Brutality

by Ingrid Thoft

  Cristian squirmed on the bench. “No, it’s what it always is with us.”

  “Which is?”

  “We like to hang out.”

  “Okay. How about tonight?”

  Cristian tossed his bottle in the recycling bin. “Not tonight. Maybe tomorrow.”

  “Sure.” Fina knew that a detective’s schedule was unpredictable. If you were someone who needed things set in stone and plans kept, you shouldn’t spend time with a cop. The uncertainty was enough to drive some people—like Cristian’s ex—batty. “Keep in touch, and I appreciate the info.”

  “And you’ll let me know if you come up with something on your end?” he asked.

  “Of course.” Fina smiled and started down the hallway.

  She wasn’t sure if Cristian’s recent dalliance with monogamy had made him long for the days of their casual relationship. Fina was pleased with the notion that he’d become more available, but a little frustrated, too. She’d just gotten used to his absence.

  —

  Hal called while Fina sat in traffic on Mass Ave.

  “How’s your hand?” he asked.

  “Practically healed,” she told him. “You’d never know it happened.”

  “Except you won’t soon forget a car fire.”

  “How’d you know it was a car fire?” Fina asked, allowing a car to merge in front of her. Sometimes she liked to throw off her fellow Boston drivers by being civil and benevolent.

  “You were injured, and the fire was on the news. I put two and two together.”

  “I’m practically as good as new, Hal. What do you have for me?”

  “You know that grant that we discussed? The one that the Schaefer Lab wasn’t awarded?”

  “Yes,” Fina said, blocking a different car from cutting in front of her. She didn’t want anyone to get used to her generosity. “Vikram Mehra blamed Liz for that.”

  “Right. Well, you asked me to research the pharmaceutical companies who sponsor the grant. I’ve got the names.”

  “Great. Let me hear ’em.”

  Fina tapped her thumbs on the steering wheel as Hal recited a roll call that included Pfizer, Merck, Bristol-Myers Squibb, and a few companies she didn’t recognize. He concluded the list with the one she’d been hoping to hear.

  “Did you say Barnes Kaufcan?” Fina asked.

  “Yup. They’re smaller than the others in terms of sales, but they’re sponsors just like the big ones,” Hal said.

  “Who was awarded the grant this year? Someone local?”

  “Nope. A lab at Rice University. Do you want me to get more information about that particular lab?”

  “No, thanks. This is great. Thanks, Hal.”

  “Anytime. Be careful, Fina. Are you checking your car before you get into it?”

  Fina rolled her eyes. “I’m perfectly safe, Hal. No need to worry.”

  She disconnected the call before he could continue his train of thought. She didn’t need Cristian’s lectures about her driving habits or Hal’s warnings about her safety. She wasn’t a fan of unsolicited advice.

  —

  She parked her car a few streets away from Central Square and headed to the restaurant on her list of businesses near Jamie’s ATM that afforded a closer look. Unfortunately, the staff in the French bistro didn’t recognize a photo of Jamie, so Fina moved on.

  Back outside she contemplated the two bars that had caught her eye the other night. The first was a seedy dive with a smattering of patrons who could best be described as affectless, wan, and rumpled. No one claimed to know Jamie, and Fina was happy to make a quick exit and take a deep breath of fresh air. It was freezing out, but at least it was sunny. The people inside the bar were like moles, burrowing in the earth, limiting their stimuli. It couldn’t be good for their eyesight and mood, let alone their livers.

  Her last stop was another bar, not yet open for business. Fina peeked through a window and saw a man righting chairs from the tabletops. She knocked, but he ignored her and continued with the task at hand. Fina banged a second time and engaged in a muted discussion with him until he finally relented and opened the door.

  “We’re closed,” he said when he popped his head out the door.

  “I know. I just have a quick question. Can I come in for a sec?” She hugged her arms tight. He pulled the door open wider, and Fina stepped past him into the bar. He locked the door behind her.

  This establishment was light-years away from its neighbor in terms of ambience and, presumably, clientele. Four-top tables dominated the space, and exposed lightbulbs in mason jars hung from the pressed-tin ceiling. A large mirror behind the bar sat in an ornate wooden frame, reflecting back the room. A quick glance at the chalkboard menu revealed gourmet and unconventional takes on the usual bar fare, like pork belly sliders and carrot fritters. At the far end of the room, there was a stage raised a couple of steps off the floor.

  “Do you guys have live music?” Fina asked as the man pulled another overturned chair from a tabletop.

  “Yeah. Wednesday through Sunday. Was that your question?” He looked to be in his midthirties, with a bushy beard and mustache. He was wearing black jeans and a flannel shirt over a T-shirt. He looked like an indie rocker lumberjack.

  “No,” Fina said, “but I think I’ve come to the right place.”

  He nodded for her to continue.

  “This is going to sound crazy, but I’m planning a birthday party for my friend, and I’m trying to include all of her favorite things.” Fina followed him to the next table. “There’s a local band that used to be really popular, and I’m trying to figure out if they still perform.”

  “Did you try looking on the Internet?” he asked, smirking.

  “Obviously, but I didn’t find anything. But this seems to be the go-to place for good live music.” Lie, lie, lie. It may have been true, but if so, her mentioning it was merely a coincidental collision with the truth. She was so going to hell.

  “Which band?”

  “Wells Missionary. The lead singer was Jamie Gottlieb.”

  He paused, resting his hands on the back of a chair. “I know Jamie, but those guys don’t play together anymore.”

  “That’s what I was afraid of,” Fina said, feigning disappointment.

  “Sorry. They might be available—for a price.”

  Fina winced. “I’m kind of on a tight budget.”

  He set the final chair down on the floor and pushed it under the table. Behind the bar, the man washed his hands at the sink.

  “Jamie still comes in and jams, though,” he said, drying his hands on a bar towel.

  “Really? It’s not the same as the band, but it would still be cool to see him,” Fina mused. “Is he here on a regular basis?”

  “Pretty often, but he’s got a regular job and a family now,” he said with a withering look.

  “Do you know if he’ll be in this week?” Fina asked.

  “When’s the party exactly?”

  “Not for a couple of weeks,” Fina said, “but I’d love to stop by and hear him.”

  “You should drop by. Even if Jamie isn’t here, our other bands are awesome.”

  “Okay. I’ll do that. Thanks for the info,” Fina said, walking to the front. He followed and unlocked the door.

  “What did you say your name was?” he asked.

  “Amy, and you’re . . . ?” She smiled at him.

  “Marshall.”

  Fina offered her hand. “Nice to meet you, Marshall. Maybe I’ll see you one of these nights.”

  “I’ll buy you a drink,” he said.

  Fina kept smiling and nodded before stepping out onto the sidewalk.

  Marshall seemed like a lovely fellow, but he was a little too hirsute for her taste. Fina liked her male companions to look as if they had some familiarity with s
having cream and a razor.

  —

  Kevin Lafferty had left the office for the day, but could be found at NEU attending a volleyball match. Fina learned this from his extremely helpful assistant, Colin, after she adopted a slight accent and claimed she was calling about one of Kevin’s children. She routinely took advantage of people’s naïveté and goodwill, but honestly, someone had to teach them to be more guarded.

  She drove back across the river to the university and parked near the sports complex. She used the same trick to gain access as before—sneaking in behind a crew of flirtatious undergraduate boys—and asked at the front desk for the location of the volleyball game. The directions took her down a hallway that opened up to a small atrium with a couple of couches and a smattering of tables. Large doors were propped open, beyond which Fina could see what appeared to be volleyball warm-ups. A group of women on each side of the net was engaged in drills, punching at the ball and diving at the unforgiving wooden floor. Just watching made Fina’s knees and wrists hurt.

  Before venturing into the echo chamber of the gym, she scanned the lounge area, which had a small snack bar. Kevin Lafferty was at the counter, talking to an older man who was clutching a tub of popcorn.

  Fina fell into line behind them. She listened as Kevin ordered a lemonade and the two men debated the strengths of the opposing teams. As they stepped away from the counter, Fina interrupted.

  “Kevin! What a nice surprise!”

  He hid his distaste with a wide smile. “How are you?” he asked jovially.

  “I’m great. I’m so glad I bumped into you. I need a minute to catch up.”

  Kevin glanced at the man next to him, who was busy dipping his hand into his buttered snack.

  “You don’t mind if I steal him for a moment, do you?” Fina asked the man. She touched his shoulder lightly when she asked.

  “Of course not. He’s all yours.” Kevin’s companion wandered over to the gym entrance and found someone else to jabber with.

  “So you’re a volleyball fan?” Kevin asked her before taking a long suck from his straw.

  “I do admire the players’ athleticism, but it’s almost painful to watch. Don’t you think?”

  He glared at her. “Why are you here?”

  “I just wanted to keep you in the loop regarding the Liz Barone situation.”

  Kevin shook his head. “This is beginning to feel like harassment.”

  “This?” Fina looked around innocently. “This feels like harassment? Oh, Kevin, I’m just getting warmed up.”

  A whistle blew in the gym, and the players vacated the court and gathered around their respective benches.

  “Say what you have to say,” Kevin said.

  “Did you know that your company is one of the sponsors of a grant that Liz’s lab tried to win?” Fina asked.

  “So what? So is every lab in the area.”

  “True, but it just seems a little weird that she would be having cognitive issues, is blamed for losing the grant, and—what a coincidence—your company sponsors the grant.”

  “I think your job has made you paranoid,” Kevin said, leaning toward her. “I have nothing to do with the grant process.”

  “What about lithium metal?”

  “What about it?” he asked.

  “I assume you have it in your labs.”

  “As does every academic and commercial chemistry lab in the greater Boston area.”

  “Right, but not every lab has a connection to a murder victim.”

  “What does any of this have to do with Liz?” Kevin asked, fiddling with the straw in his drink.

  “I don’t know if you heard,” Fina said, “but I had a little mishap on the Tobin Bridge recently.”

  “It doesn’t surprise me that you’re a terrible driver,” he said, with a hint of pleasure.

  “It wasn’t my fault. Someone planted an incendiary device on my car. A device made from a chemical found in your lab.”

  Kevin chuckled. “And you think I had something to do with that? Do I seem like the sort of man who would plant an incendiary device?”

  “The sort of man who would do that is the guilty, threatened sort, and I’ve yet to rule you out of that category.”

  “I think you’re nuts,” he said.

  “Thank you,” Fina said. “That’s very kind.”

  Kevin shook his head and sucked on his lemonade.

  “I’m not giving up,” Fina said. “Fair warning, I’m like a dog with a bone when it comes to my cases.”

  “Well, then, I wish you the best of luck.”

  “I’m sure we’ll see each other soon,” Fina said, and retraced her steps to the sports complex entrance.

  She hadn’t learned anything, but she’d put Kevin on notice, which was something.

  You put enough people on edge and eventually someone would jump off.

  —

  Fina retrieved a phone message from Greta agreeing to meet the next day. She called Risa and updated her, then dialed Milloy. He was finishing up with a client and suggested she come to his place.

  Milloy lived in a high-rise building a block away from the Common on the edge of the Theater District. Fina parked and rode the elevator up to the seventeenth floor. The hallway was carpeted and dimly lit by contemporary wall sconces. She was reaching up to knock on his door when it opened and an older woman stepped out.

  “Hi,” Fina said, more to Milloy than the woman.

  “Hey,” he said to her. “I’ll see you next week, Connie.”

  Connie, who was definitely a card-carrying member of AARP, grinned like the Cheshire cat. “I look forward to it, Milloy,” she said, winking. She threw her scarf over her shoulder and sashayed toward the elevator.

  “Somebody looks like she got a happy ending,” Fina said, following him into the condo.

  Milloy made a face. “Gross.” He started to disassemble the massage table in the middle of the living room. “How’s your hand?”

  “It’s fine.” Fina flopped down on the couch. Milloy’s one-bedroom was neat and tastefully decorated. It wasn’t a large space, but his attentive housekeeping made it feel roomy. “What’s for dinner?”

  “You tell me.”

  “Do you have any interest in going to a bar in Cambridge?”

  Milloy disappeared with the folded table and returned a moment later. “I assume you have a particular bar in mind.”

  “I do, and it’s not greasy bar food. They have things like octopus and roasted Brussels sprouts.”

  “This is for a case?” he asked.

  “Yes, and I introduced myself as someone else, so I need to keep a low profile.”

  Milloy sighed. “Of course you do.”

  24.

  Fina and Milloy’s evening out netted nothing more than tasty snacks and sore throats from hollering at each other over the music. It was wishful thinking that Jamie would turn up at the bar that very night, but she’d never find him there if she never went.

  Her alarm the next morning was a rude awakening, and she had a lingering headache, but once she hopped in the shower and swallowed a couple of aspirin, Fina felt ready to get down to business. She was picking Risa up at eleven A.M. to head to Kittery, but first she wanted to speak with Vikram Mehra about the chemicals in his lab. Getting access to Vikram was the challenge. Louis, her favorite security guard, probably wouldn’t fall for her usual tricks, and Vikram wouldn’t agree to see her.

  Fina did a quick online search and found his home address. It was in Hyde Park, just a few streets away from the homes of Liz Barone and Kelly Wegner. The police must have known that, but Fina’s antennae started to vibrate anyway.

  On the drive over, Fina contemplated her approach. Vikram seemed like enough of a control freak that family members wouldn’t invite a stranger into the house without his consen
t, and he certainly wouldn’t welcome Fina with open arms. The best she could hope for was a brief conversation outside.

  Vikram’s house looked to be one of the pricier ones on his street, but it wasn’t particularly attractive. A newly built colonial, it had fake siding and a twin on the neighboring lot. The landscaping was immature, and a few pathetic-looking saplings dotted the grass. Fina never understood why builders couldn’t leave some of the trees in place rather than make a pathetic attempt at planting new ones. Was it that time-consuming or expensive to steer clear of a few old oaks and maples?

  It was nearly seven thirty A.M. when she arrived. She was relieved to find two cars in the driveway, suggesting that he hadn’t already left for the lab. Fina parked across the street and kept one eye on the front door and the other on a game of solitaire on her phone. Surveillance was one of the more boring tasks performed by PIs. You actually had to pay attention, and you always felt like you had to pee, if only because you couldn’t.

  Luckily, she didn’t have to wait long. At five minutes before eight, the front door opened and Vikram emerged. He was wearing a parka over his suit and a stocking cap on his head. It really was hard to look fashionable in twenty degrees, which is perhaps why there was little haute couture originating from Siberia.

  Fina turned off the car and jumped out. She jogged across the street and came to a stop at Vikram’s driver’s-side door a moment before he did.

  “Move or I will call the police!” he announced.

  “For Pete’s sake, take it down a notch,” Fina said. “I just want a minute of your time.”

  “I have nothing to say to you.” He extended his key toward the door handle, but Fina maneuvered her body to block his access.

  “Do you have lithium metal in your lab?” she asked.

  “My lab is not your concern.”

  “I’m guessing the cops asked you the same question.”

  “Get out of my way,” he said.

  “Unless you say otherwise, I’m going to assume you have lithium metal. I hope you can account for all of it.”

  Vikram threw up his hands. “Of course! Because I am dark-skinned and not named Michael or Joseph, you assume I’m a terrorist. Just because I’m from the other side of the world does not mean I aim to murder people!”