Identity (19 page)

“Look, I understand if Rosie just needs some time away from her mom, but I’d like to know that she’s safe at least.”

“I can’t help you.” He held up his hands in supplication. “I don’t know where she is.”

“Okay, well, if you hear from her, you know where to find me.” Fina pushed herself off the couch and picked her way across the room. Tyler vaulted over the back of the sofa and looked over her shoulder when she paused at the table. What looked like specs and blueprints were spread across the table’s surface.

“Is this a school project?”

“Yeah, I’m just working on some stuff before the semester starts.”

Fina eyed a fanned stack of color photos of food. “That looks good.” She tapped a photo of seared ahi tuna.

“We have to come up with a complete restaurant concept: menu, decor, financial plan, the whole thing.”

“A financial plan? That sounds daunting.”

“It’s part of the business. Doesn’t matter how good your food is if you can’t pay your suppliers.”

Fina climbed the stairs and suspected that Tyler was checking out
her ass as he followed. That was okay. It was her job as his elder to school him in the benefits of older women—brains and beauty.

Fina returned to her car and turned the key so she could roll down the windows. She checked her messages and e-mail, but didn’t have to wait long. After a few minutes, Tyler came trotting down the front steps, hopped in an old Honda Civic, and took off.

Fina followed Tyler to a triple-decker in Allston and waited outside. No one else showed up during that time, and Fina couldn’t very well knock on the door and pretend she was lost. She took down the address and the license plate of the car in the driveway and called a few contacts while she waited. It wasn’t strictly legal to run a license plate number through the Registry of Motor Vehicles, but only doing what was strictly legal was so limiting. Tyler came out after an hour and returned to his car. Fina trailed him to Cambridge and the restaurant where he worked.

Renata wasn’t picking up her phone, but when she called Cristian, he confirmed that Rosie was still MIA.

“And you better get over here,” Cristian said as Fina navigated through Cambridge.

“Where’s here?”

“Back Bay. Renata is making trouble at the Reardons’ place.”

“Oh, Jesus. I’ll be right there.”

The sun was peeking out through some clouds, and Fina admired the view crossing the BU Bridge. There were small sailboats dotting the Charles and runners on the Esplanade.

Fina pulled into a loading zone on Commonwealth and put on her
hazards. Cristian was standing on the sidewalk, deep in conversation with Renata. Two uniformed officers were chatting nearby.

“What’s she doing here?” Renata asked as Fina approached.

“I thought maybe she could talk some sense into you,” Cristian said.

“Renata, what are you doing?” Fina asked.

“I’m just trying to find Rosie.”

“So am I, but that doesn’t explain why you’re here.”

They moved toward the front steps when a cadre of nannies overtook the sidewalk with strollers that resembled small foreign cars. The women spoke a foreign language in a staccato tone while their charges lolled and slept in their rolling pods of luxury.

“I thought maybe she came here to find out about her father.” There were dark circles under Renata’s eyes and a faint sheen of oil across her face.

“And did she?” Fina asked.

“Not according to her.” Renata rolled her eyes toward the house.

“Mrs. Reardon says she’s never met Rosie, and as far as she knows, Rosie never came to the house,” Cristian said, glancing at his cell phone. “I need to go; can you . . . ?” He looked at Fina.

“Of course.”

“I don’t need babysitting,” Renata protested.

Fina heard a slight commotion and looked to see the uniforms debating with a photographer and a woman she assumed was a journalist.

“Unless you want more bad press, you need to leave now and stay away from the Reardons.” Fina put her hand on Renata’s elbow and began steering her down the street.

“I’m going crazy with worry, Fina.”

“I know, but I think I have a lead. Go to work or go home, whatever, but leave the sleuthing to me.”

“Fine,” Renata said petulantly.

“Renata, don’t give me attitude. I’m doing you a favor.”

Renata opened her mouth to speak.

“I don’t want to hear it,” Fina said, and walked to her car.

•   •   •

Walter was struggling to get the boxes into the trunk of his car when Ellen appeared at his side.

“Do you need a hand with that, Walter?” she asked.

He prodded it into the space, a task made more difficult under her watchful gaze. “No, thank you. I can manage.” He bent the corner of the second box and gave it a final push before slamming the trunk closed.

“Were those cryobank files?” Ellen asked.

“No, no. Just some personal papers from years ago. Decades, in fact.”

“Huh.” She thought for a moment. “And you kept them at the office?”

“You don’t have any personal items floating around your office, Ellen? I find that hard to believe.” He smiled at her. “Was there something you needed?”

“I wanted to discuss the visit you had from the police.”

Walter walked toward the driver’s-side door. “There’s nothing to discuss.”

“The police are investigating the bank in relation to a murder case. Sounds like something worth discussing. The management team, at the very least, should be brought up to speed.”

“There really is nothing to it, and I don’t want to worry the team needlessly.”

Ellen stood next to him. “I’m sure you’re well intentioned, but you don’t need to protect the team. They’re all professionals.”

“If it would make you feel better, I can tell everyone the same thing I’ve just told you: that it’s a nonissue.”

“I think that’s a good idea. I don’t think secrets are good for morale.” Her eyes strayed toward the trunk. “They breed mistrust, which can only lead to greater problems.”

“If you say so, Ellen. You make it sound much more nefarious than it is.”

“Good-bye, Walter.”

He watched her walk to her car, wishing that she were fat and ugly.
It would be easier to dismiss her if she were physically unattractive. Her appearance was just one of many weapons in her arsenal.

•   •   •

The next morning, Fina bypassed the front desk at Universum and headed for Hank Reardon’s office. The blinds on Dimitri Kask’s office were closed, and his assistant wasn’t around, but there was a young woman sitting outside the door of Hank’s office.

“May I help you?” she asked Fina. She had fair skin and red hair that cascaded down her shoulders in waves. She wasn’t traditionally pretty, but her appearance was striking. She was wearing a hunter green blouse and gray trousers. Crystal chandelier earrings hung from her earlobes. A nameplate on her desk said
THERESA MCGOVERN
.

“I’m Fina Ludlow.” She handed the young woman her ID. “Michael Ludlow asked me to stop by and take a look at his father’s office.”

Theresa studied her. “Really? I don’t think anyone is supposed to be in there.”

“Really. Michael Reardon asked me to. He’s hired me to find his father’s killer.”

“I thought the police were doing that.” Theresa didn’t look much older than twenty-five, but it was clear that her youth should not be mistaken for naïveté.

“They are, but Michael hired me, too.”

“Huh. I’m not exactly a stickler for the rules, but why should I let you poke around?”

“Do you think Hank had something to hide?”

Theresa opened her top desk drawer and pulled out a compact mirror. She popped it open and examined her face in the tiny mirror. “You ask a lot of questions.”

“It is my job. So how about it?”

“I definitely can’t let you in there when Dimitri’s around.” Her movements caused her sleeve to ride up, and Fina caught a glimpse of an elaborate dragon tattoo snaking up her arm.

“Maybe some other time?”

Theresa narrowed her eyes. “You still haven’t told me what’s in it for me.”

“Don’t you want to know who killed your boss?”

She snapped the compact shut. “I don’t really care, as long as whoever it is doesn’t come back and kill me next.”

“Oookay. So I’m guessing this isn’t your dream job.”

“Hardly. I work here to pay the bills and keep my nights free.”

“Dare I ask what you do at night?” Fina was flashing back to Melanie’s death and the sordid world of escorts Fina’s investigation had revealed.

“I’m a DJ. I just do this for the health insurance.”

Fina leaned her hands on the desk. “You ever work at Crystal?”

“The huge club near Fenway? I wish.”

“I know some people over there; maybe I could put in a good word.”

“Seriously? How do I know you’re not full of it?”

“You don’t. Sometimes you just have to take a chance.”

Voices moved toward them from behind Dimitri’s closed door. Fina pulled out her card and handed it to Theresa. “We should discuss this someplace else. Call me if you want to take me up on that career advancement.”

Theresa dropped the card into her purse and busied herself behind her computer. Fina walked away just as Dimitri’s door opened.

•   •   •

When Fina checked her e-mail, the document Greta had promised was sitting in her in-box. The birth certificate from Rockford, Maine, listed the baby’s name as Ann Sylvia Patterson, with a birthdate of July 17, 1966, at 3:43
A.M.
The mother’s name was Elizabeth Hardwick Patterson, but the line for the father was blank. This didn’t surprise Fina. Fathers’ names weren’t compulsory on birth certificates, depending upon the state, and given that Elizabeth had most likely had the child
out of wedlock in the late sixties, the family probably kept the whole pregnancy under wraps.

Fina dialed Greta Samuels’s number. She was just about to hang up when a woman answered.

“I’m calling for Greta Samuels.”

“This is Greta.” The voice sounded raspy, like the speaker was under the weather.

“Ms. Samuels, this is Fina Ludlow, the private investigator. We spoke yesterday.”

“Oh, of course.” She perked up. “Did you get the birth certificate?”

“I did, thank you. Obviously, it’s not conclusive, since the two certificates have different names.”

“But don’t the birthdates match? Rockford is a small town. The population is less than three thousand.”

“Yes, the birthdates match, but I still need to authenticate the birth certificate you provided. How did you get it, by the way? Generally original birth certificates of adoptees are sealed.”

“Well, like I said, Rockford is a small town. Our family doctor cared for my sister, and she ended up with the birth certificate.”

Fina could imagine a scenario in which the certificate got “misplaced” and never ended up in the sealed file. Documents were lost all the time, even in this day and age. “I’d like to have a colleague of mine stop by and look at the original.”

There was a long pause.

“Ms. Samuels?”

“Yes, of course. The only thing is that I’m heading out of town for a bit.”

“Oh, anyplace fun?”

“Not really. My cousin is ill, and I’m visiting her.”

Fina waited for more information, which wasn’t forthcoming. “Okay. I do need to verify the birth certificate.”

“I’m so sorry I won’t be available. I want nothing more than to meet Risa.”

“Maybe you could leave it with a neighbor or a friend? It will only take him a few minutes to examine it.”

“I suppose I could do that.”

“It would be very helpful.”

Greta gave her a name and address.

“I hope your cousin feels better,” Fina said, and ended the call. She studied the document on her screen. Something felt weird, but she couldn’t put her finger on it.

She called a PI in Portland whom she hired on occasion and asked him to go to the friend’s house to review the birth certificate. If Greta was running a con, she was going to a lot of trouble.

•   •   •

Juliana and Michael were in Hank’s office at Universum Tech. Juliana sat on the couch while Michael sorted through folders in his father’s file cabinets.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Michael asked his mother.

“Why wouldn’t it be? You have every right to go through your father’s papers.”

“I’m not so sure about that, actually. You
definitely
don’t.”

“We’re not doing anything illegal, Michael.” Juliana gestured toward the windowed walls of the office and the assistants perched on the other side of the glass. “We’re not sneaking around.” She didn’t mention the fact that Dimitri was conveniently off-site.

“Danielle wouldn’t like it.”

“Her feelings are not my concern.”

“All this paperwork is going to the attorneys anyway; you’ll hear about it eventually.”

“I’d rather not wait.” Juliana looked at her hands. Now that she was a triathlete—she never got tired of saying that—she wore sunscreen every day, but her hands were still a golden brown tone. She didn’t like the idea of wrinkles or, God forbid, skin cancer, but she had to admit, everybody looked better with a tan.