“I’d appreciate any insights you have into why.”
He glanced at Mel, and I did the same. But Mel said nothing, which wasn’t like him. Either he didn’t know or he didn’t think it was any of Green’s business.
Green turned back to me. I decided to stick with questions he should know the answers to. “And she went straight from the party to see me?”
“We can place her in the Bronx around four.”
I did some quick math. Desiree’s body was found at five. The Omni was in SoHo. Physically it was a dozen miles from where they had found her body. Socioeconomically, it might as well have been Tatooine. Even if you factor in Big Apple miles—which take five times longer to travel—it still didn’t add up. “She had to have stopped somewhere first,” I said. “It doesn’t take that long to get to my neighborhood. Not at that time of night.”
I glanced at Mel, to see if he was as concerned as I was, but he remained uncharacteristically silent. He leaned back as Green continued stating just the facts. “We spoke to a few residents. Someone on Woodycrest and 165th heard a woman yell ‘Hey’ around four, but they didn’t check to see what was going on.” Green glanced at his notes again. “We do know that’s about when someone stole her car.”
“A carjacking?”
Four
Did this mean Desiree’s death was just a case of wrong place, wrong time? Did someone see her, inebriated, sitting in her fancy car? Was that “Hey” Desiree yelling as they drove off?
I rubbed my wrist and glanced at Mel, but he might as well have been facing off with Medusa. His expression was stone.
“We can’t say for sure,” Green said. “We don’t think they broke in because she didn’t have her key fob when we found her. But we—”
I interrupted. I needed things to be clear. “So someone robbed her? Took her keys right from her? They hurt her?”
Again he shook his head. I was frustrated as hell. At him. At myself. At the fact he was bringing up more questions instead of giving me the answers I’d come to find.
“We don’t have reason to suspect the theft had anything to do with her death besides making her more upset and inclined to use,” he said. “There’s security footage of the car near Yankee Stadium around four fifteen a.m. when she was still alive.”
“Who was driving?” I said.
“The footage wasn’t clear enough to make that out. We can just tell it wasn’t her.”
“So where did she go? Why not call for help?” I said.
“She didn’t have her phone. We believe it’s in the car, which we’re trying to find now. Did she know your address?”
“I mean, she’s been there a thousand times, but not recently,” I said. “Not for the last few years at least. I doubt she knew the actual address. It never seemed important.” At least not before last night.
“We did find her shoes,” Green said, as if that would make us feel better. “One of them. Outside a liquor store on 167th a few blocks from the playground. We don’t know when she lost it or what happened to the other.”
I knew that liquor store. It was where Aunt E bought her lotto tickets. “That’s not far from my house. Just a bit south. It’s the opposite direction from where they heard her yell.”
Green nodded. “We’re not sure when she passed by your house, but a cop patrolling the area found her on the playground at five a.m. Pure luck. We think she may have been dead a half hour.”
That liquor store was a ten-minute walk from my house. Yet she never found it. Why not? Hadn’t she recognized the bodega we used to always hit up—the one where she’d always gotten Sour Punch Straws and I’d gotten Twizzlers? Did she miss the grocery store because it was closed up for the night? Did that random-ass steakhouse that just opened a block away surprise the hell out of her like it still surprised the hell out of me? And how, how, how did she overshoot my house—Gram’s house—and end up on a playground damn near a half mile away?
Green spoke again. “We think she went to see you, got scared when the car got stolen, frustrated when she still couldn’t find the house, and then ended up in the park. Where she…”
He trailed off, expecting us to fill in the blank. Again making it clear her death was her fault and her fault alone. But I didn’t buy it. It didn’t make sense.
“Why would she go through all that just to go shoot up on a playground?”
He didn’t have to look at his notes this time. “We don’t know. I doubt Desiree knew at that point. Frankly, I’m surprised she drove up there with no problems.”
Frankly, I thought he was full of it.
Green continued. “Your assistant is working on contact info for Ms. Ambrose. And we’ll be heading down to check Desiree’s hotel room. The manager’s assured us no one’s been in or out, even housekeeping. We have an APB out for the car. We’ll have it back to you in no time. Hopefully as good as new.”
He made it seem so simple. Like returning a Tesla would return things to normal. It was complete and utter bullshit. Leaving a party before it even got started was not Desiree. Casually abandoning her car and taking a stroll in the hood was not Desiree. Doing heroin was not Desiree.
I broke into his Law & Order monologue. “And she didn’t mention to anyone why she wanted to see me?” He started to shake his head, but I wouldn’t let him. I kept going. “You don’t know. Right. What exactly did they say, though?”
It took him a few seconds to go through his notes. I waited. “That’s all that she told her boyfriend, Mr. Marks. Just abruptly said she had someone she had to go see, someone she hadn’t seen in years. We can only assume it was you.”
Someone. That was it. Someone. “Desiree’s ears aren’t pierced,” I said.
Green just looked at Mel like he could translate girl talk.
“She hates needles,” I said. “Hates, hates, hates them. It’s why she’s never used heroin.”
He glanced at me, then back at Mel, then back to me again before scribbling something on his dinky little pad. “Good to know. We’ll keep that in mind. We do want to know where she got the drugs. We’re hoping the hotel room will provide a clue.”
I spoke again. “Just to confirm, you didn’t find any needles on her?”
He shook his head. “Just the cocaine in the purse.”
“What about Zarah and her boyfriend? They say they saw her shooting heroin?”
“They did not.” He checked his notes again, flipping a few pages back. “They did say she wasn’t in a good place. Mr. Marks said she was acting depressed. Ms. Turner said she’d been distant.”
“What about her dealer? You talk to him?” A jackass named Alfie who’d once bragged about being like Amazon. Daily deals. Delivery. Suggestions related to items you’d already purchased.
“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.”