Girls Like Us(59)

“Take a seat,” DaSilva says, more of a command than an offer. “Let’s have a chat.”

I do as I’m told. I didn’t want to excite anyone by showing up armed, but now I realize that might have been a foolish decision. Then again, I’m outnumbered. Even if I had a weapon, I’m not sure it would do me any good. I wonder if there’s a chance that Lee is going to show up. He could be running late. Or maybe he sold me out. Heat rises to my cheeks as I consider that possibility. I’ve always sensed there is something amiss about Lee, about the quick way he drew me in and tried to befriend me. It’s my fault. I should’ve known better. Right now, I shouldn’t trust anyone at all.

“What can I get you?” Dorsey says from behind the bar.

“I’m fine.”

“Oh, come on, Nell. Have a drink with us at least. We’re celebrating.”

“Okay. I’ll have a Macallan neat.”

“Just like your old man.”

“I heard he was on the wagon, actually.”

Dorsey chuckles. “Who told you that?”

“Hank. In fact, he said Dad was sober the night he died.” I look at DaSilva. “He was supposed to meet you that night, right? But you didn’t show?”

“No. I don’t think so. Must’ve been a mix-up.” DaSilva frowns. A vein pulses at his left temple. He’s not a particularly convincing actor.

“Well, it got me thinking about his accident.”

“Thinking what, exactly?”

“Well, if he wasn’t drunk, maybe it wasn’t an accident after all.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means maybe someone cut his brakes.”

“Who would do that?”

“All cops have enemies.”

DaSilva swallows. “That’s true. But it was a foggy night. And it was late. And the curve where he crashed was a tricky one. They oughta put a sign up. It can sneak up on you if you’re not paying attention.”

“Yeah. A sign.”

Dorsey sets the drink down in front of me. He slides into the booth next to DaSilva, breaking the tension between us.

“Cheers,” I say, raising my glass. I look Dorsey in the eye as he raises his drink and touches the rim to mine. “To Dad.”

“To Marty.”

“Your dad worked that Pine Barrens case for a year. He’d be proud of you.”

“For what?”

“For helping out with the Morales arrest. You finished what he started.”

“Did I? He didn’t think Morales did it.”

Dorsey shakes his head. “That’s not true. He just couldn’t prove it.”

“What were you doing at Elena Marques’s house today?” DaSilva asks, impatient. He’s tipped his hand, but he doesn’t care. That alarms me. I sit up straight, unnerved.

“Elena told me a cop had come to her house the day she filed the missing persons report. This cop had the same last name as me. Flynn. Now, why do you suppose my father did that? Go pay a visit to a missing girl’s family?”

DaSilva glances at Dorsey. They both shift in their seats, unsettled by this information.

“She’d only been missing a day or two; there was no reason to suppose she was dead. Unless, of course, he knew she was dead. So I started to worry that maybe he was the one who killed her.”

“That’s way out of line,” Dorsey snaps. He holds up a finger, a warning.

“It occurred to me, as I drove around in Dad’s red pickup, that maybe the truck Elena said she saw outside the house wasn’t Morales’s truck. Maybe it was Dad’s. And maybe the truck that turned up in the parking lot where Ria Sandoval went missing was Dad’s, too. I went over there to show her the truck. See if she recognized it.”

Dorsey is seething. His face has frozen in a mask of rage. His hands are fists, white-knuckled and resting on the table. I push back against the wooden booth, aware that he wants to hit me. If he does, I’m done for. I can’t take him and DaSilva. Still, I can’t stop myself. I’ve thrown them off guard, and right now, that’s the only thing I have going for me.

“Elena mentioned that Dad took Adriana’s phone with him, that night he was at their house. That phone isn’t in evidence. I checked. Why would he take her phone? Unless he was covering something up. So I started doing a little digging. Turns out Dad was getting kickbacks from Giovanni Calabrese. The same guy who was pimping out Ria and Adriana. Ten thousand a month, straight into an offshore account. Do you see where I’m going with this?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dorsey says.

“See, the bank account in the Caymans is mine now. And to be honest, I’m happy to have the money. But I just want to know what it was for. If Dad killed those girls, then it’s not right for me to keep that account. I do have some standards, you know?”

“Morales killed those girls. End of story.”

“Don’t you want to know what Elena said about the truck?”

“No!” Dorsey shouts. His fist bangs hard on the table. Even DaSilva flinches. “I don’t give a fuck what Elena Marques thinks she saw. Your father did not kill Adriana Marques. And he didn’t kill Ria Sandoval, either. Why would he? That’s crazy.”