Brutality (6 page)

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K
evin Lafferty wanted to patronize Hamlin’s shoe store, but their hours weren’t convenient for anyone who held down a job. He and Sheila had purchased the kids’ first baby shoes at the local store, and he knew the place was barely holding on, but who had time to shop for shoes in the middle of a weekday?

So instead, he found himself in the aisle of a big-box sporting goods store on a Monday night, trying to make sense of rows upon rows of sneakers.

“Robby! Casey! Stay with me, guys,” he called out to his young sons.

Two smaller versions of Kevin came careening around the corner, nearly knocking over an end display of men’s basketball shoes.

“Easy, guys. Don’t tear up the place.” He mussed the light brown hair on their heads and shooed them over to a bench in the middle of the aisle. “What size are you?”

“How are we supposed to know?” five-year-old Casey inquired.

“Well, pull off your sneakers and tell me what size those are. We know those are too small, so we’ll move up from there.”

The boys each pulled off a shoe and examined the tongue.

“I’m a one, Dad,” Robby, the eight-year-old, offered.

“I don’t know what I am,” Casey moaned.

“Robby, help your brother while I look for you.” He searched the stacks of boxes looking for size two.

A woman came into the aisle trailed by a young boy. “Excuse me,” she said, squeezing past Kevin in the tight space.

He returned her smile and watched her walk away.
Not too shabby. Not too shabby at all,
he thought, admiring her slim body. Kevin hadn’t noticed if she was wearing a ring, but he knew that he only need follow her and strike up a conversation to get the ball rolling. Not that Kevin was looking, but he was well aware of the effect he had on women. He had light brown hair and bright blue eyes. His smile was easy and his teeth straight. Women responded to Kevin like a fighter to smelling salts.

“Dad. Dad!” Robby interrupted his reverie. “Casey’s size eleven.”

“Thanks, kiddo.” He reached up to grab a box off the top shelf. “Here’s your size, and these”—he dropped down to a squat and plucked another box—“these should work for Case.”

Of course the shoes weren’t laced, so Kevin sat down and made quick work of them. At least that meant the boys would have practice tying them. There was a whole generation of kids being raised who had no idea how to tie a shoelace. It was ridiculous. Pretty soon they wouldn’t be able to read analog clocks anymore.

Robby worked his feet into the shoes, but Casey needed Kevin’s help to pull his on.

“What do you think?” Kevin asked as Robby ran up and down the aisle. Casey followed suit, never wanting to be left behind by his big brother.

“I like them,” Robby said.

“Come over and let me check your toes,” Kevin said. He reached down and depressed the end of the sneaker, checking that Robby’s toes weren’t too squished or swimming in the shoe. “I think that’s good. What about you, buddy?” he asked Casey.

“They make me run superfast, Dad,” his youngest said, tearing by him.

“The shoes don’t make you faster, dummy,” Robby remarked.

“Hey, watch it. Don’t call your brother names. Say you’re sorry.”

Robby looked down at his highly engineered sneakers. “Sorry,” he grumbled.

“Let me take a look, Casey.” Kevin performed the same toe test on the boy and declared them a perfect fit. “Do you want to wear them out?”

“Yes!” they exclaimed in unison.

“All right. Let’s go pay.” Kevin boxed up their old shoes and tucked the boxes under his arm. He thought they should just be pitched in the trash, but he did that last time and Sheila was not happy. She wanted to keep the shoes for when it was wet or muddy, which seemed unnecessarily frugal to him. They did okay; why did they need to recycle smelly sneakers?

Back at the car, he helped the boys get buckled in. He was in charge of dinner since Sheila was on a late shift at the hospital, but he didn’t feel like cooking.

“Who wants McDonald’s?” he asked.

There were cheers of assent from the backseat. They got bags of burgers and greasy fries at the drive-thru and drove home, where they sat and ate in front of the TV. After a couple of episodes of
SpongeBob SquarePants
, Kevin put them both in a warm shower and then tucked them in with a chapter of Harry Potter.

What was Sheila always grousing about? The boys didn’t seem like such hard work to him.

4.

It was six thirty
P.M.
, and Fina needed food. She was dreaming of sausage and mushroom pizza when her phone dinged with a text. Jamie Gottlieb was ready to talk. He was on his way home to Hyde Park and wondered if Fina could swing by in an hour. She put her pizza dreams on hold and pointed her car toward the Barone/Gottlieb household.

Technically still within the city of Boston, Hyde Park looked more suburban than urban, with small single-family homes and tree-lined streets. Liz and Jamie’s house was a modest colonial with a white picket fence and an oak tree in the front yard. A swing hanging from a large bough gently rocked in the wind, and the remnants of a snowman teetered on the lawn. Their last snowfall had been a few days ago, and they’d entered the yucky phase of a winter wonderland: brown snow, slushy salt that stained your boots, and crusty snowbanks that made walking nearly impossible.

There was an old Passat and a minivan in the driveway. The light by the front door burned brightly. Fina checked her watch and, since she was early, decided to check in with the neighbors. Canvassing door-to-door was tedious work that rarely garnered useful information. People like to believe their memories are like steel traps, but actually, they’re more like sieves and highly unreliable. Fina knocked on eight doors, five of which were opened. Two of the neighbors hadn’t been home at the approximate time of Liz’s attack, two were eating dinner or helping with homework, and Mrs. Barbatto, the elderly neighbor, was watching the news. They all had nice things to say about Liz and Jamie, but Fina gained nothing from the outing other than frozen feet.

She rang the bell at Liz’s and did a little dance to keep the blood flowing to her extremities. She was greeted a minute later by a gray-haired woman in black pants and a thick pullover sweater.

“Hi, I’m here to see Jamie.”

“Is he expecting you?” she asked.

“Yes. I’m Fina Ludlow.”

The woman studied her, then stepped back and invited her into the house. The door opened directly into the living room, which was comfortably furnished, but cluttered. There were toys and children’s books on the floor, and messy stacks of newspaper had overtaken the coffee table. An overflowing laundry basket stood by the TV, and a Tupperware container with art supplies balanced precariously on the arm of a chair.

“Could you wait here for a moment?” the woman asked. Her face was lined with fatigue.

“Of course.”

Fina pulled off her boots and jacket once her hostess had retreated; if Jamie had had a change of heart, it would be harder to ask her to leave if she had already shed her layers.

The woman returned to the front hall. “He’s in the kitchen. Come on back.”

Fina followed her through a dining room that doubled as a home office and into the kitchen, which overlooked the backyard. Jamie was sitting at the kitchen table.

“I’m going to check on the kids,” the woman said before making herself scarce.

Fina watched her leave and let her eyes wander around the room. There were no signs of the violence that had occurred there only days before. Someone had done a good job cleaning up.

“That’s Mrs. Sandraham,” Jamie explained. “She babysits. She wanted to be sure I was up for a visitor.”

Fina took a seat across from him. “How are the kids doing?”

“They miss their mom. Luckily, Mrs. Sandraham and Liz’s friends have been helping out.”

“It takes a village, even under the best of circumstances,” Fina murmured.

Jamie got up and pulled a bottle of beer from the fridge. He waggled it in Fina’s direction, and she nodded. Clients and interviewees always felt more comfortable if you followed their lead, so mimicking their drink order was an occupational hazard. If Fina had a dime for every beverage she didn’t actually want, she’d be a rich woman and have to pee much less often.

“How are you holding up?” Fina asked.

“I’m okay. Just waiting.” Jamie popped the tops off the two bottles and handed one to Fina before slumping back into his seat.

Fina knew that you didn’t watch and wait indefinitely. At some point, the doctors would determine if Liz had any brain function. If she did, the family had a long road ahead of them. If she didn’t, they had an agonizing decision to make. Both options were odious.

“I appreciate your taking the time to speak with me. I know you’re exhausted and want to spend time with your kids.”

Jamie took a long swallow rather than respond.

“When we spoke on Saturday,” Fina continued, “you seemed convinced that the attack was random.”

He nodded.

“So you can’t think of anyone with whom Liz had a conflict or some kind of grudge?”

“No.”

“What is her relationship like with her family?”

“It’s good,” Jamie said. “She gets along well with her mom and sisters.”

“Is she closer to one sister than the other?”

“Nicole, but she gets along fine with Dawn. They’re so damn competitive.” He shook his head. “It’s ridiculous.”

“How so?”

“They compare road race times and do impromptu push-up contests.”

That sounded like the kind of thing Fina and her brothers would do. She had no doubt that if she proposed a push-up contest, Matthew and Scotty would drop to the floor like lead balloons. Carl might even join in—anything to allow him to prove his prowess.

“What about friends and coworkers?”

“She’s got some friends in the neighborhood. I can give you some names, and she’s still tight with Tasha Beemis-Jones.”

“I left a message for Tasha this afternoon. How about at work?”

Jamie picked at the label on his beer bottle. “She likes her colleagues. Her boss is a jerk, but I think that’s just work stuff.”

“What kind of work stuff?” Fina asked.

“I don’t know the specifics, just that Vikram rides her ass.”

Fina drank some beer. “I’m kind of surprised you don’t know the specifics,” she ventured.

“Why? Liz doesn’t know all the details of my job and my office politics. We don’t get a lot of time to talk, and when we do, we don’t talk about work.”

“Do you enjoy your work?” Fina asked.

Jamie looked at her quizzically. “I don’t get why that’s important.”

“I’m just getting the lay of the land.”

He shrugged. “I like it.”

“But not as much as playing music.”

“No, not as much as playing music, but I couldn’t make a living doing that, and the benefits package is nonexistent.” He grimaced.

Fina took a swig of beer before reaching into her bag. She pulled out one of the old NEU newspapers. “Can you take a look at this picture and tell me if you recognize anyone?” The paper was folded to highlight a large photo taken on the sidelines of a soccer game. It featured players and others in street clothes.

Jamie pulled the paper toward him. “That’s Liz, obviously.” He pointed at a younger, healthier version of his wife. “Tasha, Coach Adams, and that’s Kelly.” He indicated each of them.

“Kelly Wegner?”

“Yeah. How’d you know?”

“Bobbi mentioned her.”

He nodded. “She and her husband live a few streets away. The kids are playmates.”

“That’s nice,” Fina said. “I love living close to my college best friend.” Speaking of which, she owed Milloy Danielson, her BFF, a phone call. He was usually up for sausage and mushroom pizza. “I met with Thatcher Kinney this morning.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Have you met him?”

“I went to Liz’s first meeting with him,” Jamie said. “I’d met him before at a Christmas party or something like that.”

“And what did you think?”

Jamie tore off another strip of the bottle label. “He seemed like a nice guy.”

Fina squinted at him. “Did you think he was doing a good job? Was he a good advocate for Liz?”

“I’m not really involved in the lawsuit, but he seemed fine to me.”

She nodded. Jamie’s lack of interest in—or at least awareness of—Liz’s activities struck her as strange. She didn’t think spouses should know every shred of information about each other, but this seemed especially hands-off.

“What about her interactions with the development office at NEU? I got hold of some correspondence that suggests they were prodding Liz for a donation.”

“Alma maters are always asking for money.”

“Sure, but it seems pretty insensitive to ask her to support a program that she held responsible for her condition.”

“Liz is mad at everyone at NEU,” he said. “I wouldn’t narrow it down to one department.”

Fina tapped her nail against her beer bottle. “I’m sorry to ask this because I know it’s nosy and indelicate, but how were you and Liz doing?”

Jamie paused, his nearly empty bottle halfway to his mouth. “Are you asking me if I clobbered my wife?”

“No, but I assume your answer would be no if I were asking.”

“Yeah, that’s exactly what my answer would be. Liz and I are good. Everything’s fine on that front.”

“Glad to hear it.” Fina swallowed the rest of her beer and carried the empty over to the sink. “Could you give me Kelly’s contact info? I need to ask her a few questions.”

Jamie grabbed his phone and read off Kelly’s number.

“What about Coach Adams?” Fina asked.

“A dead end, literally. He died about seven years ago.”

“Okeydoke. I’ll be in touch when I have news.”

“Great,” Jamie said unenthusiastically, trailing her to the front door, where she struggled into her outerwear.

“Did the cops take Liz’s computer?” she asked, her hand on the doorknob.

“Yes.”

“I’d love to take a peek when you get it back.”

Jamie shrugged. “Sure.”

Sitting in her car with the vent blasting hot air, Fina thought about the conversation. Bobbi was the one actually paying her bill, but it struck her as odd that Jamie hadn’t asked Fina for a progress report. Didn’t he care who attacked his wife? Did he already know who did? Was he the one who attacked her, which would explain his disinterest?