“For your information, I don’t love being here this late, so get to the point.”

“Whaddaya, there by yourself? Didn’t I tell you to be more careful, with Expo’s goons running around?”

“Please, spare me the phony concern for my safety.”

He sighed. “Fine, I give up. Forget we ever had this conversation. I’ll call back and talk to your machine.”

“Fine,” she said, and hung up.

A moment later her phone rang. Melanie let it roll over to voice mail. But she couldn’t help feeling curious: Dan was leaving a long message. An apology, perhaps? Maybe if he apologized profusely enough…But no way, José, she’d never forgive him. When the little red light finally came on, though, she grabbed the receiver and retrieved the message so eagerly that she felt embarrassed for herself.

“Ms.Vargas,” Dan began coldly, “Special Agent Dan O’Reilly from the FBI calling to fill you in on a development on the case. Listen, I checked out James Seward’s whereabouts the night of the ODs. I’ll tell you, for a royal pain in the ass, you got excellent instincts. His timing is fucked up, just like you thought. The people seated with them at that holiday benefit claim Seward and his wife left way earlier than what he told you. Shortly after nine o’clock, to be exact. Everybody noticed, because the missus was trashed out of her mind. Seward had to practically carry her out. So I go after the Sewards’ doormen, like, What the fuck, you scumbags, you’re holding out on me, and wouldn’t you know, one of ’em miraculously gets his memory back. He tells me Seward brought the missus home, dumped her at the front door so hammered she could barely walk, slipped him a twenty to take ’er upstairs, and ran off. Chivalry’s fucking dead, ain’t it? Anyhow, the guy has a real clear recollection of what happened next, because-get this-he goes up in the elevator, holding Mrs. Seward so she doesn’t collapse, and rings the bell. Whitney comes to the door in her panties, looking stoned off her ass, goes, ‘Thanks, I’ll take it from here,’ and brings her mother inside. Three things this tells us: One, Whitney was still alive at around nine-fifteen or nine-thirty. Two, Mrs. Seward was home, prob’ly out cold, when the girls died. And three, Mr. Seward’s whereabouts are unaccounted for between, say, nine-thirty and midnight. Uh, that’s it. Have a nice life.”

Melanie mentally added a conclusion number four to Dan’s list: Luis Reyes, in confirming that the Sewards arrived home together around midnight, had lied to her. And if he’d lied about that, what else might Reyes be lying about?

Man, people sucked sometimes. Witnesses lied to Melanie about matters of importance on a daily basis. Not just criminals either, but civilians. Some out of fear, some because they were covering for friends or family, some because they just enjoyed dicking around with the authorities. Whatever. Melanie expected it, she took it in stride. It was her job to zero in on the lie and blast away at it until she got to the truth. Once in a while, in egregious cases, she’d bring perjury or obstruction charges. But on a personal level, she was past caring, past disillusion. Or so she’d thought, until now. Strangely, Luis Reyes’s dishonesty truly stung. She’d cared about this papi, seemingly so distraught over his missing daughter. Yes, she understood that people in Reyes’s position often didn’t trust the police. But come on, she was no uniform, she was on his side. She’d spoken Spanish to him, like one of his own. She felt betrayed. Her blood boiling, Melanie grabbed her coat from where she’d thrown it on the floor, ready to rush over to Reyes’s basement apartment, barge in, and confront him.

But then her phone rang again. This time she saw from the caller ID that it was the phone outside the bulletproof door. She remembered she had an appointment, a plan. Even if Reyes had lied, she still had every intention of finding his daughter-hopefully, before much more time passed.

A few minutes later, Melanie was back at her desk, Bridget Mulqueen and Trevor Leonard seated across from her.

“I had an idea,” Melanie said. “So far Jay Esposito hasn’t said anything illegal over the cell-phone wiretap, am I right?”

“Nothing. Squat,” Bridget replied. “Everybody at HQ is majorly disappointed.”

“What if somebody were to approach the bodyguards tonight with something so huge that Esposito has no choice but to talk about it over his cell phone? I don’t mean a drug buy, now. They get those at Screen every night of the week, and obviously Expo’s cautious about talking drugs over the phone. I’m thinking of something much bigger.”

“Like what?”

“Like Carmen Reyes. There’s a good chance Esposito knows where she is. If we were to go to the club and start asking about Carmen, my guess is the bodyguards call their boss right away. Then, bingo, we’ve got ’em talking about criminal matters over the tapped phone. What do you think?”

Trevor nodded enthusiastically. “Righteous. I’ll do it!”

“Not you, Trevor. Bridget,” Melanie said. “If Expo really is responsible for Carmen’s disappearance, you start asking about Carmen, you become a target. It’s too dangerous.”

“So? I don’t give a shit.”

“Well, you should. This is no joke. Something awful happened last night.”

She filled them in on Fabulous Deon’s murder.

“That bludgeon vic was Deon?” Bridget said. “Jeez, that sucks! For being light on his feet, I liked the guy. But Expo’s not behind the murder. My cousin Frankie Leary from Manhattan South caught the case. He says it was a prostitute robbery gone bad.”

“Detective Leary is your cousin?”

“Yeah. He’s a hundred percent sure the killer was a pross. So Trevor can do the undercover.”

“I’m not saying don’t do it, but I refuse to use a civilian like Trevor. You go in there, Bridget. Claim to be a friend of Carmen Reyes’s,” Melanie said.

“Sure. I mean, if that’s the way you want to go, I can do that.”

“That doesn’t make sense!” Trevor objected. “Expo’s people know me. They know I hung with Whitney and Brianna. Coming from me, it looks real natural to ask about Carmen.”

“Trevor, trust me, it’s just not smart,” Melanie said. “Danger is part of any undercover operation. But when you’re nosing around about a missing girl who’s possibly kidnapped or murdered, people like Expo don’t play games. They kill you.”

“I don’t care. I’m not scared. I want to do it,” Trevor said, a calm, resolute look on his pierced face.

“Did I tell you about this witness I had on another case? A really sweet woman named Rosario Sangrador-”

“Yeah, yeah, you told me all about her. Different time, different place.”

“Don’t be so blasé. This could happen to you. Do me a favor, talk to Patty Atkins before you make a final decision. Please? She works late. I’ll get her on the phone,” Melanie said, reaching for the receiver.

“No!” Trevor insisted. “Hear me out, okay, Melanie? The way I see it, my whole life so far, all I did is get wasted and sell drugs. Maybe I got a decent grade now and then, but I never accomplished anything real, you know? Nailing Expo for what he did to Brianna, finding Carmen-those things matter. Your plan is sound, man. I want to do it for myself, like a self-respect thing. You couldn’t talk me out of it if you tried.”

You gotta love this kid, Melanie thought. She imagined he’d make a fine cop-if it weren’t for the small matter of his criminal record.

“I’m responsible for your safety,” she protested, but she knew she was fighting a losing battle. She could see in his eyes that he’d made up his mind.

“It’s my life.”

Melanie sighed. “Okay, then we need to work out our plan very carefully. Because I can’t even think about what might happen if we screw up.”