Elena hesitates. She knows why we’ve come. For a moment, I think she might turn us away. But then she pushes the door open and motions for us to enter.
“Are you with missing persons?” she asks.
“Not exactly,” Lee replies.
The living room is small and messy. Dented screens cover the windows, allowing in little light. A dining room table is still covered in breakfast detritus: cereal bowls with spoons in them, half-full glasses of orange juice, a plate with the ends of buttered toast. I count four bowls. I wonder who else lives here and how old they are. I wonder if they’ve heard about the body in Shinnecock County Park. Elena moves a basket of laundry from the sofa and gestures for us to sit. She perches on an armchair across from us.
“It’s Adriana,” she says, her voice cold. “The body they found in the dunes. I heard it on the news. It’s her, isn’t it?”
“I’m so sorry, Ms. Marques,” Lee says. He nods slowly. “It’s her.”
She looks me in the eye. “That’s why you’re here. They don’t send in an FBI agent for some missing girl.”
“I’m so sorry for your loss. I know how hard this is to hear,” I say.
She shakes her head. “No, you don’t. None of you people care. When I went down to the police station to file the missing persons report, do you know what the cop asked me? If my sister was a working girl. That was the first thing. And when I said, ‘Yeah, she did some of that,’ he closed his notebook. Like there was nothing more to say about her. Like she wasn’t a fucking person.”
“That’s not right,” I say, cringing.
“There was a girl who went missing last summer,” Lee offers. I can see how nervous he is. His leg jitters up and down as he talks. I want to put my hand on his thigh to make it stop. “A sex worker. He may have just been trying to establish a pattern.”
“Oh, there’s a pattern. Brown girls no one gives a fuck about.”
“We give a fuck,” Lee says, a bit plaintively.
“What do you think would have happened if my sister was a white girl from Southampton? I tell you what, the whole fucking National Guard would’ve turned out to look for her. Don’t tell me I’m wrong.”
The toddler, Isabel, appears in the doorway. She has a pacifier in her mouth, which she sucks on furiously. She runs to Elena. Elena picks her up. The girl lays her head on Elena’s shoulder.
“She’s tired. No one slept last night.”
“It’s all right. If you need to go—”
Elena shakes her head and grips the girl tighter. She looks away from us and lets out a small, gasping sob. We are all quiet. The girl doesn’t seem to notice that Elena is shaking with tears. Her eyelids droop as she presses her head against her mother’s shoulder, allowing herself to be rocked by the gentle rhythm of Elena’s heaving breast.
A minute passes. Maybe two. Isabel’s eyes flicker open. She sits up, pushes herself off of Elena’s lap, and goes running back down the hall.
Once she’s gone, Elena dabs at her eyes with the corner of her sleeve. “Isabel loved my sister so much. Adriana watched her every afternoon. She doesn’t know that her aunt is gone. I don’t know how to explain it to her.”
“How old is she?” I ask.
“Almost two.”
“Do you have other children?”
“I have a seven-year-old boy. Rafael.”
“Tell them the truth.”
She frowns at me. “They’re too young. They won’t understand something like this.”
“I was seven when my mother was murdered. I was grateful when someone finally told me she was dead. Children understand more than you think. And they appreciate straightforwardness.”
This information disarms her. Her face crumples. I realize I’ve said too much. “Was Adriana murdered?” she whispers.
“It looks that way. I’m so sorry. We’ll know more once we have the medical examiner’s report.”
“What happened to her?”
“It’s still early,” Lee says, hedging. He could tell her, of course. About the gunshot to the head. The dismemberment. The burlap and twine. But he won’t. We’ve both been trained to break the information to the victim’s family slowly, one bit at a time. She doesn’t need to know details, certainly not now. If we withhold them from the public, she may not hear them for a while. “We’ll have more information from the ME’s office soon. It would be helpful if you could give us a DNA sample. I can swab the inside of your cheek. To confirm the identity of the body.”
Her head lifts slightly. I want to kick Lee for giving her a flicker of hope. “So it might not be her? It might be a mistake?” she says, her voice ringing with desperation.
“No. It’s her. She had a metal plate in her jaw. It had a number etched on it, and we were able to run that through the system. The DNA—it’s just a way to reconfirm. I’m sorry. I should’ve . . . it’s her.”
“I want to see her. Can you take me to her?”
“Not yet. Soon. She’s with our doctors now.”
“Why can’t I see her? She’s my sister. She’s family. You can’t keep me from her.”
“Ms. Marques,” I say, as gently as possible, “the only way we will figure out what happened to your sister is if we let the doctors do their full examination. Okay? The best thing you can do right now is answer our questions.”
She stares at me, her eyes wide and vacant, like she doesn’t fully hear me. She turns her head to the door and then back to me. Reluctantly, she sinks back into her chair.
“I need a glass of water,” she says, her voice hoarse.
Lee bounces up. “I’ll get it,” he offers, and ricochets off toward the kitchen.
“Can you tell me about the day your sister went missing?” I ask, once he’s gone.
Elena shrugs through tears. “It was the Friday of Labor Day weekend. She said she was going to a party. I knew she was working a job, though. I always knew.”
“How did you know?”
“Do I look stupid to you?”
“Not at all. But the details help me understand.”
She sighs. “A car would pick her up. An Escalade.”
“The same car?”
“Usually, yeah. She said he was a friend. He’d wait for her down the block. Sometimes she’d come back late. Other times, she’d be gone all night and come back in the morning.”
“Would you recognize the driver if I showed you a photo?”
“Oh, yeah. Once I went out there and gave him a piece of my mind. Told him to get off my property. I said I’d call the police. He laughed. He said, ‘Go ahead.’ Like he was daring me. Asshole.”
“Was his car white?”
“Yeah. White. Rims. Flashy, you know? The night she went missing it was a different car. A black sedan. Like a town car.”
“Same driver?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t see his face.”
“That’s okay. This is all really helpful.”
Lee returns and hands Elena a glass of water.
“Thanks,” she says. She takes a small sip. Her hands shake; I can see the water vibrating inside the glass. She holds it tightly as though she’s afraid it might slip from her grasp.
“Did you ever call the police? About the guy in the white car?”
“No. I didn’t want Adriana to get in trouble.”
“But you didn’t want her escorting,” Lee counters.
“Of course not. Would you want your sister doing that?” She stops, takes a breath, and begins slowly. “Look, it’s easy money. Put up an ad on Craigslist, Backpage, and that’s it, the phone starts ringing. Adriana, she had her regulars. I would hear her talking to them sometimes, like they was her boyfriend. ‘Hey baby, how was your trip?’ That kind of shit. She was young, you know? She trusted people. She was always like that, even back in school.”
“Yeah, she had a big heart. She wanted to be a nurse. She was real sensitive. Like, you could put her with anyone and she would be their best friend by the end of the night. Everyone always talked to her about their problems.”
“Did she finish school?”
Elena shakes her head. “She had some learning issues. Made school tough for her. And our household wasn’t all that stable growing up. I mean, it was fine. We had what we needed. But our dad wasn’t around and our mom, she wasn’t all there, you know what I’m saying? I pretty much raised Adriana myself. I kept telling her to get her GED. But she wanted to be out on her own, to make some money and then go back. Once that lowlife she was dating got shipped upstate, she didn’t have a lot of options. She moved in with me. We fought about her getting a job. A real job. Not this shit. We fought about a lot of things.”
She sighs then, a bone-tired shudder of a sigh, and drops her face into her hands. “I just kept hoping she’d stop,” she whispers.
“When she went on a job, did you ask her where she was going?” Lee asks. “Or to text you when she got there?”
Elena bristles at Lee’s question. Her eyes narrow. “Yeah, I did,” she says, defensive. “Sometimes she would. Sometimes she wouldn’t. Look, she was eighteen. I couldn’t control her. All I could do was give her a place to stay. We all need to work, Detective.”
“I get it. I’m sorry, I wasn’t suggesting—”
“She helped out a lot around here. She’d buy groceries, bring home pizza. And she watched Isabel, too, so we didn’t need as much day care. She was making good money. Her clients were loaded. Even if she was spending too much on herself, looking the way she did, she still brought a lot of cash home.”
“What do you mean, looking the way she did?”
“You know. Hair done, nails done. Fancy clothes. After she started up working these parties, she got real focused on her appearance. You can see.” She gestures toward a door across the hall. “That’s her room, right there.”
Her hackles are up. I can see by the way she’s sitting: ramrod straight, shoulders up around her ears. She grips the glass so hard I worry she might break it. Lee doesn’t seem to notice. He opens his mouth. Before he pisses her off further, I interject. “Lee, why don’t you go check out Adriana’s room. I want to ask Ms. Marques a few more questions.”
Lee nods, grateful to have something else to do. Once he’s gone, Elena’s body softens a touch. She slumps back into her chair. I can see the energy draining out of her. Her eyelids flicker, like they want to close and stay that way.
“Adriana left around eight that night,” she says. “The kids were eating dinner. I wanted her to eat with us, but she said she had to go. She seemed rushed, like she hadn’t had much notice or whatever. She was dressed up. High heels, tight dress.”
“Did she have a purse with her?”
“She had a bag. A tote bag. Maybe she was planning to spend the night.”
“Did you see her get in the car?”
“Yeah. I followed her outside. I called out to her as she was getting in the car, but she didn’t hear me.”
“I know the car was different, but do you think it might have been the same driver?”
“I don’t know. The windows were tinted.”
“Can you close your eyes? Picture the car, driving away. Can you tell me anything about it?”
She blinks. Then she closes her eyes, squeezes them shut. “The license plate was yellow.”
“Good. What else?”
“Maybe there’s a five in it.” Her eyes open again. She shakes her head, frustrated. “Or an S. I don’t know. I’m not good at this stuff.”
“You’re doing great. And you’d never seen that car before?”
“No.”
“When did you realize she was missing?”
“I work a Saturday shift, cleaning at the hospital in Southampton. I leave around six thirty in the morning. Everyone was asleep. Adriana’s door was closed. I assumed she was in there. I didn’t think to check.” She puts her hand to her face. I wait quietly as her body convulses with a wave of tears.
“It’s not your fault,” I whisper. The words feel empty as they leave my mouth.
“I’m her big sister,” she says, her voice reaching a hysterical pitch. “I should’ve checked to make sure she came home.”
I reach across the table and pick up a box of tissues. I hand it to her. “When did you get back on Saturday?” I ask quietly, once she’s blown her nose.
“Around six at night. Kids were watching a show when I got back. And I asked Diego—he’s my boyfriend—where’s Adriana? He hadn’t seen her all day. That’s when I got nervous. Her room was empty. I called her cell twice. No answer. Just went straight to voicemail.”
“Had she ever been gone more than one night?”
“No. Not that I remember. But it was the weekend. Diego said maybe she’s out having fun, not to bother her. He thinks I hover too much, you know. That I treat her like a kid. So I let it go. I didn’t sleep at all that night. I just felt like something was wrong. You know that feeling? You just get it in your bones. When she wasn’t back in the morning, I called the police.”
“Do you remember who you spoke to?”
“No. I just called 911, and they transferred me to the station. And then some guy said I had to come down and file a report. So I did. That’s when I talked to the jerk who asked if Adriana was a working girl. I could just tell he didn’t give a fuck about her, about me, about any of us.”
“You mentioned in your report that there had been a car—a red truck—parked outside your house.”
She nods slowly, like she’s remembering something she’d forgotten about. “Yeah. There was. A pickup.”
“Right before your sister went missing?”
“Yeah. Like, literally, the day before.”
“Did you see anyone in the car?”
“Yeah, the guy just sat there. Didn’t see his face. He was wearing a baseball cap. He never got out. It was like he was watching our house. It gave me the creeps.”
“Have you seen that car since?”
“No. Maybe it was nothing. I don’t know.” She hesitates then, like she wants to tell me something.
“Ms. Marques,” I say quietly, “if there’s anything else you think is important, you can tell me. I won’t share it with anyone else. But it might help me find out who did this to your sister.”
She looks at me then, her eyes welling with tears. “I think Adriana was pregnant.”
“Why did you think that?”
She shrugs. “Just, you know. Intuition. She’d been tired a lot. And a couple of times, I heard her throwing up in the mornings.”
“Did you ask her about it?”
“No. I wasn’t sure. She wasn’t showing or anything. I figured she’d tell me when she was ready.”
“Did she seem upset in the days before she went missing? Secretive? Anything out of the ordinary?”
Elena chews her lip, considering. “Honestly? She seemed happy.”
“Happy?”
“Yeah. Like a cloud had finally lifted.”
“Maybe she was excited about the baby.”
She nods. “I thought so. She was on the phone more. Whispering to someone. Usually late at night. Once, she used the house phone and so I picked up the extension. I was curious. It was a man’s voice. He was telling her that she had to be discreet. Because of his position. Something like that.”
“What did she say?”
“That she understood. That she would never do anything to hurt him. Then he said, ‘I’ll take care of you. I’ll take care of everything,’ and she started to cry.”
“Did you ask her about it?”
“No. I didn’t want her to feel like I was invading he
r privacy. She wouldn’t have told me, anyway.”
“That’s okay. We can get your phone records and see who she was talking to. Did you speak to anyone else from the police department? After you filed the missing persons, I mean.”
“A cop came by the house later that night. A tall white guy. Dark hair, kind of a buzz cut. Like a military guy. He looked around Adriana’s room. Asked me a few questions about her. He was odd. Real quiet. Seemed nervous, too, like he was looking for something.”
“Looking for something?”
“Yeah. He kept looking around her desk. And in her closet.”
“Did he take anything?”
“He found a phone in her desk. I was surprised. She always took her phone with her. This one didn’t look like hers. I told him that, but he took it anyway.”
I feel my throat tighten. In the background, a child begins to wail.
“Do you remember his name?”
She frowns. She looks up at me then. “You know,” she says, “I think his name was Flynn, same as you.”
9.
My ears buzz. The sound of crying intensifies. Elena stands up. “I’m sorry,” she says. “Isabel needs me.”
I nod, still dazed by her mention of my father. “Of course. Go ahead.”
Elena disappears down the hall. I stand up slowly, feeling light-headed. I need to get home, back to my father’s office. I want to see if I can find Adriana’s phone.
I hesitate outside the door to her bedroom. Should I ask Lee about my father’s visit here after Adriana went missing? I decide against it. He would have mentioned it if he thought it was important. My guess is he doesn’t know about it. But why would my father keep secrets from his partner?
Her room is a small space, just big enough to hold a twin bed and a small desk. Books are stacked in the corner. I tilt my head, read the titles. An anatomy textbook. A Guide to Practical Nutrition. A brochure from the nursing program at St. Joseph’s College. A flyer for an informational session on campus, August 28. She’d circled the date in thick black pen.
There is one window in the room, right above the desk. It looks out at the wall of the neighboring house. Outside, a woman is pulling clothes off a line. The wind has picked up. It ruffles her hair, her skirt. The clothes flap, threatening to fly away. She glances up and makes eye contact with me. She frowns, turns again. She snatches up the last of the laundry and hurries back inside.
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