Loyalty (33 page)

Carl glared at her. He always got antsy when unexpected topics arose. Such a control freak.

Pitney rolled her eyes. “Please. Do tell.”

“It just seems like $8.9 million dollars and a wrecked career are more motivation than adultery.” Fina sat down on the couch.

“I wouldn’t categorize sleeping with hookers as run-of-the-mill adultery.”

Fina shrugged. “You’re picky that way. Why don’t you ask Bev Duprey why she’s so pissed at my brother?”

Cristian’s gaze moved between Fina, Carl, and Pitney.

“I don’t have time for guessing games. Spit it out or come downtown and make yourself comfortable,” Pitney said.

“Ludlow and Associates won an $8.9 million settlement against a hospital and a group of doctors in Cincinnati. One of those doctors was Connor Duprey.”

Carl puffed up his chest. “If that isn’t a goddamn motive, I don’t know what is!”

Pitney put her hand up. “And Connor Duprey is . . . ?”

“Bev Duprey’s only child. I think he’s a real mama’s boy.” She sipped her soda and put her feet up on the coffee table. “Maybe I should join the police force,” she mused.

Cristian coughe
d loudly. Pitney smacked her lips together and stormed out of the room with Cristian in her wake.

Scotty closed the door behind them.

“What the hell is going on?” Carl demanded. “You knew about this woman and you didn’t tell me?”

“I only found out about her yesterday, but I met her for the first time this morning.”

“And? You think there’s something to your theory?” Scotty asked.

Fina sat forward on the couch. “I don’t know, but Bev Duprey might turn out to be the best thing that ever happened to Rand.” Carl and Scotty studied her. “But there’s something else that’s bugging me; why did Melanie have her number?”

“Melanie had the madam’s number?” Scotty asked.

“What are you talking about, Fina?” Carl said.

“When I searched Rand’s house after Melanie disappeared, I found a phone number tucked into her recipe box. It was the number for a business called Mode Accessories, which is actually a front for a porn business owned by Bev Duprey’s husband, Chester. Did Melanie find out about the hookers? Did she try to contact Bev Duprey?”

“Christ,” Scotty said, and ran his fingers through his hair.

“You think there was a confrontation?” Carl asked.

“I don’t know, but there’s some connection between Melanie and Bev. This woman has a sleazy, illegal business empire. She was Brianna’s boss, the escort who was murdered. Sounds like a good murder suspect to me.”

“Go do something with this,” Carl ordered. “And I expect an update.”

“Yes, Father,” Fina said, and left.

Scotty followed her out, and they walked toward his office. Scotty’s face looked drawn, and his pants seemed looser than usual.

“You don’t look good,” Fina said.

“I’m exhausted. I’m trying to juggle my regular workload with all this crap. I’m not sleeping well, either.”

“That’s no surprise.” As they walked through the corridors, everyone they passed nodded or said hello to Scotty. Her brother generated positive feelings in the employees, unlike their father, who mostly generated fear.

“Patty bit my head off this morning.”

“About anything in particular?”

“Not really. I think it’s just the stress.”

“And the extra kid she’s taking care of. Not an easy kid, either.”

“She knows Melanie would have done the same for her.”

“Sure, but that doesn’t make it any less work.”

They arrived at the waiting area outside of Scotty’s office. His secretary jumped up from behind her large, spotless desk and came around to greet him. She handed him a sheaf of pink phone messages that he quickly flicked through.

“Michelle,” he said to his secretary, who’d returned to her spot behind her desk, “remind me why Jimmy Costas is calling me?”

“He wanted a referral, someone to represent him in a property dispute,” Michelle responded without looking up from her computer.

Fina looked at Scotty. “Who’s Jimmy Costas?” she asked. She followed him into his office.

Scotty plopped down in his chair and placed his palms on his desktop. He seemed to be trying to get his bearings. “Vanessa’s brother. Don’t you remember him from high school? He’s the one who got on Dad’s treadmill when he was trashed, turned the thing on, and split open his chin.”

“Vanessa Lamont’s brother.”

“Right. Do you need something else, sis?” He looked at the phone. “I’ve got to make calls.”

Fina rubbed her forehead with her good hand.

“Fina?”

“No. I don’t need anything. I’m good.” She left his office and pulled the door closed behind her. She wandered down the hallway for a moment before finding an empty conference room. She sat down and stared at the cast on her wrist.

Was Ronald Costas, the owner of Ridleys, related to Vanessa Costas Lamont? Costas was a common name, but she couldn’t ignore the coincidence. But if they were related, what did that mean? What was Joe Winthrop’s connection to Ronald Costas?

All this new information was like a tsunami. If Fina could keep her head above water, keep breathing, she might come out of it in one piece, albeit in an altered landscape. But at the moment, she couldn’t make all the pieces fit together.

Work your leads.
That was one of the tenets of PI work that Frank had taught her. Push and pull and massage and knead until something, anything, comes loose. She decided to check in with her various contacts and picked up the phone to call Dennis.

“What’s Joe Winthrop up to at the moment?” she asked.

“This guy’s going to a lot of trouble to stay off the radar,” Dennis told her. “He’s like a monk, stays in his room all the time.”

“I assure you, the guy is nothing like a monk,” Fina said.

“He doesn’t seem to work. Either he’s independently wealthy or a kept man.”

“I vote for a kept man. Let me know if anything changes.”

She left another message for Emma pressing for information about Bev and Chester Duprey. If she could get dirt about Bev’s illegal activities, she might be able to leverage it against her, assuming the police didn’t already know about her illegal activities and were just biding their time. She also asked Emma to check for a family connection between Ronald, Jimmy, and Vanessa Costas.

Her next call was to Matthew’s office, and soon after his secretary brought down a dolly of files on the Duprey trial, including the trial transcript. The rest of the day was consumed by the tragic life of Amber Watson and the waves of misery prompted by her birth. For every expert there was a counterexpert; for every sad tale about Amber there was a glowing endorsement of the doctors’ competency. The whole thing was a morass of suffering.

She packed up her things around seven
P.M.
and drove to Frank and Peg’s. Dinner was long over, and Frank was in the front yard, grappling with a hosta plant.

“Want some help?” Fina asked. She walked across the yard and stood over Frank, who was crouched over a bed of loam.

“Nah,” he said as he got up and wiped his hands on his pants. He was wearing a pair of khakis that were filthy with dirt and grass stains and an equally soiled white T-shirt. His hair was messy and wet with sweat. “I don’t want you to get dirty.”

“I don’t mind.”

“I think I’m done for the day.” Frank waved toward the front stoop, and they walked over and sat down next to each other. A car came by, and the driver slowed and waved at Frank. No matter where they lived, Frank and Peg ended up being the de facto ambassadors of the neighborhood; they were friendly, took care of their property, looked out for their neighbors, and were calm in a crisis. But they weren’t nosy or officious. The world would be a much better place if there were more Franks and Pegs in it.

He twisted on the stoop as if to stretch his back.

“I’m surprised Peg is letting you do this,” Fina commented.

“Use it or lose it, Fina. That’s the key to aging.”

“Exactly my philosophy,” Fina said, tapping her cast.

Frank grinned and shook his head. “Is that what you call that? What happened?”

“I got jumped in my garage.”

“And you didn’t call me right away because . . . ?”

“Because the damage was done, but that’s why I’m here. I’m telling you now.”

“Frank, do you want some lemonade?” Peg called through the screen door. “Oh, hi, hon. I didn’t know you were here,” Peg added when she opened the door. She was wearing a T-shirt and shorts, which showed off her trim figure. Peg’s legs were strong, but not overly muscular; when you looked at her, it wasn’t hard to see the twentysomething that Frank had fallen for decades before.

“I just stopped by to say hi.”

“I’ll get you both some lemonade.”

Peg retreated into the house and came back a few minutes later with two plastic tumblers filled with ice and lemonade. She deposited the drinks and went back inside. Frank took a gulp and set his glass down on the step.

“Do you remember Jimmy or Ronald Costas?” Fina asked. “I think they’re clients at the firm.”

He was quiet for a moment and picked at some dirt under one of his fingernails. “Isn’t Ronnie in construction? That seems to ring a bell. Is Jimmy his son?”

“Not sure. But Jimmy’s sister is Vanessa Lamont.”

Frank raised an eyebrow. “What’s this all about?”

Fina sipped her lemonade. It was slightly tart and made her taste buds smart. “I’ve got a bunch of people, but I can’t figure out exactly how they’re connected or who’s done what.”

“And this ties in to Melanie?”

“It has to, right? There are too many weird coincidences.”

“I’m not a fan of Mark Lamont’s.”

“I’m not exactly a fan, either, but he’s a necessary evil. You know that.”

A man and woman pushing a stroller the size of a small car walked by and greeted Frank. He waved and said hello in return.

“And your brother?” he asked.

“What about him?”

Frank turned to look at her. “Do you think he killed Melanie?”

Fina rubbed her eyes. “I don’t think so.”

“But you’re not sure?”

“I don’t have evidence proving he did or didn’t.”

“But what do you think? Is he capable of it?”

“I don’t think so, but . . .” She held her hands open. “Christ, Frank. I don’t know.”

Frank patted her hand and left a sprinkling of soil on her skin. “What’s done is done, kiddo.”

“Yikes,” Fina said, and took a big swallow of lemonade.

Her stomach grumbled as she pulled away from Frank and Peg’s, so she punched the speed dial on her phone and waited a few rings for Cristian to answer.

“Wanna get some food?” Fina asked.

“I guess I have to eat,” he said.

“Very nice. Way to make a girl feel special.”

“You made us look like dolts this morning.”

“You were trying to make us look like dolts,” Fina said. “Turnabout is fair play.”

“Fine. Meet me at the Mexican place on Mass Ave.”

Fina dove into the basket of tortilla chips that the waitress placed on the table. She looked around at the other tables while she waited for Cristian. Most of them seemed to be occupied by students, some of whom had large instruments parked next to their chairs. The New England Conservatory of Music and Berklee College of Music were just around the corner, and Fina was always struck by the juxtaposition of bright young minds studying Beethoven and unwashed homeless people struggling in the twenty-first century.