Brutality

by Ingrid Thoft

  “That’s why I’ve been spending a lot of time on the treadmill these days.”

  The cluttered living room from the night before had been transformed into a room that could be featured in a home-decorating magazine. The only newspaper in evidence was the day’s Globe, and the container of art supplies had been stowed on a bookcase. There was no sign of laundry, the pillows looked fluffed, and a throw had been neatly folded and laid over the back of the sofa. A mild cooking scent perfumed the air.

  Fina followed Kelly to the kitchen.

  “Is there any news from the hospital?” Fina asked.

  Kelly shook her head. “Just watch and wait. Do you want some coffee?”

  “Please.” Fina took a seat at the table.

  “So I have to admit,” Kelly said, her back to Fina, “I don’t quite understand why Jamie hired you.”

  “Well, technically, Bobbi Barone hired me, but they both want to know who hurt Liz.”

  Kelly brought a steaming mug of coffee over to the table and pushed milk and sugar in Fina’s direction. “Isn’t that what the police are for?”

  “Yes, but I’m an extra set of eyes and ears. And I have some contacts they don’t.”

  “Don’t get me wrong,” Kelly said, “I’m glad they hired you. I just wasn’t sure how it worked.”

  Fina wrapped her hands around the hot mug. “How did you find out that Liz was hurt?”

  “Jamie called me. I live a few streets away. Liz and I went to NEU together, and our kids are friends.” Kelly bustled back over to the sink and ran the tap. She picked up a clump of steel wool and began scouring a cookie sheet.

  “Do you have any idea who might want to hurt Liz?” Fina poured milk into her mug and dropped in a generous spoonful of sugar. “Any enemies that you’re aware of?”

  “She’s a soccer mom,” Kelly said over her shoulder. “What kind of enemies would she have?”

  “Lots of people have enemies. Sometimes the people you least expect have the most complicated relationships.”

  “Not Liz. The most complicated thing in her life was that lawsuit, and I’m not convinced anything was going to come of it.”

  “What makes you say that?” Fina asked.

  “It just seems like David and Goliath.”

  “How long have you known about it?”

  “She’s been talking to the attorney for a month or so, but she’d been after NEU for about six months.” Kelly shook the cookie sheet over the sink and slotted it into a drying rack. “She told me about it when she started having issues.”

  “Cognitive issues?”

  “Yup.” Kelly wrung out the sponge and began wiping down the counters. She hadn’t made much progress when a timer beeped. After donning two pot holders, Kelly reached into the oven and pulled out what looked like a lasagna. The white cheese on the top was lightly browned and bubbling. Kelly seemed more familiar with Liz’s kitchen than Fina was with her own, but perhaps that wasn’t saying much.

  “It’s nice of you to come over here and help out,” Fina commented.

  Kelly gave a pained smile. “Do you think it’s too much? I don’t want to overstep, but I thought I should make myself useful until it’s time to pick up the kids.”

  “I’m sure Liz and Jamie appreciate it.”

  “Liz and I try to help each other when we can. When I had foot surgery last year, she was a lifesaver.”

  “Sounds like you’re good friends to each other.”

  “This”—Kelly made a sweeping motion—“is also kind of selfish. Cooking and cleaning keep me calm. I know it sounds crazy.”

  “That does sound crazy,” Fina said, “but thank goodness there are people like you in the world.”

  Fina sipped her coffee, which was still too bitter despite her ministrations. She preferred her hot beverages to be sweet, ideally with a thick coating of whipped cream. “Anyone else you think I should talk to?”

  Kelly returned the pot holders to a drawer and leaned her hip against the counter. “Like who?”

  “Friends, colleagues. I’m just trying to get a better sense of Liz outside the context of the lawsuit.”

  “You should call Tasha. She’s one of Liz’s closest friends from college.”

  “Tasha Beemis-Jones?” Fina asked. Kelly nodded. “Jamie and Bobbi mentioned her. She played soccer with you guys, right?”

  “Yup. She’s an attorney now, downtown.” Kelly left the room and returned a moment later with an overflowing laundry basket.

  Fina was getting worn out from the dervish dance of homemaking activities. “Anyone else?”

  “I’d have to think about it,” Kelly said, taking a seat at the end of the table. She grabbed a soccer shirt from the basket and shook it out before neatly folding it and placing it on an empty chair.

  Fina reached into her bag and pulled out a couple of the school newspapers. “Do you recognize these two men?” She pointed at the mystery fans she’d identified the night before.

  Kelly craned her neck to get a better look. “That’s Kevin Lafferty.” She pointed at the younger of the two.

  “Who’s he?”

  “He worked for NEU for a year or two, and now he’s president of the booster club.”

  “What’s that?” Fina asked.

  “It’s a group of alums who support the athletic programs. They’re all sports nuts and have lots of school pride. They attend the games and do fund-raisers, and as president, Kevin interacts a lot with the coaches and the student athletes.”

  “Sounds like a full-time job.”

  “It’s a volunteer position, but he devotes a lot of time to it.”

  Fina looked skeptical. “Huh.”

  “It’s a social thing,” Kelly explained, “and people get to pretend they never left college. There’s also a certain status attached to it on campus. The top boosters are treated like VIPs.”

  “Got it. So what’s he do the rest of the time?” Fina asked.

  Kelly scrunched up her face in thought. “I think he works in the pharmaceutical industry.”

  “Do you know how to reach him?”

  “No, I can’t remember the name of the company, but Tasha might.”

  “And him?” Fina pointed at the older man.

  “That’s our team doctor, Gus Sibley.” Kelly smoothed down the stack of clothes that she’d already folded.

  “Is he still alive? Jamie mentioned that Coach Adams died.”

  “I think Dr. Sibley’s alive, but I don’t know for sure.”

  “Last you heard was he still at NEU?”

  “I think so. He was still there when we graduated.”

  “So these two were at every game?” Fina pointed at the men in the photo.

  “Well, Dr. Sibley had to be, and I think Kevin attended most of them. To be honest, I was focused on what was happening on the field. I didn’t pay much attention to the sidelines.”

  “Of course. That makes sense.” Fina sipped her coffee. “What about Liz’s job? Did she enjoy it?”

  “I think so. I mean, she felt the guilt that all working mothers do, but she seemed to like it. I know that sometimes the politics could get heated, but Liz was no shrinking violet.”

  “Any coworkers in particular you think I should speak with?”

  Kelly folded a tiny pair of briefs. “She’s mentioned a woman named Dana before. She also talked about her boss; they don’t get along.”

  “Vikram?” Fina asked.

  “Yeah.”

  Fina stood and took her coffee cup over to the sink. She poured the contents down the drain, washed it, and left it upended on the drying rack. “Did Liz act any differently the past few weeks? Was she upset or distracted?”

  Kelly shook her head. “Not that I noticed. The lawsuit was definitely weighing on her, but that was nothing new. Obviously,
she was worried about her health. It’s a mother’s worst nightmare, thinking she might not be around for her kids.”

  The comment gave Fina pause. Although her mother, Elaine, seemed largely inconvenienced by her kids, Fina wondered if that had always been the case. Fina’s older sister, Josie, had died before Fina was born, when she was two and a half. Had the death of her eldest child permanently changed the kind of mother Elaine was, or was this version of Elaine the version that Fina would have gotten regardless of Josie’s death? She would never know.

  Fina returned to the front door, and Kelly waited as she put her boots and jacket back on.

  “Let me give you my card,” Fina said, reaching into her bag. “If you think of anything that might be relevant, don’t hesitate to be in touch.”

  “Of course.”

  “Do you know if Jamie is going to be at the hospital all day?”

  “I imagine.” She winced. “Please take it easy on him. He’s having a terrible time.”

  Fina paused. “I’m not sure what he told you, but I promise, I’m not being hard on him. Unfortunately, asking tough questions is part of an investigation. It can’t be helped.”

  Kelly nodded. “Right, right. I just don’t want him to suffer any more than he has to.”

  “Nor do I.”

  Fina climbed into her car and made a U-turn in the street, waving to Kelly as she took off. She turned the heater to high and felt the dry, hot air blast out of the vents.

  If Liz didn’t regain consciousness soon, her house would be unrecognizable.

  5.

  Pamela Fordyce studied the items on a shelf in her display cabinet. She supposed she could make room between the millefiori glass duck from her trip to Italy and the ceramic dragon she’d purchased in Shanghai. She spent a few moments shifting around her treasures, then placed the framed photograph in the newly vacant space. A couple of steps back and a tilt of her head told her all she needed to know. It wasn’t quite right.

  Returning the items to their original spots, Pamela took the photo back to her desk and lowered herself into the deep leather chair. It was a nice photo, she thought, running her fingertip around the frame. She looked thinner than usual, and Deb looked pretty, but she just wasn’t ready to put it on display. Not yet.

  She stowed the gift in her right-hand top drawer and pushed it closed. She’d have to remember to put it out if Deb stopped by the office. Deb had purposefully given her two pictures—one for Pamela’s home and the other for the office—and Pamela knew Deb would be angry if she didn’t put the office version on display. But Deb really didn’t have a right to be so impatient with her. She wasn’t a teenager in love, and she wasn’t interested in committing to a serious relationship—not now, and maybe not ever—with Deb.

  Pamela searched the top of her desk for her reading glasses, which seemed to always be either on her nose or lost. A string around her neck was the obvious solution, but that would make her really feel old. She was only fifty-four, and the fewer reminders of that, the better. That’s what no one ever told you about working at a university: You spent your days surrounded by energetic young people who required little sleep. At least when she’d worked in development in the hospital she’d felt like the picture of health compared to the population she was serving. Here, she was given daily reminders of her advancing age. It’s not that Pamela didn’t like being around the kids; she enjoyed the company of the work-study students who provided support in the development office. But sometimes their youth was so . . . What was the right word? Abundant, obvious. There was no moderation or temperance, like a radio that had only one volume setting—extremely loud.

  Glancing at her schedule, Pamela saw that she had five minutes before her next meeting. She wandered over to the kitchenette a few doors down from her office and poured herself a cup of black coffee. There was a box of Munchkins open on the countertop, and she studied the contents. The glazed and chocolate were always the first to go, but even plain cake Munchkins were better than no Munchkins. She placed three on a napkin and brought them back to her desk, where she sipped her coffee and popped them into her mouth in quick succession.

  The first committee member strolled in a minute later, and Pamela took her time tidying her desk and consulting her computer. In her experience, it was better to wait until everyone had arrived before she left her desk and took her place at the head of the conference table. If she were already sitting there, it would suggest to them that she had nothing better to do than wait around for them, which couldn’t be further from the truth. Some of the attendees might outrank her in the university hierarchy, but the dean had appointed her the head of this particular committee, and Pamela was savvy enough to know that every move was an opportunity to garner new authority.

  She waited until five minutes after the appointed meeting time and then called things to order. Stragglers would just have to catch up.

  “Welcome, everyone,” she said, and made eye contact with her colleagues. “We have a lot to discuss in limited time. Let’s begin.”

  —

  Fina was tooling up Hyde Park Avenue when her phone rang with a summons. If she wanted to speak with Tasha Beemis-Jones, she should present herself at the Elite Sports Club in the Financial District in forty-five minutes. Tasha’s assistant informed her this was the only window in Tasha’s schedule, emphasizing that it was a one-time offer. Fina gladly accepted.

  The club had valet parking, which Fina generally disliked. Private investigators’ cars were their mobile offices, and giving someone unobserved access was akin to unlocking your office door for a stranger and then heading out to lunch. Unfortunately, her options were few and exorbitant at midday in downtown Boston.

  A doorman held the door for her—that was five calories she wouldn’t be burning—and directed her to a sleek counter. The lobby was small, but its ceiling rose up the equivalent of two stories. There was little décor except for two leather chairs in an intimate sitting area, but the focal point of the space was what appeared to be a wall of plants climbing nearly to the ceiling. The variety of texture and hue was stunning, and Fina imagined there was an intricate irrigation system behind the plants making them appear as if they were sprouting spontaneously from the wall.

  “May I help you?” a young man behind the counter asked. He was wearing slim black pants and a T-shirt so tight, Fina thought she could see blood pumping through his heart.

  “I’m meeting Tasha Beemis-Jones,” Fina replied.

  “Your name, please, and a picture ID.”

  Fina handed over her driver’s license—no need to alert him to her PI status—and he tapped at his keyboard for what seemed like an inordinate amount of time. It was how Fina always felt at the airline counter: What were they doing? Writing Moby Dick?

  The receptionist was probably in his twenties and was handsome in a GQ kind of way, with a strong chin, sharp cheekbones, and full lips. Fina wondered what he’d looked like as a baby. Obviously, his features would have been proportional, but what made him striking as an adult could not have made him snuggly as an infant. He was probably making up for it now.

  “What size are you, ma’am?” He smiled at her, revealing perfect white teeth.

  “Huh?”

  “Your size? For your gear?”

  Fina looked at him askance, recalling the three miles she’d run only hours before. “I’m not here to work out. I’m meeting someone.”

  “I understand, but street clothes aren’t allowed in the club.”

  “I have to change right here?” Fina asked, pointing at the large windows fronting the busy street.

  He chuckled. “Of course not. You can change in the women’s locker room, but you will have to change.”

  Fina sighed. She should charge Bobbi time and a half for this. “Size eight clothes and shoes.”

  The young man reached into a wardrobe hidden in the wall behin
d him and pulled out some items.

  “Once you get upstairs, if something doesn’t fit, just ask the attendant to swap it for you.”

  He slipped the goods into a large tote emblazoned with the club logo and ushered Fina over to the elevator. “The women’s locker room will be on your right when you exit the elevator.” He handed her a key attached to what looked like a thin, short bungee cord. “This is for your locker. You can change, and Ms. Beemis-Jones will meet you on the fitness floor.”

  “Wonderful,” Fina said.

  Upstairs, she proceeded to the locker room and unlocked her assigned locker. “Locker” was a misnomer; it was actually a small walk-in closet outfitted with a floor-to-ceiling mirror and an upholstered chair. The room itself was made of highly polished black wood and brought to mind a humidor rather than a gym.

  Fina pulled on a sports bra, designer leggings, a T-shirt, and socks, and what looked like a brand-new pair of sneakers. Good thing, because she didn’t share shoes with people unless she was related, and even then some people didn’t make the cut. She locked her belongings away in the changing room and headed to the fitness floor.

  A group of glowing, sculpted women came through a door looking as if they’d just finished filming an exercise DVD. They were a tribe: the same perfect bodies, highlighted blond hair, sleek workout clothes. Fina ducked past them and surveyed the room before her. It wasn’t a huge space, but it was filled with every type of equipment you might need: treadmills, stair-climbers, and ellipticals, as well as free weights and weight machines. Most of the walls were mirrored, creating fit doppelgängers everywhere Fina looked.

  Fina scanned the room and recognized Tasha from the photos online. She hopped onto the treadmill next to her. There was an unopened bottle of water sitting in the cup holder and a fresh towel hanging over the handrail.

  Tasha was close to six feet tall, her black hair pulled back in a ponytail. Her ebony skin was slick with sweat, but the makeup outlining her brown eyes was impeccable. If there was an ounce of fat on her, Fina couldn’t imagine where it might be.

  “Ms. Beemis-Jones? I’m Fina Ludlow.”