The Finishing School (17 page)

“There go your girls,” Shavonne said, coming over to Melanie and nodding toward the closing doors. “They’re getting released to the families for burial now. Dr. Drucker’s in the autopsy room scrubbing up, waiting to explain his findings to you.”

Melanie and Ray-Ray followed Shavonne down the hall. All around them high-tech refrigerators gave off an eerily soothing hum. Shavonne pushed open a wide swinging door, and they trailed her into the large room, which held eight stainless-steel autopsy slabs, each with its own sink, scale, and array of scary-looking cutting shears and electric saws. A short, slight doctor wearing surgical greens, face mask, and shoe covers was just finishing drying his hands at one of the sinks. Shavonne made the introductions.

“As we expected, preliminary tox on both bodies was positive for the presence of heroin in the bloodstream,” Dr. Drucker explained. “I’m prepared to certify acute heroin poisoning as cause of death on both victims.”

“You refer to preliminary tox. Meaning…”

“We just do a preliminary screen that tests for the presence of particular substances of interest. In this case we tested for the presence of heroin and got a positive result,” Dr. Drucker replied.

“So if the girls had something else in their bloodstreams…?”

“Unless we expose the blood sample to the specific reagent for that particular substance, we won’t detect it. So you’d have to notify us exactly what you want us to test for. Is there some other substance you have reason to believe they might have ingested?”

“No, not really,” Melanie said, shaking her head. “You can’t just do a generalized sort of test for narcotics and poisons?”

“No, it doesn’t work that way. A full tox would test for a wider range of narcotic and nonnarcotic controlled substances, but still, it’s limited. I
can
order up a test for common poisons, but we like to have some basis before we do that, so we’re not wasting our time,” Dr. Drucker said.

“There’s a basis here. Their deaths might’ve been plain old-fashioned ODs, but they might’ve been something else. We believe that these girls were transporting drugs, not just using.”

“Yes, exactly, that’s why we called you in. You believe right, and now we can prove it.”

“What? You found evidence?”

“Yes. The Meyers girl had heroin balloons in her stomach.”

Melanie’s insides did a horrible somersault. “Is…is that what killed her?” Melanie asked, her mouth suddenly dry. That poor, wrongheaded kid. Doing this to herself so she’d fit in with Whitney, so she could afford a Fendi bag.

“You bet. The balloons ruptured and just
poured
heroin into her bloodstream. Much more than what could be ingested nasally or even intravenously through intentional use. I’m afraid it’s a very painful way to die. Here, come look,” Dr. Drucker said, leading them over to one of the autopsy slabs.

An array of sample containers holding gruesome collections of organs and fluids was spread out on a small stainless-steel table at the end of the slab. Dr. Drucker picked up a clear plastic vial bearing a small label with Brianna’s name and a bar code. Melanie took it and held it up to her eye. Inside were three small, round, orange pellets, coated in a fine slime of tissue and blood. She held up the vial for Ray-Ray, who examined it also.

“What you see are typical balloons of heroin used by drug couriers for internal smuggling,” Dr. Drucker explained. “These were recovered from Brianna’s stomach. Literally, they’re
balloons
, like you could purchase in any toy store. We know that from the orange color. The other product commonly used by smugglers to wrap drugs for internal smuggling, as I’m sure you’re aware, is the latex condom, which tends to be flesh-colored. Those are actually even more likely to leak, especially the…uh, ultrathin varieties.”

“How do you know these balloons leaked?” Melanie asked.

“Under the microscope we saw small lesions on two of the balloons. The lesions occur when stomach acids compromise the latex. Extremely unfortunate for the victim,” he said, shaking his head.

Melanie was silent for a moment, staring at the tiny orange pellets that had ended a young girl’s life. There was no question in her mind that Jay Esposito was behind this. But she still had to prove it.

“What about Whitney?” she asked. “Did you find balloons in her stomach, too?”

“No. But that doesn’t necessarily mean anything. She could’ve excreted them all prior to her death.”

“Is there any other way to tell whether she OD’d from leaking balloons as opposed to snorting the heroin voluntarily?” Melanie asked.

“Not based on the toxicology results, no,” Dr. Drucker said. “But we
can
look to other indicators. In this case Whitney had fresh track marks between her toes, so I’d say she probably ingested voluntarily. But not by snorting, by shooting up.”

Melanie and Ray-Ray looked at each other in confusion. “That’s weird,” Melanie said. “We found empty glassines but no works. And the glassines were right beside the bodies. To shoot up they’d have to cook the stuff first, right? There was no indication of that at all.”

Dr. Drucker shrugged. “I can only tell you what I observed in the autopsy.”

“Is it possible Whitney died from leaking balloons, and that the track marks are unrelated?”

“Anything’s
possible
, Ms. Vargas,” the doctor said. “But how likely is it?”

“Still, I’d like to run those other toxicology tests. Who knows what Whitney was taking? I need the complete picture.”

“Seems unnecessary, frankly, but I won’t say no. I’ll order up a generalized toxicology for common poisons and controlled substances. Given that it’s Christmastime and we’re understaffed, though, I have to warn you, it could take up to a month.”

“A
month
? Isn’t there some way to get it done faster?” Melanie asked.

“I can put a rush on it and see what we get.”

“Thank you, I would appreciate that. The sooner the better.”

Melanie and Ray-Ray took their leave and made their way to the elevator.

“Very fucking weird,” Ray-Ray commented as they waited. “Girls like that swallowing.”

“I agree, but it’s a relief to finally have some solid evidence. It’s looking pretty clear that Jay Esposito is responsible for these girls’ deaths. And he probably knows where Carmen Reyes is, too.”

THOUGH IT WAS WELL past rush hour, the number-six train was packed to the gills with commuters. Everybody was weighted down with parcels, having come straight from the Christmas shopping Melanie still hadn’t found time for. She fought her way into the subway car just as the doors closed, ending up pressed against the glass with the sharp corner of someone’s lavender Bergdorf’s bag poking into her. Mmmm, Bergdorf’s. Last year for Christmas, Steve had gone there and bought her an assortment of the
most
lavish Jo Malone perfumes and lotions. They came in gorgeous cream-colored boxes tied together with black ribbons and cost a pretty penny. Too bad she’d used them all, because Santa would
not
be visiting Melanie Vargas this year. At least until the settlement was finalized and she got a handle on her finances, her dollars were going to buy goodies for Maya. And she doubted anybody planned to buy Christmas presents for
her
.

The steep stairs of the Eighty-sixth Street station were slick with black water, the trampled remains of last night’s snow. Melanie picked her way carefully up and emerged into a blast of cold air. Crossing Park Avenue, she looked at the row of Christmas trees stretching downtown as far as the eye could see, their white lights glittering like diamonds, and tried to muster some Christmas spirit. But she felt too alone on the elegant boulevard, watching her fellow New Yorkers bustle by laden with their expensive haul. Here she was, almost divorced, half crazy for some gorgeous, moody guy she barely knew and had to work with, who might or might not feel the same. Trying to be a mother to her daughter while working this insane case. Hardly a recipe for Christmas cheer.

The sight of Hector, her portly, balding doorman, cheered her. His Puerto Rican accent always reminded her of her father. What
didn’t
was that he actually behaved in a fatherly manner.

“Hey,
mi’ja
, how you doing tonight?” he asked as he opened the door for her.

She sighed, not even trying to hide her feelings. “All right, I guess.”

“Why so down? And don’t deny it. I can tell.”

Melanie glanced around the small lobby, dominated by an artificial Christmas tree and a partly lit electric Hanukkah menorah. Hector she trusted, but she didn’t need the whole building knowing her business. Her first baby-sitter had quit after learning that Melanie and Steve were splitting up, and she’d been nervous ever since that the co-op board would have a cow, too, and get all nervous about Melanie’s ability to make monthly maintenance payments. Luckily, none of her fellow tenants were around to eavesdrop at the moment.

“Just the usual, I guess. It’s lonely facing the holidays being separated. I’m a little worried about money. That sort of thing.”

“
No te preocupes, mi’ja
. I got the answer for your problems.”

“You do?”

“Heck, yeah. You bring the little one over to my house on Christmas Day. My Manny’s gonna be there. He’s doing real good with his accounting business. Time he settled down. Nice girl like you, so pretty, who knows?”

Melanie had met Hector’s Manny, and he wasn’t for her. He might be making money as an accountant, but the boy’s heart was still in the block. Which in his case meant he was a little too into girls with fake boobs and tattoos, who’d cook and clean for him. No thanks.

“Aw, Hector, that’s sweet, but you know I’m not ready. Besides, Manny wouldn’t be interested in somebody with a kid.”

“Naw, he’s fine with that.”

“Well, listen, I’ll think about it. Maybe after some more time goes by,” she said, giving him a peck on the cheek.

She got her mail and leafed through it on the elevator. A pile of bills and a couple of Christmas cards. One of the cards had a San Juan postmark. Melanie ignored her father’s handwriting, and opened the other one instead. It was from Amy Robards, a law-school classmate whom she hadn’t seen in years. Amy had worked briefly at the same law firm as Melanie after graduation. Around the time Melanie went to the U.S. Attorney’s Office, Amy married a senior partner, had three kids in rapid succession, put on forty pounds, and retired to Bedford to chair bake sales. Looking at Amy smiling out from the glossy photo card, ensconced among towheaded toddlers and a dull but steady-looking husband, Melanie was overwhelmed by a bitter wave of jealousy. Not that she wanted to turn back the clock in her own life. She hadn’t liked being married to a two-timer, and Steve was in the process of proving he’d never change. But she couldn’t help envying what this woman had. The contrast was just too stark: Amy so happily settled and Melanie without a clue where her own life was going.

AN HOUR LATER Melanie struggled out of a cab, juggling Maya and a shopping bag in one arm and a briefcase and folded stroller in the other. She pressed the buzzer to her sister’s building with her elbow. It was nine-thirty, ten degrees, with a bitter wind blowing. The door buzzed, and she pushed it, stumbling toward the enormous, graffiti-covered freight elevator. Lofts! Linda was nuts to live down here. Melanie would take uptown any day.

“Gaaa, Mama,” Maya said with a huge, wet smile, all gums and tiny front teeth, as they waited for the elevator. Her pudgy cheeks sparkled pink with cold. Melanie nibbled her daughter’s ear where it poked out from a fleecy hat, eliciting giggles.

“You keep me going, you know that?” she whispered.

Upstairs, Linda opened the door, telephone pressed to her head, and motioned them inside. The bracelets on her manicured hand jingled like chimes. The foyer smelled of sandalwood perfume and scented candles.

“I know, but you
owe
me, Fab D,” Linda was whining into the phone. “Okay, okay, fine.”

Melanie studied her sister’s outfit with dismay as she struggled after her. Linda had eventually agreed to baby-sit while Melanie went to Screen to supervise the buy. Granted, Linda was a fashion and entertainment reporter on a local cable channel. Given her position, she hardly stinted on the Puerto Rican glam. But even
she
wouldn’t wear skintight gold lamé pants, a one-shouldered white top, and gold stilettos for dinner with baby. Would she?

“Lin, why are you dressed like that? You said you’d give me the location and then baby-sit!”

Linda waved her hand in annoyance.

“Fab D? I lost you for a minute, hon….
What, again
? You attention ho! How many times can I plug your damn demo? All
right
, but only because I love your swishy black patootie to death. Okay, baby. Ciao.”

Linda put down the phone.

“Would you take Maya before I drop her, please?” Melanie said.

“Is she clean?”

“Of course she’s clean! You think I don’t wash my daughter?”

Linda took Maya from Melanie’s arms gingerly. “Don’t get so offended. She got strawberry jam all over my white Michael Kors sweater last week, you know. Thank God I suck up to the guy at the dry cleaners.”

“What were you doing wearing white to baby-sit anyway? And why are you so dressed up now? You said you’d watch her so I could check out this nightclub. I told you, it’s
work
.”

Melanie stuck the stroller in a corner and dropped her shopping bag on the dramatic chaise longue that was the only place to sit in Linda’s apartment. Linda’s loft had once been separated into living and sleeping spaces, but she’d recently converted the sleeping area to a huge closet. The living area was now dominated by a canopy bed draped with fringed mosquito netting courtesy of one of Linda’s decorator friends. The walls were painted in exotic stripes of lipstick red and gold. The once sleeping alcove, now closet, was divided off with elaborate gold draperies tied back with silk cords, continuing what Melanie thought of privately as the bordello theme.