by Ingrid Thoft
“Obviously,” Fina said.
Risa took a deep breath. “I’ve given it a lot of thought.”
Fina nodded.
“Marty and I have had a lot of conversations,” Risa continued, “and I’ve also met with a social worker who specializes in organ transplants.” She looked away.
Fina put down her fork and squeezed Risa’s hand. “Whatever you’ve decided is okay. There is no wrong answer.”
Risa swallowed and a tear rolled down her cheek. “I can’t do it, Fina. I can’t give her my kidney.”
“It’s okay.” Fina moved her hand to Risa’s shoulder and rubbed it. “Really.”
Risa blotted her eyes with her napkin. “It’s the right decision, but that doesn’t make it any easier.” She gestured to her tear-streaked face.
“There’s nothing easy about it,” Fina said. “You must be exhausted from the whole process.”
Risa took a long drink. “I am.”
“Well, now you can put it behind you.” Fina picked up her fork and pressed it into the golden crust of the quiche.
“I know I didn’t want your opinion right after we met with Greta,” Risa said.
Fina nodded. “And that made sense. You needed to figure this out on your own with Marty.”
“But now that I’ve made my decision, I’d like to hear what you think.”
Fina held up a finger while she finished chewing a mouthful. “I don’t think you should give her your kidney,” she said.
“You’re not just saying that because I’ve decided the same thing?” Risa asked.
“No. Getting someone else’s organ isn’t a right, it’s a privilege, and the recipient needs to earn it. Greta hasn’t.”
“What do you mean exactly?”
“Well, first of all, you have kids, and they should get first dibs on your spare parts.”
Risa chuckled. “Like you have dibs on Elaine’s.”
“Oh, God. Let’s not use my family as an example,” Fina said, loading her fork with greens. She didn’t encounter much produce, so she tried to take advantage when she did. “So your kids get dibs on your organs. Also, I wish I believed otherwise, but I think Greta’s primary interest in you is your kidney.”
Risa exhaled loudly. “I know. That’s what I think.”
“I really wish that weren’t the case, but she never made any effort to find you or find out about you, even after her sister died.” Fina tried to make her delivery gentle, but it was a difficult statement to soften. “I’m not convinced she would have sought you out if not for her declining health, and I’m not convinced she wants to foster a real relationship with you.”
“But shouldn’t I be the better person?” Risa asked. “Shouldn’t I be more generous than she’s being?”
“Why?” Fina asked. “Your body belongs to you. If you decide to give a piece to someone because that’s truly what you want to do, that’s one thing, but you shouldn’t feel coerced into that decision. It’s not your job to fix Greta.”
“I feel like it is.”
“Why? Who gave you that job?” Fina captured a pistachio between the tines of her fork.
Risa shrugged. “Because we’re blood relatives, I guess.”
“But if that creates an obligation, doesn’t that obligation apply to Greta, too? An obligation to find you before she needed an organ?”
Risa considered the statement for a moment. “I suppose. It just feels like I’m being selfish.”
“You’re being thoughtful and responsible, and you’re putting your own well-being and that of your family first. Maybe a transplant would go smoothly, but if it didn’t and you suffered a setback either now or in the future, how would your kids feel?”
“They’d be upset.”
Fina blinked. “That’s an understatement. Did the social worker suggest you were selfish for not giving Greta your kidney?”
“No,” Risa admitted. “She thought it made sense given the circumstances.”
“Good. Now you just need to believe it.” Fina ate another bite of quiche. Risa moved the food around on her plate.
“Another thing to keep in mind,” Fina said, “is that you may not have been a match. Or you may have been a match, but the transplant wouldn’t have worked. The choice isn’t save Greta or let her die. The choice is whether or not you should set off down a long and difficult path with no guarantees. I think you’re making the right choice by stepping off the path.”
Risa smiled weakly. “Thanks. I appreciate what you’re saying.” She put down her fork and picked up her glass. “In the meantime, how am I supposed to tell her?”
“I’ll tell her,” Fina offered.
“I can’t let you tell her.”
“Why not? I know her as well as you do.”
“That would feel like chickening out,” Risa said.
“Why? Because you don’t want to give her the opportunity to manipulate you and make you feel guilty?”
Risa was silent.
“How about this? You write her a letter explaining your decision, and I’ll call her once you’ve sent it to warn her about the contents,” Fina offered.
“That might work,” Risa said. “That way I can say what I have to say, but not actually have a conversation with her.”
“Exactly. So write the letter and let me know when you’re ready to send it.”
They had a few more bites of food, both of their appetites dampened by the conversation. Fina helped Risa do the dishes and tidy up the kitchen.
“You’ve been a lifesaver during this whole thing, Fina,” Risa said when she walked her to the front door.
“I’m flattered that you included me.” Fina pulled on her boots and jacket. “I’m always here to talk.”
“Thank you.” Risa hugged her.
“Thanks for lunch,” Fina said, walking out the door.
She got into her car and leaned back against the seat. Now that Risa had made her decision, Fina felt relieved that Risa wasn’t going to volunteer to climb onto the operating table. Fina wanted the people she loved to stay intact as long as they possibly could.
—
Are you out of your goddamn mind?”
Pamela looked up to see Kevin in the doorway of her office. Jill stood behind him, distress etched across her face.
“Nice to see you, Kevin, as always,” Pamela said, and gestured for him to come in. “Jill, could you close the door and hold my calls, please?”
Kevin planted himself in front of Pamela’s desk, and Jill pulled the door closed behind her.
“Have a seat,” Pamela said.
“I don’t want to sit down,” he said. “This isn’t a social call.” His cheeks were red, and his neck seemed to be straining against his collar and tie.
“So what is it, then?”
“What did you say to that private investigator, Fina Ludlow?”
Pamela leaned back in her chair and rotated slowly from side to side. “What makes you think I said anything?”
“She went to my house, Pamela. She questioned my wife.”
“About what?”
“About where I was the night that Liz Barone was attacked,” Kevin sputtered.
Pamela’s shoulders relaxed ever so slightly. “That has nothing to do with me.”
“And what about the claim that I fool around with NEU students? Does that have something to do with you?”
Pamela glared at him and gripped the armrests of her chair. “Everybody knows you can’t keep it in your pants, Kevin. It isn’t exactly a secret.”
“So what? You told her?”
“This conversation is over,” she said, reaching for her mouse. “I have work to do.”
“Was she getting a little too close to the truth?” Kevin asked. “You wanted to distract her with some juicy gossip?”
/>
“Gossip? Have you really convinced yourself that you’re innocent in all this?”
“Have you?” He glared at her, and she tried to hold his gaze, but failed.
“You need to leave,” Pamela said. “We have nothing more to discuss.”
“That’s always been your problem, Pamela. You don’t think things through. You make rash decisions that you end up regretting.”
“Don’t threaten me, Kevin.”
“Too late. You should have thought about the consequences before you threw me under the bus.”
Pamela tugged on the sleeve of her jacket. “What difference does it make if Fina knows about your affairs?”
“If I lose my standing with the university, I’m going to hold you personally responsible.”
Pamela picked up the phone. “I’m calling security.”
“No need. I’m leaving.” Kevin flung open the door and left.
Pamela kneaded her hands together.
Goddamnit. What had she done?
—
Dinner at Carl and Elaine’s was the last thing that Fina wanted, but she worried that if she didn’t attend, some Rand-related plan would be hatched. She arrived at her parents’ house exactly at the appointed hour, hopeful that her appearance would resemble a well-executed military plan—in and out, quickly and quietly, with minimal bloodshed.
Fina found Patty, Elaine, Haley, and the little boys in the media room.
“Where are Scotty and Matthew?” she asked.
“They’re in with your dad,” Patty told her.
Fina hated when family gatherings were split down gender lines. It was a practice from another century, or another decade, at the very least. Just what were the men discussing that was too coarse for her feminine ears? Money? Sports? Politics?
“Where are you going?” Elaine asked as Fina turned to leave the room.
“I’ll be right back,” she said.
In Carl’s office, Scotty and Matthew were sitting on the couch, with Carl behind his desk.
“Hey,” Fina said, sitting down on the couch across from her brothers.
They greeted her and returned to their conversation about the Bruins.
“Did you take care of that man this morning?” Carl asked her a few minutes later. This was one of the things that made him so good in court. He lulled you down one conversational path only to veer off into a ravine. Luckily, Fina was inured to his tactics.
“Yeah. I stopped by your office to tell you, but you were in a meeting,” Fina said. “Shari was supposed to give you the message.”
“What man?” Matthew asked.
“Kevin Lafferty. He’s involved in the NEU case.”
“He was running his mouth about suing you,” her father said.
“I know,” Fina said. “He’s clueless.”
“Well, he was certainly distracting.”
“Ranting and raving distracted you, Dad?” Fina asked. “You’re losing your edge.”
Carl grunted in disagreement.
“You should be encouraged,” she said. “Agitated people are a sign I’m about to crack the case.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Did you talk to your drug addict?” Matthew asked.
“I did,” Fina said. “It wasn’t a very satisfying conversation. He thinks he can stop anytime.”
Her brothers nodded in understanding. They had dealt with addicts at various times in their professional lives and knew that the disease was pernicious. Money and status had little sway when it came to addiction.
They had returned to debating the Bruins’ season when Elaine appeared in the doorway.
“It’s time for dinner,” she announced.
Carl rose from behind his desk.
“Wait, Carl. Bring up that picture on your computer,” Elaine commanded.
He tapped a few keys without comment. Fina used to think that her father tolerated her mother, but she’d realized that what he actually did was ignore her. He would listen to the content of her speech and choose to act on the parts of it he deemed worthy of his attention. He let the rest of it—her tone and any requests in which he had no interest—roll off his back.
Fina started to follow Carl and her brothers out of the room, but was summoned back by Elaine.
“Fina, I want to show you something.”
Fina looked at Matthew, a raised eyebrow indicating her confusion. He shrugged his shoulders and made his escape.
“What is it, Mom?”
“Look at this picture.” She pointed at Carl’s computer screen.
Fina came around the desk and looked at the screen. The photo showed Rand with his arm around a woman—Karla—and two young children posed in front of them. Rand’s free hand was placed on the shoulder of the older girl, who looked to be about nine years old.
Fina took a step back and closed her eyes for a moment.
“Look at how pretty she is,” Elaine said. “And her children are, too. I don’t understand why you don’t want Haley to spend time with them.”
“I know you don’t,” Fina said, starting toward the door.
“That’s it? That’s all you have to say?”
“Trust me, Mom. You don’t want me to say any more.”
“You always think you know best, Josefina.”
She looked at her mother. “I guess that’s a trait we have in common.”
Fina left the room and tried to calm down before arriving at the dining room table, where she claimed a seat between Teddy and Chandler.
There was nothing like an armpit farting contest to take her mind off her troubles.
—
Fina checked her e-mail before climbing into bed and was pleased to see that two of the three bomber candidates had responded. Darren Segretti wanted to meet her for coffee the following afternoon, and the other man, Zack Lawrence, invited her for a drink. She put the dates on her calendar and got under the covers.
Fina felt tired. Not the good tired she might expect after a night with Cristian, but the bad tired she got from spending time with her parents. The picture that Elaine had been so eager to show her erased any doubt Fina might have had about involving herself in Rand’s life.
She had to—and quickly.
31.
Dennis sent over a batch of Gus Sibley surveillance photos first thing Saturday morning, and Fina’s doorman brought them upstairs. She could have reviewed them via e-mail, but she was old-school about some things. Fina liked to hold things in her hands and examine them from all angles.
After showering and dressing, Fina examined the images while nibbling on a Pop-Tart. She hadn’t slept well, and the mental image of Rand touching his girlfriend’s daughter was even putting a damper on her appetite. He really did ruin everything he touched.
According to the investigator’s notes, the previous day Gus had spent six hours at his office, never venturing outside. When he emerged later in the day, he drove to NEU and spent three and a half hours in the field house. Before returning to his home, he stopped at a shopping area on Route 9 and ducked into a coffee shop for about five minutes. Once home, Gus stayed in the entire night.
All of the shots were exteriors; there was no way to photograph Gus inside without his noticing. He may have been up to no good in the confines of his office or the field house, but determining that would prove more difficult. At the coffee shop, the tail had snapped Gus carrying in an NEU travel mug before emerging with it and returning to his car. It seemed a little late for a refill at seven thirty P.M., but some people mainlined coffee all day.
Fina pulled a magnifying glass out of a drawer and examined the pictures more closely. There were shots of Gus parking his car, walking to various buildings, walking from various buildings, and even some of him driving. Fina didn’t find anything unusual or odd about the photos, but s
he couldn’t shake the niggling feeling that she was missing something. Or maybe she was so anxious to find something that her mind was playing tricks on her.
Sometimes, taking a break was actually the best way to get work done. In Fina’s experience, if she forced her mind to wrestle with a particular puzzle, her progress tended to slow, but if she focused on a different aspect of the investigation, her subconscious might do the difficult work for her. With that in mind, she called Bobbi Barone and arranged to go over to her house to look through Liz’s memorabilia.
Bobbi’s kitchen was free of the floral arrangements and casseroles that had threatened to overrun it nearly two weeks earlier. The table now looked to be command central for her thank-you note writing operation.
“It never seems right that the bereaved have to write thank-you notes,” Fina commented.
“I agree.”
“You could just not write them,” Fina said.
“No, I couldn’t,” Bobbi insisted, and gave her a scolding look. “People have been wonderful, and I want to show them my appreciation. Anyway, it gives me a task to focus on each day and then cross off my to-do list.”
“I suppose,” Fina said, not sounding convinced.
“Do you want some coffee?” Bobbi asked.
“No, thanks,” she said, following Bobbi out of the kitchen. “How do you want to do this? I can take the stuff with me or sort through it here; whatever is most convenient for you.”
Bobbi thought about it for a moment. “Why don’t you take a look at the boxes and decide. I told you there were only a couple, but I was wrong. It might be too much work to haul them out of here.”
“Okay. Lead the way.”
They climbed the stairs to the second floor. A bathroom and three other open doors greeted them at the top. Fina assumed the room with the queen-sized bed was Bobbi’s. A second had a couch and a table with a sewing machine. Fabric was draped over the edge of the table, and tissue-paper patterns were stacked in a basket.
Bobbi stepped into the last room, which had two twin beds with a small dresser between them. There were sliding closet doors opposite the beds.
“This is where I keep the girls’ things,” Bobbi said, sliding open the closet doors. One side of the closet was filled with clothes, most of which seemed to be for warmer months. The other side was stacked with bankers boxes.
