by Ingrid Thoft
It took her a couple of hours to make a first pass through the list, which left Fina with 123 names. The other 184 didn’t fit the bill because they were white, old, or skinny. Fina got up and stretched and got a diet soda from the fridge.
Back at the table, she brought up Facebook and started plugging in the 123 candidates. She was able to rule out fifty-two of the bunch based on their profile photos. Thirty-three didn’t appear to have profiles, so that left thirty-eight potential bombers on social media, way too many to track down individually. Instead, she opened up a new browser and went to work creating a fake Facebook account. She chose the name Jennifer Mitchell for her alter ego and found a stock photo of a brunette with big boobs. Fina filled in the bio questions, making her profile as generic as possible. Under “Interests” she put Boston sports teams and travel. Reality competition shows and action movies filled out Jennifer’s page, as did an interest in Jay-Z and Kanye.
Satisfied with her imaginary friend, Fina saved the page and then sent friend requests to her thirty-eight mystery men. Some people accepted every friend request they got, assuming that they knew the friend from somewhere, even if they couldn’t remember where. Other people were more discerning about accepting requests. Fina hoped her amateur bomber fell into the former category.
Before closing her laptop, Fina did a search for Pamela Fordyce. She didn’t know what she was looking for, but there was something nagging at her. A quick perusal of links didn’t turn up anything new or particularly enlightening.
The phone rang, and Fina put aside her questions regarding Pamela.
“You’ll never believe what was just delivered,” Bobbi said.
Fina held her breath. She hoped it was nothing recently dead. “What?”
“An enormous gift basket and a handwritten note of apology from Pamela Fordyce. Whatever you said, it worked.”
“Good. I’m glad to hear it.” Fina walked over to the window and looked out at Logan and the harbor. She never tired of watching the boat and plane activity. There was something comforting about the idea that life was going on all around her, no matter what was happening in her own little universe. “I was just about to call you,” Fina said.
“Do you have an update?”
“I have some questions, and it would be easier to go over them in person.”
“What about a coffee in a couple of hours?” Bobbi asked.
“That would work.”
“Can you meet me at the mall in Braintree? I’ll be done with my walk by then.”
“Are you one of those women who cruise by, weaving in and out of shoppers?” Fina smiled at the thought.
“Yes, I am, and let me tell you, it’s a lifesaver. Not only does it keep my cholesterol in check, it gives me somewhere to go every day. I haven’t felt like doing much of anything since Liz died, but my friends expect me, so I go.”
“I’m not knocking it,” Fina said. “I think it’s great. I was just trying to picture it.”
“Get there early and you can see for yourself.”
“Any new threats I should know about?” Fina asked.
“No,” Bobbi said. “Dennis has been very attentive.”
“Good. Let me know if you need anything else.”
They decided on a rendezvous point in the mall and ended the call. Fina was not looking forward to asking Bobbi about Liz’s alleged relationship with Kevin Lafferty. She also was struggling with how much information—if any—to reveal about Jamie’s pill problem.
Fina spent most of her waking hours trying to learn more, but occasionally, she wished she knew less.
—
Jamie worked for an interactive agency near Downtown Crossing, and since she had a little time to kill, Fina thought she’d revisit last night’s conversation.
The company occupied one floor of a mid-rise building that had previously been some kind of factory. Inside, the office looked like a vestige of the late 1990s with its open plan, whiteboard walls, and sculptural sofas in primary colors.
Fina took a seat and waited for the receptionist to summon Jamie. The employees she could see were all young and casually dressed. They were parked in front of multiple computer monitors, with headphones hermetically sealing them off from the office hubbub.
Jamie walked into the reception area a few minutes later and scowled when he saw Fina.
“I’ll be quick,” she insisted, rising to her feet. “Is there somewhere private we can talk?”
He led her down the hall to a glass-walled conference room. The meeting table was glossy white surrounded by black leather and metal chairs. Jamie closed the door behind her and remained standing.
“Are you here to threaten me?” Jamie asked.
“What? Of course not. What are you talking about?” Fina took a seat at the table. A woman walked by the room, glancing in at them. Jamie pulled out a chair and lowered himself into it, perhaps realizing the tableau was a little curious.
“You have all these ideas about me,” he said, “and you work for Bobbi. Are you going to tell her what you think you’ve discovered?”
“No,” Fina said. “I came here to discuss it with you. I get no pleasure from your problems, Jamie.”
He tapped his fingertips on the shiny tabletop.
Fina looked at him. “I’m concerned about your health and well-being. Would you consider speaking to someone about your pill usage?”
He stopped tapping and brushed his hand across the tabletop as if clearing away a layer of crumbs. “Like who?”
“I don’t have a specific person in mind, but my family is well connected in the medical field. I’m sure I could get you in to see someone very quickly.”
He was quiet for a moment. “My wife just died. I don’t think it’s unreasonable that I’m feeling stressed.”
“Of course not,” Fina said, “but opiates are highly addictive. It’s not about willpower. You need support from people who know what they’re doing.”
Jamie shook his head slowly. “I can stop if I want to. It takes off the edge, that’s all.”
Fina didn’t respond. You could argue with an addict all day, but it was fruitless until he decided that’s what he was.
“What about the doctor who prescribed the pills initially?” she asked. “Have you spoken to him or her about this?”
“It has nothing to do with the doctor,” he insisted.
“Does your doctor know that you’re addicted?” Fina asked.
“Give it a rest, Fina. I’m fine.”
She pushed her chair back from the table. “Okay. Just remember that buying and using prescription drugs without a prescription is illegal. You may not think you have a problem, but you will if the cops catch you.” Fina paused at the door. “If you decide you want some help, call me. Anytime, day or night.”
“Thanks, but it’s not necessary,” Jamie insisted.
She looked at him. “I know. It’s never necessary until it is.”
29.
Cristian had left her a message, but she decided to hold off returning his call. If she did things by the book, Fina would tell him about last night’s drug deal and her subsequent conversations with Jamie. Luckily for Jamie, doing things by the book was never her strong suit; she decided to sit on the information for the time being. Once she identified Liz’s killer, she could extricate herself from Jamie’s personal drama, but, unfortunately, that wasn’t going to happen in the next eight hours.
At the mall, Fina ordered a hot chocolate and took a seat at a table in the central courtyard. The space was an echo chamber with the laughter of tweens and the crying of babies spilling down over the railing from the second floor. She watched as young mothers pushed strollers and teenage couples held hands. There was a seating area next to a fountain that was a holding pen for older men. They sat on the comfortable couches flipping through the newspaper, exce
pt for the one whose head was tipped back, mouth open and eyes closed.
Bobbi arrived five minutes later. She purchased a bottle of water from a nearby kiosk, then took the seat next to Fina.
“How was your workout?” Fina asked.
Bobbi was wearing a sweat suit, and a thin sheen of sweat covered her face. “It was good. It’s good to get some exercise, especially with the weather being what it is.” Given the season’s snowfall, many sidewalks were impassable, and the frigid temperatures certainly weren’t conducive to outdoor activities.
“I have a rather sensitive topic to discuss with you,” Fina said. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like to go somewhere more private?”
Bobbi looked at the people toting shopping bags and the children throwing coins in the fountain before shaking her head. “I’d rather stay here, if you don’t mind.”
“It’s fine with me,” Fina said. Perhaps the distractions made it easier—reminders that there was life outside the confines of Bobbi’s current personal hell.
“I’ve heard that Liz was involved with Kevin Lafferty when she was a student at NEU,” Fina ventured.
“Is he the booster guy?”
“Yes.”
Bobbi looked perplexed. “How old would he have been at the time?”
“Early thirties, I think. Were you aware they were involved?”
Bobbi shook her head. “No, I didn’t know. She had boyfriends, and I thought there might have been one or two that she didn’t want us to meet, but I didn’t know anything about Kevin.”
Fina stirred her drink, submerging the last bits of whipped cream into the liquid. “Jamie wondered if they were involved more recently.”
Bobbi frowned. “I don’t think so, but obviously, I didn’t know everything that was going on with Liz. Is that important?”
“I’m not sure,” Fina said. “He just keeps popping up in the investigation, which is always a red flag.”
“Do you think Kevin would have hurt Liz?” Bobbi asked.
“I don’t know,” Fina admitted.
Bobbi took a long pull from her water and screwed the cap back on. She tapped her fingernail on the top.
“Why do you think Liz named you as the executor of her estate?” Fina asked.
Bobbi looked surprised at the shift in topic. She pulled a napkin from the metal tabletop dispenser and wiped off the condensation gathering on the bottle. “She never said why. She just asked me if I’d be willing to.”
“You didn’t wonder why?”
“Jamie isn’t the most organized person,” Bobbi said. “I just assumed that was the reason. Why?”
“It’s a little unusual, so I wanted to ask.” Generally, people didn’t name a parent as executor if they had an able-bodied spouse. Fina was beginning to wonder if Liz had known that her spouse wasn’t, in fact, able-bodied.
They watched as a woman struggled to get a double stroller between two nearby tables. Fina got up and moved some chairs out of the way. That was part of what made motherhood unappealing to her: You became so damn unwieldy. Fina liked to move quickly, in and out, with as little baggage as possible, pretty much the antithesis of parenthood.
The mom offered her thanks, and Fina reclaimed her seat next to Bobbi.
“Did Liz keep any memorabilia or keepsakes from NEU?” Fina asked.
Bobbi thought about it. “I know she kept some soccer-related stuff. I think I have a couple of boxes.”
“Would you mind if I borrowed them?” Fina took another drink from her cup and replaced the plastic lid.
“I don’t mind. You think they might be useful?”
“I’m not sure, but I want to take a look.”
Bobbi stared at the fountain and the teenagers who were threatening to push one another into the shallow pool. “If she had died in a car wreck or something like that, it wouldn’t matter what happened twenty years ago. If she’d fooled around with that Kevin man, it would have remained a secret.”
“You’re absolutely right,” Fina said. When someone died under suspicious circumstances, her whole life was cracked wide open, exposed to the world. Any scrap of privacy or dignity was stripped away. The only bright spot was that the deceased wasn’t around to witness the dismantling of her life.
“I’m doing everything I can to solve this,” Fina said. “I know I’m probably not doing it fast enough for your taste, but I’m doing everything in my power.”
“I know, Fina. You’ve been straight with me from the start.” Bobbi stood up and grasped her water bottle in one hand. “Life never gets easier. You think as you get older that you’ll have figured more stuff out or your kids won’t need you anymore, but that’s not what happens. They need you just the same, just in different ways. They need you even after they’re gone.”
Fina rose and gave Bobbi a hug. “I’ll call you later and figure out a time to pick up those boxes. Hang in there.”
Bobbi tugged on her sweat suit jacket. “I wish Liz could have met you, Fina. I think you would have liked each other.”
“I would have liked that. At least I got to meet you,” Fina said, “despite the crummy circumstances.”
Bobbi gave her a weak smile and walked away.
Fina had to solve this case soon. Any more bad news and she might just break Bobbi Barone’s heart.
—
Gus Sibley was in his office seeing patients and would be busy the rest of the afternoon, according to his office manager. Like the general population, the gatekeepers that Fina encountered in her job ran the gamut from dumb as doorknobs to national treasures the NSA should have hired. Fina got the sense that this particular woman fell into the second category. There was no way Fina would be able to waltz in and refuse to leave until Gus saw her. She was certain that security would be called, and she’d be escorted off the property. She decided to wait in the parking lot instead, which was borderline stalkerish, but she’d done worse.
Gus’s private practice was in a nondescript two-story building in Chestnut Hill. There was nothing unique about the space, although Fina imagined that the rent was pricey given the location.
She drove a slow circuit around the lot; there was a section designated for the patients of each medical practice in the building, as well as reserved spots for the physicians. Fina found a visitor’s spot a couple of cars away from the space marked DR. SIBLEY in which a black Mercedes sedan was parked. Fina wasn’t as jumpy as some of her colleagues were—some of whom were downright paranoid—but some things were just common sense. Don’t put your name on your parking space, front door, child’s backpack, or license plate. You probably didn’t want a personal relationship with most of your fellow citizens, so why treat them like friends?
Fina called Scotty while she sat waiting and watching a parade of gimpy, casted patients make the trek from the parking lot to the entrance.
“I heard you had quite the adventure last night,” he said.
“What did he tell you?” Fina asked.
“He said that you made him go undercover and then you guys were pursued by a drug dealer,” Scotty said.
Fina laughed. “That’s not exactly what happened.”
“I’m trying to decide which of us got the better deal, Matthew with the drug dealer or me with the car bomb.”
“You two have such a flair for the dramatic.”
“And you’re the queen of nonchalance and understatement,” Scotty said. “If I remember correctly, not too long ago, you shot a man and then stopped for a frappe afterward.”
“I was hungry!” Fina insisted. “I knew I had a long night ahead of me, and I needed sustenance.”
“Uh-huh,” Scotty said. “So, what’s going on?”
“Do you know the last name of Rand’s girlfriend?”
“Karla’s last name? Why?”
“I’m just curious.”
“What are you up to, Fina?”
“I’m not up to anything. I just need her name.”
Scotty was silent.
“You know I’m going to get it eventually,” Fina said, “so you might as well tell me now.”
“That’s faulty logic.”
“Oh, it’s fine. Really. What’s her name?”
“You can’t do anything illegal,” he insisted.
“Moi?” Fina asked.
He exhaled loudly. “This is exactly why I don’t want to give it to you.”
“Think of it this way: If I started dating some random guy, wouldn’t you want to know as much about him as possible? We vet our business partners. Why not our companions?”
“Because most people don’t,” Scotty said. “Normal people don’t run background checks on acquaintances.”
“You’re still clinging to the notion that we’re normal people?” Fina asked. “Hello? Have you met our parents?”
“Fine, but you didn’t get it from me.”
She could hear him on the computer. Snowflakes were starting to fall and stick to the windshield. Fina turned on her wipers, not wanting to miss Gus Sibley in the increasing darkness.
“Her name is Karla Hewett.”
“Address?”
“I don’t have her address. We’re not pen pals.”
“Easy, killer. I was just asking.”
Fina asked after Patty and the kids and promised to stop by soon for a visit. She ended the call and stretched her arms over her head and decided that Milloy’s ministrations were in order. She left him a voice mail requesting time with his magic hands.
Gus still hadn’t emerged, his car slowly turning more white than black with a thin layer of snow. Fina pulled out her tablet and hopped on the free Wi-Fi from the medical building. She typed in “Karla Hewett” and “Miami” and waited as the slow connection chugged like the Little Engine That Could. The first link that popped up was Karla’s Facebook page, but unfortunately for Fina, she had opted to employ the most stringent privacy settings. Fina scrolled through the other search results and found a listing for a mortgage company. Clicking on the address for Horizon Mortgage East brought up an information page all about Karla Hewett.
