Identity (11 page)

Fina turned on the TV. Hank’s death dominated the coverage, and like most explosive news stories it was filled with lots of conjecture but few facts. He’d been found around three
A.M.
in the parking garage of his company, Universum Tech, by a security guard. There was no word yet on the cause of death, but it definitely was suspicious.

What had Renata Sanchez unleashed?

•   •   •

Walter turned onto the street and saw a clot of news vans in the parking lot. Like many successful people, Walter had mixed feelings about
the press. He loved to be the recipient of positive attention, but he didn’t like it when he couldn’t control the narrative.

He steered his way through the crowd, careful not to run over any feet, and emerged from his car wearing a confident smile.

“Dr. Stiles, can you comment on Hank Reardon’s death?”

“Does it have something to do with the cryobank?”

“When did his cryokids learn his identity?”

Presumably, they got results from this rapid-fire approach, but Walter just found it annoying.

“I know you have many questions, and we will have information for you in good time,” he said into a few microphones. “However, Heritage is private property, and our clients’ comfort and safety are our first priority. I’ll have to ask you to move from the parking lot.”

They called out a few more questions as he strode to the front door and walked into the clinic. The receptionist popped up, her face shell-shocked. There were half a dozen women sitting in the waiting area.

Walter leaned over the desk and spoke to the heavily pregnant woman.

“Please call the police and tell them that the media are trespassing.”

“Yes, Dr. Stiles.”

“Any other problems I should know about?”

She gestured toward the reporters. “They came in before, asking questions, but Ellen made them leave.”

“Good. She should have finished the job and removed them from the parking lot. I don’t want this stress to be a problem for you, Debby. It’s not good for your pregnancy.”

She smiled at him. “I feel okay.”

“Well, put your feet up if you don’t. Doctor’s orders.”

Walter walked back through the hallway and stood in the open door of Ellen’s office.

“Good morning, Walter,” she said. She was wearing a dress in a
turquoise and navy print. Her blond hair was pulled back into a bun that sat low on her neck.

He stood stiffly before her. “I was hounded by the press in the parking lot.”

Ellen frowned. “I asked them to leave.”

“That may be, but they didn’t. I’ve asked Debby to call the police.”

“That sounds like a good idea.”

Walter exhaled loudly. No matter what he said, Ellen always seemed to twist things to her advantage. He hadn’t been asking her opinion but rather stating what she should have done already.

“I’d like the management team to meet today to discuss this situation,” he said.

“Already done.” Ellen tapped her pen on her blotter. “I’ve told everyone to meet in the conference room at ten.”

Walter nodded. “Good.”

He left and walked down the hall to his larger, more luxurious office. Walter had a corner office with windows on two walls and room for a large desk and a bookcase that displayed the honors he’d received throughout his career. One wall was covered with baby pictures, girls and boys of every shape and size who existed only because Heritage had made their conceptions possible. There were a number of these displays throughout the bank; Walter liked visitors to constantly be reminded of Heritage’s higher purpose. Yes, the cryobank was a business, but the most important thing they made was families.

There was a small closet in Walter’s office, and before taking off his coat, he went into it and unlocked the bottom drawer of a gray metal filing cabinet hidden inside. He pulled out stacks of files and deposited them in empty banker’s boxes. Once two boxes were packed and safely tucked under his desk, Walter took off his coat and settled down in front of his computer.

There. One less thing to worry about.

•   •   •

“What took you so long?” Carl asked when Fina arrived.

Fina sat down on the couch. “What, are you kidding? You called me an hour ago.”

“You only live ten minutes from here.”

“Do you really want to hear the details of my morning routine? Well, first I had to pee.”

Carl grimaced. “At least tell me you have more information than what they’ve got.” He gestured toward a flat-screen TV that was playing the local news.

“I called one of my contacts in the coroner’s office. Hank Reardon was found around three
A.M.
in the parking garage of his company, Universum Tech. Looks like death from blunt force trauma.”

“Who found him?”

“Security guard.”

“What else?”

“Nothing else. The body is barely cold.” She rested her head against the back of the sofa and studied the ceiling. “Are we to assume this has something to do with us?”

“It seems like a safe assumption.” He exhaled loudly. “It means I’m going to have cops crawling all over my ass.”

“Probably. Have you spoken to Renata today?” Fina asked.

“I got a voice mail from her, firing us.”

“Really? Well, that solves some of our problems.”

“According to our contract, the relationship can only be terminated in writing.”

“And you’re going to hold her to it?”

Carl shrugged and was silent for a moment. “You think she has it in her to murder Hank Reardon?”

Fina moved her head back and forth. “Maybe.”

“She’s a small woman.”

“Blunt force trauma is an equal-opportunity means; with the right weapon, anyone can do a lot of damage.”

“You better go see her, figure out if she needs a criminal attorney.”

Fina stood. “You still think cryobanks and sperm donation are the next big thing in lawsuits?”

“Damn right I do. Murder means passion, and passion means lawsuits.”

“Spoken like a hopeless romantic,” Fina said, walking out the door.

•   •   •

Fina pulled up to Renata’s house just as Renata was shepherding Alexa out the front door. Alexa looked camp-bound, with an overstuffed backpack and a towel in her hands. Renata was juggling a briefcase, an insulated lunch bag, and a plastic bag holding a pair of heels.

“Not now, Fina. I don’t have time,” she said while unlocking the car door.

“Renata, we need to talk.”

“And I don’t have time right now. Call me later.”

“Have you seen the news?” Fina glanced at Alexa, who seemed altogether too interested in the conversation.

“I really don’t have time for a guessing game.” Renata leaned down and started the car.

“Hank Reardon is dead.”

Alexa’s eyes grew wide.

Renata’s mouth opened and then closed. “Well, I don’t know what I can do about it,” she finally said.

“The police are going to want to interview you, and the press are going to be even more demanding.”

“Well, this isn’t my fault!” Renata protested.

“The murder may not be, but the media circus is. What were you thinking, going to the press?”

Renata studied the ground and avoided Fina’s gaze. “I just wanted to set things straight.”

“That really worked. Where’s Rosie, anyway?”

“She stayed with a friend last night.”

“Rosie was wicked mad,” Alexa offered helpfully.

Renata glared at her.

“Is that so?” Fina asked. “What was she mad about, Renata?”

“She wasn’t just mad at me, if that’s what you’re suggesting. She was also angry with Hank and his attempt to pay her off.”

“For Pete’s sake, why did you tell her about that?”

“It’s her life. She has a right to know.”

Fina shook her head in wonderment. “Renata, come into the office so we can talk about getting ahead of this story, and don’t talk to the cops without counsel.”

Renata ducked into her car. Fina watched her drive away.

•   •   •

In her car, Fina was scrolling through her e-mails when her phone rang. Cristian’s number lit up the display.

“What’s up? Did Brad Martin do something dramatic, like buy a new vacuum cleaner?”

“I’m glad you amuse yourself. You need to come by the station.”

Fina looked out the window; a petite woman was on the sidewalk being walked by a large black Lab. “Because?”

“Because Pitney wants to see you.”

“I don’t know who killed Hank Reardon.”

“She wants to talk.”

“Oh, blah, blah, blah. I haven’t even done anything yet.”

“That we know of.”

“Fine. I’ll stop by.”

“She wants to see you now.”

“Well, I’m a busy woman.”

“So is she, and she has the law on her side and a lot of people riding her ass.”

“Don’t antagonize her? Is that what you’re saying?”

“Nothing gets by you, Ludlow.”

“I’m on my way.”

•   •   •

“I’m here to see Lieutenant Pitney,” Fina announced at Boston Police headquarters twenty minutes later.

The desk sergeant gave her a weary once-over and pointed to the uncomfortable wooden benches across from his bulletproof perch. After tapping her toe for ten minutes, Fina got up and waited her turn behind a uniformed cop and his odiferous charge.

“Can you let Lieutenant Pitney know I stopped by? I’ll try to catch her later.”

“What’s your name?” The desk sergeant asked.

“Fina Ludlow.”

“Ah. In that case, ‘sit down and cool your jets.’ That’s what she said to tell you.”

“Ugh. Fine.”

Fina sat and waited. Ten more minutes passed, but she was done cooling her jets. She started toward the front door.

“Ludlow!”

“Dammit,” Fina said under her breath. She looked up to see Pitney at the top of the stairs, beckoning to her.

She led Fina to a room reserved for victims and family members; it was painted a neutral color and had two comfortable couches and framed prints on the wall. There was a small round table surrounded by four chairs. Pitney took a seat and pointed at another for Fina.

“Not an interview room? I think you’re starting to like me,” Fina said.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

Fina and Pitney had a love-hate relationship. They were often on opposite sides of the fence, but each recognized in the other a smart, competent woman. Their interactions were fraught with lies, bickering, and grudging respect. They had most recently been at odds during
the investigation of Melanie’s death, but Fina had provided Pitney with key information and hadn’t covered for her brother in traditional Ludlow fashion. Fina hoped this had earned her some points with the lieutenant.

“So you called, and I came,” Fina said.

“I’d like to get some things clear about the Hank Reardon case.” Pitney rested her hand on a folder on the table; her coral-colored nails looked like small wounds against the manila. They were a sharp contrast to her royal blue pants and red-striped blouse. Her gun sat on her right hip. Pitney was short and round and always brought to mind an armed garden gnome.

Fina sat back in her chair. “I know nothing about his death.”

“How is it that every time I turn around, you’re up to your neck in one of my cases?”

“You’re being a little dramatic. We were hired by Renata Sanchez to identify her donor and possibly sue the cryobank. I investigated, learned Hank’s identity, and the concerned parties were in talks.”

“But now one of the concerned parties is dead.”

“A man worth billions who had his share of enemies. I certainly hope your investigation is going to look at all possible suspects, not just the ones associated with my family.”

“What do you think?”

“Just checking.”

There was a tap at the door, and Cristian popped his head in. “Lieutenant, we’re ready for you.”

Pitney got up from her seat. “Don’t get in the way, and tell Cristian what you know.”

“Some of it is covered by privilege,” Fina reminded her.

“Share what you can according to the law. Otherwise, you’re looking at obstruction.”

Fina scoffed. “You deem my very existence obstructive.”

“And I’m the one who’s dramatic?”

“I can’t help it; it runs in the family.”

“Good-bye, Fina.” Pitney left the room, and Cristian took her seat.

“What do you have for me?” he asked.

Fina sighed and gave him an overview of her investigation into Hank Reardon and his offspring. It didn’t take long.

“Have you seen that guy again? The one in the park?” Cristian asked.

“Nope. Maybe I was just being paranoid.”

Cristian looked at her. “You’re many things, but paranoid isn’t one of them.”

“Well, thank you.” Fina smiled.

Cristian grinned and shook his head. “Watch your back.”

“Oh, stop with the sweet nothings.”

Fina left the station satisfied that she’d done her civic duty for the day.

•   •   •

Back at Nanny’s, Fina fielded a concerned phone call from the building manager. Apparently, members of the press had connected her to Hank’s “coming out” as a donor and were eager to talk to her. They’d spent the day hanging around, annoying the other residents. It wasn’t the first time that Fina had brought the media to the building, and there was talk of her violating homeowners’ association rules.

“You’re not serious,” she told the manager.

“It’s disruptive, Ms. Ludlow. This is a quiet building, and the residents value their privacy.”

“Well, the press aren’t interested in them,” she noted.

He was silent.

“Fine. I’ll take care of it.” She hung up and retreated to the bedroom. After stripping off her clothes and climbing into bed naked, Fina lay on her back and looked at the ceiling.

Renata Sanchez really was the gift that kept on giving.