Duplicity

by Ingrid Thoft

  THIRTY-TWO

  Fina made some calls to try and locate Mike O’Brien, but had to wait to hear back. She hated waiting in general, but it was especially excruciating when she was so close to cracking a case. Staying busy was the best course of action so she decided to pay a visit to her wannabe spiritual adviser.

  During the drive to Framingham, she mulled over the sins of Pastor Greg. She didn’t have proof that would hold up in a court of law, but that wasn’t her job. She just needed to point someone else, like the attorney general, in the right direction.

  Walking in the front door of Covenant Rising, Fina heard the pastor before she saw him. He was exalting about the power of sacrifice—oh, the irony—to an empty parish hall. There was a slight hiccup in his delivery when Fina walked down the aisle and entered a pew. She gave him an encouraging smile and listened as he continued. Fina knew that every form of public speaking was a performance—Carl and her brothers excelled in court because they were gifted orators—but sermon as theater was discomfiting.

  Greg said his final “amen” and hopped off the stage.

  “What do you think?” he asked, pulling the wraparound mike from his head.

  “Very powerful,” Fina replied.

  “Sacrifice is good for the soul.”

  “Indeed.”

  “I assume you brought the check?” He took a seat in the row in front of her and turned sideways so he could face her.

  “I did. Just one quick question before I hand it over.”

  “Sure.” His teeth looked particularly shiny, bringing to mind a wolf or a barracuda.

  Fina reached into her bag and pulled out a folder with the photos of her orphan, the ones that Hal had provided to her. “I found these other pictures of Azekel online.” She handed them to Greg.

  He flipped through them, grinning. “He’s a good-looking boy.”

  Fina looked at him. She waited.

  “Was there something else?” he asked. “I have a meeting in a few minutes.”

  “Yeah, there’s something else. I don’t understand why his picture is on other websites. That one is for a church in California, another is for a children’s hospital in Minneapolis,” she said, indicating the various photos. “The one on the bottom is for a life insurance company.”

  He shook his head. “I think you’re mistaken. Why don’t we leave it with one of the tech guys? I’m guessing it’s got something to do with your computer.”

  “Oh my God,” Fina said, throwing her head back.

  “Fina, there’s no need to take the Lord’s name in vain.”

  “If ever there were a time to take the Lord’s name in vain, this is it. Azekel pops up so much because he’s a child model whose image has been sold to a stock photo company.” She smacked the stack of photos. “There’s no Azekel. There’s no orphanage in Angola. There’s no Frontier Fund. There are just fancy cars and houses and a narcissistic egomaniac who’s breaking the law.”

  He gave her a pained smile. “Fina, do you assume that all black children look alike? You know, that’s racist.”

  “I assume nothing, which is why I had an expert run facial recognition software on adorable Azekel. It’s what the government uses to track terrorists, and as it turns out, it’s also extremely useful when it comes to compiling a child model’s presence on the Internet.”

  “I think you need help.”

  “You and many others, but you’re going to have bigger problems than me.”

  Greg leaned over the pew, his smile weakening at the corners. “Don’t threaten me.”

  Fina leaned closer, which prompted him to pull back. “I’m not making a threat,” she said. “I’m telling you that after I leave here, I’m going to One Ashburton Place in the city. Do you know what’s at One Ashburton Place, Greg?”

  “No, and I prefer Pastor Greg.”

  “Well, I prefer Your Highness but that never happens. One Ashburton Place is where the office of the Massachusetts attorney general is located, and I’m going to file a report accusing you, your lovely wife, and your church of fraud.”

  He let out a sharp bark that was supposed to be laughter. “That’s an outrageous accusation. You know, you’ll be punished for this.”

  “I know, that whole ‘no good deed goes unpunished’ thing. Believe me, I’m counting on it.”

  “I mean that God will punish you for trying to destroy our work. You will not succeed. We will prevail and become stronger than ever.”

  “Uh-huh.” Fina got up and started up the aisle. She was almost to the door when Gabby walked in.

  “Greg, Betty is looking for you. There’s some issue with the food pantry van,” she said.

  The pastor strode up the aisle and put his arm around his wife, who looked up at him adoringly. “Fina was just leaving,” he said.

  “I was,” she confirmed, giving Gabby the eye. Whatever the status of her affair, she was certainly making a show of being the dutiful wife. “You should think about who’s going to take care of your children when you’re both in prison.”

  “What?” Gabby asked, her eyes narrowing.

  “Your hubby can fill you in. I just think you should get your ducks in a row.”

  “Don’t threaten our family,” she replied, planting her hands on her midriff.

  Fina looked at her stomach and then at the two of them. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

  Gabby scowled. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You two so deserve each other.” Fina shook her head and chuckled. “Maybe the prosecutor will take pity on you. There’s something particularly pathetic about a pregnant inmate.”

  Greg’s face turned beet red, and he balled up his fists.

  “It hasn’t been a pleasure exactly,” Fina said, walking out, “but it definitely hasn’t been boring.”

  She skedaddled to her car before Greg lost it, although that wouldn’t have been the worst thing in the world.

  A preacher punching a lady like herself? Priceless.

  • • •

  Fina didn’t stop at the attorney general’s office. Instead, she made a few calls and sent off an e-mail package outlining her suspicions about Covenant Rising. Despite her threats to Greg and Gabby, she knew nothing would happen overnight; there would be a long, drawn-out investigation, and if she had anything to do with it, oodles of bad publicity. There was no way Greg and Gabby would emerge unscathed.

  In the car, Fina picked up the phone and dialed her father’s number with a feeling of satisfaction. Most of her conversations with Carl consisted of his asking questions to which she didn’t have the answers, so it was nice to be the bearer of actual news. Also, if she could dazzle him with her skills on the Renard investigation, it might make him more amenable to handling the Rand debacle once and for all.

  “Any way you can schedule a meeting with Ceci and Chloe Renard for tomorrow?” she asked when he answered.

  Carl grunted. “That’s a little last-minute.”

  “It’s not absolutely critical that we talk then, but I’m anxious to update them.”

  “So you’ve got what you need?” he asked. “You’re going to be able to put an end to this bequest?”

  “I’ve got dirt, Dad. If it doesn’t convince Chloe, nothing will.”

  “Let me see what I can do.”

  “Have you talked to Scotty and Matthew today?” she asked. Fina wondered if they’d spilled the beans to Carl about the Rand situation, but didn’t want to ask outright.

  “What kind of question is that? I talk to them every day, Josefina.”

  “I was just wondering. They were supposed to call me.”

  “You know how to use the phone. Call them.”

  “Huh. I never would have thought of that.”

  “I’ll have Shari call you about the meeting.”

  “Th
ank you. And by the way, I’m going to have some news for you soon relating to Rand.”

  “What kind of news?”

  “Newsy news.”

  “What have you done, Fina?”

  She wanted to ask him the same question. “Moi? Nothing. Good-bye, Father.”

  She’d gotten a message during the call with her father. One of her contacts said she could find Mike O’Brien at a boatyard in Charlestown. Fina fastened her seat belt and pointed her car toward the Pike.

  It was only in the forties, but the sun was bright, suggesting that the approach of summer was more than just a figment of everyone’s imagination. In Charlestown, she parked in a dirt lot next to a one-story white clapboard building. The docks themselves were empty except for a few lobster boats. There was a big building resembling a hangar, inside of which Fina could see a large cabin cruiser up on stilts. The rest of the space was packed with boats of all sizes, most of them shrink-wrapped for the winter.

  Fina entered the single-story building and found a man and woman inside, both sitting behind battered metal desks. The smell of burnt coffee permeated the air, and the animated voices from WEEI provided background noise.

  The woman looked up and peered at Fina over her reading glasses. She had wavy blond hair and the weathered skin that was the calling card of boaters of a certain age.

  “Can I help you, hon?”

  “I’m looking for Mike O’Brien. His wife thought I might catch him here.”

  “Jimmy,” the woman said over her shoulder to the man behind the other desk, “where’s Mike?”

  The man consulted a sheaf of papers hanging from a bulletin board. “Row C, space 17.”

  Fina zipped her coat up against the sharp wind off the water and navigated her way to Row C. Space 17 was halfway down, occupied by a powerboat on a trailer. The boat looked to be close to thirty feet long, and a man knelt by the bow.

  “Good morning,” Fina said, smiling and raising her hand in a wave. “I’m looking for Mike O’Brien.”

  He stood and walked toward her. “You found him.”

  “My name’s Fina Ludlow.” She offered her hand.

  “Nice to meet you.”

  “This is a nice boat,” she commented.

  “It’s a good one. Enough room for the family, but not too big to handle. Are you a boater?” Mike O’Brien was tall and lean. His face looked as if it had been carved with a knife, his features were so pronounced. There was no extra fat on his frame.

  “I grew up around boats, and my dad and brothers still have them.”

  “Can I help you with something?” Mike asked.

  “I’m a private investigator, and I’m working on a case related to a recent murder.”

  Mike’s eyebrows rose and then returned to their usual spot. “Is this related to the department?”

  “No, it’s nothing related to a fire. Actually, I wanted to speak with you about a more personal matter.”

  “Do you mind if we sit in my truck and warm up?” He nodded in the direction of a pickup truck at the end of the row.

  “That’s fine.”

  Fina followed him and climbed into the passenger seat. The truck was tidy, the only detritus a Dunkin’ Donuts cup in the center console and a pack of Tic Tacs.

  Mike started up the truck and adjusted the heat. “Do you have any ID?”

  “Yup.”

  He examined her license. “Nobody I know has been murdered lately.”

  “That’s good to hear,” Fina said, smiling. “My line of questioning might seem odd, but I’m interested in a period of time seven years ago when you were originally up for the battalion chief job. My understanding is that you had some health problems and withdrew your name only to reapply a year later.”

  He shrugged. “Sounds like you know all there is to know. I was sick, so I pulled my application. I got better and threw my hat back in the ring the next year.”

  “But you’re fine now?”

  “Fit as a fiddle. Wouldn’t be on the job if I weren’t. What is this all about?”

  For all Fina knew, Mike O’Brien was best buddies with Ronnie McCaffrey and would be on the phone to him the minute she left. She wanted to avoid that.

  “My murder victim was ill on and off for a few months before she died.”

  He looked puzzled.

  “She was nauseous, vomiting, dizzy, had chest pains—basically, felt like crap. I was wondering if you had a similar experience.”

  Mike eyed her. “Why would you wonder that?”

  “I’d rather not say for the moment.”

  “You just want me to give you my personal health history?” He cocked his eyebrow.

  “I know it seems presumptuous. How about this? I’ll describe the circumstances of my case, and you let me know if it sounds familiar. Then we’ll go from there.”

  Mike nodded and adjusted in his seat, as if prepping himself to really listen.

  “Okay. A healthy thirty-two-year-old woman starts getting sick, but always gets better within a couple of days. She feels sick to her stomach, has fatigue, weakness, headaches. The doctor can’t find anything wrong with her after running a full battery of tests. In my case, she eventually succumbs to the illness, and the autopsy reveals that she died from acute organ failure brought on by antifreeze poisoning. If she hadn’t received a fatal dose, she could have made a full recovery as long as she was no longer getting poisoned.”

  He didn’t speak for a moment. “Jesus. I thought my job could be dark.”

  “I’ve identified a common denominator between my case and your experience, Mike. I’m wondering if you were poisoned, too.”

  He looked out the side window and seemed to consider her words. “The doctor never did figure out what was wrong with me.”

  “Was there a pattern to your illness? Did the episodes coincide with any particular activity or place?”

  “We thought it was the job. That was the only constant, but none of the other guys got sick, and even though it can be dangerous, we obviously try to minimize our exposure to anything hazardous.”

  Fina felt the pulse in her neck beat harder. It was all just conjecture, circumstantial, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t true.

  “But there’s no way to tell now, right?” Mike asked. “That stuff leaves your system pretty quickly.”

  “Yeah. It’s long gone from your system by now, hence the reason you’re alive.”

  “So if this is true, and you’ve got to admit, it sounds a little farfetched, does that mean you know who poisoned me?”

  Fina grinned, feeling like a weight was being lifted from her. “You know, Mike, I think I do.”

  • • •

  Before leaving the boatyard, Fina dialed the number for police headquarters, a small flutter in her chest. If she called his cell, she wasn’t sure that Cristian would pick up the call, and she wanted to talk to him, regardless of how he felt about her at the moment.

  “Menendez,” he answered, when the call was transferred.

  “Hey. It’s Fina.”

  The line was quiet except for the squad room chatter in the background.

  “Didn’t think I’d pick up my cell?”

  “Wasn’t sure.”

  “What’s up?”

  “I wanted to talk to you about the Nadine Quaynor case.”

  “Can it wait? I’m on my way out.”

  “Uh, sure. How about in a couple of hours? It’s important.”

  There was rustling in the background. Fina imagined he was struggling into his sport coat, the phone gripped between his chin and shoulder.

  “Fine,” he said, with no hint of enthusiasm and took down the address.

  If she could offload the Quaynor case to the cops, there would only be one more problem to solve.

  • • •

&
nbsp; Fina stopped by the office in hopes of talking with Scotty and Matthew. Their discussion the night before didn’t sit well with her. She hated feeling at odds with the two of them, and they needed to regroup.

  Distracted by the loose ends she was tying up, Fina didn’t notice her eldest brother until it was too late.

  “Fina, I need a minute,” he called out with a broad smile. He was standing in one of the kitchenette areas chatting with a colleague.

  “Sorry. Gotta go.” She took off down the hall.

  Rand patted the associate on the back and trotted after her. “Wait up, sis.”

  Beads of sweat were emerging on her hairline. Fina stopped in the busy hallway, deciding that the more witnesses to their conversation, the better.

  “What is it? I have a meeting.”

  Rand stood in front of her, invading her personal space. “What’s going on? Scotty gave me the cold shoulder this morning.”

  “So? What’s that got to do with me?”

  “What did you say to him?” he asked quietly, as conservatively dressed attorneys bobbed and weaved around them.

  “I didn’t say anything. Back off, Rand.”

  He shook his head. “You need to back off and mind your own business or I’m going to . . .”

  “What? What are you going to do to me?” she asked, bending her head toward his as if sharing a secret. “Beat me up? Put me in the hospital?”

  He reared back and struggled to regain his composure.

  “You’re such an arrogant prick,” she said, glaring at him. “Always convinced you’re the smartest guy in the room. Your life is about to get very complicated. Now get out of my way.”

  “If you keep this up, there’s going to be hell to pay.”

  “What exactly are you threatening to do?”

  “Do you want to be responsible for the downfall of this family?” he asked.

  “I think you’ve got that covered.”

  “You think things are bad now? Just wait. You can’t even begin to imagine the things I know. If you keep this up, Dad will never forgive you.”

  Fina was speechless, sick that her suspicions were most likely true. She left the office, abandoning her original mission. She couldn’t be in the same place as Rand for a second longer.