The Finishing School (25 page)

“This user, we actually traced,” Ray-Ray said. “He’s fifty-four years old, a civil engineer in Kansas City, Mo, with a family and everything. No criminal record, no indication he was in New York at the relevant time. He did, however, buy Whitney a four-thousand-dollar alligator handbag from Barneys in exchange for this picture. The girl was commanding serious money. But it
is
a lot more graphic. The caption is ‘See Whitney get…uh, expletive, from behind.’”

The digital photo appeared—crystal clear, in vivid color, leaving nothing to the imagination. Whitney was bent over a chair, looking back over her shoulder with a lascivious grin on her face. Her Holbrooke kilt was up around her waist, her panties around her ankles. The naked man doing the honors was muscular and deeply tanned, with a shaved head. His face was turned away from the camera, but the large diamond stud in his ear was clearly visible.

“I see what you mean about who erased the blog,” Melanie said. “That’s definitely Jay Esposito.
Not
that I’ve ever seen him naked.”

Of course Dan O’Reilly had to pick exactly that moment to walk through her office door. And with
Bridget
. Melanie fumed with jealousy when she realized they must’ve ridden up in the elevator together. Boy, after last night, she’d never look at elevators the same way again.

“Yo, team,” Bridget said. She carried a brown paper bag, which had split apart on the bottom. She set it down on Melanie’s desk, where it instantly formed a puddle of sour-smelling coffee.

“I brought some joe for everybody, but I think it spilled. Do you have any paper towels?” Bridget asked Melanie.

“In the ladies’ room down the hall.” Melanie momentarily exulted at getting Bridget out of the room. But then she felt guilty, not to mention worried about her own mental health, and resolved yet again to calm down.

“Holy shit. Who’s that doing Whitney, your boyfriend Expo?” Dan asked Melanie. His eyes were fixed on the computer, his handsome face clouded. She couldn’t decide if he looked angry or just tired.

“He’s not my boyfriend!” she protested. She’d meant to sound jokey, but it came out defensive.

“Too bad. If you could testify you recognized his naked butt, we could use the picture as evidence for the wiretap,” Dan said.

“I can testify I recognize his naked head,” Melanie offered, still searching Dan’s face. But he wouldn’t look at her. Hmm, he didn’t seem mad, but he didn’t seem
not
mad either.

“We’re in pretty good shape to go up on Esposito’s phone anyway,” Dan said. “I spent last night at my computer following up on a few things. A woman by the name of Mirta Jimenez was found dead in a restroom at Marín Airport in San Juan ten months ago. Autopsy said cause of death was acute heroin poisoning, caused by leaking balloons in her stomach. She was booked on a flight to New York but never made it onto the plane. I already pulled the passenger manifest. One Jay Esposito was seated three rows behind her.”

IN CERTAIN RESPECTS Melanie’s fortunes had taken a turn for the better. Working swiftly, the team finished the wiretap affidavit and got Justice Department authorization by early afternoon. When they were ready to go to the judge for the final okay, the assignment wheel spit out the name of the Honorable Constance Stanchi, referred to fondly by prosecutors in Melanie’s office as the Smiling Lady of the Bench, the one jurist who could be counted on to sign anything, anytime.

Melanie had had wiretaps before Judge Stanchi in the past, and the approval process was blessedly minimal. She brought Dan rather than Ray-Ray to swear out the affidavit, because Judge Stanchi was known to appreciate a good-looking cop. They were ushered in to the jurist’s delightful chambers, which smelled of perfume and the large display of fresh roses on her desk. Judge Stanchi’s snow white hair was, as always, beautifully arranged. Her impressive pearls, as usual, carefully peeked over the collar of her black robe. And her delicate, blue-veined, manicured hands cradled a copy of the affidavit, which, based on past experience, Melanie was fairly confident she hadn’t read.

“Good afternoon, Miss Vargas,” the judge said in her cultured voice, bestowing one of the beatific smiles that had earned her her nickname. “And who is this fascinating young man you’ve brought to visit me?”

“Judge, this is Special Agent Daniel K. O’Reilly from the FBI, who is prepared to swear to the truth of the allegations contained in the affidavit. We’d be happy to answer any questions Your Honor might have about the investigation.”

“Questions. Hmmm. Yes.”

Judge Stanchi opened the bound affidavit and began leafing through it. Before another judge this was the moment Melanie normally got major butterflies, worrying that he’d throw her some curveball she wouldn’t be able to answer, deny the wiretap, and call up Bernadette screaming about Melanie’s incompetence. Not like it had never happened before either. But with Stanchi you didn’t sweat it. Not only was the Smiling Lady flipping through the affidavit from back to front, making it impossible to absorb its content in any event, but her delphinium blue eyes were busy ogling Dan rather than reading the document.

“Everything seems in order,” Judge Stanchi said when she’d finished pretending to read. She smiled yet again. “Agent, please raise your right hand.”

Minutes later they stood waiting for the elevator with the paperwork authorizing them to intercept Jay Esposito’s telephone calls in hand. And that’s when Melanie discovered that her fortunes hadn’t actually improved, not when it came to
lo importante
anyway.

“Well, that was easy,” she remarked.

“For
you
, maybe. I feel like I should take a shower.”

The elevator came, and they got on. Dan pressed the button for the courthouse basement.

“Oh, c’mon,” Melanie said, “Judge Stanchi’s harmless.
Better
than harmless. In all the years I’ve appeared before her, she’s never denied one application. Besides, she really looks the part, doesn’t she?”

“And that really matters to you, doesn’t it?” he snapped back, bitter and mocking.

Dan had been angry all along. He’d simply bided his time until they were alone so he could ambush her.

“What’s that supposed to mean? Are you upset about last night?”

He didn’t answer, his face closed and stony. They got out in the basement and headed for the tunnel back to Melanie’s building so they wouldn’t have to go outside, where it was snowing and sixteen degrees. Dan walked so fast she practically had to run to keep up, the three-inch heels of her boots clattering on the cheap linoleum floor.

“Hey, listen,” Melanie said, “I know it was a buzz kill, Steve being there last night and all, but—”

He turned on her furiously. “
Buzz kill
? It was a fucking deal breaker, is what it was. I’m not your fool, lady! I don’t give a
shit
if you’re still messing around with your husband, but show a little more respect than using
me
as a fucking pawn. That was low.” Dan marched ahead, disgust on his face. When he reached the elevator that served Melanie’s office, he pounded the call button furiously, his back turned to her.

Breathing heavily, Melanie caught up with him. For a split second, she’d been speechless with shock, but now she was in such a rage that her entire body shook.

“You know, I’m tempted to just tell you to fuck off and never speak to you again,” she began.

“Suits me fine!”

“In your dreams, pal. You’re not getting off that easy! Normally I wouldn’t even respond to your
disgusting
accusation. But I’ve been a prosecutor long enough to know that people take silence as an admission of guilt and I
refuse
to give you the satisfaction. So I’m going to say my piece first. Then we’re
through
.”

She glared at him fiercely, almost spitting the words, and Dan stared back at her wide-eyed. Melanie knew how to fight. She hadn’t grown up on the block for nothing.

“If you really meant what you just said,” she continued, her voice quivering with outrage, “then you are one vicious, cynical human being, Dan O’Reilly. You’re
cold
. Something
damaged
you. Maybe it was your ex-wife, maybe something else. I don’t know, since you never deign to talk about yourself. But don’t go putting your ugly ideas on
me
. I’m not like that! I had no idea Steve would be there last night. I would never behave in the vile way you just suggested. Maybe your heart is too dead to understand.” She shook her head in resignation. “And to think I thought you were the
one
. There’s a sucker born every minute.”

The elevator doors opened and Melanie hurried on. Dan made as if to follow.

“No you don’t!” she commanded. “I’m not riding with you. We’ll do this case, and that’s
it
. I never want to speak to you again.”

As she smacked the button for her floor, tears of fury stood out in Melanie’s eyes. That didn’t surprise her, since sometimes she cried when she was really angry. What surprised her was looking up at the very last moment before the doors closed and seeing Dan watch her disappear—unshed tears glittering in his.

MELANIE WAS way too busy and preoccupied to waste any more time thinking about Dan O’Reilly.

Shortly after she got back to her office, the telephone rang. It was Linda, sobbing so hysterically that Melanie could barely understand her.

“What is it? Is it Mom?” Melanie asked with her heart in her throat.

Linda wailed something incomprehensible.

“Please, Lin. I can’t hear what you’re saying. Are you okay?”

“It’s Fab D. He’s dead!” Linda cried.

Melanie went cold and quiet.

“How did it happen?” she asked Linda after a moment.

“I should’ve stayed with him, Mel. It’s all my fault! He told me he was gonna do it.”

“Do what? Slow down, okay? Did you see what happened? Was it Expo?”

“No. Expo? What are you talking about? D was looking for some action. He told me. I didn’t take him seriously enough.”

“What kind of action?”

“Sex! He said he was desperate, that he was planning to pay for it. I thought he was joking.” Linda began sobbing again.

“I don’t understand. Was he sick? How did he die?” Deon had looked perfectly healthy yesterday.

“He got beat to death. They found him in an alley this morning, frozen solid,” Linda said.

“And you think—”

“I
know
. A friend of mine saw Fab D at the bar just
minutes
after he told me that, talking to some rent boy. I could’ve stopped him, Mel! I never should’ve left him alone in that crazy mood. I know how he gets.”

“It’s not your fault, sweetie. It may not even have been about that. I need to nail down what really happened, to make sure there’s no connection to Expo. I want you to be careful. Stay in your apartment and don’t open the door to anybody until I tell you it’s cool, understand?”

“No way. I can’t do that. I have tickets to Cabo with Teresa. We’re going to that new resort. Fab D would never want me to cancel.”

TO MELANIE’S SURPRISE, the story about the male prostitute checked out. Manhattan South Homicide had caught the case, and Melanie spoke directly to the lead detective. Several witnesses had indeed seen Fabulous Deon pick up a provocatively dressed young man at Screen the previous night and leave the bar with him. An individual matching the young man’s description had been videotaped withdrawing cash with Deon’s ATM card at a bank two blocks from Screen at eleven-thirty last night. That, combined with the fact that Deon’s wallet was not found with his body, suggested that robbery was the likely motive. The detectives were now in the process of cross-checking the photo taken by the ATM machine against mug shots of male prostitutes arrested in the five boroughs in the past year. They expected to have a name shortly.

One fact troubled Melanie greatly, however. When Deon and the prostitute left the bar, they headed straight for the tunnel where Expo had taken Melanie. Nobody else seemed to think this was of much significance, but
she
did. The murder case wasn’t under her jurisdiction, though, so the best she could do was fill the detective in on her own encounter with Esposito and make him promise to call her if he came up with any connections.

Melanie had an appointment at six o’clock at the Elite Narcotics Task Force to deliver a required lecture on wiretap regulations. She was attempting to review her lecture script, but she was so upset by Fabulous Deon’s murder that she couldn’t concentrate. She knew she should turn her mind to her work, build her case against Esposito brick by brick, get him off the street before he did any more harm. That was the way to vindicate Deon. But the words of the script blurred before her eyes.
You are entitled to intercept only criminal conversations. Shut down the recording device if the defendant is talking about something other than criminal activity. Shut it down if he’s talking to his lawyer, doctor, or priest. If he’s having phone sex with his girlfriend or asking his mother to fix him dinner. But you can listen if he’s talking to his girlfriend or his mother about selling drugs
. Blah, blah, blah. And yet it
was
relevant. If they could intercept Expo talking on the telephone about Friday’s heroin shipment and stake him out running some new drug mules back from Puerto Rico, they’d have enough to charge him in the Holbrooke girls’ deaths. If they were lucky, maybe they’d come up with something tying him to Deon’s death. If they were really, really lucky, maybe they’d even find Carmen Reyes in the process. They’d better, because Melanie couldn’t handle another innocent person’s dying on her watch. If it hadn’t happened already—if Carmen was even still alive.

Melanie felt useless to the point of suffocation, sitting at her desk while Carmen was out there somewhere, needing her help. She had a couple of hours before the lecture, and even though the team had covered the bases according to the missing-persons protocol, she worried they weren’t doing enough. There had to be something more, some lead not fully plumbed, some neglected rock that could be turned over, its teeming underside examined and reexamined.