Brutality

by Ingrid Thoft

  “I assume you’re from India and a Hindu,” Fina replied. “Am I incorrect in that assumption?”

  Vikram closed his mouth abruptly.

  Fina looked annoyed. “Yeah, some of us do actually know the difference, so why don’t you put away your race and religion card.”

  Vikram stood up straighter, but remained silent.

  “I’m asking you, Dr. Mehra, because you have access to lithium metal, the main component used in the incendiary device that was planted on my car, a device that could have killed me and my brother. And I’m asking you because I’m investigating Liz Barone’s death, a death in which you had a stake.”

  He shoved the key into the door lock. “That’s preposterous.”

  “And I didn’t realize how close you live to Liz,” Fina said, surveying the street. “I can’t say I’m surprised you didn’t mention it, but it does seem like a salient fact.”

  Vikram climbed into the car, and Fina saw the lock pop down. He started the car and rolled down the window.

  “That woman has been nothing but trouble,” he said. “Even in death, she is causing problems for me.”

  Fina made a sad face. “Well, poor you, Vikram.”

  He rolled up the window and backed out of the driveway. She looked back at the house and caught a small motion in one of the windows. Maybe Mrs. Mehra was just as mean as her husband, but Fina thought it was more likely that he bullied her, too. Fina could knock on the door, but she didn’t want to risk getting the wife in trouble.

  Contrary to what some people believed, she wasn’t interested in gaining information at any cost.

  —

  Fina’s phone rang as she navigated a rotary.

  “Fina, it’s Bobbi Barone.”

  “Hi, Bobbi. How are you?”

  “Well, I have to admit that I’m feeling mighty pissed off at the moment.”

  “What’s going on?” Fina pulled into a mini-mall parking lot so she could give Bobbi her full attention.

  “You talked with someone from the fund-raising office at NEU, didn’t you?” Bobbi asked. “Before Liz died.”

  “Uh-huh. A woman named Pamela Fordyce.”

  “She’s the one who Liz was so angry with?”

  “That’s right,” Fina said. “Her office kept sending out annual fund solicitations.”

  “Well, I’m going through the mail at Liz’s house—Jamie has let it stack up—and there’s another letter from her,” Bobbi exclaimed.

  “From Pamela Fordyce?” Fina asked.

  “Yes. I mean, are you kidding me? Don’t they know she’s dead?”

  It was the first time that Fina had heard a hint of unhinging in Bobbi’s voice, but it didn’t surprise her. People could be very good at holding things together in high-stress moments, but when the dust settled, the littlest thing could send them over the edge.

  “Is it a form letter?” Fina asked, gripping the steering wheel tightly, “or a personal letter?”

  “Form, and the reason I called you is so that I don’t call this woman and give her a piece of my mind. Your father said I wasn’t to speak with anyone from NEU.”

  “He’s right, and you were right to call me. I promise you, I will give Pamela Fordyce a piece of my mind.”

  Bobbi exhaled deeply. “That makes me feel better. I bet you’re scarier than I am.”

  Fina laughed. “Don’t sell yourself short, Bobbi. You’ve got plenty of fire in the belly. I’ll give you a call once I get this straightened out.”

  “Thank you. I know it’s a little thing, but it’s making my blood boil.”

  “It’s not a little thing,” Fina argued. “It’s insensitive and tasteless. Your indignation is completely reasonable. Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it.”

  They ended the call, and Fina glanced at the clock. She had a little time before she had to get Risa.

  She took a few deep breaths and counted to ten.

  Nope.

  Still pissed.

  —

  Fina didn’t give Pamela the benefit of advance notice before arriving at her office half an hour later. She informed the assistant that she didn’t have an appointment, but it was regarding a lawsuit. Jill fluttered around her desk and made a quick phone call.

  Fina wondered if an armed escort was on the way to relocate her, but decided to plant herself on the couch and wait anyway.

  Five minutes later, a handsome young man in khakis and a button-down sauntered into the office and perched on the edge of the assistant’s desk.

  “Jill, any word on the replacement speaker?” he asked.

  Fina imagined that his good looks granted him privileges he wouldn’t enjoy if he were unattractive—privileges like claiming so much real estate of the young woman’s work space. He was just the sort of charming bully that made Fina’s skin crawl. Given her current mood, she felt like leaning over and shoving his ass off the desk.

  “I’m working on it, Darryl,” Jill said, tapping away at her keyboard.

  “Pamela left Paul in the lurch. If she won’t give the talk, she’d better find someone who will.”

  “Here’s an idea,” Jill said tartly. “Why don’t you help me find a replacement instead of breathing down my neck?”

  “’Cause I work for Paul, not you or Pamela. She can’t make commitments and then just blow them off.”

  Jill’s cheeks were turning red.

  “You should get your ass off her desk,” Fina said innocuously, as if she were commenting on the weather.

  Darryl glared at her. “What?”

  Jill looked astounded.

  “I said, you should get your ass off her desk. You’re encroaching upon her physical space,” Fina said. “It’s very aggressive behavior, Darryl. If I were Jill, I’d call security.”

  “Who the hell are you?” he asked, rising up and stepping in Fina’s direction.

  “I’m a private investigator who’s in a very bad mood, so move along, young man.”

  He sneered at her, but didn’t approach.

  “And don’t blame Jill for my little outburst,” Fina added. “She doesn’t even know who I am.”

  He left the office, and Fina turned her attention back to the alumni magazine on her lap. She could feel Jill staring at her.

  “That was crazy,” the young woman said finally.

  Fina met her gaze. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have interfered.”

  “No.” Jill looked around. “It was crazy good. I hate that guy. He’s a douche.”

  Fina shrugged. “I can be a bit heavy-handed, but you know, Jill, you’re allowed to tell someone to back off. You can even do it politely, although that takes the fun out of it, in my opinion.”

  Jill shook her head and fiddled with some papers on the desk. “I get sick of being blamed for everything. She’s mad I put it on her calendar. They’re mad I took it off. These weren’t my decisions!” she said more to herself than Fina.

  “Pamela doesn’t like giving speeches?” Fina asked.

  “Nope. Most of these people love hearing their voices projected across a banquet hall,” she fumed. “Do you want some water while you wait?” she asked Fina, rising from her desk.

  “Yes, please.”

  Jill left and returned with a cold bottle of water.

  Pamela strode into the office ten minutes later. Her color was high, and her hair looked out of place. She was wearing a skirt suit similar to the others Fina had seen her in. It was charcoal gray and tight around her middle.

  “What’s going on?” Pamela asked her.

  “Why don’t we speak in your office?” Fina suggested. Pamela was lucky that Darryl had crossed her path. Confronting him had taken the edge off Fina’s anger.

  Pamela closed the door behind Fina before taking a seat behind her desk. “I’m very busy, Fina.” />
  “So am I. I just got a call from Bobbi Barone. She was extremely upset.”

  “I don’t think we should be discussing the lawsuit without counsel present,” Pamela said, picking up a pen and rolling it between her fingers.

  “This isn’t going to be a discussion. You have got to take Liz Barone off your mailing list.”

  Pamela put the pen back down. “We did take her off.”

  “No, you didn’t. Her mother just found a letter sent after Liz died.”

  Pamela laced her fingers together, kneading them gently. “I’m very sorry, but it’s just an administrative error. It doesn’t mean anything.”

  Fina sat down in the chair in front of the desk. “Do you really not understand why this is so upsetting to Bobbi Barone?”

  Pamela looked at her before her gaze skipped to the window. “Of course I understand. I’m not heartless.”

  “Then fix it.”

  “I really thought I had, Fina.”

  “Yeah, yeah, but you didn’t, so do it now.”

  Pamela looked tired. “I suppose you’re going to leak it to the press: ‘Cold NEU hounds grief-stricken mother.’”

  “I’m hoping it doesn’t come to that,” Fina said, starting toward the door. “I had a chat yesterday with your friend Kevin Lafferty.”

  Pamela’s hands stilled on her blotter. “I wouldn’t characterize us as friends.”

  “Acquaintances, colleagues, whatever. I didn’t realize how many ties he has to this case.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, there’s his connection to the NEU athletic program, and he’d seen Liz in recent months—not that he admitted that, but I found out. His company was one of the sponsors of a grant that Liz’s lab didn’t get, and then there are the chemicals.”

  Pamela squinted. “What chemicals?”

  “Someone tried to blow up my car with a device that uses lithium metal, which Barnes Kaufcan has in their labs. It totaled the car.”

  Pamela’s face relaxed. “I’m sure there are numerous places to acquire that chemical or metal, whichever it is. That’s the problem with homemade devices. Anyone can make them at home.”

  “And yet,” Fina said, “most people aren’t cooking up IEDs in their kitchens.”

  Pamela shook her head. “I have little contact with Kevin, so I don’t see how I can help.”

  “Right,” Fina said. “Please don’t make me come back here about another fund-raising letter.”

  “You made your point.”

  “Glad to hear it.”

  Fina left and returned to her car.

  Pamela had made an interesting point. Lots of people had access to lithium metal and could cook up some trouble at home. Maybe even she did.

  —

  Fina picked up Risa and they headed to Kittery. They chitchatted at first, but as the miles and minutes ticked by, they fell into a companionable silence. Risa was undoubtedly thinking about her aunt, and Fina mulled over the morning’s conversations.

  The farther north they traveled, the more snow blanketed the landscape. Unlike the drifts in the city, most of the snow at the side of the highway was white and pristine, throwing off an intense glare in the sunlight.

  The Popover Place was just off the exit for the outlet mall, the parking lot practically full. As Fina maneuvered into a space, Risa pulled down the visor and flipped open the mirror. She applied a fresh coat of lipstick and examined her face. She futzed with her hair before snapping the mirror closed and pushing the visor back into place.

  “Ready?” Fina asked.

  “No, but let’s go.”

  The restaurant had a small entryway that was divided from the rest of the space by rows of wooden spindles. The young woman who greeted them was wearing a brown dress with a white apron, her hair tucked into a fabric bonnet. The getup fell somewhere between Florence Nightingale and Goody Proctor of Salem witch trial infamy.

  Greta was already seated at a booth next to the window overlooking one of the busy thoroughfares leading to the mall. She looked healthier than she had when Fina met her a few months earlier. Her skin was less jaundiced and less puffy, and her eyes looked brighter.

  When she caught sight of them, Greta squirmed out of the booth and moved as if to hug Risa. Panic washed over Risa’s face, and she offered Greta her hand. The weak handshake communicated Greta’s displeasure.

  “I ordered some coffee,” Greta said once Fina and Risa were seated across from her.

  “I wonder if the popovers are any good?” Fina mused.

  “They’re excellent,” Greta said.

  Risa glanced at the menu before squaring it with the edge of the table. Fina nodded to the waitress, who had just delivered two large stacks of pancakes to the table across the aisle.

  “Risa, go ahead,” Fina urged as the waitress stood poised with her order book and pen.

  “I’m not that hungry. Just coffee, please.”

  Greta shook her head when it was her turn, but Fina wasn’t suffering from the same anxiety-fueled loss of appetite.

  “Could I please have a hot chocolate, and how about some popovers for the table? You two might change your minds,” Fina said.

  Once the waitress left, a thick silence claimed the table. Greta looked at Risa while Risa studied her manicure. Fina took a sip of water and cleared her throat before speaking.

  “Thanks for meeting with us, Greta. You look much better than the last time I saw you.”

  “I’m on dialysis now. I have more energy.”

  “That’s great,” Fina said.

  “You look wonderful, Risa,” Greta said, gazing at her niece. “You look like Elizabeth did when she was your age.”

  “Do I?” Risa asked. “I’ve always wondered if I look like my birth mother.” Fina sensed the chill under the words, but Greta didn’t seem to notice.

  “That’s why we wanted to meet,” Fina said. “Risa would like to hear more about her mother and her birth father, if you have any information about him.”

  The waitress brought a coffeepot to the table and topped off Greta’s cup before filling Risa’s. Her other hand gripped a mug brimming with hot chocolate and whipped cream, which she set down in front of Fina.

  Greta added some creamer to her coffee and stirred it slowly. “Elizabeth never told me who the father was, which means she didn’t tell anyone. If she wanted to talk about it, I’m the one she would have told. We were best friends.”

  “Rockford is a small town, though,” Fina said. “I can’t imagine there were too many candidates.”

  “I had my suspicions,” Greta conceded, “but that’s all they were.”

  “I’d still like to hear them,” Risa said, looking at Greta over her raised mug.

  Greta shrugged. “If it’s important.”

  “It’s important,” Risa said, shooting Fina a look.

  Greta spent ten minutes describing the two men—boys, at the time—who she suspected might be Risa’s biological father. They sounded like average American boys from the northeast who liked being outdoors, playing sports, and going to the movies. Fina took notes while Greta spoke, in case Risa wanted her to track down either of the men. Greta might not have known the identity of Risa’s father, but that didn’t mean that he didn’t know he was the father.

  “I don’t think you should bother those men, Fina,” Greta said, glancing at the notebook.

  “No need to worry, Greta. I’ll be discreet.”

  Greta frowned, but didn’t argue.

  A steaming basket of popovers—each the size of a softball—was dropped off at the table by a different waitress. Fina pulled aside the napkin in which they were wrapped and let more steam escape. After a moment, she dropped one onto her plate and reached for a pat of butter.

  “I understand why Elizabeth went through with the
pregnancy, but did she ever consider keeping me?” Risa asked.

  Greta’s hand went to her head, her fingertips grazing her gray curls. “Well, no. Our father wouldn’t have allowed it.”

  “Ah,” Risa said. She grasped her coffee cup and raised it to her lips.

  “Because he didn’t approve?” Fina asked.

  “Of course,” Greta said. “It wasn’t respectable to have a baby out of wedlock. It wasn’t like today, when young girls have babies left and right.”

  Fina fought the urge to roll her eyes. Everything was better in the good old days.

  “But when did your father—my grandfather—die?” Risa asked.

  “When we were in our forties,” Greta said.

  Fina pulled open the popover and spread a generous chunk of butter into it, then tore off a piece and put it in her mouth.

  “So he died more than twenty years ago?” Risa asked, doing the math.

  “Yes.”

  “But why didn’t Elizabeth try to contact me after he died?”

  Greta sipped her coffee. “Well, she had a child by that time. A son.”

  Fina cringed inwardly. Fina wanted to give Greta the benefit of the doubt, but man, was it hard. Greta’s sensitivity meter—if she had one—always seemed to be on the fritz.

  “Actually, she had two children at that point,” Risa said.

  “Well, you know what I mean,” Greta said.

  “So he was my replacement?” Risa asked.

  Fina had another bite of popover. Greta looked flummoxed. Risa was asking her tough questions, but they were fair questions.

  “No, he wasn’t a replacement,” Greta insisted, “but she had to take care of him. She was busy with him.”

  “Did she marry his father?” Fina asked.

  “Yes, they were together for thirty-three years before William died.”

  “And when did her son die?” Fina asked, drinking from her mug.

  Greta swallowed and stared into her coffee cup. “When he was nineteen.”

  “I’m sorry,” Fina said. “That must have been very difficult.”