Identity (20 page)

“So I’m looking for something about the center?”

“Yes. It’s my center; I have the right to know what your father had in mind.”

Michael pushed a drawer closed and swiveled so his chair faced the desk. Juliana scrolled through her e-mails on her phone while she waited. She had a lot of things on her plate these days: the center’s annual gala, a trip to India later in the fall, and a race before Halloween.

“I don’t see anything, Mom.”

She dropped her phone into her large leather satchel. “You’re sure?”

Michael looked at her with annoyance. “I looked in all the drawers. There’s nothing here.”

“Fine.” Juliana stood up, and Michael came around the desk. “Thank you for looking, sweetie. I appreciate it.”

“Sorry I couldn’t find anything.”

“It’s fine. Any word on the funeral arrangements?”

Michael exhaled sharply. “I’m supposed to meet with Danielle today to finalize them.”

“Well, when you do, let me know.”

Michael looked at her. “You’re not planning on going, are you?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because you and Danielle aren’t exactly bosom buddies?”

“We were married for twenty-four years, and Hank is the father of my child. I’d like to pay my respects.”

“I know, I just don’t want a scene.”

“
I’m
not going to make a scene.” Juliana looped her bag over her shoulder. “I can’t speak for her.”

They walked out of the office and headed toward the elevators. “Do you want to stay with me for a few days?” Juliana asked.

“I don’t think so.”

“I just thought you might want some company.” Michael and his med school girlfriend had broken up six weeks before.

“I’m okay. I’ll let you know if I need anything.” He pressed the down
button. “Are
you
doing okay? Like you said, you were married to him for twenty-four years.”

Juliana thought for a moment. “Your father and I had a lot of good years,” she said, avoiding the question. She stretched onto her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “Call me later.”

Michael nodded his assent and watched the elevator doors close behind her.

•   •   •

Fina had a message from her contact at the Registry, which she added to the info she’d already dug up. She pulled into a McDonald’s parking lot to give the new information her full attention.

The apartment that Tyler had hightailed it to the previous afternoon was owned by a Miriam Goldblum, a name that didn’t ring any bells, but the car in the driveway was registered to William Hedquist. Fina looked through the list of contacts provided by Renata.

Bingo.

One of Rosie’s coworkers at the shelter was Sam Hedquist. It was too unusual a name for mere coincidence.

Fina ordered medium fries and a diet soda from the drive-thru and went back over the river to Cambridge. She parked in an overpriced garage and sat for a moment licking salt off her fingers. She was fairly sure that Rosie had taken off of her own accord, but she wasn’t sure why she took off in the first place. Was she just pissed at Renata or had she done something stupid and panicked?

Twenty minutes later, at the restaurant where Tyler worked, Fina did another do-si-do with the bartender, who finally gave her admittance and directed her to the kitchen. She found Tyler in a line of other white-jacketed men butchering an animal on a stainless-steel counter.

“Hey,” Tyler said. He grinned at her, but the smile was muted.

“Hey. Can I borrow you for a minute?”

An older man wearing a toque looked annoyed, but gestured with a huge knife for Tyler to step away from the table.

“Let me take off my gloves,” Tyler said when they moved over to a spotless counter.

“Don’t bother,” Fina said, eyeing his latex-encased hands, which were bloody and greasy-looking. “This will only take a minute.”

“What’s up?”

“I want you to deliver a message for me.”

Tyler looked blank.

“Can you let Rosie and Sam know that if she doesn’t get in contact with Renata by eight tonight, I’ll have to drag her home myself?”

Tyler’s eyes widened, and his mouth formed an O shape.

“I’m a PI, Tyler, remember? I find stuff out.”

“Look, I don’t know—”

Fina held a hand up in protest. “You don’t need to explain. If Renata were my mother, I would have filed for emancipation years ago. I’m not unsympathetic to Rosie’s situation.” Fina looked at him. “Assuming that’s all this is about.”

Tyler held up his coated hands in question. “What do you mean?”

Fina detected the smell of raw animal. Something twitched deep in her stomach, and not in a good way.

“I hope Rosie didn’t do anything stupid, like confront Hank Reardon.”

“What? And kill him? You’ve got to be kidding.”

Fina shrugged. “I’m not saying that’s what I believe. But the cops might.”

“Fuck.” He made a motion to crack his knuckles, but couldn’t get purchase on his fingers. “All right. She’ll go home.”

“If she needs a lawyer—a criminal lawyer—we can find someone for her. Tell her to call me.”

“Okay.” He glanced over his shoulder. “I should get back.”

“Sure. What is that thing anyway?”

“Lamb. It’s delicious.”

“If you say so. Remember, by eight tonight.”

Tyler nodded, and Fina left the kitchen.

On the sidewalk, she called Renata and left a message reassuring her that Rosie would be in touch by eight.

That was one mystery solved.

•   •   •

It was too late for dinner at Frank and Peg’s, but Fina found a bowl of potato salad and some sliced ham in the fridge.

“Do you do this at your parents’?” Frank asked when he came into the kitchen. He’d been downstairs working on a leak in the bathroom sink. “Eat all their food?”

“Are you kidding?” She started to help herself. “I’m hungry, not crazy.”

Peg sat at the kitchen table sipping a cup of coffee, and Frank walked over to the sink and began to scrub his greasy hands.

“Would you still visit if we didn’t have food?” Frank asked, winking at Peg.

Fina considered the question for a moment. “I’d visit Peg.”

Frank smiled and poured himself a cup of coffee. “So, Hank Reardon.”

“You can’t make this stuff up.” Fina carried her plate over to the table and popped open a diet soda.

“Those poor kids,” Peg said, shaking her head.

“Poor Hank,” Frank exclaimed.

“Well, of course poor Hank, but those kids . . . they must be reeling.”

“One of them took off,” Fina said between bites.

“Which one?” Frank held the mug close to his face and inhaled.

“Renata Sanchez’s oldest, Rosie.”

“Is she okay?” Peg asked.

“Yeah, I found her, but the timing of her disappearance didn’t look good.”

“You think she had something to do with Hank’s death?” Frank asked.

“It’s hard to believe, but I never would have believed that Hank Reardon sold his sperm and fathered cryokids. Who knows?” She took
a mouthful of potato salad. Peg’s potato salad was the best—rich, but not heavy, with the faint tang of pickles. “This potato salad is amazing, Peg. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, sweetie.” Peg rotated her mug on the table. “So do you think Rosie was just blowing off steam?”

“Probably. Renata isn’t very sensitive. Rosie probably thinks something dramatic was required to get her mother’s attention.”

“You wouldn’t know anything about that,” Frank commented, and rolled his eyes.

Fina looked at him. “I’m not dramatic.”

“Didn’t you once steal your brother’s car to teach him a lesson?”

“That was years ago, and he deserved it. He kept on taking my things without asking.” Fina had “relocated” her older brother’s car when they were teenagers after she got fed up with his loose interpretation of what was his and what was hers. Rand thought nothing of going into her bedroom and claiming her CDs, money, and weed. Carl and Elaine wouldn’t step in, so she took matters into her own hands. Despite Carl’s punishment, it was worth the trouble; Rand stayed out of her room from then on. Too bad he didn’t stay out of other people’s rooms in the years to come.

“I’m just saying I don’t blame her if she was trying to teach Renata a lesson, or at the very least get her attention,” said Fina.

“If you ever have children, I hope they’re just like you,” Frank said, and grinned.

“I wouldn’t hold out too much hope if I were you.”

He chuckled. “Just the thought warms my heart.”

•   •   •

Cristian wanted her to swing by the station on her way home, but she convinced him to meet her at a nearby diner instead. It wasn’t that she didn’t like going to the station, but in her experience, the less Pitney saw of her, the better.

Settled in a roomy vinyl booth, Cristian ordered an egg white
scramble with wheat toast and a side of fruit. Fina made up for it by requesting a slice of apple pie à la mode and a glass of milk.

“Is this your dinner?” she asked him.

“Yes. Is it yours?”

“Dessert. I had something more substantial at Frank and Peg’s.”

“How are they?”

“They’re good. Healthy and full of spit and vinegar.”

The waitress poured a cup of coffee for Cristian. “So I heard that you got Rosie Sanchez to return home.”

“Her half-brother was in on it; I strongly suggested she return home and put her mother out of her misery.”

“And help the police with their inquiries.”

“Well, that goes without saying.”

Two plates were brought to their table by a different waitress, who looked like she was pushing seventy-five. Fina couldn’t imagine she worked the late shift at the diner for kicks.

Cristian took a bite of fluffy eggs while Fina dissected her slice of pie, allowing the scoop of ice cream to seep into the filling.

“Want a bite?” she asked, working to get the perfect proportion of ice cream, crust, and filling onto her fork.

He shook his head.

They ate in silence for a minute.

“Do you have a theory of the crime you’d like to share?” Fina asked, spearing a chunk of apple with her fork.

Cristian sat back against the vinyl booth and studied her. Some people might assume that their relationship was a one-way street, but Cristian and Pitney knew that Fina could be a valuable source of information if they pointed her in the right direction.

He took a sip of coffee and carefully placed the cup back in its saucer. “Remember, you can’t discuss this with anyone. You know we hold back details sometimes.”

“I know. My lips are sealed.”

“Okay. Hank’s car drove into the garage at Universum at eleven forty-five
P.M.
”

“Was he driving?”

“Yes.”

“Was anyone else in the car?”

“Not that we can see on the video.”

“So either his killer was hiding in the car or snuck into the parking garage but avoided the cameras.” Fina took a drink of milk.

“Exactly, and the cameras have blind spots, so it’s not as hard as you might think.”

“If that’s the case, why have the cameras at all?”

“They’re a deterrent, and if you aren’t familiar with them, you would probably get caught.”

“You’re looking for someone who has been to the garage before.”

“Which is pretty much everyone on the suspect list,” Cristian said.

A bell jangled as the door of the diner opened. Three construction workers walked in wearing reflective vests and filthy work clothes.

Fina swallowed a mouthful of pie. “Okay, so the killer is somehow on the scene, and what? Confronts Hank? Surprises him?”

“Either. Both.” Cristian took a bite of his crunchy toast. “The blows were to the back of the head; either he had turned away from the murderer or never even saw him or her in the first place.”

“There wasn’t a struggle?”

“No, which is why ‘her’ is a viable option.”

Fina wrapped her hands around her milk. “Last I heard, the murder weapon was a blunt object, something small and heavy. Anything new on that front?” she asked.

“Nothing, except that it wasn’t a traditional hammer.”

“You’ve concluded that because of the pattern of the trauma?”

He nodded. “It didn’t leave any round markings. That’s good, because it’s more specialized, but that’s bad, because it’s more obscure.”

“What markings did it leave?” she asked.

“Squares, about the size of those small Post-it notes. Not the standard size; the little ones.”

“I know the ones you’re talking about.” Fina considered this for a moment. “What about the surface of the weapon? Was it flat or textured?”

“Flat as far as we can tell.”

“I saw a bloodstain when I was there, but what about the killer’s clothes? How bloody did things get?”

“It wasn’t a bloodbath, if that’s what you’re asking. Hank was hit a few times, hard, but as soon as the heart stops, the blood stops pumping.”

“So the killer’s clothes may have been stained but not soaked.”

“Right. If he was smart, he would have disposed of his clothes or else worn some kind of protective gear, like a boilersuit or Tyvek suit that would be easy to dispose of.”

“You didn’t find anything useful at the scene?”

“Just hairs and fibers from half the company. It’s a parking garage for an office building, and partially exposed to the elements to boot. Not exactly an ideal crime scene.”

“Not for
you
, maybe. The killer must have been pleased.” She cut through a thick piece of crust, releasing a small flurry of crumbs. “Any news on the Marissa front?”

“She wants Brad to come to Matteo’s preschool welcome ceremony.”

“What is that exactly? They show them their cubbies and the potty?”

“Basically,” Cristian bristled, “but it’s a family thing.”

“I’m just trying to picture Carl and Elaine attending a preschool welcome ceremony.”

“Didn’t they just lock you guys out of the house so you could roam and forage all day?”

“Essentially.”

The waitress put a folded check on the table, and Fina reached for her wallet. “It’s on me.”

“Uh-uh. Let’s go Dutch. I don’t want anyone to think I’m being bought off by the Ludlows.”

Fina put a ten on the table, and Cristian put down his share.