Brutality (43 page)

“I’m not, but you seem to be, so I thought I would be this morning.”

Tasha pulled out a coffee cup and pressed various buttons on the machine. It whirred and deposited dark steaming liquid into the cup.

“I don’t have much time,” Tasha said, taking a tentative sip of her coffee.

“I only need a few minutes.”

“We’re heading downstairs,” D said, hoisting the baby onto his shoulder and depositing the empty bottle in the sink. “Let’s go, Lyla.”

The girl squeezed her mother around the knees before following her father out of the room.

Tasha took D’s place on the couch across from Fina. “What’s going on?” she asked.

“I’ve heard that Kevin Lafferty gets his girlfriends from the pool of NEU female athletes. Is that true?”

Tasha placed her cup on the coffee table and picked a piece of imaginary lint off her dress. She was wearing a fitted sheath that complemented her physique.

“Where did you hear that?” she asked.

“Does it matter?”

“Maybe.”

“I don’t think it does.” Fina leaned forward, her hands clasped. “This is the second time you’ve left out an important piece of information.”

“You’re not the police, Fina,” Tasha said. “I’m not legally obligated to tell you things.”

“But you were Liz’s friend, right? I’m trying to figure out who killed her, Tasha. I’m sorry you don’t find that a compelling enough reason to share information with me.”

Tasha sighed. “I don’t like spreading rumors.”

“I don’t, either, but I’m good at my job, and I know how to separate fact from fiction.”

“I’m not sure how Kevin’s relationships are relevant.”

“Nor am I, but I can’t figure it out if I don’t know about it,” Fina said.

“I don’t have any definitive information.”

“I understand that. I still want to hear what you suspect.”

After studying her manicure for a moment, Tasha looked at her. “I think Kevin Lafferty has been fooling around with students since he was a student at NEU. He’s aged, but his demographic of choice hasn’t.”

“So when he worked for the university, he was involved with students?”

“I think so.”

“Is that why he stopped working there?” Fina asked. “Frankly, I was surprised he ever left NEU’s employ.”

“I don’t know the answer to that,” Tasha said. “Really,” she reiterated when Fina raised an eyebrow. “He went to NEU, then worked there briefly, and then became a booster.”

“And do you think he’s had NEU girlfriends the whole time?”

Tasha nodded. “I don’t know that for sure, but serial adulterers don’t usually change their ways.”

“Why hasn’t the university put an end to it? They must know about it.”

“I assume somebody does,” Tasha said, “but it’s complicated. I’m sure he chooses students who are of age. Technically, he isn’t employed by the university, and the university benefits from his involvement in the sports program. They don’t want him to go any more than he would want to.”

“It seems so sleazy,” Fina said. “Like having the fox guard the henhouse.”

Tasha nodded and drank her coffee. “I agree.”

“If you were a parent of a soccer player, would you want Kevin around your daughter?”

“No, but if she were over eighteen, there wouldn’t be much I could do about it.”

The cell phone on the counter rang, and Tasha got up to answer it. “I have to take this,” she said, looking at the screen.

Tasha wandered into the dining room for her conversation, and Fina was left on the couch. She knew that open secrets in communities were commonplace, and some of them were harmless, but what about ones that weren’t? Kevin might not have been doing anything illegal, but it was still an abuse of power as far as Fina was concerned. Was that really less important than his role as a booster?

Tasha returned a minute later.

“I have about two minutes,” she told Fina, “and then I really have to go.”

“No problem,” Fina said, rising from the couch. “Just one more question: Who was Kevin’s girlfriend when you were on the team?”

Tasha’s head dipped down and she gripped her phone more tightly. “I don’t want to answer that.”

Fina crossed her arms in front of her. “That suggests to me that it was you or Liz. I’m not going to judge either one of you, but I need to know, Tasha. If it has nothing to do with her death, I promise to bury the information.”

“Again,” Tasha said, “I’m not certain.”

Fina looked at her own watch pointedly.

“Liz,” Tasha said. “I’m pretty sure that Liz was involved with Kevin when we were students.”

“She never told you?” Fina asked.

“No, but I know she was involved with someone she didn’t want to discuss—someone that her friends wouldn’t approve of.”

“So you assumed it was him?”

“I assumed it was an older guy or a married guy or both. Kevin flirted with all of us, but there was a vibe between them that was different.”

“Did you ever ask her outright?” Fina asked.

“No, but I warned her that getting involved with him or anyone else in the ‘inappropriate’ category was asking for trouble,” Tasha said.

“Did anyone else know they were involved?”

“Not as far as I knew, but people may have suspected it just like I did.” Tasha looked at her watch. “Now I really do have to go.”

“Of course,” Fina said. “I can let myself out. Thanks for telling me.”

“Sure.”

Fina was annoyed that Tasha had held back this information, but as someone who often held things back, she could appreciate the inclination. If Cristian punished her every time she wasn’t forthcoming, they wouldn’t have much of a relationship—personal or professional.

Outside, Fina wound her scarf around her neck more tightly to try to stave off the frigid wind. The tide of information seemed to be flowing at a steady pace, but she didn’t know how to harness it yet. Jamie had wondered early on about Liz and Kevin’s relationship, and although Fina hadn’t found any evidence to support that, she had to wonder if he’d been onto something.

—

K
evin was content. He was drinking a strong cup of coffee, the boys had been picked up for school, ESPN was on, and the sports page was open in front of him. He could almost pretend that all the other garbage—the lawsuit, the relationship, the investigations—wasn’t happening.

He was chortling at the sports blooper reel when he heard the garage door open. Sheila was home from her shift at the hospital. Kevin did a visual inventory of the kitchen, spied the boys’ cereal bowls in the sink, and popped up to load them into the dishwasher. His wife was tired when she got off the overnight shift, and little things could turn into big things. He’d learned early on that if he toed the line in certain areas, he could obliterate it in others.

“Hi, hon,” Kevin said, reaching for a mug to pour Sheila a cup of coffee.

Her face had that peculiar cast to it that Kevin always attributed to a night shift spent in alternating darkness and bright light. Sheila was in and out of patient rooms, armed with a flashlight, but the hallways and nurses’ station were illuminated like the Citgo sign.

He didn’t envy her schedule, but in recent years, it had served them well. These days, when they were together, Sheila seemed less patient and more easily irritated—or maybe Kevin was growing tired of keeping all the balls in the air.

“Bad night?” he asked.

She sank down into a chair and waved off the mug of coffee that Kevin offered. “That little boy with the tumor got much worse.”

“That’s awful.”

Sheila sighed. “It makes me want to come home and hug my boys.”

“You can give them an extra-big squeeze tonight,” Kevin said, sitting down across from her.

Sheila reached over and clicked off the TV.

He knew she had a tough job, but it irked him that her desires superseded his own. He’d never be able to trump a dying child, but did that mean he couldn’t watch
SportsCenter
while enjoying his coffee?

“I was watching that,” he said, reaching for the remote.

She glared at him and laid her hand over the device. “I was getting ready for work yesterday and a woman stopped by, a private investigator.”

Kevin felt his muscles tense. He forced a smile and nodded his head. “I know who she is: Fina Ludlow. I can’t believe she bothered you.”

“Apparently, she’s been bothering you a lot,” Sheila said. “Why didn’t you mention that?”

“Because I didn’t want to involve you,” Kevin said. “It’s just more of this nonsense with the university. You’ve got enough on your plate.” He reached out and clasped her hand. She didn’t brush him off, but nor did she reciprocate his affection.

“You’re sure that’s the reason?” Sheila asked, studying him.

It was hard to take Sheila seriously in those ridiculous teddy bear scrubs. “Absolutely,” he assured her.

She stood up and reached for a glass in the cabinet. She grabbed the carton of orange juice out of the refrigerator and shook it vigorously before pouring a glassful.

“She asked me about the night of the Medical Society benefit. Does she think you killed Liz Barone?” Her back was toward him; Kevin didn’t know if that was for his benefit or hers.

“Of course not. She’s a troublemaker. I don’t want you to give it another thought.”

Sheila drained the glass and rinsed it. She put it in the dishwasher and closed the door, then leaned her hip against the counter. “She also made it sound like your role at the university might be in jeopardy.”

Kevin rose from the table and came over to her. He pulled her into an embrace, knowing that after a moment she would relax into his grip.

“She’s just stirring things up. It’s what she does, but she doesn’t have any real authority. Fina Ludlow is just a loose cannon making money off other people’s tragedies.”

For a moment, Sheila rested her head on his shoulder before pulling away. “I’m going to sleep,” she said, padding out of the kitchen.

Kevin dumped his now cold coffee into the sink and tossed the sports section into the recycling bin.

Nobody could ruin a day like Fina Ludlow.

—

B
ack at Nanny’s, Fina stripped off her clothes and climbed into bed. She had work to do, but was feeling fuzzy. Sometimes, when her brain got overloaded, it was better to take a break than force things.

She woke up two hours later craving a fluffernutter and made a beeline for the kitchen. Fina got a grocery delivery every couple of weeks, and she rarely altered the list. It included her idea of staples: diet soda, peanut butter, Pop-Tarts, cookies, ice cream, and toilet paper. It also included other people’s—mainly Milloy’s—version of staples. He insisted that she have eggs, milk, bread, chicken breasts, and frozen vegetables in the house and dipped into those supplies as needed. Even though she unpacked the groceries, Fina was always startled when Milloy emerged from her kitchen sipping a green smoothie or eating a chicken and broccoli stir-fry. Really? That came from her kitchen?

Today all she wanted was two pieces of white bread slathered with peanut butter and Marshmallow Fluff, washed down with a glass of cold milk. Growing up, she and her brothers had often snacked on fluffernutters in those hungry hours between school dismissal and dinner. It was one of her few fond memories from childhood.

Fina took the sandwich and her milk to the dining room table and set them next to her laptop. She retrieved the clothing store customer list from her bag and steeled herself for the monotony that people rarely associate with detective work. Fina felt sorry for the cops, given the public’s expectations of them. Thanks to the success of popular crime procedurals on TV, everyone assumed that crimes were solved by lab tests and computers, but that wasn’t the case.
People
solved crimes with hard work and tenacity.

She started plugging the customer names into the image tool of a search engine in the hope that her bomber would magically appear. Given the poor quality of the surveillance footage, she didn’t expect to ID him from another photo, but hoped to narrow down the list of potential subjects. Fina doubted that she’d find photos of all the customers or be able to verify that the name on the list was the same person online, but it was a place to start. She also knew that the mystery man might not be on the customer list at all, but she couldn’t linger on that possibility. This was what she had to go on right now, and it was better than waiting for the ideal approach that would never come.

It took her a couple of hours to make a first pass through the list, which left Fina with 123 names. The other 184 didn’t fit the bill because they were white, old, or skinny. Fina got up and stretched and got a diet soda from the fridge.

Back at the table, she brought up Facebook and started plugging in the 123 candidates. She was able to rule out fifty-two of the bunch based on their profile photos. Thirty-three didn’t appear to have profiles, so that left thirty-eight potential bombers on social media, way too many to track down individually. Instead, she opened up a new browser and went to work creating a fake Facebook account. She chose the name Jennifer Mitchell for her alter ego and found a stock photo of a brunette with big boobs. Fina filled in the bio questions, making her profile as generic as possible. Under “Interests” she put Boston sports teams and travel. Reality competition shows and action movies filled out Jennifer’s page, as did an interest in Jay-Z and Kanye.

Satisfied with her imaginary friend, Fina saved the page and then sent friend requests to her thirty-eight mystery men. Some people accepted every friend request they got, assuming that they knew the friend from somewhere, even if they couldn’t remember where. Other people were more discerning about accepting requests. Fina hoped her amateur bomber fell into the former category.

Before closing her laptop, Fina did a search for Pamela Fordyce. She didn’t know what she was looking for, but there was something nagging at her. A quick perusal of links didn’t turn up anything new or particularly enlightening.

The phone rang, and Fina put aside her questions regarding Pamela.

“You’ll never believe what was just delivered,” Bobbi said.