose my father did that? Go pay a visit to a missing girl’s family?”
DaSilva glances at Dorsey. They both shift in their seats, unsettled by this information.
“She’d only been missing a day or two; there was no reason to suppose she was dead. Unless, of course, he knew she was dead. So I started to worry that maybe he was the one who killed her.”
“That’s way out of line,” Dorsey snaps. He holds up a finger, a warning.
“It occurred to me, as I drove around in Dad’s red pickup, that maybe the truck Elena said she saw outside the house wasn’t Morales’s truck. Maybe it was Dad’s. And maybe the truck that turned up in the parking lot where Ria Sandoval went missing was Dad’s, too. I went over there to show her the truck. See if she recognized it.”
Dorsey is seething. His face has frozen in a mask of rage. His hands are fists, white-knuckled and resting on the table. I push back against the wooden booth, aware that he wants to hit me. If he does, I’m done for. I can’t take him and DaSilva. Still, I can’t stop myself. I’ve thrown them off guard, and right now, that’s the only thing I have going for me.
“Elena mentioned that Dad took Adriana’s phone with him, that night he was at their house.
That phone isn’t in evidence. I checked. Why would he take her phone? Unless he was covering something up. So I started doing a little digging. Turns out Dad was getting kickbacks from Giovanni Calabrese. The same guy who was pimping out Ria and Adriana. Ten thousand a month, straight into an offshore account. Do you see where I’m going with this?”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dorsey says.
“See, the bank account in the Caymans is mine now. And to be honest, I’m happy to have the money. But I just want to know what it was for. If Dad killed those girls, then it’s not right for me to keep that account. I do have some standards, you know?”
“Morales killed those girls. End of story.”
“Don’t you want to know what Elena said about the truck?”
“No!” Dorsey shouts. His fist bangs hard on the table. Even DaSilva flinches. “I don’t give a fuck what Elena Marques thinks she saw. Your father did not kill Adriana Marques. And he didn’t kill Ria Sandoval, either. Why would he? That’s crazy.”
“Well, that was my question. For the record, it was his truck she saw outside her house. He was watching Adriana right before he died. And of course, Dad was a lefty. And an expert marksman. From where I’m sitting, he’s the most obvious suspect you have.”
“What was his motive? Those girls made him money!” The words tumble angrily out of his mouth before he can stop them. Our eyes meet. He’s fucked up and he knows it.
Holy fuck. Dorsey just admitted that my father was involved. I need to record this. I’m too frightened to reach for my phone. One wrong move and it’s over.
“What’s Morales’s motive?” I say, trying to keep my cool.
“Morales is a pig with a violent temper.”
“Come on. We both know Dad had a hell of a temper himself. And he had a lot to lose. Maybe those girls decided to come clean about Calabrese’s business. That would cause a lot of trouble. Or maybe they just reminded him of my mother? Let’s just be honest and admit that neither of us was ever really sure what happened there, either.”
Dorsey hops to his feet and leans over the table, glowering down at me. “Enough,” he hisses. “You’re out of your fucking mind. Martin Flynn was a good man and a good cop. One of the best.”
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