by Ingrid Thoft
Carl was sitting behind his desk. His tie was loosened around his neck, and his shirtsleeves were rolled up to his elbow. Rand was sitting on one of the couches, and across from him sat his criminal attorney.
“Fina, always a pleasure,” Dudley Prentiss said, standing. He came over and gave her a peck on the cheek. “Good lord, what happened to you?”
“Car accident.”
“Are you all right?”
“She’s fine,” Carl said.
Fina rolled her eyes. “It’s nice to see you, Dudley.” Fina sat down next to Rand, and Dudley reclaimed his spot on the other couch. He carefully placed one ankle over the opposite knee.
Dudley Prentiss was the epitome of male elegance. He was a tall, slim black man who had bone structure most models would die for. He was always impeccably dressed, although less flashy than Carl. If Carl looked like money, then Dudley was a platinum American Express card. His warm smile framed his perfect white teeth, and his hands were smooth with long fingers. If he had been closer to Fina’s age—and not Carl’s—she would have dated him.
“Do you have something to tell us?” Carl asked.
“Unofficially, I have the cause of death.” Fina glanced at Rand. His eyes were bloodshot, but his expression was sullen. Fina couldn’t tell if he was sad or pissed off.
“And?” Carl asked.
“She drowned.”
Rand’s head turned sharply, and he looked at her. “So it was accidental?”
“No. They think the manner of death is homicide. There were restraint marks on her ankles and wrists and around her waist.”
“Any idea what the marks were from?” Dudley asked.
“Just guesses at this point.” Fina glanced at her brother. “A rope or maybe a chain.”
The room fell under a blanket of silence for a moment, everyone battling their own mental pictures.
“Well,” Dudley said. “This isn’t exactly a surprise. She was found in the harbor, after all.”
“But this fits with the blood on the boat and the missing cooler,” Fina commented.
“Jesus, Fina,” Rand said.
“I’m just stating the obvious.”
“Can it, the two of you,” Carl said. “I need you to shore up your brother’s alibi,” he said to Fina.
“Which is?”
“He attended a meeting at Grahamson with Melanie, returned to the office, and then took work home,” said Dudley.
“Did you make any stops?” Fina asked Rand.
“Nope.”
“I need to know the exact route you took home. Maybe you were caught on some cameras. And were you on the computer at home? Logged in to the firm’s extranet? Did you buy anything?” Fina really didn’t want to know if Rand had been making any late-night purchases, but a sleazy alibi was better than no alibi.
“I was reading case files. I wasn’t on my computer. And I took the usual route home.”
Rand listed the streets he’d driven from the office to his house, and Fina jotted it down in her notebook.
“And Haley?”
“I didn’t see her that night.”
“Was she home?”
Rand shrugged. “Where else would she be?”
Fina didn’t say anything. Any moment now, her head was going to explode.
“Does anyone know where Haley is now?” she asked.
Carl and Dudley looked at Rand.
“I talked to her this morning,” Rand said.
“Well, Scotty can’t find her. She isn’t answering her cell. I’m starting to worry.”
“Have you tried her friends?” Dudley asked.
“I haven’t, but Patty has, and no one’s seen her.”
“Your mother could make some calls,” Carl said.
“Dad, don’t get Mom involved,” Fina said.
“She’s right, Dad,” Rand said. “I’m sure Haley is just upset and hanging out with her friends.”
“Patty can make more calls,” Fina said.
Carl tapped his pointer finger on the desktop in a rapid staccato. “Fine. I’ll call Scotty when we’re through.”
The men started batting around ideas about alternate theories of the crime, and Fina stole glances at Rand. He kept fiddling with his watch strap and contributed little to the conversation.
Fina glanced at her own watch and waited for a pause in the conversation. “I need to speak with Rand privately before I go.”
Dudley glanced at Carl.
“Anything you two need to discuss, you can discuss in front of us,” Carl insisted.
Fina glared at her father. “It’s private and irrelevant.”
Carl stared back at her. “Fine. I need to stretch my legs. Dudley,” he said, and gestured for the attorney to accompany him out of the room. Dudley eyed the siblings and followed Carl out.
“I need to know who you hooked up with through the escort service,” Fina said.
“Why?”
“Because I need to tie up that loose end.”
Rand swallowed and looked at the floor.
“I’m not going to judge you, Rand.”
“Of course you are. You already have.”
Fina tilted her head back against the couch and closed her eyes. “You’re right. I already have, so what’s the harm in giving me more information?”
“Molly. Her name’s Molly.”
“Did you always see the same girl?”
“At first I saw a few different ones, but I liked her best.”
“Can you describe her?”
“Why?”
“Because I need to meet her, and I want as much info about her as possible.”
“You’re going to hire a hooker?”
“Don’t worry about the specifics.”
“She was thin with long, blond hair.”
“Did she have a specialty?” Fina swallowed. Some conversations should never happen.
“I don’t want to talk about this with you,” Rand said, and looked at her. His eyes looked wet.
“I don’t want to talk about it, either, but I don’t want you going to jail. Just tell me, and then I’ll go.”
Rand stood up and walked to the window. He stood there with his back to Fina, and she began to wonder if he was done talking.
“She didn’t do anything special, but she would dress up. Young, like a schoolgirl or a cheerleader.”
“How old is this girl?”
“Of age.”
“But she looks young?” Fina asked.
Rand nodded. Fina slipped her notebook into her bag and left the room.
How long would it take Elaine to notice if Fina puked in one of her decorative urns?
“Any luck?” Fina asked Frank when she slid into the booth across from him at Dunkin’ Donuts. Frank was sipping a cup of coffee and nibbling on a cruller. “Peg better not catch you eating that.”
“I trust you to keep my secret.” He winked at her. “I think his name is Joe Winthrop, and he lives in the apartment in Southie.”
“You spoke to him?”
“Yup. Joe was on the mail, and he answered to Joe when I gave the spiel about my buddy, Joe, who had moved. Our Joe has only lived there about a month, as luck would have it, so I think he bought it.”
“Got it. Thank you. I think I’ll pay our Joe a visit.”
“Want some company?”
Fina pulled off a piece of the cruller and popped it in her mouth. “Not yet. I’ll let you know.”
“So is Joe Winthrop responsible for that?” Frank gestured to the bandage on her left hand.
“I think so, but I don’t know what the deal is. I’ve stirred up some stuff, and I have to figure out which stuff he’s connected to.”
“I’m sorry about Melanie. That’s a damn shame.”
<
br /> Fina ripped off another morsel of dough.
“Would you like me to buy you one?” Frank asked.
“No, I’m good.” She grinned briefly, but it was short-lived, as her thoughts returned to Melanie. “I think a lot of shit is about to hit the fan: I’ve pissed someone off; the cause of death is going to be released; Rand has been up to no good.”
“There’s a surprise.”
“I know, but his timing is extremely inconvenient.”
“Which of the seven deadly sins are we talking about?”
Fina ticked through the list in her head. “Lust, and I would have you help me out with that, but Peg would never forgive me, plus it might send your heart rate into dangerously high territory.”
Frank smiled and blotted his lips with a napkin. “I’ll leave that to you young kids.”
“I’m on it.”
“Okeydoke, but don’t be a stranger, Fina.” While mentoring Fina, Frank had rightly surmised that she didn’t have much experience collaborating with peers and, at times, he had to gently remind her that asking for help or advice wasn’t a sign of weakness.
“I won’t. Girl Scout’s honor.”
“That’s reassuring from the girl who was booted as a Brownie.”
“You worry too much, Frank,” Fina said, and she slid out of the booth.
An hour later she was climbing into Milloy’s car at the Chestnut Hill Reservoir. Milloy’s BMW was cool and smelled like leather. It was immaculate—the only evidence that it belonged on the road and not in the showroom was the bottle of seltzer and the unopened can of diet soda in the drink holders.
“For me?” Fina asked as she picked up the soda. It was cold.
“Thought you’d want one.”
“What I want is a shot of whiskey, but my day is young and I need to stay sharp.”
“Elaine?”
“Rand.” Fina popped open the drink, and it bubbled toward the opening. She quickly covered it with her mouth and sucked down the overflow.
“What’s up with Rand?”
“I went over to my parents’ house to update the gang. I heard from my ME source that Melanie drowned.”
Milloy didn’t say anything, just nodded.
“But it definitely wasn’t accidental,” Fina said. “She had restraint marks.”
“That sucks.”
“Yes, it does.” Fina had more of her drink and then placed the cold can against her eye socket.
“Still hurt?” Milloy asked.
“A little achy.”
Milloy reached over and massaged her constricted shoulder muscle with his hand. “You need so much work,” he said.
“No shit, Sherlock. I’ll let you know when my schedule opens up.” She rotated in her seat so that Milloy could reach the other shoulder. “I asked Rand the name of his escort.”
“How was that?”
“Fan-fucking-tastic.”
“I’ll bet. And?”
“Molly. She’s thin and blond and young-looking.”
“How young-looking?”
“I didn’t ask for an age range, but when you call, you should request that she wear a cheerleading outfit or schoolgirl uniform.”
Milloy stopped rubbing her shoulder. “Seriously?”
“Seriously. Trust me. When I think about it, I throw up in my mouth a little bit.”
“So when do you want this date to happen?”
“Not sure. Do you mind having her come to your place?”
He looked at her. “Yes, I mind.”
“All right. Don’t get your knickers in a twist. I’ll get a hotel room.”
“Do you want me to call now?”
“No. I can only stomach so much,” Fina said, and drained her soda.
She went home and took a nap. Fina felt exhausted and was starting to understand the phrase bone tired. Any one thing—the fight, the car accident, Melanie’s death, Rand’s revelations, the general family tension—would be trying, but the combination of events was a heavy load. Sleep seemed like a reasonable temporary escape.
After a shower and half a pint of Cinnamon Buns ice cream, Fina threw on a pair of black pants and a black T-shirt. She put her hair in a ponytail and grabbed a baseball cap. Her bag was loaded with the usual goodies, including her gun and set of lock picks.
South Boston was still busy with families pushing strollers in the twilight and teenagers hanging out on street corners. Fina pulled into a public parking lot. People around here were notoriously eagle-eyed when it came to their neighborhoods and their on-street parking spaces. During snowstorms, spaces were demarcated by the private citizens who shoveled them out, and the mayor had poked a hornet’s nest when he threatened to ticket the self-appointed parking police.
She waited until the sun had set and the sky no longer glowed, then got out of the car and pulled a plastic shopping bag out of the trunk. It contained a couple of old newspapers, some empty coffee cups, and a roll of toilet paper on top. It was easier to blend in if you were toting the accoutrements of everyday living. She walked one block to Joe Winthrop’s apartment and scoured the streets for the Camry. It was parked a few doors down. His apartment was the third-floor unit in a white triple-decker with red shutters. The house loomed over the sidewalk; there was barely room for the two concrete steps leading to the front door. Fina walked to the door—neither too slow nor too fast—and put down the shopping bag while she reached into her purse for her lock picks.
The door was locked, but it was a cheap lock that she opened in less than a minute. She grabbed her bag, stepped into the small entrance hall, and closed the door behind her. There were three unsecured mailboxes in the space, and a door with a crooked #1 directly to the left. Fina craned her neck and looked up the staircase in front of her. The coast was clear, and she started to climb. A TV was blaring in #2. She continued up to #3. TV sounds emanated from behind that door also. Fina listened for a moment to make sure there were no live conversations that would indicate company.
The lock took her a couple minutes to bypass, but she wondered at the poor security that Joe Winthrop had in place. He must be stupid or arrogant; either worked to her advantage. Inside, she carefully closed the door and assessed the scene. She was in a small hallway with four doors. She assumed the first was the TV room given the play-by-play drifting out from it. Through the second door, Fina glimpsed a counter and an oven hood. The third and fourth most likely led to the bedroom and bathroom.
The tricky part was surprising Joe. If his back was to her, it would be easy, but if he were facing the door, she’d have to hope his reflexes were a little slow. Fina pulled out her gun and crept across the hallway. Despite its apparent age, the floor didn’t creak, a typical byproduct of New England breaking and entering. PIs in younger cities definitely have an advantage.
Fina stepped into the door and exhaled when she was faced with a huge screen and a major league pitcher adjusting himself. She tiptoed up behind the recliner that dominated the small room and peeked over it. Joe was sitting with a beer in his hand, his legs propped up on the recliner’s footrest.
“Don’t move,” Fina said, pressing the gun against Joe’s skull. He made a small motion toward his right side. “Seriously, don’t move.”
Fina walked around to face him, keeping the gun trained on him. She glanced to his right and saw a gun sitting on the ring-stained side table. She grabbed it and tucked it into the back of her waistband.
“Any more I should know about?”
He scowled and shook his head.
“Good. Now stand up slowly and put your hands behind your back.”
He followed her directions. He wasn’t especially tall, but he was meaty. His dark hair was curly, and his nose was slightly misshapen, almost like corrective lenses would make it look right.
Fina pulled a pair of handcuffs out of her
bag and snapped them on his wrists behind him. Then she pushed him back into the recliner, where he settled with a grunt.
“At least you’re not chatty. That’s something.” She walked over to the TV and pushed off the power button.
“Well, I’m here. What do you want?” she asked.
“I don’t want anything.” He looked at the floor. “I don’t know who the fuck you are.”
“Really? You’ve been following me. Ran me off the road. If you want a date, there are easier ways to ask.”
“I don’t have nothing to do with you.”
“I find that hard to believe.” Fina stood in front of him. She studied him. “I don’t think you jumped me at the supermarket. You’re a little too short.”
He didn’t say anything, but stared at her.
“Let’s make this simple. You tell me who your boss is, and I leave you alone.”
“I don’t know anything, and even if I did, I was just following orders.”
“Joe, Joe, Joe. The Nuremberg defense didn’t work then, and it won’t work now. Who hired you?”
Joe squirmed in his seat. “These are killing me. Maybe you could take ’em off and we could talk.”
“Stop being such a pussy,” Fina said. She wandered around the room without taking the gun off Joe.
A table pushed against one of the walls held paper wrappings from a sub. A bag of barbecue potato chips was nearly empty. DVDs were stacked in piles on the floor in front of the TV, and two cardboard boxes held books and some sports paraphernalia. Next to the only other chair in the room, a small box held a stuffed animal—a purple elephant—and a few kids’ books.
Joe followed her gaze to the elephant. He had started to sweat. “I can’t tell you anything. I’ll be in deep shit.”
“I know I seem really nice, but I’m not, and you definitely should have figured out that I’m resourceful. You can be afraid of your boss or afraid of me. Your choice.” Fina nudged the small box with her toe. “Who’s the elephant belong to?”
Joe’s face tightened.
“Your kid?”
