Like a Sister(13)

“Melina,” Mel said, but I wouldn’t tear my eyes off Green.

“We’d love to talk to this dealer,” Green said. “Bring in the feds. Charge him with conspiring to distribute controlled substances resulting in death.”

Mel nodded. He liked that. Shifting the focus to the big bad drug dealer.

Green flipped back to a clean page. “You know his name?”

“Alfie.”

Green paused ever so slightly before writing it down. “And last?”

I shook my head.

He tried again. “Contact info?”

I didn’t have it. Didn’t want to have it. “It’d be in her phone.” I gazed at the skyscraper across the street. “What if she went up there with him? Her dealer?” I didn’t check to see how they reacted, didn’t want them to even respond. “There’s a two-hour gap where no one knows what she was doing. Who she saw. Just that she was going to see someone, who you’re assuming is me. Her car is gone. You’re assuming it was stolen. There was only coke found on her, but you’re assuming she was using heroin. You saw what she had on last night. There’s no way she would’ve worn a sleeveless dress if she planned to have needle marks on her arm. They would not have gone with the outfit.”

I had his full attention now. He’d even put down his pen on Mel’s fancy-ass black desk. “They were on her thigh.”

I hesitated and hoped he wouldn’t notice. Thigh? “She was afraid of needles.” Even I could hear the desperation in my voice. “Ask her friends.”

“I’d be happy to do that,” Green said. “I want you both to know that we are exploring every avenue. When we spoke to Ms. Turner and Mr. Marks, they both insisted Desiree took no drugs at all. They denied knowing about the coke in her purse.”

Of course. They weren’t going to admit drug use to a cop. I finally looked at him. “Desiree didn’t pick her friends because they were George Washington.”

“Understandable. People can be protective of those they love. Sometimes too protective.”

That’s when I realized he was humoring me. He thought I was in denial about my sister’s extracurricular activities. Like I thought Desiree was some angel who baked brownies. And not the kind with weed in them.

I turned to Mel, desperate. “Mel, we both know that coke was Desiree’s go-to. Coke and alcohol. Even if you take away the needle thing, she was way too vain to mark up her body. Even a thigh.”

He stared at me. The silence felt longer than my last Netflix binge. Then he finally spoke. “He’s right, Melina. Desiree had changed a lot since you last talked to her.”

So I was finding out. Apparently, everyone thought she was different. Depressed. Moody. Doing drugs she’d never done before. In ways she’d never done before. But no one knew why. Why hadn’t anyone told me it had gotten this bad?

Mel addressed Green. “Like I said, I want this wrapped up as quickly as possible.”

They kept talking while I sat there fuming. I guess a daughter dying from a heroin overdose in the hood was at odds with Mel’s new incarnation. One clearly concerned only with his own reputation.

There was no way Desiree would have been able to inject heroin into her own body. I didn’t know who had helped her use—her dealer, a friend, a stranger she’d met at the party, a stranger she’d met in Highbridge. But someone must have, and it’d accidentally killed her. It was clear the police didn’t give a shit. I did, though. Whoever they were, I was going to find them. They couldn’t get away with it.

There were two things I needed to see: her friends and her phone. Either could tell me if she’d met with someone else last night. Since her cell was MIA, along with her car, I’d have to start with her friends. I was banking on them being less protective with me than they had been with Green. I spoke again. “What time will you be at the hotel? I’ll meet you there.” It had come out like a threat. And maybe it was.

“I don’t think—” Green said.

Mel cut him off this time. “That’s a great idea. Melina can pack up Desiree’s stuff, make sure everything is in order.”

I got the implication. My family obligation would be cleaning up after Desiree one last time. I smiled, sat back in my chair even though it was uncomfortable as hell. Mel could think what he wanted about why I’d volunteered. They both could.

Desiree had been in the Bronx for a reason.

She’d needed me.

I was going to find out why.

*



Back on the subway, I wished I’d brought my bike with me. It wasn’t much—a ten-year-old Schwinn—but it calmed me like nothing else could. Definitely more than mass transit. If you’re a New Yorker, there are just certain things you know about the subway. When a pregnant woman gets on, men with seats suddenly become fascinated by their phones. Once underground, cell coverage is spotty at best. And one never, ever, ever gets into an empty subway car during rush hour. Your nose will immediately hate you for it.

Luckily, the coverage gods were with me the whole fifteen-minute ride to the hotel. I spent it crowded next to some manspreader desperate to convince the world—and himself—he was rich. Rolex. Fancy suit. Gold pinkie ring. It all looked good at first glance. But on second glance the problems started.