Identity (6 page)

“Ellen can see you now. Go through the door on the right, and her office is all the way back. Just keep walking. You can’t miss it.”

Fina thanked her and pushed the door open.

She couldn’t believe access to the offices and labs wasn’t restricted; allowing visitors to wander through the place unattended was sloppy. As Fina moved down the hallway, most of the doors were closed, but had signs identifying their purposes. There were client-counseling offices, exam rooms, labs, and client lounges. Fina poked her head into some kind of small waiting room, which could have passed for a nondescript living room or a shrink’s office. It looked inviting, yet impersonal. The art on the walls looked to have been chosen for its soothing color palette and inoffensive subject matter—boating parties, fields of flowers, and café scenes. There was nothing state-of-the-art about it, but Fina assumed that claim applied to the actual medical facilities. She passed a nurse in teddy-bear-patterned scrubs in the hallway and kept walking until she reached an open door with the placard
ELLEN ALBERTI, ASSOCIATE DIRECTOR
affixed to the wall.

“Goddammit!”

Fina peeked around the door frame. Ellen Alberti leapt up from behind her desk and dropped a stack of files onto the floor. Fina could see a disposable coffee cup on its side and dark liquid spreading across the surface of the cluttered desk.

“Dammit.” Ellen mopped at the coffee with a small napkin.

“Here. Let me help.” Fina stepped into the room and pulled a package of baby wipes from her bag. Baby wipes were a panacea.

Ellen looked at her and took the proffered wipes. She mopped up the liquid and tossed the used wipes in the trash can.

“I knew that was going to happen,” Ellen said. “Do you ever do that, where you tell yourself, ‘Don’t put your coffee there, you’ll spill it,’ but you do it anyway?” She pulled a small package of tissues from her desk drawer and blotted the wet files.

As Ellen, who looked to be in her early forties, finished the cleanup, Fina took in her surroundings. The office was small, but a large window brightened the room. The bookshelves were stuffed with books and thick journals, and piles of folders covered every inch of surface space. Fina hoped that the Heritage labs were tidier than Ellen’s office.

“I know what you’re doing,” Ellen said, and grinned. “You’re judging a book by its cover, but you shouldn’t. I subscribe to the ‘messy office, brilliant mind’ school of thought.”

Ellen had medium blond hair that grazed her shoulders and a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. Her makeup was tastefully applied. She wore a navy blue pantsuit, its tailoring a touch conservative, but that was offset by her funky dangly earrings. Her teeth were straight and white, and there were small wrinkles at the corners of her eyes and mouth. It looked like she smiled a lot.

She gestured toward the chair in front of her desk, inviting Fina to sit down.

Fina held out her hand. “Fina Ludlow. I’m a private investigator. I have a few questions.” She settled into the offered seat.

Ellen sat down and picked up her coffee cup, forgetting she’d just
spilled its contents. “I thought you were a prospective mother.” Frowning, she put the empty cup back down.

“Well, aren’t we all?”

She raised an eyebrow. “A prospective insemination candidate.”

Fina tipped her head side to side. “I’m still on the fence about that one.”

Ellen glanced at her phone.

“Wait,” Fina said. “Before you call security, here’s my ID.”

Ellen studied it. “It concerns me that you got back here under false pretenses.”

“I’m sorry about that, but it should concern you. Your security is seriously wanting.”

Ellen smiled ruefully. “I’ve been saying that for months,” she muttered under her breath. She tapped a manicured nail on her blotter. “So, what can I do for you, Ms. Ludlow? I’m a busy woman.”

“You’ll want to hear what I have to say.”

“What is it you want to say?”

“I’m working on a case for an attorney, Carl Ludlow. He’s my father, actually.”

“I know who your father is, and I know your brother Scotty.”

“Oh.”

“We worked together on a fund-raiser for the MetroWest Children’s Foundation.”

“Great. Well, one of your clients is exploring the option of suing to learn the identity of her donor.”

It was a tiny motion, but Ellen’s shoulders seemed to rise ever so slightly.

Then she smiled. “Like pregnancy and childbirth aren’t stressful enough. Throw in assisted reproduction and life really gets turned upside down.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning that sometimes our clients go through stages of
uncertainty or ambivalence about the process. It would be odd if they didn’t, but that’s what it usually is—a stage.”

“So the possibility of a lawsuit doesn’t concern you?”

Ellen leaned forward and clasped her hands together. “What concerns me is the possibility that one of our clients is unhappy. We want all of our moms and dads to be completely satisfied with the Heritage experience.”

Fina shook her head slowly. “I don’t think she’s satisfied.”

“If you could tell me who it is, I could speak with her directly.”

Fina smiled. “I can’t do that. I’m covered by the attorney-client privilege that my father has with the client. But it doesn’t sound like you’re particularly worried anyway. It’s all good.” Fina stood to leave.

“I assume your father realizes that whoever the client is, she signed a confidentiality agreement, which is legally binding,” Ellen pointed out. “You’re welcome to talk with our attorneys, but they’ll tell you the same thing.”

“Every client signs a standard confidentiality agreement?”

“Of course. Potential parents either choose a donor who wants to remain anonymous or a donor who is willing to be in contact once the child reaches eighteen. Most clients think anonymity is a reasonable trade-off for a baby.”

“But people must change their minds over time.”

Ellen shrugged. “It’s been known to happen, but that’s why there’s a legal document—to protect everyone involved.”

“What about the sibling registries?”

“What about them?”

“Doesn’t it put the bank in a vulnerable position if siblings connect with one another and compare notes?”

“Our mission is creating families. I think it’s fine if half-siblings want to connect with one another, and it really doesn’t have anything to do with the cryobank.”

“Except it’s a bigger data pool, and maybe kids have a better shot at identifying their donors that way.” Fina knew of some cases where the
donor babies had done their own sleuthing and discovered not only their half-siblings but their donors as well.

“A resourceful child might be able to ferret out his donor’s identity whether or not there are half-siblings.”

“Digging up that information doesn’t worry you? In terms of the reproductive industry?”

“Not in the least. Some people say we’re doing God’s work here. What could be wrong with that?”

“Some people? Not you?”

Ellen smiled. “Whatever you believe in, I’m sure the powers that be would approve of our work creating happy families, and we can’t ban the Internet, right?”

“Maybe anonymous donation will soon be a thing of the past,” Fina ventured.

“Maybe.” Ellen reached into a drawer and pulled out a card, which she handed to Fina. “Our attorneys. Feel free to call them. It’s why we pay them such exorbitant fees.”

Fina put the card in her bag. “Thank you for your time.”

“Don’t mention it. If you ever decide to get off that fence and have a baby, let me know.”

“Just as soon as you create one that self-diapers,” Fina said, and left the office.

•   •   •

“You’re supposed to take me shopping for jeans,” Haley said when Fina answered her phone.

“Okay.”

“Like, now—unless you’re too busy, say, shooting someone.” Fina had shot a man a couple of months before in the course of Melanie’s murder investigation. It was a fact that Haley revisited too often for Fina’s taste.

“I only shoot people if they’re trying to kill me, remember? And I didn’t kill him. And you shouldn’t be thinking about that.”

“Whatever. Can you pick me up?”

“Yes. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

Fina put a quick call in to Marnie Frasier and asked for cell numbers for Jess and Tyler. She left a message for Jess and made a plan to stop by Tyler’s workplace later.

“How’s your nose?” Haley asked after climbing into the car.

“It’s fine. I told you not to worry about it. I’m a tough old broad.”

“Uh-huh.”

“The good news is that Cristian has offered to teach us some real boxing moves.” Haley looked out the window. Fina glanced at her. “I thought that idea would appeal to you.”

“I like him, but I don’t know if I want to spend a lot of time with a cop. After everything, it just seems kind of weird.”

Fina nodded. “I get that, but he’d be there as a friend, not as a cop.”

Haley shrugged. “Maybe.”

“Think about it. You could bring a couple of friends. That might lighten the mood.”

The Good Jeans boutique in Newton was small but crammed with denim and huge photos of beautiful people and their sculpted bodies. Fina and Haley had barely stepped over the threshold before a tall, impossibly skinny salesgirl confronted them.

“I help you?” she asked, a strong Russian accent making her offer of service more like a threat.

“She needs jeans,” Fina said to “Vera,” and found a comfortable seat by a three-way mirror. Vera interrogated Haley about her size and style preferences and amassed a stack of options. She carried them into a dressing room and directed Haley to start changing. While Fina scrolled through her messages, Vera tidied shelves nearby that already looked perfectly ordered.

Even after Fina had typed a few e-mail responses, Haley still hadn’t emerged. “Hale? What are you doing in there? Do you need help?”

“One sec,” she called.

“She need help?” Vera asked, straightening her spine.

“No, she’s fine,” Fina said.

A moment later Haley emerged, encased in a tight pair of skinny jeans, which she studied in the three-way mirror.

“What do you think?” Haley asked.

“What happens when you have to go potty? Call the fire department for the Jaws of Life?”

Haley rolled her eyes. “You’re hilarious. I like ’em.” She turned this way and that. Her long shiny blond hair blanketed her shoulders.

“Those good fit,” Vera commented.

Fina ignored her. “They do look good, but did it take all that time to get them on?”

Haley bit the inside of her cheek. “It took some effort.”

“I don’t want other areas in your life to suffer because it takes you an hour to get your jeans on every day. When will you get your homework done?”

“You really do crack yourself up. Hold on. There’s more.” She disappeared behind the curtain.

Fina tapped her fingers on the arm of the chair. “Are these for school?” she called to Haley.

“Yes.”

Haley reappeared in a pair that barely qualified as low-rise. The zipper only required half a dozen teeth.

“Those are obscene,” Fina commented. “They barely cover your business.” Fina looked at Vera. “Really? There’s nothing that’s a little more family-friendly? Not to start a family—to be around one?”

“You don’t want her look like old lady.”

“No, but I don’t want her to look . . . inappropriate.”

Haley looked down at her feet.

“I don’t want people to only notice her physical attributes,” Fina clarified. “And we need to keep Aunt Patty happy,” she said to her niece.

“Fine,” Haley said. “I’ll try some others.”

Forty-five minutes and ten pairs later, they settled on one acceptable skinny pair and one boot-cut pair. Fina handed over her credit card
and nearly swooned at the $450 total. “Jeans used to cost about fifty bucks a pair.”

“And people used to ride in stagecoaches,” Haley said, reaching for the bag. “Do we really want to go back to the good old days?”

A couple of doors down, they went into an ice-cream shop and ordered frappes. Haley was slurping on her black-and-white when Fina spoke.

“You know, if you ever want to talk about . . . stuff . . . I’m happy to listen.”

Haley shrugged. “I know.”

“I don’t want you to feel that any topics are off-limits, and I don’t want to pretend that things that happened didn’t. I know that’s Pap and Gammy’s favorite approach.” Fina stirred her coffee frappe with her straw. “Talking, not talking, whatever approach your therapist thinks is healthiest, that’s the approach we should take.”

“Oh my God. Just have your frappe, Aunt Fina.” They sipped in silence. “Aren’t you going to ask me about my dad?” Haley looked at her pointedly.

“I hadn’t planned to, but we can talk about him if you want.” Why, oh why, had she said nothing was off-limits?

“Everyone else wants to know when I’m going to see him.”

Fina took a long draw of her frappe and was instantly rewarded with a cold headache. She squeezed her eyes shut until it passed. “That’s up to you. I would understand if you didn’t want to see him for a while.”

“Did you watch last night’s episode of
Relationship Rematch
?” Haley asked after a moment. Fina had never been a big fan of reality TV, but in the past few months, she’d found the horrendous programming provided a common point of interest with her niece. And it turned out that watching other people’s misery was surprisingly healing.

•   •   •

Fina parked in a lot a few blocks from Harvard Square and ducked into a coffee shop. She sat in a small booth, sipping a diet soda and
reviewing a recent newsletter from Renata’s single mothers’ organization. These women were active and organized, but that didn’t really surprise Fina; you had to be to take on single motherhood. She could see the wisdom of a supportive, like-minded community, but Fina wasn’t much of a joiner. None of the Ludlows were. Sure, they were members of the Whittaker Club and some professional organizations, but Ludlows were their own little cadre with secret codes and handshakes. Membership in the family generally precluded membership in other groups.