by Ingrid Thoft
“The Graymoore School. I’m thirsty,” she said, climbing past them and banging open the front door.
“Graymoore’s a great school,” Fina noted.
“We don’t know yet if she’s been accepted,” Paul said sheepishly. “We don’t want her to get her hopes up, but she’s having trouble tempering her enthusiasm.”
“Well, I hope it works out. Can you tell Christa that I stopped by?”
“Sure. Take care.”
In the car on the way home, Fina contemplated McKenna’s acceptance to the Graymoore School. It was a highly regarded private school that specialized in students with learning disabilities. If your kid faced academic challenges and you lived in the Boston area, Graymoore was the place to go to ensure the best possible education. But it wasn’t just the best education, it was also one of the most expensive. Maybe the Jacksons qualified for financial aid, but full rides were increasingly hard to come by. Just where were Christa and Paul finding the money for tuition?
Fina put the issue aside and called Dante on speaker as she sped east on the Pike.
“Any word on Jimmy Smith?” she asked him in lieu of a greeting.
“I’m working on it. Why don’t you work on it? Isn’t finding people your job?”
“I am working on it, too, Dante. Call me as soon as you have something.”
The phone rang a moment after she disconnected the call. It was Hal, requesting a breakfast meeting. They worked out the details, and Fina hung up knowing she’d sleep better with visions of pancakes dancing in her head.
TWENTY-SIX
For the first time since the attack, Fina woke up feeling better, not worse. Showering wasn’t such a chore, and she opted for two Advil instead of the four she’d been taking.
“Did I keep you waiting?” she asked Hal, sliding into the booth across from him.
“Nope. I got here early and was just finishing a call.”
They perused the menu, and Hal accepted the offer of coffee.
“So you’ve got something?” Fina asked after they placed their orders.
“Well, I’ve got nothing, but I think that’s something.”
Fina nodded. Sometimes the absence of information told you as much as its presence.
She ordered hot chocolate, and Hal pulled out his laptop and fired it up. He started to give her an in-depth account of his investigation into CRC’s activities in Africa. Fina listened, struggling to keep her mouth shut and be patient. She knew that describing his work process gave Hal great pleasure, and he was such a good guy, she didn’t want to deprive him of the opportunity. That said, listening to long-winded descriptions made her yearn for a cyanide pill for herself or a cattle prod for him.
“So it was the third guy in Luanda who put me in touch with the head missionary, Brother Ted.”
“And Brother Ted didn’t have any information about Covenant Rising?”
“No one has information about Covenant Rising.” A waitress brought over two plates, one holding Hal’s omelet, the other weighted down with Fina’s pancakes.
“And you checked out all the orphanages and programs related to kids?”
“Yup. If that church is supporting an orphanage, it’s not in Angola.”
“Well, if it’s not in Angola, it doesn’t exist.” Fina chewed on a pillowy bite of syrup-soaked pancake. “But we can’t be the first people to wonder about this. Wouldn’t the government figure it out?”
“Ours or theirs?”
“Either. Both.”
“Not necessarily. Angola has a reputation for serious corruption, and our system can be gamed.”
“Great. So if my fifteen hundred dollars isn’t buying mosquito nets in Africa, what is it being used for?”
“Maybe it’s going toward a Mercedes-Benz E-Class sedan or a week in the Caribbean,” he said, grinning.
“Lovely. How does one go about proving all of this?”
Hal shook his head, chewing a mouthful of roasted potatoes. “It’s not going to be easy. Obviously, you’d need to follow proper channels to get information that could be used in court.”
“Different channels than the ones you used, I’m guessing.”
He nodded. “Some of them.”
Fina nibbled on a piece of bacon. “But I don’t actually have to prove anything. I can just report my suspicions to the proper authorities or put a bee in a reporter’s bonnet.”
“Either approach would probably cause trouble for the church. That reminds me.” He pulled a file folder out of his computer bag and handed it to her. Inside, Fina found screenshots from the Covenant Rising website, specifically from the section describing the Frontier Fund. At the bottom of the file were screenshots from a different website, but some of the photographs were the same.
“What’s this?” Fina asked, indicating the second site.
“It’s the website for a Christian community organization in Nigeria.”
Fina laid the pages side by side. In both, a young black boy was crouched down on the dirt with a wide smile.
She looked at him, grinning. “This is stock photography.”
Hal nodded. “Maybe the church indicates that somewhere on the site, but if so, I couldn’t find it.”
“When I looked at the Web pages for the Frontier Fund, I assumed the photos were of children they were actually helping.”
“That’s exactly what you’re supposed to assume.”
“But this could be a child actor in LA,” Fina said, pointing at the identical photos.
“Or he could be a real kid in Africa, but he sure does get around.”
Fina savored a sip of hot chocolate. “What a delightful start to my day. Thank you, Hal.”
“Happy to be of service,” he said, and they clinked mugs.
Life wasn’t great for the real African orphans who weren’t getting any money, but it sure was looking up for Fina.
• • •
Fina got in the car with a renewed sense of purpose. She still didn’t know who had killed Nadine, but she was making headway on Pastor Greg and his nefarious money management that had brought her to the church in the first place. Finding Nadine’s killer was still a priority, but if she could uncover enough to make Chloe rethink her donation, that would also be a victory.
Pastor Greg was in the parish hall, searching for something on the pulpit, when Fina found him.
“I’ve got good news,” Fina called from the back of the room.
Pastor Greg smiled. “Is that right?” He grasped the lectern with both hands.
“I’ve been thinking a lot about the Frontier Fund, and I’d like to make another donation.”
“Really? I’m surprised. You still don’t seem ready to embrace the Lord and be reborn.”
“I thought lost souls were your specialty, Pastor.” Fina walked down the aisle and took a seat in the front pew.
He smiled that annoying, knowing smile. “The good Lord does like to challenge me.”
“Can I sponsor a specific child?” Fina asked.
“Some organizations do that, but that hasn’t been our approach.”
“There’s a child I saw on the website.” Fina pulled her tablet from her bag and scrolled through some pages. “This one.” She held it up for Greg to see. It was one of the stock photos that Hal had pointed out to her. “I feel a deep connection with this boy. I don’t know why.”
“It’s not about a particular child, Fina. It’s about providing help where it’s needed most.”
“But what if the pull I’m feeling toward this child is actually God working through me? What if it’s some kind of sign?”
“Then you need to have faith that God will lead you.” He straightened up as he warmed to the topic. “You have to believe that God knows best. You cannot substitute your judgment for his own.”
She watche
d him, not sure what was more striking; his manipulation of her every word or his unwillingness to step down from the pulpit and concede the physical advantage in the conversation.
She shook her head. “I don’t know. I just feel very strongly about this child.”
Greg leaned forward on the lectern. “How large a donation do you have in mind?”
“Certainly more than the first.”
The silver lining of dealing with bullshitters was that they couldn’t call bullshit on you. If Pastor Greg called her bluff, he’d be betraying his own lack of faith. He couldn’t question her motives without calling his own into question.
“Why don’t I talk to our people on the ground in Africa and see what I can do? It’s not the usual procedure, but I’m moved by your commitment to helping this child.”
Fina rose, tucking her tablet into her bag. “Thank you. I’m really excited by the prospect.”
“Can I ask you a question, Fina?”
“Sure.”
“Have you considered having children of your own?”
Fina dipped her head down. “It just hasn’t happened.” She tried to tap into a well of sadness, as if someone told her she could never eat chocolate again.
“Well, maybe your interest in this child is the Holy Spirit telling you something.”
“Telling me what, exactly?”
“That you were created to be a mother. That your work on this earth hasn’t even begun.”
Oh, Christ. Really? There was a divine to-do list in addition to her earthly one?
“You think?”
“Maybe it’s the Holy Spirit telling you it’s time to reproduce, to do his most holy work.”
“Maybe,” Fina said, seriously doubting the Holy Spirit had any interest in her uterus. She was quiet for a moment, as if his suggestion were worthy of her consideration. “You’ll be in touch?”
“I promise.” He smiled beatifically.
Fina made a beeline for the door before those delicious pancakes made a return visit.
• • •
“I need to see you,” Cristian told her.
She was on the Pike, heading toward the city. Fina glanced in the rearview mirror and assessed the damage on her face. It was obvious that she’d been in some kind of altercation, but she looked better than she had a couple of days ago.
“Okay. We can meet somewhere.”
“How about you come to the station. Pitney wants to talk to you, too.”
“I was hoping your need to see me was purely social.”
“My need is, but you might as well kill two birds with one stone.”
“Okay.” She wasn’t looking forward to seeing Pitney, but her presence might mitigate Cristian’s annoyance with Fina.
“Meet us at the Starbucks near the precinct.”
Half an hour later, Fina parked and scanned the landscape before getting out of her car. Being so close to a police station where cops were milling around, it seemed unlikely that anyone would make a move on her.
Pitney and Cristian were at a table in the corner when she arrived. Fina purchased a bottled water and joined them. Cristian stared at her face, and Pitney stared at Cristian.
“Looks like your would-be attacker became your actual attacker,” Pitney commented.
Cristian continued to stare at Fina, his jaw set.
“Yes,” Fina said, taking a seat.
There was an uncomfortable moment of silence.
“That’s all you have to say?” Cristian asked.
“I’m fine. That’s what matters, right? Let’s discuss it later.”
“Yes, let’s,” Pitney said.
“What did you want to talk to me about?” Fina asked.
“I got a complaint about you.” The lieutenant crossed her arms, which prompted the shiny fabric of her orange shirt to stretch across her chest.
“A new complaint?”
Pitney shook her head. “The fact that you have to even ask that indicates a problem.”
Fina put up her hands in an “oh, well” gesture.
“Yes, a new complaint,” Pitney continued.
“It’s the pastor from the church,” Cristian said. Clearly, he wasn’t in the mood for banter.
“Greg Gatchell?” Fina’s eyes widened.
“Yes.”
“When did he make this complaint?”
Pitney consulted her notebook. “On Tuesday.”
“I just came from there, and he didn’t have any complaints.”
“Great.” Pitney tapped out a staccato rhythm on the table with her nail. “I can expect a call from him before the day’s out.”
“We had a perfectly pleasant conversation. Well, except for the fact that my childbearing abilities came up.” Cristian looked bewildered. “But that’s a different story.”
“I don’t want to know,” Pitney said.
Fina played with the cap of her bottle. “When he filed the complaint, did he mention that he’d accepted my money?”
“What money?” Cristian asked.
“I made a donation to the church, and he was pleased as punch about that. If he finds me so onerous, I think he should give back my money. Did he file a formal complaint?”
“No,” Pitney said, “and I would obviously suggest he return your money before doing so.”
“There’s no way he’ll do that, not as long as he thinks he might get more.”
“Do you think he killed Nadine?” Pitney asked.
“I’m not sure, but both he and his wife aren’t as admirable as they’d lead you to believe. Any news on Jimmy Smith?”
Cristian reached into the breast pocket of his jacket and pulled out a folded sheaf of papers. He tossed them in Fina’s direction. “There are twenty-one men in the greater Boston area named James Smith who have a criminal record.”
“Dammit.” Fina unfolded the papers and skimmed them. “It’s going to take forever to find the right guy.”
Cristian’s phone rang, and he stepped away from the table to answer it.
“I knew you two were a bad idea,” Pitney said in a low voice, nodding toward him.
“We’re figuring it out as we go, but it’s none of your concern.”
“Yes, it is. I spend more time with him than you do. It’s not good for me if he’s in a pissy mood or distracted.”
Fina leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. “If he’s in a pissy mood or distracted on the job, that’s his problem. He can pull his shit together. I’m not going to take responsibility for his job performance.”
Cristian returned to the table. “We’ve got to go,” he said to Pitney, gesturing toward the door.
“Try not to cause too much trouble, Fina,” Pitney said. “I have plenty of work without having to corral you.”
Fina ignored her and reached out and grabbed Cristian’s hand. “Can I see you tonight?”
He looked away, then returned his gaze to her bruises. “I’ll call you when I have time.”
• • •
A few hours later, Fina had a message inviting her to dinner at Frank and Peg’s. Dinner at their house was an early affair, which always brought to mind shuffleboard and canasta in Miami Beach. She knew she’d be hungry again by eight p.m., but it was a small price to pay for a home-cooked meal and companionship.
Peg was in the kitchen when Fina got there, and Frank beckoned her to the small table, which wasn’t yet set for dinner.
“I’ve got more pictures for you,” he told Fina.
“Ooh, goody.” She sat down next to him and paged through the photos.
“That little scamp,” Fina said, examining a zoomed-in shot of Gabby and Casey in a lip-lock. “Was this in his car?”
“Yes. It gets better.”
The photos progressed until one showed Gab
by straddling the young man in the back of the car.
“I’ve never understood the appeal of car sex,” Fina commented, turning the next picture this way and that, trying to match up body parts with their owner.
“The cars used to be much bigger,” Peg said from the stove, where she was stirring a pot of chili.
“Remember that Buick Roadmaster?” Frank asked.
“Very roomy,” Peg said, grinning.
“You two enjoy this, don’t you?” Fina asked.
“You make it so easy, sweetie.” He patted her hand.
“So she’s having an affair with a younger man who is also a member of her husband’s church,” Fina mused. “Very complicated.”
“She’s definitely breaking some commandments,” Frank said.
“Where’d you take this photo?” She pointed at the most explicit one.
“In the parking lot of an office park in Natick. Did you get anything from yesterday’s photos?” he asked. “The ones showing Gabby and the other guy?”
“I asked Gabby why she and Lucas were so worked up. She said I was imagining it. Then I brought it up with his wife.”
“How’d that go over?”
“Eh. It didn’t net any bombshells.”
“Do you think this has something to do with it?” Frank gestured to the picture of Gabby and Casey.
“It’s certainly a possibility, but who knows? Nothing would surprise me at this point.”
“Enough shop talk,” Peg said. “Can you set the table, honey?”
Frank put the photos in a neat stack, and Fina rose to do as she was asked.
She wasn’t big on following directions, but when they came from Peg, she toed the line.
• • •
Fina wanted to talk to Gabby, but she couldn’t handle another conversation with Greg about her uterus. She sat in her car a few doors down from the Gatchell house and considered her options. The risk of keeping an eye out in a nice neighborhood was that eventually someone might call the cops to complain. Fina was beginning to think that she’d overstayed her welcome when one of the Gatchell’s garage doors opened, and a Lexus SUV backed out. Gabby was driving. Fina gave her a head start, then pulled out to follow.
The Lexus wound through the leafy neighborhood and merged onto Route 9 West after a couple of minutes. It wasn’t hard to hang back and keep Gabby in her sights, given the traffic. Fina wondered if she was headed to the church, but nixed the idea when the pastor’s wife took the exit for the Natick Mall and then parked in the garage closest to Nordstrom. Fina grabbed a space the next row over and followed her into the store.