Loyalty (13 page)

Fina gave Cristian a head start getting to the crime scene. Showing up with him or shortly after would only give credence to Pitney’s theory about their special relationship. Instead, she jumped into his shower and washed off the layer of dried sweat she’d accumulated during the day.

At two thirty
A.M.
, the humidity had subsided, and Fina rolled down her windows when she started her car. She grabbed her phone and hit the speed dial button that summoned her father.

“Fina?”

“A woman’s body washed up near Logan.”

“Is it her?”

“I don’t know yet, but it doesn’t look good.”

“Are you there?”

“I’m heading there now.” Fina glanced down the alley to her right. A large rat toddled by, sniffing around the base of a dumpster. “If it’s her, Haley shouldn’t find out from the news.”

“I know. Call me when you know more.” The line went dead.

Mass Ave was nearly deserted, but there were more signs of life once she crossed the river. She hopped on Storrow Drive and sped down the winding road. The breeze from the open windows felt good, but nothing could ease the churning of her stomach.

It was a quick trip to the end of Harbor View Drive, and the scene was crawling with people. It took a cast of many to process the death of one. Detectives, police brass, crime scene investigators, medical examiners, district attorneys. And that didn’t even include those indirectly involved: the press, the owner of the property where the body was found, the passersby who had to take an alternate route to work.

Fina pulled over to the side of the road behind a patrol car. There were no signs of news vans yet, but that might change depending upon the identity of the body. A homeless person would just be a “floater,” but someone like Melanie would be a “victim.” A uniformed cop held up his hand to hold her back as she approached the area cordoned off by crime scene tape.

“Crime scene, ma’am.” He was young and as thin and tall as a reed. Fina could break him over her knee like a piece of kindling. And he called her
ma’am
, the polite notice that you have started the slide down the back of the hill.

“I know. I’m looking for Lieutenant Pitney.”

“Your name?”

“Fina Ludlow.”

The cop turned his back to her and mumbled into the radio affixed to his shoulder. It squawked back.

A few more incomprehensible sentences were exchanged, and then he held up the tape so Fina could duck under it. He directed her to an unmarked police car in the dusty, empty lot where a group of people were congregated. On the way, Fina was met by another officer, who asked her to sign the crime scene log. She scratched her signature and kept walking, trying to get a glimpse of the actual crime scene.

The harbor was about twenty yards away, and reflections from the city lights bobbed and danced like industrial phosphorescence. The lot sloped sharply to the water, but there was no clear path down. Huge boulders created a natural barrier between the water and land. A group of people in dark Windbreakers with various acronyms across their backs were wrestling floodlights into place.

At the car, Pitney was deep in conversation with a cluster of people, including Cristian. She stopped when she saw Fina.

“You’re like a bad penny,” she said, and glared at Cristian. “You just keep turning up.”

“Do you have an ID yet?” Fina asked.

“Nope. Do you want to take a look?” Pitney asked, cocking her head to the side. She was wearing leggings and an oversize Red Sox T-shirt. Her hair was pulled into a ponytail near the top of her head. She looked like a cheerleader twenty years past her sell-by date.

“Sure,” Fina said.

Cristian looked at her. He raised his eyebrow almost imperceptibly, and she returned his gaze. She generally didn’t have a problem with bodies. Of course, it was different when it was family, but Fina wasn’t going to lose a game of chicken with the cops.

A few miles away, Connor dipped a spoon into a dish of red velvet bread pudding. Looking at fatty tissue and blocked arteries during his medical training had gone a long way toward curing him of his taste for Southern cuisine. But proximity to his mother and her divine cooking had led to a regression in his eating habits.

Like this.

The color alone was enough to constrict arterial blood flow. The deep brownish-red color of the bread contrasted sharply with the bright white whipped cream that he had generously glopped on top. It was sweet and rich and smooth and creamy.

“You all right, darling?” his mom asked as she padded into the kitchen. Her hair was perfectly coiffed, and she was wearing a floral-patterned silk robe over a matching nightgown. Connor understood organic chemistry, but he still couldn’t understand how his mother’s hair stayed in place all the time.

“Couldn’t sleep. I decided to have a snack.”

Bev reached into a cabinet and pulled out a bowl in which she deposited a generous helping of the bread pudding and topped it with whipped cream. She sat down at the table and adjusted the belt on her robe.

“So, what are you worrying about?” she asked before taking a bite.

“Just the usual.”

“Mmmmm. This is good.”

“You haven’t lost your touch, Mom.”

“No, I have not. I just wish your daddy could eat some of this. I feel a little cruel cooking when he’s in the next room eating through a tube.”

“He wouldn’t want you to stop cooking.” Connor scraped a segment of the bowl clean with his spoon. He always approached his food in a tidy, methodical manner. As a child, he’d eaten all of one particular food on his plate before moving on to the next, or he divided a dish into quadrants that he emptied one at a time. “Are you doing okay, Mom?”

“What do you mean, sugar?”

“I know this is hard on you, Dad being sick and my stuff. I can’t imagine business is great, given the economy. I worry about you sometimes.”

Bev put her hand over Connor’s. “You don’t have to. I’d be lying if I said things hadn’t been challenging this past year, but I’ve managed.” She took a bite of bread pudding. “Actually, things are looking up. I’m in the final stages of entering a business partnership.”

“I thought you hated the idea of having a partner—other than Dad, I mean.”

“I did, as long as Dad was fully active in the business, but things have changed.” Bev looked him in the eye. “One of the biggest mistakes you can make in life is refusing to acknowledge what’s staring you in the face. Things change, and you have to change with them, or you’ll be obsolete.” She smiled. “Like the dinosaurs.”

“I don’t think the dinosaurs became extinct because they refused to change. I think it had something to do with a meteor and an ice age.” Connor had finished his dessert. The spoon and bowl were so clean, they looked like they could be put right back in the cabinet.

“Well, whatever. You need to take stock and move forward.” She stared at him. “You need to think about that, Connor.”

“I know, Mom.”

Bev held his gaze and seemed to make a decision to let the subject go. “So, I’ll have a new partner, an influx of cash, and maybe the good Lord will see fit to heal your daddy.”

Connor sighed. His mother didn’t abide by her own advice when it came to Chester. From a medical standpoint, it was unlikely Chester would regain his capabilities. He was thirteen years older than Bev, and his body had been compromised. If his mother were truly taking stock and moving forward, she would acknowledge that his father would never be who he once was.

But most people, even those who claimed to face life head-on, veered off at some point, even Connor. His whole life, he’d studiously avoided learning about his parents’ business enterprises. Sometimes, denial made life livable.

Fina got back in her car and wiped away the thin sheen of sweat that had sprouted on her brow. Her mouth tasted sour, even though she’d done an admirable job of not puking.

It was the worst possible outcome.

It was Melanie.

Obviously, she didn’t look like she usually did, but if you could see beyond the bloat and the skin color, there were vestiges of her. Long hair, a short-sleeved cashmere sweater in a shade of purple Fina had once admired, and a pricey driving moccasin wedged onto one of her swollen feet. An official identification would be conducted by the medical examiner, but Fina was certain it would confirm her own conclusion.

She held her phone in her hand for a moment and then dialed her father. It rang once. Carl picked up, but didn’t say anything.

“It’s her,” Fina said. “It’s not official, but I saw her.”

Carl blew out some air. “Meet us at the office.”

Fina hung up the phone. She cranked up the air conditioner and pointed the vent toward her face. She closed her eyes and leaned back against the headrest.

“Are you okay?” Cristian asked through her open window. He handed her a bottle of cold water.

“Yeah.”

“Did you already call them?”

Fina opened her eyes. “Yeah. Why?”

“I’m sure Pitney wanted to be the bearer of bad news.”

“Tough shit. That’s the price you pay for an on-the-spot ID. I’m sure she’ll have lots of chances to bear more bad news.” Fina took a deep breath and tried to shake herself out of the inertia that had rolled over her like a wave. “I’ve gotta go. I’ll call you later.”

Cristian stepped away from the car, and she did a sharp U-turn and pulled back onto the road.

She sped through the Logan maze and into the Sumner Tunnel. After a few minutes of shaky hands and nausea, Fina took a deep breath and vowed to get a grip. There would be plenty of time to have a meltdown later. Right now, she had to focus on Rand and any role he might have had in Melanie’s death. By morning, the Boston PD would be worked up into a gleeful frenzy, eager to put a Ludlow away for something.

She used a key card to get into the office parking garage and enable the elevator. One of the overnight receptionists buzzed her into Ludlow and Associates. Fina strode down the hallway and was aware of an undercurrent of murmuring left in her wake. She wasn’t sure if it was her physical appearance that was causing the stir or if word about Melanie had already leaked out. Luckily, she was impervious to whispers and muttering; Carl had taught them at a young age that people would always talk about them because they were jealous. By the time Fina realized that wasn’t exactly the reason, she was too old to care.

Carl, Rand, Scotty, and Matthew were in Carl’s office. Carl sat behind the desk, and Matthew sat in one of the chairs facing him. Scotty was in a club chair, and Rand was on the couch, elbows on knees, head hanging. The conversation stalled when she came in the room.

Fina stopped and looked at them.

“It’s Melanie,” she said.

“Are you sure?” Rand asked.

“Yes. They still have to do a formal ID, but it’s her. I’m so sorry, Rand.”

He rubbed his forehead with his hands and closed his eyes.

“What the fuck am I going to do?” he asked, his voice tinged with desperation. Rand looked at their father with pleading eyes. In an instant, he was transformed into the little boy who’d left open the back gate through which the family dog escaped and was killed. He was equal parts anguish and dread. “This can’t be happening.”

Fina walked over to the minibar and pulled out a bottle of scotch and a glass. She brought them over to the coffee table and poured a generous amount for Rand, which he downed in one gulp. She poured him another. Then she took a large swig directly from the bottle.

“Gimme some of that,” Scotty said, and she passed him the bottle. He drank and then handed it to Matthew, who took his turn and offered it to Carl.

Carl waved the bottle away. “Enough. We need to pull our shit together.”

Fina took the bottle from Matthew and had another long pull. She poured a little more for Rand and then replaced the cap and set it on the table.

“You three,” Carl said, gesturing at the boys. “Go eat something or pop a mint or something. The last thing we need is you smelling like booze when the cops show up. I need to talk to your sister.”

“What about Haley?” Fina asked as her brothers rose to leave. “We need to tell her before she finds out some other way.”