I put into my GPS the location of the police station to see that it's still fifteen minutes away. I need to drive fast. Google tells me the best way to get there, and I drive just slightly over the speed limit. I manage to arrive just in time. I take a few moments in the parking lot to compose my thoughts. I haven't seen Sergeant Mallory for a while. FaceTime isn't exactly the same thing of course.
A few clouds gather overhead and the police station isn't in one of those massive buildings like they have in New York. It's pretty low scale. It is a small town station with low, popcorn ceilings and bad fluorescent lighting. The cop at the desk shows me to Sergeant Mallory's office as if I don't know where it is. We shake hands and I sit down across from him and suddenly, the memories of the last time I sat here where we told him about the letter come flooding back.
He didn't believe us then. Well, he did, but he was less than enthusiastic. Now he seems almost apologetic.
We make a little small talk and he asks me about my life in Seattle. I'm not really here to talk about that. I want to tell him, but I'm not very confrontational. I don't like being rude, mainly because of how it makes me feel afterward. And so, I indulge in the chitchat and then bring the conversation back to why I'm here.
"You know, you didn't really need to come in here," Mallory says, brushing his fingers through his newly cut hair. It's cropped in a buzz cut, flat at the top, short on the sides, a little longer at the top. I wouldn't say it's particularly attractive, but that's not my business.
His skin is a few shades browner than it was before and I'm sure that he got some rays this summer. I wonder if he went to the beach and whether he likes to swim, or lay out, or fish and all of these thoughts come into my mind almost involuntarily.
"So what did you find out?" I say, holding my breath. "Anything new since the last time we spoke?"
"No, nothing new. The body definitely does not belong to Michael. We have no idea who it does belong to."
"How can you be sure?" I ask.
"We got confirmation from the dental records and it's not him."
"Who could it be? Why was that guy in his car?"
"I don't know the answer to any of that, but the body matched Michael’s description, as much of it as can be identified. Male, about the same age, same height. And when the dental records were a match, well, we figured, of course it was him."
"But I don't understand how this could have happened. They were a match and now they're not?"
"The medical examiner had some doubts, so he ran more tests. He asked for additional records from the dentist and he didn't have any. And then we reached out to your mother for any other records or any other dentists that Michael could have gone to and we requested those. That's when we discovered the irregularity."
"You mean the fraud?" I ask.
"The dentist who had sent over the original records is insisting that it was a mistake. And we won't know for certain for a while."
"Well, you don't think that?" I press.
"I can’t be sure one way or the other. All I'm saying is that this is what we have."
"And what about Dante?"
"We will be interviewing him."
"You will?" I ask.
"Yes, we haven't interviewed him before, but we will now. It doesn't mean anything."
"It means that they were friends. I just ..."
"Can you tell me anything that you find suspicious about their friendship?"
"Well, for one thing, Dante knows about my brother and how much it affected me and not once did he bring up that they were friends."
"Yes, that is suspicious."
"And how did you find out that they are, or were?" I say, uncertain as to whether to use the present or the past tense when referring to my brother anymore.
"We found a photo that was marked private on his Facebook page. That's why you didn't have access to it. We were going through all the final odds and ends to make sure that everything was crossed off the list before we could close the case and one of my officers went through his Facebook page with different settings. It was just one photo from three years ago, him and a group of guys we identified. We're currently in the process of identifying the others. But when I saw Dante and I remembered meeting him, it really took me by surprise."
"Yeah, I just can't believe it.” I shake my head, uncertain how to proceed.
"How is your relationship with him now?"
"We had a fight. We're not officially together anymore," I say, slightly embarrassed.
"Okay. Do you think he'll talk to you?"
"He hasn't been answering my calls. I kind of ..."
"What happened? I know that this is a private matter, but I have to know as much information as possible."
"It's kind of embarrassing," I admit.
"I know, most personal things are, but I'm a professional and I'm here to find your brother and find out what happened, so I have to know everything so we can decide the best course of action.”
I take a deep breath.
"I was having dinner with an ex-boyfriend of mine in Seattle and he was comforting me over this case and Dante saw us. We had an argument and it felt a lot like he was just forcing a breakup, but whatever. I haven't heard from him, no matter how many times I called, so I don't know. I guess we're done."
"Okay. That's good to know because we need to figure out how to handle the situation."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, whether it'd be better for you to talk to him about knowing Michael or me, or one of our officers. Let me think about it, okay? And I'll let you know.”
3
Jacqueline
I don't know what to make of my conversation with Sergeant Mallory. My whole world seems upside down and in disarray. Suddenly, Dante is a stranger to me, the one that I'm angry with.
How dare he not tell me about his relationship with Michael? Why would he keep it hidden?
I drive all the way home, but I don't want to see Mom right now. Right before going down my old street, I call Allison. She's still in the Hamptons, but she answers on the second ring and insists on FaceTiming, even though that's the last thing that I want.
"I don't know what to do. I don't know what to make of any of this," I say, getting out of breath.
"Okay, you have to slow down. What did Mallory say exactly?"
I watch her walk around an enormous island and somewhere in the distance I see the marble countertops and the beautiful simple details of the shaker-style cabinets.
"Are you still at his house?" I ask as she puts me down on the stand and I watch her blend ingredients together for a margarita.
"I can fill you in about that later. Just tell me what's going on."
I rattle off every single thing that Sergeant Mallory told me. I relish in sharing the details, but another part of me is completely taken aback by them. As I relay every part of our conversation, I try to piece everything together.
"So Dante knows Michael?" she asks after listening carefully.
I nod.