Identity

by Ingrid Thoft

  “Well, you must be making progress if you’ve got someone spooked.”

  “That’s what Dad said. Speaking of which, Michael Reardon tattled on me to Dad.”

  “Why? What did you do?”

  “It’s what I didn’t do. I didn’t call him in a timely fashion, so he went to the big guy. We just had a little sit-down to clear the air.”

  “Was it healing?”

  “Extremely. I think he might be regretting pulling Dad into it. Dad did his stern-friendly thing.”

  “Ahh. The stern-friendly can be very effective.”

  “Exactly. Hey, do you know any plastic surgeons? I want someone to assess the damage.”

  Scotty called out to his assistant. “Michelle,” he said, “will you get Fina in to see Dr. Whitmore?”

  “No problem,” she responded. The Ludlows were on poor terms with many doctors in the city, but on very good terms with a select group who often testified on their behalf. These doctors were only too happy to keep the family in good fighting form.

  “Thank you,” Fina said.

  “Don’t let Dr. Whitmore talk you into anything.” Scotty grinned. “Thirty minutes with that guy, and he’ll have you scheduled for a hundred thousand bucks’ worth of work.”

  “Don’t you worry. I can hold my own with the plastic surgeon.”

  “So do you have anything to report on the Reardon case?” Scotty asked.

  “I’ve talked to a lot of people, and there’s a fair amount of animosity, but no one has confessed, if that’s what you’re asking. It’s a stew of money and parenthood—or parentage, I should say.” Fina tapped her foot on the carpet as she thought. “Do you think Patty would have had kids if she hadn’t met you?”

  “With someone else, you mean?”

  “No. I mean, if she hadn’t gotten married, do you think she would have gone the single motherhood route?”

  “I have no idea. You’d have to ask her.” Scotty got up from his chair and pulled on his suit coat. “There’s still time for you. The man of your dreams may be right around the corner,” he said, straightening the stack of papers in front of him.

  “That would suggest I dream about such things, and I assure you, I don’t.”

  Scotty walked around the desk and leaned over toward Fina’s midriff.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “Just as I suspected,” he said, and patted his sister’s stomach. “You might want to have that thing looked at. I think it’s broken.”

  Fina playfully slapped her brother’s hand. “Piss off.”

  Scotty grinned. “Come by the house for dinner again one of these nights.”

  He walked in the direction of a small conference room, and Fina went the opposite way toward the exit. Something was making noise down there all right, but it was nothing that couldn’t be cured with a snack.

  • • •

  At Heritage Cryobank, Ellen Alberti was unavailable, but the bank’s director, Dr. Walter Stiles, emerged from the back of the building to speak with Fina.

  He strode back out onto the sidewalk, and she had no choice but to follow him.

  “Ellen told me about your earlier visit. We have no comment to make, and you need to leave. This is private property.”

  “Why so jumpy?” Fina asked. Her “meeting” in the elevator and Michael’s complaints had put her on edge. This case was starting to annoy her.

  Walter was a couple of inches taller than she, dressed in suit pants, a dress shirt and tie, and a white coat. His name was embroidered on his jacket, and an ID badge was clipped to the pocket.

  “Ms. Ludlow, Heritage has no involvement in the Hank Reardon situation. We run a business here, and it’s paramount that our clients feel comfortable. Your presence has the opposite effect.”

  Fina put a hand on her hip. “Come on. Those women sitting in there don’t know who I am or what I do.”

  “Leave, or the police will be summoned.”

  Fina smiled. “Yeah, they love being ‘summoned.’”

  Walter glared at her. “Do you understand?”

  “I do.” She started backing away. “But you have to know that this kind of reaction only makes me more curious.”

  “There’s nothing unusual about wanting to protect my organization from harassment.”

  “Maybe I’ll be in touch with Ellen. She seemed less defensive.”

  “I wouldn’t recommend it. Our lawyers will be in touch if you continue this campaign.”

  “As will mine. Sounds much more complicated than the friendly conversation I was suggesting.” She walked to her car and got in.

  Walter watched her from the entrance. He didn’t return her wave when she pulled out of the parking lot. Fina glanced at him in the rearview mirror, rooted to the spot by the front door.

  What was his problem? Anyone that pissy definitely warranted a second look.

  • • •

  Half an hour later, she was sitting in a café in Kendall Square, waiting for a chai latte and Theresa McGovern. Fundamental questions were still unanswered, and these questions weren’t going to answer themselves. Did anyone have an alibi that could be confirmed? Renata’s confirmation was a ten-year-old girl, and Michael didn’t have anyone to confirm his whereabouts. Neither did Juliana. Either the killer was smart and had chosen an ideal time for murder or it had been spur of the moment, and he or she had gotten lucky.

  And how did the killer get to and from the garage? If you were familiar with a scene, you could dodge the security cameras, but it wasn’t easy. She’d have to ask Mickey Hogan if there had been any cars that had entered in the preceding ten hours but hadn’t left the garage in a reasonable time frame. Maybe the car was only a way to get to the scene, not flee it. And what about the murder weapon?

  Fina was starting to doubt that Theresa was going to show when she breezed in the door. She placed her order at the counter and walked over to join Fina.

  “Hey,” she said, peeling off a blazer. Underneath she wore a sleeveless shell that exposed the riot of color on her arms.

  “That’s some ink,” Fina commented.

  “You like?”

  “Not for me, but it looks cool on you.”

  “You’re not too old.”

  “I didn’t think I was, but thanks for the vote of confidence.” She inhaled the scent of chai. “Aren’t you concerned with how it’s going to look when you’re old and droopy?”

  Theresa shrugged, and a man placed a coffee down in front of her. “Nah, not really.” She stirred sugar into the cup. “So how’s that gig at Crystal coming?”

  “It’s coming,” Fina said. “I have a call in to someone over there.” On the drive over from the office, she’d left a message for Dante Trimonti. He was a pimp and budding entrepreneur who controlled a lot of the business that went in and out of Crystal. As with so many of her relationships, she and Dante had a love-hate thing going, but she’d saved his ass before. She had to imagine that any call in which she didn’t threaten to shoot him would be welcome.

  “You better not stiff me on this,” Theresa said. “If you do, I’ll sing like a birdie to Dimitri.”

  “I’m going to do my best, but I’m not making you any promises. If you can’t live with that, I’ll get my information some other way.”

  “I can live with that.” Theresa reached into her bag and pulled out a sheaf of papers. “Hank’s call log from the two weeks before he died.”

  Fina took the papers and glanced at them. “Theresa, you rock.”

  “I’m not sure there’s anything in there, and obviously, the police have the same info.”

  “That’s okay. I didn’t expect an exclusive.” She tucked them into her bag. “Thank you.”

  Theresa held on to her mug and gazed out the window. Fina studied the serpent on her arm. “So do you h
ave a beef with Universum? Is that why you’re doing this?”

  Theresa looked at her. “I’m doing it because I want the gig at Crystal. It’s not that complicated. I don’t want to work as an assistant forever.”

  Fina nodded. Lots of people were motivated by their own self-interest, pure and simple. It wasn’t always about the other guy.

  “How’d you get started as a DJ?”

  Theresa described her evolution from music-crazed teenager to occasionally paid young adult. Maybe it was something Haley would like. A better reason to be in the clubs than drinking and hooking up.

  After draining her coffee, Theresa grabbed her blazer and bag and stood. “I’ll hear from you soon?”

  “Yes. Thanks.” Fina had a last sip of her latte and watched Theresa dodge traffic.

  She looked at the phone log peeking out of her bag. She sincerely hoped that Hank Reardon was a Chatty Cathy.

  • • •

  “Are you available tomorrow morning?” Scotty asked Fina later that night. She’d spent the afternoon poring over Hank Reardon’s call log. She was trying to eliminate calls that had reasonable explanations and look for any patterns. She had spent hours on it with nothing to show so far.

  “Depends on what you want me for.”

  “I’m doing an interview with Rosie Sanchez at the police station, and I thought it might be helpful if you sat in.”

  “Why are you handling it? I told Renata you could refer her to someone who practices criminal law.”

  “She doesn’t want to go there. This way she can pretend there’s nothing criminal going on.”

  “Ah.”

  “I think it would help if you were there.”

  “You’re probably the only one; I don’t think Renata or Pitney would appreciate my presence.”

  “But Rosie would, which is why I think they’ll allow it.”

  “Why not?” She stretched her sore back muscles. “I’m eager to hear what she tells the cops.”

  “Do you think she’s lying about stuff?”

  “I’m not sure. Ask me again tomorrow.”

  Fina spent another hour on the phone log, but reached a point of diminishing returns. All the numbers were starting to look the same, so she took a warm shower and popped some Advil with a few big spoonfuls of chocolate chip ice cream. The smooth iciness of the ice cream felt good against her swollen lip.

  The man in the elevator had been in the back of her mind all day. Despite his suggestion, she wasn’t going to back off, nor could she walk around with her gun cocked. She was too tired to figure out a plan. Instead, she checked the dead bolt, put her gun on her bedside table, and went to sleep.

  Getting choked was a great core workout, Fina concluded the next morning. When she rolled over in bed, her midsection ached in a way it hadn’t in a long time. She braced herself before looking in the bathroom mirror. Part of her lip was puffy and split as if she could benefit from cleft palate surgery. Her neck was bruised and tender to the touch. Other women might try to camouflage it with a scarf, but looking like a badass wasn’t so terrible in her line of work.

  With three Advil, a diet soda, and a handful of Oreos on board, Fina made her way to Dr. Whitmore’s office. A quick recon of the waiting room suggested that Fina was the only woman there who couldn’t use her breasts as flotation devices. Dr. Whitmore examined her face and assured her that ice and anti-inflammatories would do the trick in a matter of weeks. When he started to narrow his eyes and study her nose, Fina knew it was time to leave.

  Scotty was waiting for her at the police station when she arrived.

  “Where’s Rosie?” she asked.

  Scotty looked at her, struggling for words. He’d seen her injuries the day before, but his reaction suggested her self-assessment in the mirror had been kind.

  “It’s not that bad,” Fina insisted.

  “It’s not good.”

  “What do you want me to do about it, Scotty? I just saw Dr. Whitmore, and he prescribed ice and Advil.”

  He shook his head. “I dunno . . . makeup?”

  “Really? You think lipstick is going to fix this?” She gestured at her fat lip.

  “Maybe?”

  “If you’re embarrassed to be seen with me . . .”

  “Hardly. I just have to get used to it.” Scotty contemplated her. “You ever think that maybe you’re not setting a great example for the kids?”

  Fina rolled her eyes. “I’m not a battered wife, dumbnuts. I’m in a dangerous line of work. You should be glad they have such a strong female role model in their lives.” She spotted Renata and Rosie coming through the front door. Rosie was dressed in black pants and a light blue cap-sleeved shirt. Her hair was pulled back in a bun. Renata was in work attire.

  “Is it really a good idea for her to be here?” Renata asked Scotty, nodding at Fina.

  “I want her here, Mom,” Rosie said, staring at Fina, mesmerized by her appearance.

  “Don’t ask,” Fina said. “It’s all good.”

  A uniformed officer escorted them to the same interview room in which Fina and Pitney had had their friendly chat. Scotty took a seat on one of the couches and gestured for Rosie to join him. Renata sat on the other couch, and Fina studied the framed poster of Monet’s Water Lilies.

  A minute later, Pitney and Cristian walked in.

  “Oh, look! The gang’s all here!” Pitney said, and glared at Fina.

  “Rosie asked me to be here,” Fina said, pulling out a chair from the table and sitting down. Pitney sat down across from her, and Cristian took a spot on the couch with Renata. Cristian’s eyes widened, and Pitney followed his gaze to Fina’s face.

  “She doesn’t want to talk about it,” Scotty said, holding his hand up like a crossing guard. “She’s fine, just had a little skirmish.”

  Fina shrugged innocently.

  Renata said something to Cristian in Spanish, looking at Fina.

  “Is she talking about me?” Fina asked.

  “Nobody’s talking about anything in Spanish,” Pitney said. “No offense to your mother tongue.”

  Renata straightened up and looked offended.

  “Let’s get this show on the road,” Scotty said, tapping his watch.

  “Fine. Rosie, where were you on Monday night through Tuesday morning?” Pitney asked.

  Rosie looked at Scotty. “I was staying at my friend’s apartment. Well, actually, it’s not his apartment; it belongs to his brother.” She scrunched up her toes, which were peeking out of her sandals. Her nails were a bright aquamarine color.

  “You’re talking about Bill Hedquist’s place?” Cristian asked. He had produced a small notebook and pen and was taking notes.

  “That’s right. Sam’s brother.”

  “And you were there all night?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Are we done?” Renata asked, and scooted forward on the couch.

  “No, we’re not done,” Pitney snapped. Today’s outfit was a sartorial interpretation of Cinco de Mayo: a blouse with yellow, lime green, and red stripes paired with dark red trousers. “Rosie, tell us about your relationship with Hank Reardon.”

  “I never met the guy,” Rosie said.

  “Never spoke to him?” Cristian asked.

  “Never.”

  “You’re sure?” Pitney asked.

  “Lieutenant.” Scotty tipped his head to the side. “Really? She had no contact with the man.”

  “You didn’t have the urge to seek out your father?” Pitney asked.

  Rosie looked down at her feet. She touched her bun as if to tame an errant hair that wasn’t there. “I wasn’t the one who tried to find him in the first place. Remember?”

  Renata exhaled loudly. Fina imagined this would be the go-to fight for years to come.

  “So you stayed at the apartme
nt all night?”

  “Yes. I already told you that.”

  “Okay,” Pitney said. “Now we’re done.”

  “Great,” Scotty said enthusiastically. “You know how to reach me, Lieutenant.” He shook her hand and Cristian’s and gave Fina’s arm a squeeze on the way out.

  Pitney, Cristian, and Fina stayed behind.

  “What was that all about?” Fina asked.

  Pitney frowned. “Seemed pretty straightforward to me.”

  Fina looked at Cristian, then back at Pitney. “If you say so.”

  In the hallway, Fina found Scotty checking his messages. They moved toward the exit. After a moment, he slipped his phone into his pocket.

  “Renata and Rosie left already?” Fina asked.

  “Yup.”

  “So what do you think they’ve got?” she asked, walking with him to a town car that was idling at the curb.

  “No idea, but something’s up. They were definitely just trying to get her on the record, which usually means they know something we don’t.”

  “Dammit all.” Fina slung her bag over her shoulder and leaned her hip against the car.

  “Do you think Cristian will give you a hint?” her brother asked.

  “Doubt it. I’m going to have to figure it out myself.”

  “Well, get to it, Sis!” Scotty opened the door. “Do you need a ride?”

  “I drove.” She thought for a moment.

  “What is it?” Scotty asked.

  “Nothing,” Fina said. “Just a thought.”

  Scotty looked expectant.

  She shook her head. “I don’t know. I’ll let you know if I come up with anything.”

  “Let me know either way. I don’t want to have to tattle on you to Dad.” He climbed into the car, chuckling. “Have him haul you in for a talking-to.”

  “Very funny. Like you’ve never been hauled in for a lecture.”

  “Touché. Keep in touch, and stay safe.”

  Fina slammed the door and watched the car pull into traffic.

  Just a couple of months before, she’d been dredging up the sordid details of her niece’s illicit activities, and now she was going to have to start digging around Rosie.