Identity (43 page)

They kept watching the footage.

“And that,” Fina said, pointing at Tyler lighting up a joint.

Mickey nodded.

Rosie and Tyler smoked for five minutes, seemed to have a conversation with someone out of frame on the sidewalk, and left seventeen minutes after they’d appeared.

“Looks like they were telling the truth, at least about that,” Mickey said, pulling the monitor back to his side of the desk.

“That’s something, at least.”

“Anything else?”

“The Reardons have other cameras, right? What about their movements the night of Hank’s murder?”

“The cameras for the rear entrance didn’t record anything of note.”

“Got it.” Fina stood. “Thanks for taking the time.”

“Be careful.”

“Will do.” Fina walked to the door. “One last thing,” she said, turning back to Mickey. “Do you think any of the Reardons are capable of murder?”

Mickey looked impassive.

“You can’t answer, right?” Fina said. “Because you work for them. I get it.”

Mickey sighed. “You and I both know that most people are capable of murder under the right circumstances.”

“I suppose,” Fina conceded. “Not a very reassuring thought.”

“Luckily, the circumstances aren’t often right,” he said before ushering her out.

Fina returned to the lobby area and asked to see Theresa McGovern. After making a call, Tony escorted her to the seventh floor, where the assistant was sitting at her desk, a phone receiver tucked under one ear. Fina took a seat in the chair next to her desk and glanced into Dimitri’s office. He was at his conference table with three men and two women, engaged in a discussion. It took a moment, but he did a double take when his eyes skittered across her features.

“I understand, but the machine has been broken for almost a week. It needs to be fixed by Friday.” Theresa rolled her eyes. Her hair was pulled back in a chignon, her lips bright red next to her alabaster skin. “Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Good. Thank you.” She put down the phone.

“There’s a machine you guys can’t fix?” Fina asked.

“It’s the frosty Slurpee thingamajig.” Theresa gestured down the hallway. “We use it for happy hours and parties, and something’s screwed up with the piña colada side.”

“That must be a blow to productivity.”

“It is. No joke.” Theresa straightened some papers on her desk. “So why are you here? You got another gig for me? And what happened to your face?”

“I was in a fight, and no, I don’t have a gig for you. I had a meeting with Mickey Hogan and thought I’d stop by to see if you have any other info for me.”

Theresa picked up a plastic cup half-filled with iced coffee and took a sip. “Oooh, so you want something from me.”

“I think we want things from each other. Nothing wrong with a mutually beneficial relationship.”

“I haven’t made a lot of progress.” Theresa patted a stack of folders. “Dimitri’s got me working on a ton of extra stuff.”

“Really?” Fina glanced through the glass again. What looked to be blueprints had been unrolled on the table.

“Yes. Like making a gazillion copies for those people.”

“Isn’t making copies part of your job?”

“Yeah, but this isn’t strictly Universum business; they’re talking about the waterfront development.”

Fina looked at Dimitri. If he felt her gaze on him, he wasn’t letting on. “I thought Dimitri wasn’t involved in that?”

“He wasn’t.” Theresa jabbed at the ice in her cup. “But now he is.”

Fina considered this bit of news. A slight throbbing had emerged on the side of her face, but she blinked and tried to ignore it. “Back to the part where you help me out; any new info about Hank’s medical records?”

Theresa sorted through some folders on her desk. She opened one and pulled out a Post-it note.

“Normally, Hank would have an annual physical for insurance purposes. It’s always been straightforward—just another appointment on his schedule—but this year, he had three appointments.”

“Do you know why?”

“No, just that it was different from the past three years, and Dimitri had his regular single appointment.”

“But Hank didn’t seem sick?”

“Nope.”

“And he didn’t give any indication about what was going on?”

“Nope, but there also were more calls to certain people around the same time.”

“What people?”

Theresa consulted her notes. “Jules Lindsley, his college roommate, and his wife. His ex-wife, I mean.”

Fina looked at Theresa. “Something was wonky with his physical, and he started calling Juliana more often?”

“I’m not saying it’s cause and effect. Maybe it’s just a coincidence.”

“Maybe,” Fina said, rising from the chair. “Why don’t you get Dante to find you a gig?”

“He’s working on it, but I still expect a little quid pro quo from you.” Theresa wagged her finger at Fina.

“I’ll do my best,” Fina said.

“Did you need to speak with Dimitri?” Theresa asked.

“Nah. I think he already got my message.” She locked eyes with him before making her exit.

Fina drove to Heritage and pulled into a space in the parking lot. A quick phone call established that Walter Stiles was still in the building, and she decided to wait. She knew that he’d kick her off the property, so following him to a more neutral location was her best bet.

After half an hour—during which Fina listened to a story about food safety related to produce, which only confirmed that her diet of processed foods was the safest option—Walter came ambling out of the building. He swung his briefcase in one hand and clicked his car open with the other. Fina pulled into traffic behind him and tailed him to an athletic club in Newton. Once there, he grabbed a duffel bag from the backseat and started toward the entrance.

“Walter!” Fina called across the parking lot. “Fancy meeting you here!”

Walter shook his head.

“No worries, I’m not going to make you late for your Zumba class. I just have a quick question.”

Walter grimaced. “I don’t do Zumba, and I don’t have any answers for you, Ms. Ludlow. Any questions you have should be directed to the bank’s attorneys.”

“Do you know a guy named Denny Calder?”

Walter shifted his bag to the other hand. “I’ll tell you what I told the police: no.”

“So they questioned you already.”

“Yes.” He turned and walked away.

“I know you’ve got secrets, Walter. I’m guessing they’re humdingers.”

He moved a few steps back toward Fina. “You know nothing, Ms. Ludlow, and frankly, I’m shocked that anyone would pay for your ‘expertise.’ You seem to have a talent for getting beaten up and not much else.”

“Well, I can’t take
all
the credit for that. Denny Calder deserves some.” Fina smiled at him. “We’re not done, Walter. You’re kind of like a bee in my bonnet at this point.”

“Lucky me,” he said in a tone that could only be described as withering. Fina watched him walk through the front door of the club and disappear from view.

Intellectually speaking, likability and guilt had nothing to do with each other, but Fina couldn’t help but hope that her suspicions about Walter would pan out.

•   •   •

Fina went home and took a nap. When she rolled over and checked her phone two hours later, there was a message from Cristian and one from Carl. She dialed Cristian’s number and left a message, but she couldn’t stomach calling Carl; she didn’t have enough drugs in her system.

Her bandaged hands posed a problem in terms of bathing, so Fina gave herself a modified sponge bath and got back into her clothes. She repeated the trip down to her car with her gun once again in hand. With the car door securely locked, she returned the gun to her bag and took a deep breath. This was no way to live. Fina didn’t long for a white picket fence, 1.86 kids, or a dog playing fetch, but grasping a gun in her own condo building, looking like Sugar Ray Leonard? There had to be a better way.

It took thirty minutes to get to Somerville and another ten minutes
to find a parking space near the Sanchezes’ house. Rosie answered Fina’s knock, and they sat down on the couch after Rosie got two sodas from the kitchen. A large open bag of tortilla chips sat on the coffee table next to a bowl of guacamole.

“Help yourself.” Rosie pushed the bag in her direction. “You don’t look so hot, Fina.”

“I know. It really hasn’t been my day.” She scooped up a chipful of the green dip and put it in her mouth. The salt of the chips and the tang of the avocado were the perfect mix. “That’s so good.”

Rosie chewed and nodded. “I could eat this stuff all day.”

They snacked, and Fina asked about her work at the shelter. Rosie was enthusiastic when she described the animals under her care.

“So am I in more trouble?” Rosie finally asked. She adjusted her position on the couch so her bare feet were tucked under her. Her wavy hair was loose and framed her face.

“Actually, you’re in less trouble than you were. I saw the surveillance footage from Hank’s house, and you and Tyler were doing what you said.”

Rosie cringed. “There’s more surveillance footage?”

“Yep. Hank was a billionaire. He had a lot of security.”

“Not enough, apparently,” Rosie noted.

“True.” Fina sipped her soda. “Anyway, you guys made for very boring viewing. Thankfully.”

Rosie nodded.

“It looks like things have calmed down around here. No press outside, at least,” Fina said.

Rosie shrugged. “For now.”

“I’m assuming your mom isn’t here or else we’d have heard her.”

The girl smiled. “I expect her home any minute.”

Fina unconsciously touched a fingertip to her temple, but moved it away when Rosie’s gaze settled on her injuries.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you,” Fina said, “did your mom say something to you about the night Hank died?”

“What do you mean?” Rosie pushed the guacamole toward the center of the coffee table, out of her own reach.

“Well, she told the cops that she was here all night. Alexa said that your mom helped her in the middle of the night when she had a bad dream. She said your mom got her a glass of water.”

“I wasn’t here that night, remember?”

“I know, I’m just wondering what you think. Does that sound like Alexa?”

Rosie stared at her. “You think I’m going to tell you if it doesn’t?”

Fina sighed. “No, of course not. Sorry.”

“My mom can be a pain in the ass, but I don’t think that she would ever kill anyone.”

“Sorry.” Fina held her hands up. “I’m just trying to figure stuff out.”

“You weren’t supposed to eat that!” Alexa came barging in the front door and stood with her hands on her hips, staring at the guacamole.

“Why not?” Rosie asked. “It was in the refrigerator. What’s your problem?”

“Mom! Rosie ate the guac I made for the overnight!”

“Alexa! Stop yelling; I’m right here.” Renata came in the front door, laden with a tote, briefcase, and grocery bag.

“Hi, Renata,” Fina said, rising from the couch and taking the grocery bag from her arms, placing it on the coffee table.

“Hello, Fina. This is a surprise.” Renata stared at her face, but Fina was tired of explaining.

“I was just telling Rosie that I was able to confirm her whereabouts with Tyler on the night in question.” Fina glanced at Alexa, who was overloading a tortilla chip with guacamole.

“The night Hank was murdered, you mean?” Renata plopped down in a chair.

“Yes,” Fina replied, remembering that discretion wasn’t in Renata’s toolbox.

“How did you confirm this?”

“There’s surveillance footage from outside the Reardon house.”

“You mean there’s video of Rosie and Tyler trespassing in the middle of the night and doing drugs?” Renata asked.

Rosie snorted.

“I think that’s a little dramatic,” Fina said. “There’s video of them sitting on the front step, smoking a joint. Pretty minor stuff.”

“Not to a college admissions committee.”

“Renata, nobody is going to see the tape, and frankly, if you think that teenagers don’t regularly get stoned, you’re living in a dream world.”

“I don’t care what most teenagers are doing, just
my
teenager.”

“And I applaud your parenting, but on the scale of misbehavior, this barely registers.”

Renata’s phone rang, and she answered. She said little and hung up. “CVS doesn’t have the inhaler you need, Alexa. They need to order it from a different pharmacy.”

“But I need it for my soccer game,” the girl protested. “I don’t want to miss my game!”

“I know, sweetie, but you can’t play without it.”

“Allergies?” Fina asked.

“And asthma,” Renata said. “Treatable, but the attacks can be very scary.”

“I bet.” Fina rose. “I should be going.”

“You look like you’ve been in another accident, Fina,” Renata said.

Fina shrugged and opened the front door. “What can I say? I’m a trouble magnet.”

•   •   •

“Did you talk to her?” Michael Reardon asked. He was watching his mother toss vegetables in the wok. She put down the bamboo spatula for a moment and cut chunks of tofu off a brick. “Can’t you leave that out?”

“All this good protein?” Juliana asked. “Of course not. You can eat around it if you find it so distasteful.”