Girls Like Us(60)

“Well, that was my question. For the record, it was his truck she saw outside her house. He was watching Adriana right before he died. And of course, Dad was a lefty. And an expert marksman. From where I’m sitting, he’s the most obvious suspect you have.”

“What was his motive? Those girls made him money!” The words tumble angrily out of his mouth before he can stop them. Our eyes meet. He’s fucked up and he knows it.

Holy fuck. Dorsey just admitted that my father was involved. I need to record this. I’m too frightened to reach for my phone. One wrong move and it’s over.

“What’s Morales’s motive?” I say, trying to keep my cool.

“Morales is a pig with a violent temper.”

“Come on. We both know Dad had a hell of a temper himself. And he had a lot to lose. Maybe those girls decided to come clean about Calabrese’s business. That would cause a lot of trouble. Or maybe they just reminded him of my mother? Let’s just be honest and admit that neither of us was ever really sure what happened there, either.”

Dorsey hops to his feet and leans over the table, glowering down at me. “Enough,” he hisses. “You’re out of your fucking mind. Martin Flynn was a good man and a good cop. One of the best.”

“Aren’t you tired of covering for him? Seriously. You framed Sean Gilroy twenty-one years ago. And now Morales? All for what? What’s the point, now that Dad’s dead?”

“You should be fucking thanking me for what I’ve done for your father.”

My lips part. My breath catches. “What did you do?” I whisper. “That’s all I want to know. Did you cover for him? Did you set Gilroy and Morales up because you were protecting him? I’ll never tell a goddamn soul, I swear. But I need to know who my father was. What happened to my mother that night? Don’t I deserve to know?”

I begin to cry. I put my face in my hands, my shoulders shaking. It’s not an act. The guys can tell. I can feel the tension deflate, like air rushing out of a balloon.

Dorsey relents. “Vince, why don’t you give me and Nell a minute, okay?”

Vince hesitates.

“Vince.”

“You sure, Chief?”

“I’m sure. Wait for me outside, okay?”

Vince flips a toothpick up from his pocket and into his teeth. “Sure thing, boss.” Dorsey stands up and lets Vince out. I feel his eyes on me, but I don’t look up. I wipe my eyes with the sleeve of my sweatshirt and shove my hands deep into my pockets. One hand closes around my phone. Now. I have to do this now.

I wait until the door bangs shut. “Do you think I could have another drink?”

“’Course.” Dorsey walks over to the bar. “Macallan?”

“Just some water. Thanks. I really appreciate it.” I pull out my phone, pretend to be checking it. Instead, I turn on the audio record button and slip it back into my pocket.

Dorsey returns and sits across from me. He pushes the water across the table. “Look at me, Nell.”

I look up. Dorsey’s eyes soften at the corners. He smiles then. “You remind me so much of Marty.”

“People keep telling me that. It’s probably not a good thing.”

He chuckles. “It is. He was stubborn as hell. But he was a good guy. Cared a lot about truth and justice and all that.”

“Did he kill her? Did he kill my mom?”

He lets out a long sigh. He folds his hands on the table and closes his eyes for a minute. “I don’t know, Nell. And that’s the God’s honest truth. The only person who really knows what happened that night is you.”

“I was seven years old.”

“I know that. No one would blame you if you lied to protect him. Or maybe you didn’t know what happened. You were young. It was late. You were confused. That’s understandable, too.”

“I really don’t know. I can’t remember. Believe me, I’ve tried.” I’ve never told anyone that, not in so many words. Tears rush down my face, sliding onto the table in fat, hot drops. “I don’t think he left our tent. But you know how, if you tell yourself a lie enough times, you start to believe it to be true?”

Dorsey reaches across the table and extends his hand, palm up. I look at it, and then back at him. I put my hand in his. He squeezes it, and a shiver runs through my body.

“Yeah,” he says. “I do.”

“That’s how I feel about that weekend.”

“It’s okay, sweetheart. I know. When we talked to you at the station, I could tell you weren’t sure what happened. And so I worried. I worried that maybe Marty did something stupid. You know she was leaving him, don’t you?”

“No,” I say, stunned. “I didn’t.”

“I’m sorry. Shit. I shouldn’t have said—”

“Just tell me the truth. That’s all I want. Just closure.”

Dorsey nods. He chews his lip for a few long seconds and stares off into the mid-distance. “Your mother met someone,” he says finally. “Another cop. She’d just told Marty. They weren’t happy, Nell. Hadn’t been for years. They weren’t right for each other. She was all passion, and he was . . . well, you know who he was. He wasn’t the best husband, to tell you the truth. He didn’t cheat on her, nothing like that. But he put work first, every time. He would miss important things like her birthday. Your birthday.”