Girls Like Us(33)

“Everything in order?” He’s listening to an oldies station, which he quickly flips off. He gives me a genuine smile, and for a minute, I feel conflicted. I don’t think he would have pulled me into this mess if he thought my father’s death was even a touch suspicious. Lee doesn’t seem to have that kind of cunning. But then, maybe that’s why he was sent over. To babysit me until I go back to where I came from.

“Yeah, sorry about that. Just some paperwork.”

He nods and starts the engine. “Well, I’m glad it all got sorted. Let’s head out. You can follow me to the ME’s.”

We cruise down the highway at a decent clip, my truck tailing Lee’s car. We pass the Pine Barrens Preserve, where Ria’s body was found, and then Yaphank, where the Suffolk County Police Department is headquartered. After that, the road becomes a blur of scrubby pines and exits for towns I have long since forgotten. When I was young, I loved their strange, mystical names. They reminded me that these had once been beautiful places, filled with lakes and forests teeming with wildlife, instead of the strip malls and gas stations and dusty commercial centers that have since taken root. Ronkonkoma comes from an Algonquian expression meaning “Boundary Lake.” Copiague meant “Place of Shelter.” Hauppauge, where we were headed, meant “Land of Sweet Water.” Or at least, so it tells you on the faded sign we pass on our way into town.

The Suffolk County Medical Examiner’s Office is located in a dated white office building off the side of the highway. Outside of it, there are a few sparse trees and a lawn that is mostly dead. The parking lot is less than half full. If I had to guess, I would have said it looked like the headquarters for a company that had recently filed for Chapter 11. It seems perverse to force forensic pathologists to do their work in a place so devoid of life. At least in the city, the examiners get to walk outside to bustling sidewalks and honking cabs and subway cars jam-packed with people. Here, there is only the quiet hum of cars passing by and the squawk of geese overhead.

I feel a drop of rain on my shoulder as I step out of the truck. The air is thick with moisture. In the distance, thunder rumbles.

“There goes the crime scene.” Lee sighs. He slams his door shut and beckons for me to follow him.

As we step inside the building, the sky opens up. I hear the faint hush of rain as we push through the revolving doors. We check in at the front desk with a bored security guard who stares blindly at our IDs. We jot our names down in a guest ledger. I scribble mine, just a big N followed by a line. Lee nods to the guard, who swipes us in through the turnstiles. We take the elevator down to the basement level.

Lee leads me down a series of winding hallways lit with fluorescent track lighting that gives everyone a sickly greenish pallor. I am momentarily grateful that I don’t work in an office building, especially one like this. I have an office, of course, but I’m rarely there. Most of my work happens out in the field, and the field changes with each case. Most of the time, I work out of a motel room with nothing but a suitcase and a laptop, with periodic stops into whatever shithole conference room local law enforcement has grudgingly handed over for the course of an investigation. If it sounds like I’m complaining, I’m not. I like moving around. I like the solitude of working on the road, and the challenge of doing it in sparse working conditions. It gets my adrenaline pumping. The idea of going to the same building every single day of the week, parking my car in the same space, riding the elevator with the same people, and ordering the same lunch from the building cafeteria makes my skin crawl. I think I’d last a week in a job like that. My father, even less.

Lee either knows everyone at the ME’s or he’s the kind of person who nods amiably at random passersby. I find his good cheer enviable, if a touch irritating. Most homicide cops I’ve come across, my father included, have a bleak outlook on humans, generally. They tend to be fiercely loyal to the few people they’ve elected to bring into the fold and regard everyone else with suspicion. Maybe Lee hasn’t worked homicide long enough yet to lose faith in humanity. Or maybe there are just unshakably positive people, and Lee happens to be one of them. Either way, it’s hard for me to picture him and Dad spending their days together, tied to each other like Oscar and Felix from The Odd Couple. I can’t decide who would have annoyed who more.

As we step into the elevator, Lee starts to hum along with the music piped in through a tinny overhead speaker. It’s an instrumental version of “Every Breath You Take.”

“You know that song is about a stalker, right?”

“It’s by the Police.” He laughs. “It’s a classic. Come on, Flynn. Don’t tell me you’re not a karaoke fan. This is my song.”

“Not really my thing.”

“I’ll be watching you,” Lee responds. He points his finger toward me, like a gun. I can’t tell if he’s being goofy, ironic, or maybe just a touch threatening. I grit my teeth. Either way, he’s getting on my nerves.

“Maybe after this, I can take a peek at your dad’s office?” Lee asks. The doors ding open. I don’t answer. I push past him into the hall, even though I don’t know which way to turn once I get there.

“Hey. Slow down, kid. We’re going right in there.” Lee points at a stainless-steel door across from the elevator. On it is a placard that reads “MEDICAL EXAM ROOM 1.”