Loyalty (34 page)

Cristian pushed through the door and slid into the seat across from her. Fina ordered a diet soda and a chimichanga, and Cristian opted for a soda and burrito with extra jalapeños.

“I didn’t mean to make you personally look like a dolt,” Fina said before popping a chip in her mouth. “I don’t feel bad about Pitney, though.”

“She’s a good cop.”

“I’m sure she is, but we’re working at cross-purposes at the moment.”

Cristian tapped his straw open on the table and took a sip of his drink. “How long have you known about Duprey?”

“I just found out.”

“What are you going to do about it?”

“I don’t have a plan at this point. We did talk, though.”

“You and Bev Duprey?”

“Yup.”

“I would have loved to have seen that.”

“It wasn’t as exciting as you might imagine. Pretty unsatisfying, actually.”

“What did you find out?”

“She didn’t have much to say. I did most of the talking.”

Cristian fiddled with his watch. He had a nice coating of hair on his arm. Not so much that he looked like a gorilla, but enough that you knew he was a man.

“What’s going on?” Fina asked.

“What do you mean?”

“You seem distracted.”

He shrugged. “I’m good.”

They sat for a few moments in silence, and Fina ate more of the chips. Cristian looked at the students.

“Couldn’t you carry a really big gun in one of those cello cases?” Fina asked, gesturing toward a skinny young man a couple of tables away.

“I suppose, but not everyone is always thinking up inventive ways to conceal weapons.”

“Any word on Bob Webber?”

Cristian shook his head. “He’s a ghost.”

“Something happened to him.”

“You know that or you think that?”

“I think it, and you know you do, too. People don’t just disappear willy-nilly.”

Cristian shrugged. “People are flaky.”

The waitress brought their plates.

“Could you cut a little bit of this for me?” Fina nudged her plate toward Cristian. “I’m always a little wary when the food is ready so quickly,” she confided once the waitress was out of earshot.

“Frying doesn’t require much time,” he said as his knife cracked into her deep-fried burrito. He cut a dozen small pieces off it and pushed the plate back over to her.

“I suppose. Thanks.”

They ate in silence. The cello player and his friends clamored by, and their table was quickly claimed by a group of young men engaged in a political argument.

“I can’t take this,” Fina said after a few minutes. She put down her fork and stared at Cristian. “What is going on? You’re being quiet and weird.”

Cristian picked at a piece of burrito with his fork. “I’m not sure what’s going on.”

“Oookay . . .”

“Pitney and I interviewed some of Brianna’s friends.”

Fina watched him. “And . . .”

“They weren’t her friends, really. More like her colleagues.” Cristian took a sip of his drink. “I saw Haley there.”

Fina felt a chill settle over her. “What do you mean? Where was this?”

“At a club.”

Fina sat back in her seat. “She goes to clubs all the time. I know it’s illegal, and I try to discourage it, but I’m kind of fighting a losing battle.”

Cristian shook his head. “I don’t think it’s just that.”

“Cristian, I know she has sketchy friends. She was friends with Brianna, for Christ’s sake.”

“She was a part of the group, Fina. It seemed like she was one of them.”

Fina felt her face flush. She didn’t know what would happen if she spoke. She might scream or cry, or maybe no sound at all would come out. She took a few sips of her drink and waited for her heart rate to slow. Cristian poked at his burrito and stole glances at her.

“Are you saying she’s working as a hooker?” Fina finally asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe she’s just hanging out with them, but I just got the feeling—”

“Were they all Bev Duprey’s girls?”

“No. Some of them were Dante Trimonti’s. A few, I don’t know who they work for yet.”

“So you’re not sure?”

“I’m not one hundred percent sure, but I’m concerned enough that I thought I should tell you.”

Fina’s broken wrist started to itch. She reached into the cast with her finger and scratched it furiously. When she pulled it out, there was blood on her nail.

Cristian reached over and grabbed her hand. “Stop it. You’re going to make it worse.”

Fina leaned toward him and whispered, “How can anything get worse?”

“Do you have your phone?” Cristian asked.

“Yes. Why?”

“You need to call Milloy.”

“You want me to call Milloy?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m afraid you’re going to draw more blood—yours or more likely someone else’s. Just call him and let him help you. I can’t. You’re veering into dangerous territory.”

“I don’t need a babysitter. I need to figure out what the fuck is going on.”

“Call him, Fina.”

Fina took a deep breath. “I’ll be fine.” Cristian glared at her. “Seriously, I’m completely capable of being calm and professional. I’m just going to take the information and investigate. I’ll just do what I do best.”

Cristian reached into his wallet and pulled out a twenty, which he tossed on the table. “I’d feel better if you’d call Milloy.”

“And I’d feel better if there weren’t a chance my fifteen-year-old niece is a hooker.”

Cristian stood up. “I’m going to call you tomorrow, and you’d better pick up. If you don’t, I’m going to call Milloy and then 911.”

“That won’t be necessary. I’ll answer.”

“Don’t do anything rash.”

“I won’t. I promise.”

Fina added some bills to the table and followed Cristian out. She walked in the direction of the Pru. When she looked back, Cristian was watching her. He looked worried.

As he should be.

She didn’t call Milloy. Instead, she walked around Back Bay for an hour and found herself outside Bev Duprey’s office. She cut through to the alley that ran along the back of the building; the lights were off in Bev’s unit. A homeless man came shuffling down the cobblestone passage. He wanted to engage Fina in a discussion about the people with vacuums who were landing on the roof, but she wasn’t in the mood.

Back on Beacon Street, she called Emma.

“I know, I know,” Emma answered. “The Dupreys. I’m working on it.”

“Glad to hear it, but I wasn’t calling about that specifically. Do you have a home address for them?”

“Hold on a minute.”

Fina waited. Unlike most people she called, there was rarely background noise when she talked to Emma on the phone. No blaring horns or loud music or silverware clanking around. It was as if Fina had called another decade altogether.

“Here it is: 22 Wickham Street, #4A.”

“Is that the Flat of the Hill?”

“Yup. Do you need directions?”

“No. Thanks.” Fina hung up and started walking northeast on Beacon Street. The temperature was actually bearable. It was on the cusp between warm and hot, but the humidity had dropped, and the walk didn’t produce beads of sweat in the small of her back.

She dialed Mark Lamont’s number and left a message that matched her brisk pace.

“Mark, it’s Fina Ludlow. We’ve got to talk about Bob Webber and some other shit that’s going on. He’s disappeared. I know you’re busy, but I really need to talk to you.”

It took her fifteen minutes to reach 22 Wickham Street. She sat down on the steps of the brownstone across the street and peered up at the fourth floor. Fina didn’t have a plan. Her head was swimming with the flotsam and jetsam of the last twenty-four hours, but the thing that kept rising to the surface was Haley. She had to figure out if Haley was involved with Bev, and then she had to protect her.

A man walked toward her and stopped to enter the building in front of which Fina was sitting. He paused at the door.

“Can I help you with something?” he asked. It was a polite way of ascertaining why a stranger was staked out on his stoop.

“No, thanks. I’m leaving.” Fina stood. “I was waiting for a friend, but I think we got our wires crossed.” She shuffled down the stairs and headed in the direction of Charles Street.

The smart thing to do would be to hail a cab, but Fina felt like walking. And if someone hassled her, and she smashed his skull in with her cast . . .

She couldn’t lie; the idea held some appeal.

The next morning, Fina wasn’t concerned about waiting until Bev got to work. She wanted to beat her there.

Her alarm went off at six
A.M.
, and after submerging herself in the tub with her cast hanging over the side, she dressed, scarfed down a peanut butter sandwich and a diet soda, and took a cab over to Beacon Street. She had the cabbie drop her a block away from Bev’s office, and she paced on the corner, glancing at her watch as if waiting for a tardy car pool.

No one entered or left Bev’s building, so Fina crossed the street and stood by the front door. A few minutes after seven
A.M.
, a young man in khakis, a blue button-down shirt, and a striped tie came bounding out of the front door. Fina was ready with an excuse, but he was plugged into his music and paid her no attention.

Inside, she put her ear to Bev’s door and listened for a few moments. She didn’t hear anything, so she knocked and waited. After a full minute had passed with no response, Fina reached into her bag and pulled out her lock picks. It took longer than Dante’s—thanks to better locks and her plaster cast—but she gained access after five minutes and slowly opened the door.

The condo was empty. Fina went straight to the office, pulled on a pair of gloves as best she could, and began a thorough search—filing cabinets, desk drawers, the underside of furniture, even the air vents. She found what she expected to find: meticulous records for an aboveboard escort service. Most likely, Bev kept two sets of books; one for show and another that reflected the true nature of the business. The books Fina found detailed “client meetings” that identified the clients and escorts by numbers only. There were no references to sexual acts or anything else that could be used for either blackmail purposes or prosecution. And there was no reference to Haley or Rand.

The kitchen, bathroom, and living room resembled those of a high-end corporate housing unit: floral soaps and fluffy towels, an assortment of tea, and attractive yet durable dishware. The magazines in the living room were women’s titles, including
Southern Living
,
Martha Stewart Living
, and
Good Housekeeping
.

Fina searched furiously for forty-five minutes and then filled a glass with water in the kitchen. She drank it down, washed the glass, wiped it clean with a dish towel, and sat down in the living room. She hated waiting, but she wanted Bev to take her seriously, and breaking in was an expeditious way to achieve that goal.

Fifteen minutes after sitting down and struggling to calm her racing mind, there was a sound at the door. It opened, and Bev walked in. She inhaled sharply when she saw Fina.

“What the hell are you doing here?” she spat.

“Sit down.”

“I’ll do no such thing. This is private property. I’m calling the police.” Bev reached into her bag, and Fina reached into hers. Bev pulled out a phone and began dialing, and Fina pulled out her gun and laid it on the wide armrest of the club chair. Bev paused mid-dial.

“You’re going to shoot me?”

“That’s up to you. Sit down.”

Bev looked annoyed, but she dropped her phone back into her bag and sat down in the other club chair. She fussed with the hem of her printed floral skirt. On top, she wore a white short-sleeved sweater set and a necklace of chunky whitish stones. The cut and fabrics had an understated elegance that must have been pricey.

Fina glared at Bev. “Are you using my niece as a hooker?” she asked.

Bev exhaled loudly. “I’m willing to have this ridiculous conversation with you, but I have an important business meeting in”—she looked at her gold watch—“five minutes. Why don’t we discuss this later?”

“Answer my question.”

“I don’t even know who your niece is.”

“I have it on good authority that she hangs out with your hookers.”

Bev shook her head in disapproval.

Fina picked up the gun. “You know what? You don’t have to answer the question. All you have to know is that if you have any contact with her from this moment forward—”

There was a knock on the door and a voice called out: “Mrs. Duprey?”

Bev glanced at the door. Fina grasped the gun, stood up, and peered out the peephole.

She closed her eyes and rested her forehead on the door. “Oh, no,” she moaned softly. She tucked the gun into her waistband at the small of her back and opened the door. She stood back and gestured for the visitor to come in.

Bev closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she opened them, Haley was standing there, staring at the two women.

Fina opened and closed her fist a couple of times. She looked at Bev and then Haley.

“Have you been working for this woman?” she asked Haley.

“Oh my God! Are you kidding me?” Haley’s arms fluttered at her sides, like a bird trapped in a room with lots of windows, but no means of escape.

“Cut the shit, Haley!” Fina yelled. “Tell me the truth.”

The color was draining out of Haley’s face, and her chin began to tremble.

Fina grasped her shoulders. “Just tell me the truth. It will be okay. Really, I’ll take care of you, but you have to tell me the truth.”

Tears rolled down Haley’s cheeks. She glanced at Bev, who stared back at the girl.

“Yes,” Haley whispered.

Fina hugged her and glared at Bev over her niece’s shoulder. After a moment, she released Haley and cupped her chin with one hand. “No more. You are never to see this woman again. If she approaches you or threatens you, tell me immediately. If I’m not available, tell Milloy.”

“You told Milloy?!”

“No, and you don’t have to tell Milloy anything specific to get his help. You just tell him that this woman”—she looked at Bev—“is bothering you. Okay?” Haley nodded. “Do you understand, Bev?” Fina asked. “You are not to contact her or threaten her.”

Bev looked off to the side. She looked annoyed. “I wouldn’t dream of bothering her.”

“Good.” Fina looked at Haley. “I want you to go to Aunt Patty’s and spend the day there. If you want to stay in bed all day, fine. Tell her you don’t feel well. Or spend time with your cousins. But I want you at Scotty and Patty’s until I come find you. Tell your dad you want to be there.” Fina steered her toward the door. She leaned toward her. “Can I trust you to do that?”

“Are you going to tell my dad about this?”

Fina raised her palms. “I have no idea, but I’m not going to do anything without talking to you first.”

“I’ll go to Aunt Patty’s.”

“Good. I’ll see you later.” Fina gently nudged her out the door and closed it behind her. She leaned against it and studied the ceiling. “I should kill you right now.”

“That would be ill-advised.”

“Oh, really? Why’s that? Who’s going to miss you? Your disgraced son or your bedridden husband?”

Bev leaned forward in her seat. “This is all your family’s fault.”

“So you go after an underage girl and kill her mother?”

“I had nothing to do with her mother’s death.”

Fina walked over and put her hands on the back of the empty chair. “Is that why Melanie contacted you? Because of Haley?”

Bev tucked a piece of hair behind her ear.

“That would make sense,” Fina ventured. “Rand’s activities would humiliate and piss her off, but it wouldn’t necessarily set her on a rampage. But Haley would. If she thought you were hurting her daughter, she’d come after you.”

Bev scoffed. “Really? She was such a dedicated mother? So concerned for her daughter’s well-being?”

“Of course! She wouldn’t want her working as a hooker!”

“Why do you think girls do this job, Ms. Ludlow?” Bev sneered.

“Because people like you prey on them.”

“I know that’s your theory, but even if that were true, I’m never the first to have hurt them.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“I’m just saying that your sister-in-law wasn’t exactly mother-of-the-year material.”

“No, she wasn’t, but neither are you, despite the sanctimonious bullshit you believe.”

“You may question my actions, but I’ve never done anything to damage my child. Never.”

“Every parent damages their child in some way. Why do you think there are so many shrinks in this town? You’re deluded if you think otherwise.”

Bev stood up and smoothed her skirt. “I will stay away from Haley, but I strongly urge you to stay away from me and my family.”

Fina was quiet for a moment, then shook her head slowly. “I don’t know if I can do that.”

“I have access to powerful resources—friends, business partners—and I promise you, they will not tolerate your interference.”

“So, what? You’re going to kick me up the food chain?”

“If necessary. Consider yourself warned: If you meddle with my interests, you’ll be meddling with some very dangerous people.”

Fina walked over to the door and opened it. “I look forward to it.”

She walked out and slammed the door behind her.

That bitch could burn in hell.

Fina walked to the Public Garden, where she fit right in with the homeless people who were grimacing and talking to themselves. She sat down on a bench and forced herself to breathe deeply for a couple of minutes. Once she’d reclaimed a modicum of calm, she bought a diet soda and a pretzel the size of Big Bird’s hand from a vendor. She returned to the bench and ate, washing down the jagged salt crystals with gulps of soda. When her phone rang, she glanced at the screen, swallowed a mouthful, and hit the answer button.

“I haven’t killed anyone,” she told Cristian. “That’s what you want to know, right?”

“That’s good news. What have you been up to?”

Fina was silent. There was a cluster of elderly people doing tai chi on a patch of grass near the Swan Boats. With their achingly slow, synchronized movements, they looked like a flock of graceful, grounded birds.

“Fina?”

“Yeah?” Fina heard shuffling and banging in the background.

“We should meet.”

Fina’s stomach tightened. “Why? What now?”

“Nothing related to Haley, but we need to talk. Where are you?”

“The Public Garden.”

“I don’t suppose you want to swing by headquarters?”

“Ha. I don’t think so.”

“Well, I don’t have a lot of time. You’re going to have to meet me halfway.”

“Fine. Meet me in the lobby of the Westin.”

“I’ll be there in half an hour.”

“See ya.” Fina dropped her phone into her bag and finished her soda. It wouldn’t take her thirty minutes to walk to the hotel, but she threw out her soda can and napkins and moved in that direction anyway. She was in no mood for the crowds or tight sidewalks of Newbury Street, and instead opted for the less charming thoroughfare of Boylston.

Since leaving Bev’s office, she’d struggled to ignore all thoughts of Haley, but blocking things out never worked for Fina. Other people, like her mother, just chose to see what they wanted to in the world, but Fina was missing the self-delusion gene. She didn’t know how to block out the unsavory stuff, which might explain her line of work. If you couldn’t put it out of your mind, you might as well jump into the fray.

Fina couldn’t stop the maelstrom in her head, but she had to focus. She would keep Haley safe and deal with the fallout from her situation later. She would crush whoever had killed Melanie. She would destroy Bev Duprey. It was an exhausting to-do list.

In the hotel lobby, Fina found an empty seating area and sat down in a chair upholstered in beige microsuede that was too big for one person, but a touch too small for two. Fina felt like Goldilocks as she sank down into the seat. She watched the top of the escalator, and after a few minutes, Cristian’s head appeared. He was wearing jeans, a fitted T-shirt, and a sport coat. The coat was a nod to looking professional, but more importantly, a means of concealing his gun. He wasn’t undercover, but didn’t need to advertise his profession, either.

Fina scooted over as he approached. “Here.” She patted the empty foot of space on the seat. “Sit next to me.”

Cristian shook his head and grinned. “I don’t think we’d fit.”

“Of course we would. We just have to suck it in. What’s the point of these chairs otherwise?”

“You’re getting loopy. Never a good sign.” Cristian pulled a matching chair close to hers and sat down. “I’m guessing you made another visit to Bev Duprey.”