Girls Like Us(47)

“He was here the night he died. Did Dorsey tell you that?”

“I didn’t ask. It was just an accident. His tires were worn. Roads were wet.”

“He wasn’t drinking. I mean, nothing more than a Coke. He was supposed to meet DaSilva, but he never showed up, and so your dad just watched the game with me. Anyway, I wanted you to know that. He was on the wagon. Took it real serious, too.”

That catches me by surprise. “Really? Since when?”

Hank shrugs. “Few months. He didn’t tell you? Quit cold turkey. He’d come in and just sip a Coke at the bar. I think he liked being around people instead of sitting around an empty house. I always figured that was your influence.”

“No. We never spoke about his drinking.”

“Well, I think you had something to do with it. He told me once he wanted to stop for you. I was proud of him that he finally did it.”

“I heard a rumor he was seeing someone. A woman named Maria. Did he ever bring her by?”

Hank raises his eyebrows. “No. Who told you that?”

“An old friend.”

“Your dad was in here most nights. Either alone or with the guys from SCPD. If he had a lady friend, I never met her.”

“No worries. Just figured I’d ask.”

“What can I get you? On the house.”

I pause. It feels wrong, on the heels of discussing my father’s sobriety, to order a drink. But it’s been a hell of a day. My shoulder is smarting; my nerves are still raw. “Macallan neat,” I say. I pull out my wallet. “And please, I got it. You can start up a tab.”

Hank waves me off. “Your money’s no good here.”

He slides down the bar to fill the other patron’s glass. As I wait for my scotch, I glance around. No sign of Luz. Looks like Hank’s working the joint himself tonight, which makes sense given the weather. I can hear the wind howling outside. It’s reached a fever pitch. I’m surprised this place is still open. Then again, Hank lives in an apartment upstairs, so it’s not like he has far to go when he decides to close up. And at least, for the moment, they have electricity.

The television switches from the weather forecast to local news. I sit up when I see a shot of Alfonso Morales being led out of the back of Dorsey’s car in cuffs. His head is down. He hunches into the collar of his coat, shielding his face from the camera.

“This afternoon, members of the Suffolk County Police Department made a stunning arrest at Harald Farms Nursery in Aquebogue,” a reporter says. “Alfonso Morales, an employee of the nursery, was seen running from officers, brandishing a weapon. A local resident, Mary Cassevetes, captured the exchange on her phone.”

The screen cut to shaky, zoomed-in footage of Morales sprinting through the field behind the farm stand. It startles me to see my own outline appear in the distance, crouched behind a truck in the parking lot. I’m shrouded in shadow; no one could identify me. But still, there I am, on the local news. I cringe, imagining Lightman’s reaction if he found out. I can practically hear him yelling at me through the phone: What are you doing out there playing cops and robbers at a local nursery? You’re on my fucking TV! Why don’t you just mail Dmitry Novak a goddamn Christmas card with your return address on it?

Just before I tackle Morales, the footage cuts off. The reporter appears on-screen again. “What you’ve just witnessed is live footage from this afternoon from Harald Farms Nursery in Aquebogue, where police officers apprehended an armed suspect, a man who is wanted in connection with the murders of two young women here in Suffolk County.”

There it is. The media has tied the two murders together. Ria Sandoval is no longer a cold case. She is one victim in a serial string.

Hank reappears with my Macallan. “Wild story, right?” He nods up at the television. “You hear about this? They found a girl yesterday morning buried out at Shinnecock County Park. Her body was all cut up. I guess they arrested the guy.”

“It’s why I’m here, actually.”

Hank raises his eyebrows. “Oh yeah?”

“Dorsey has me consulting on the case. Dad was working on it when he died.”

“Sounds like they’re figuring it out.”

“There was a case last summer. A girl buried out in the Pine Barrens. Her name was Ria Sandoval.”

“Yeah, I remember. Her friend works here. Luz Molina.”

“Looks like it might be the same guy.”

“Oh, shit.” Hank shakes his head. “Luz asked to leave early today. I was kind of an ass to her about it. I didn’t realize what was going on.”

“What time did she leave?”

“Around four, I’d guess? She gets in at noon. Supposed to stay until closing.”

“I don’t think she left because of Morales, if that’s any consolation. He wasn’t arrested until after five. How long has she worked here?”

“About a year. She’s a good kid. Hard worker. I really shouldn’t have given her a hard time about leaving early. She’s usually reliable. I was just in a pissy mood because of the storm.”

“You said she’s been here a year? So she must have started working here right after they found Ria’s body?”

“Yeah.” Hank glances down the bar. The man at the other end looks half asleep. He’s slumped over his drink; his head rests heavy in his hands. Hank drops his voice low. “Between us, Dorsey asked me if I could hire her. Luz was caught up in the escorting thing, and after everything with her friend, she was scared out of her mind. Dorsey felt bad for her. Asked if I could do him a solid and give her some work. Just, you know, under the table. She needed the money.”