Identity (22 page)

“Ms. Sanchez, it’s nice to see you again,” Pitney said. Cristian smiled and nodded at Renata and Fina. “We’d like to ask you some more questions.”

“I already answered your questions.” Renata reached down and pulled off her sensible pumps, which she shoved into the corner.

“I know, but murder investigations are complicated. We often conduct multiple interviews and ask the same questions multiple times.”

Renata shrugged.

Pitney turned toward Fina. “Don’t you have someplace to be, Fina?”

“You two know each other?” Renata asked.

“Some of my cases have overlapped in the past with Lieutenant Pitney’s and Detective Menendez’s,” Fina said.

“Well, that’s very cozy,” Renata said, reaching into a cupboard and pulling out an apron. She put it on over her black pantsuit, then turned on the oven.

Pitney looked at Renata and then Fina. “I think we should do this privately.”

Renata began opening various cabinets, pulling out dishes and ingredients. She didn’t say anything.

“Or we can do it at the station,” the lieutenant suggested.

Renata sighed. “Just do it now. It doesn’t matter to me if Fina stays.”

Pitney glared at Fina.

“I don’t have anyplace to be, really,” Fina said, and smiled. She leaned her hip against one of the counters. Cristian suppressed a grin.

Pitney scowled at her, then turned her attention to Renata. “We wanted to talk a little more about your interactions with Hank Reardon.”

Renata’s eyes strayed to the next room, where Alexa was still sitting at the table, writing in a journal.

Cristian nodded toward the girl. “Should she maybe . . . ?”

“It’s fine. I don’t believe in keeping secrets from my children.” Pitney and Cristian exchanged a glance. This open-book approach to parenting was increasingly popular and wildly inappropriate. Some of their work-related conversations were barely suitable for adults, let alone children. “And he wasn’t
her
father, anyway.”

“That hardly seems the point, Ms. Sanchez,” Pitney said. Cristian watched his boss. Pitney was tough, and he was often caught in the
middle between her and Fina, but she was forthright and principled. Cristian respected her. “She’s a minor. I don’t think we should discuss this in front of her.”

“I have to agree, Renata,” Fina said, earning a raised eyebrow from Pitney.

Cristian looked at Alexa, who peered up at him from beneath her thick bangs. She popped a chip into her mouth.

“I’ll decide what’s best for my child, not the police.” Renata turned to the counter and faced the stack of ingredients she’d gathered there. She peeled the top off a Tupperware container filled with red liquid and dipped a tortilla into it. She spooned meat and cheese onto it, rolled it into a tight parcel, and placed it in the bottom of a casserole dish.

“Had you ever met Hank Reardon before you learned he was your donor?” Pitney asked.

“Not that I can remember. We hardly moved in the same circles.”

“No, but you were both active in community events,” Pitney commented.

“I don’t attend the galas and fund-raisers that people like the Reardons do. I don’t have thousands of dollars to spend on buying a table.”

Fina knew her father often purchased a table at the events hosted by his favorite charities. Usually, the minimum outlay was ten thousand dollars; that kind of charity required deep pockets.

“So when did you first meet him?”

“At the meeting with them.” Renata gestured toward Fina.

“Carl arranged a meeting with Renata and the other SMC, Marnie Frasier,” Fina said. “Jules Lindsley and Hank Reardon were there, as well as Danielle Reardon.”

“What happened in that meeting?” the lieutenant asked.

“Renata, don’t answer that. It’s protected by attorney-client privilege.”

Cristian frowned at Fina.

“I don’t have anything to hide, Fina.” She filled and rolled another tortilla. “He tried to pay us off.”

“How much did he offer?” Cristian asked.

“Five million per child.”

Pitney whistled. “That’s a lot of money.”

“I can’t be bought, Lieutenant.”

“And it’s not really a lot of money when you consider his net worth,” Fina added.

“Enough from you,” Pitney said, pointing a finger at her. “I’ll deal with you later.”

Fina tried to look chastened; it was a reach.

“So you were pissed at Hank Reardon,” Pitney said to Renata.

“Absolutely, but I didn’t kill him.”

Fina glanced at Alexa through the doorway. She was pouring crumbs from the Pringles can into her mouth.

Pitney watched Renata. “You used two different donors to conceive your children?” she asked.

“How is that relevant?”

“It’s our job to decide what’s relevant, and it’s your job to provide the information.”

“Fine. I used two different donors. By the time I decided to have a second child, donor #575651 was no longer available.”

“You didn’t bank any when you had Rosie?” Cristian asked. He watched Renata’s nimble fingers assemble the enchiladas.

“Someone’s done his research.”

“Detective Menendez is more than just a pretty face,” Pitney offered.

“Indeed,” Fina mumbled.

Renata ignored them. “No, I didn’t bank any. You have to remember this was almost twenty years ago, and the industry was relatively young. I didn’t think to do it, and the bank didn’t have an aggressive marketing campaign like they do now.”

“But you would have preferred having the same donor,” Pitney ventured.

Renata held her hands up in exasperation. They were dripping with chili sauce. “Well, of course, but if there’s no sperm, there’s no sperm.” She nudged the kitchen faucet with her elbow and rinsed her hands.
Pitney and Cristian stepped out of the way as she pulled open the oven door and slid the pan into the heat.

“Anything else?” Renata asked.

“Yes. Where were you on Monday night and Tuesday morning?” Pitney asked.

Renata untied her apron. “I already told you. I was here, asleep.”

“Can anyone confirm that?” Cristian asked.

“I don’t have a boyfriend, Detective, so no, no one can confirm that.”

“Don’t you remember, Mommy? You got me a drink of water.” Alexa licked her fingers and gazed at her mother. The adults looked at her.

Renata was silent for a moment. “I . . .”

“I had a nightmare and you got me a drink and stayed with me until I fell asleep.” The girl looked at them, her round face a blank canvas.

Fina silently implored Renata to shut up.

Renata picked at something on the countertop. “I suppose that’s right.”

“What time was that?” Cristian asked.

“I don’t remember exactly. Maybe four or so.” Renata grabbed a sponge and ran it over the countertop.

“Okay. We’ll be in touch,” Pitney said. “If you think of anything else or if anything changes . . .” She stared at Renata. “Call me. We’d also like to speak with Rosie.”

“No. Absolutely not.”

“It wasn’t a request, Renata. We need to speak with her,” Pitney said.

“Do you have a warrant?”

“We’re not arresting her, for goodness’ sakes.”

“Then you’re not speaking with her.”

“We can compel her to talk to us,” Cristian said.

“Then compel away.”

Pitney shook her head wearily and left the kitchen.

“Enjoy those enchiladas,” Cristian said, walking to the front door. “They smell good.”

“Renata,” Fina said.

“You need to go, too, Fina. We’re having a family dinner before Alexa’s soccer game.” She shooed the trio out and closed the door behind them. On the front porch, Pitney looked at Cristian.

“That was interesting,” she said. They walked down the stairs to the Crown Victoria parked out front.

“Think
you
can get Rosie to talk to us?” Cristian asked Fina from the driver’s side.

“I’m happy to try. As long as it’s with representation.”

Pitney rubbed her eyes with her fingertips. “Oh my God, Fina Ludlow. Go away, please.”

“Well, since you asked nicely.” Fina started walking away.

Cristian called after her. “Keep in touch and try not to interfere!”

“But I’m so good at it!” Fina said, and climbed into her car.

•   •   •

Twenty minutes later, she was less than a foot away from the curb on Mass Ave, arguably not the safest spot to wait for the light, when a man jostled into her, nearly sending her into the path of an oncoming SUV.

“Shit!” she exclaimed.

Fina regained her footing and retreated a safe distance onto the sidewalk. She scanned in every direction until her eye settled on a man wearing jeans and a black T-shirt. His back was to her as he jogged down the street toward a waiting cab.

“Hey!” she hollered, but before she could catch up to him, he’d hopped into the cab and disappeared in the direction of Harvard Square.

It was time to start paying better attention.

•   •   •

The meeting had been called to order, and Juliana had thanked everyone for giving up their Saturday afternoon. Enough of their board
members had demanding jobs that they couldn’t pop out in the middle of the day to fulfill a charity commitment. They were halfway through the agenda, but two of the women were stuck on details relating to the boutique proposal. Juliana sipped her water and looked at the other members arrayed around the table. Mary Stevens and Jessica Laramee were arguing about the inventory system that would be implemented if and when the bra boutique opened at the center.

Juliana decided to let them hash it out for a few more minutes. She had learned that some members had to hear themselves speak for a certain amount of time, regardless of the subject matter. She had to balance this need with the other board members’ limited patience, but it was a skill she had perfected over time. When she noticed Edith Steagen stifling a yawn, Juliana stepped into the breach.

“Undoubtedly, this is an important issue, but I suggest, Mary and Jessica, that you discuss it outside of the full board meeting. I’ve no doubt that with Sheila’s input”—she nodded at the center’s director—“you’ll be able to reach a workable solution.” Juliana smiled.

Mary and Jessica nodded and scribbled on their notepads.

“Sheila, I understand you have some promising news on the facilities front?”

“Yes, I was able to confirm that the house next door is going on the market.” There was a murmur around the table. “Obviously, this would be the perfect opportunity for expansion.”

The Reardon Center currently occupied a large Victorian house on a side street in the northern part of Cambridge. The addition of the house next door would nearly double the center’s space.

“That sounds wonderful,” Edith Steagen said, “but it would be an enormous investment and require a huge outlay of capital. It may be too ambitious.”

“Edith! Is there any such thing?” Juliana joked. “This community is counting on us. We need to make this happen.”

“Do you know something we don’t, Juliana?”

Juliana smiled. “Let’s just say that I’m cautiously optimistic.”

•   •   •

Dinner at Scotty and Patty’s was a good time. It was occasions like these that reminded Fina why she hadn’t left the family fold years ago. True, her parents were challenging, and her oldest brother was a molester, but Scotty and his family and Matthew had a lot to recommend. Being a Ludlow wasn’t easy, but it wasn’t
all
bad.

The kids had scattered, and Scotty took a phone call while Patty got more wine. Fina and Milloy sat at the table catching up on each other’s day.

“A guy tried to push me into the street today, like he wanted me to get run over,” Fina said.

“Anyone else told me that, I’d assume they were mistaken, but when it comes to you . . .”

“When it comes to her, what?” Patty asked when she walked into the room with an open bottle of red wine.

“She thinks someone tried to get her run over, and I was saying that when it comes to her, it’s completely within the realm of possibility.”

“That’s a reassuring thought.” Patty topped off Milloy’s and Fina’s glasses.

“The car must have come pretty close.” Milloy swirled the liquid before taking a sip.

“Trust me. He came close, and I think there’s another guy following me who’s giving me the creeps.”

“What are you going to do about it?” Milloy asked. Scotty came back into the room and slid into his seat.

“What
can
I do?” Fina asked. “Be more careful?”

“Now what?” Scotty asked.

“Your sister thinks someone tried to run her over.” Patty struggled to conceal a grin.

“Oh, honestly, Fina.” Scotty looked at her and reached for the wine. “Could we just take a break from the bloodshed?”

“Stop being such a drama queen. Your wife thinks it’s funny.”

Scotty stared at Patty. “It’s not funny.”

She curled her fist in front of her mouth. “It’s a little funny.” Scotty frowned. “Think about it, Scotty. That poor bastard has no idea what he’s in for.”

“She does have a point,” Milloy commented, grinning.

“Stop being such a worrywart. It’s all good,” Fina said.

“You always say that,” Scotty grumbled, and took a large gulp of wine. “And it never is.”