Girls Like Us(27)

“It’s Adriana,” she says, her voice cold. “The body they found in the dunes. I heard it on the news. It’s her, isn’t it?”

“I’m so sorry, Ms. Marques,” Lee says. He nods slowly. “It’s her.”

She looks me in the eye. “That’s why you’re here. They don’t send in an FBI agent for some missing girl.”

“I’m so sorry for your loss. I know how hard this is to hear,” I say.

She shakes her head. “No, you don’t. None of you people care. When I went down to the police station to file the missing persons report, do you know what the cop asked me? If my sister was a working girl. That was the first thing. And when I said, ‘Yeah, she did some of that,’ he closed his notebook. Like there was nothing more to say about her. Like she wasn’t a fucking person.”

“That’s not right,” I say, cringing.

“There was a girl who went missing last summer,” Lee offers. I can see how nervous he is. His leg jitters up and down as he talks. I want to put my hand on his thigh to make it stop. “A sex worker. He may have just been trying to establish a pattern.”

“Oh, there’s a pattern. Brown girls no one gives a fuck about.”

“We give a fuck,” Lee says, a bit plaintively.

“What do you think would have happened if my sister was a white girl from Southampton? I tell you what, the whole fucking National Guard would’ve turned out to look for her. Don’t tell me I’m wrong.”

The toddler, Isabel, appears in the doorway. She has a pacifier in her mouth, which she sucks on furiously. She runs to Elena. Elena picks her up. The girl lays her head on Elena’s shoulder.

“She’s tired. No one slept last night.”

“It’s all right. If you need to go—”

Elena shakes her head and grips the girl tighter. She looks away from us and lets out a small, gasping sob. We are all quiet. The girl doesn’t seem to notice that Elena is shaking with tears. Her eyelids droop as she presses her head against her mother’s shoulder, allowing herself to be rocked by the gentle rhythm of Elena’s heaving breast.

A minute passes. Maybe two. Isabel’s eyes flicker open. She sits up, pushes herself off of Elena’s lap, and goes running back down the hall.

Once she’s gone, Elena dabs at her eyes with the corner of her sleeve. “Isabel loved my sister so much. Adriana watched her every afternoon. She doesn’t know that her aunt is gone. I don’t know how to explain it to her.”

“How old is she?” I ask.

“Almost two.”

“Do you have other children?”

“I have a seven-year-old boy. Rafael.”

“Tell them the truth.”

She frowns at me. “They’re too young. They won’t understand something like this.”

“I was seven when my mother was murdered. I was grateful when someone finally told me she was dead. Children understand more than you think. And they appreciate straightforwardness.”

This information disarms her. Her face crumples. I realize I’ve said too much. “Was Adriana murdered?” she whispers.

“It looks that way. I’m so sorry. We’ll know more once we have the medical examiner’s report.”

“What happened to her?”

“It’s still early,” Lee says, hedging. He could tell her, of course. About the gunshot to the head. The dismemberment. The burlap and twine. But he won’t. We’ve both been trained to break the information to the victim’s family slowly, one bit at a time. She doesn’t need to know details, certainly not now. If we withhold them from the public, she may not hear them for a while. “We’ll have more information from the ME’s office soon. It would be helpful if you could give us a DNA sample. I can swab the inside of your cheek. To confirm the identity of the body.”

Her head lifts slightly. I want to kick Lee for giving her a flicker of hope. “So it might not be her? It might be a mistake?” she says, her voice ringing with desperation.

“No. It’s her. She had a metal plate in her jaw. It had a number etched on it, and we were able to run that through the system. The DNA—it’s just a way to reconfirm. I’m sorry. I should’ve . . . it’s her.”

“I want to see her. Can you take me to her?”

“Not yet. Soon. She’s with our doctors now.”

“Why can’t I see her? She’s my sister. She’s family. You can’t keep me from her.”

“Ms. Marques,” I say, as gently as possible, “the only way we will figure out what happened to your sister is if we let the doctors do their full examination. Okay? The best thing you can do right now is answer our questions.”

She stares at me, her eyes wide and vacant, like she doesn’t fully hear me. She turns her head to the door and then back to me. Reluctantly, she sinks back into her chair.

“I need a glass of water,” she says, her voice hoarse.

Lee bounces up. “I’ll get it,” he offers, and ricochets off toward the kitchen.

“Can you tell me about the day your sister went missing?” I ask, once he’s gone.

Elena shrugs through tears. “It was the Friday of Labor Day weekend. She said she was going to a party. I knew she was working a job, though. I always knew.”