Girls Like Us(55)

“I’m okay. Thank you.” My voice comes out sharper than I intended. “How are you? That’s more important.”

She shrugs. “I heard on the news that Alfonso Morales was arrested.”

“He was, yes.”

“Is it true he confessed to killing Adriana? And that other girl, the one from last summer?”

“That’s what I’ve heard. I’m not sure.”

“You weren’t there?”

“I’m not a police officer, Elena. I was just assisting with the investigation.”

“And now it’s over.” She stares at me evenly, like she’s waiting for me to disappoint her. “That’s it.”

“It’s not over for me. Not by a long shot. Can we talk?”

“About what?”

“I think your sister was part of something. Something big. I think some very powerful people took advantage of her. I want to make sure every person who hurt your sister is brought to justice. Not just her killer, but people who may have exploited her before her death. But I’m going to need your help to do it.”

Elena is quiet for a minute. She turns and takes a seat on the couch. “Why are you doing this?”

“Why am I doing what?”

“This. Talking to me. It’s not your case. You’re not a cop. So why do you care so much about Adriana?”

I sit down on the couch beside her. “Everyone should care. Your sister was a human being. She deserved to be treated like one.”

Elena slides her hand across the couch. She puts her hand atop mine and squeezes. When I look up, I see that her eyes are filled with tears. “Thank you,” she whispers. “For saying that.”

“Look, I need to be honest with you. My father was a Suffolk County Police Officer. His name was Martin Flynn. He came here after Adriana disappeared. He took her phone. Was it a silver flip phone? A burner?”

Elena pulls back her hand. She sits up straight, her eyes wide in fear. “Yes. It was. Flynn . . . that was your father?”

I nod. “But I think maybe he was trying to protect Adriana.”

“Protect her from who?”

“Your sister was part of a network of young girls, a prostitution ring, run by Giovanni Calabrese. The man you saw in the white Escalade. Calabrese paid off members of the Suffolk County Police Department to look the other way. There’s an investigation into the department right now. Apparently, the Feds have a mole inside the department. I think my father was that mole. And I believe your sister and Ria Sandoval were helping my father with that investigation.”

“The police department had her killed?” she says, sounding incredulous.

“It’s possible. Or maybe Calabrese did. Or James Meachem. He’s a frequent client of Calabrese. And Adriana’s body was found near his house.”

“James Meachem. The man with the house on Meadow Lane.” Elena pales. “Oh, God. This is all my fault.”

“It’s not your fault, Elena. You can’t think that.”

“No, it is. It is. You don’t understand. I used to work for James Meachem. I brought Adriana once. To work with me. That must be how this started.”

“Okay.” I take a deep breath, trying to maintain my composure. “Go back. How did you meet James Meachem?”

“For years, I cleaned houses for summer people,” Elena starts slowly. “I was part of a team. We’d just go wherever we got called. The summer was our busiest time. Between Memorial Day and Labor Day, we made thirty dollars an hour. I worked six days a week, sometimes seven. Sometimes we’d be in one house all day. Twelve, fourteen hours. The houses were so big. Eight, ten bedrooms. So much laundry. Beach towels and sheets and linens. And all the silver, Dios mío. Do you know what it’s like to clean silver for eighty-person dinner parties? And crystal glasses so fine I thought they’d crack in my hands. I will never understand why rich people can’t buy silver and glassware that goes in a dishwasher! It’s almost like they like to see us on our hands and knees, scrubbing their floors.”

Her eyes glisten with tears, like she’s remembering something painful, something she’d tried hard to forget. I nod, urging her to continue.

“Anyway, it was hard work, but it paid so well, much better than cleaning at the hospital, honestly. At night I’d come home and everything would ache. My back, my legs, my hands. But if Gladys—she was the one who organized our crew—called me, I always said I was free to work.

“Gladys got a call about a house on Meadow Lane that needed cleaning. One of her regular girls couldn’t do it, and she asked me if I knew anyone who could help. I told Adriana that she could make some extra cash. She was just fifteen, on summer break from school. She was happy for the money. The house was incredible. All glass, overlooking the ocean. The owner wasn’t there; he was supposed to arrive the next day. There was a French woman. Manon, her name was. I thought she was the house manager, but I wasn’t sure. She told us what to do. She was very stern with us. She wanted everything pristine and perfect. She screamed at one of the girls because she didn’t like the way she made the bed. And the rugs were all white, so she made us work barefoot.

“The whole time people were coming in and out, delivering white orchids and champagne by the case. It looked like they were having a big party. Gladys sent me and Adriana upstairs. We were supposed to steam and press all of these clothes. Fancy dresses and nightgowns and lingerie. The French lady came in and watched us do it, and she started arranging the clothes onto racks, like what you see in a department store. It was all new. Sent in bags from Bergdorf Goodman and Barneys. I thought maybe they were gifts for the owner’s wife or girlfriend.