by Ingrid Thoft
8.
The ringing phone was a rude awakening at 7:23 the next morning. The screen indicated the call was from NEU, so Fina struggled to a sitting position to answer. Why do we assume that we think better sitting up?
“Hello.”
“I’m trying to reach Fina Ludlow. This is Jill from Pamela Fordyce’s office at New England University.”
“This is Fina.”
“A slot has opened up in Ms. Fordyce’s schedule. She can see you at ten thirty this morning.”
“That’s terrific.”
They dispensed with the details regarding directions and parking, and Fina hung up the phone. She reset her alarm, giving herself another hour of sleep.
After showering and throwing on some sweats, Fina grabbed a strawberry frosted Pop-Tart and munched on it while reviewing Pamela Fordyce’s bio.
A graduate of NEU and Stanford, Pamela was a senior member of the development team and traveled extensively representing the university. She was involved with some charities and had been married once, many years ago, according to the public records that Fina tapped into. She had no arrests, and according to property records, she owned a small condo in Charlestown. Everything about Pamela Fordyce indicated a straightforward interview.
Standing in front of her open closet, Fina contemplated her clothing options. Her years as an investigator had taught her that first impressions could be the difference between gaining access and being excluded. She was all for individuality and personal expression, but people who thought that their appearance didn’t have any bearing on the opportunities afforded by life were kidding themselves. You needed to get a place at the table, and then you could change the menu.
In light of this, she chose a conservative black pantsuit that she’d picked up at Ann Taylor and a cranberry silk blouse. The outfit felt like a straitjacket; maybe subconsciously she’d flunked out of law school to avoid the accompanying wardrobe. Fina pulled her hair back in a low bun and applied more makeup than usual, albeit tastefully. Her black leather tote bag had been an attempted bribe by Elaine years before. If Fina wasn’t going to stay home barefoot and pregnant, could she at least have a respectable job? No, apparently not.
In the NEU parking lot, she swapped her boots for low heels. As she struggled out of her boots, something caught Fina’s eye. A large dark sedan was idling at the end of the row. Fina looked around, but didn’t see any soon-to-be-free parking spots, which might explain the driver’s behavior. The tinted windows prevented her from seeing the driver, but perhaps he was on the phone or searching for something in his bag. There was something about the car that felt threatening, and Fina thought it warranted further investigation. Cristian had taught her that contrary to popular belief, when you were walking on the street late at night and felt insecure, you should make eye contact with the people you passed. Let them know you see them is what he said. If they thought you were unaware of their presence, they were more apt to take advantage. Unless, of course, they were nuts and were going to kill you either way.
Betting that wasn’t the case, Fina climbed out of her car and approached the sedan. She was about five feet from the driver’s-side door, staring at the outline of the driver’s silhouette, when the engine roared and the car sped away. It was possible the driver was just shy or late for an appointment, but Fina doubted it. Unfortunately, she hadn’t gotten the license plate number, and paranoia was an occupational hazard. She’d just have to stay on her toes.
NEU’s development office was housed in a traditional brownstone on a side street close to Huntington Avenue. Offices occupied all four floors and were accessed by an elderly elevator or a narrow, curved staircase. Once Fina was upstairs, Pamela Fordyce’s assistant directed her to a small waiting area and provided a glass of water to quench her thirst. The walls were decorated with large photographs, all NEU-related: the student center designed by a celebrity architect, action shots of the football team, a gaggle of students representing every color in the racial rainbow. It looked like a happy, engaging place to spend your time—kind of like the land of Barnes Kaufcan. Fina picked up a copy of the alumni magazine from the coffee table and flipped through its glossy pages. She was scanning the profile of an alum who made it big in the semiconductor business when she was retrieved by the assistant and ushered into Pamela’s office.
“Ms. Ludlow?” A woman rose from behind a large walnut desk and came around to shake Fina’s hand.
“Yes, and you must be Ms. Fordyce.”
“Pamela. Please, have a seat.” She waited as Fina took a seat on an upholstered sofa. Pamela sat in a Louis XVI–style chair facing her and placed a delicate teacup and saucer on the table next to her.
Pamela’s office suite—one half of the fourth floor—topped the building. Broad windows afforded views of Back Bay and the South End, depending upon which direction you looked, and a large fireplace served as a focal point. A fire burned in the grate, making the space feel more like a home than a place of business. The fireplace was flanked by display shelves, which held photos and tchotchkes.
“Would you like some coffee or some more water?” Pamela asked, tugging her suit jacket together over her middle.
“No, I’m fine. Thank you.”
Pamela launched into small talk, which was probably development office protocol. After a few minutes of chitchat, she got down to business.
“I apologize; Jill wasn’t clear about the reason for your visit,” Pamela said. “What is it that I can do for you?”
Fina had been purposefully vague when requesting the appointment. There was no point in getting Pamela’s hackles up before she even walked in the door.
“I imagine that you are aware of the situation with Liz Barone?” Fina asked.
A vein in Pamela’s neck began to pulse. “Of course. We take an interest in all our alumni.”
“Of course.” Fina sipped her water, drawing out the moment. “Liz’s mother and husband have hired me to investigate the attack on her.” She reached into her bag and pulled out her PI license.
Before Pamela could examine it, her office phone rang.
“Excuse me.” She answered it at her desk and engaged in a brief conversation. Fina took advantage of the moment to take stock of the woman. She guessed Pamela was an inch or so shorter than she was and in her midfifties. Her pantsuit was slightly ill-fitting, and her dark brown hair was cut into a graduated bob, a style that never made any sense to Fina. Why would you want the back of your head to look like a wedge of cheese? The front of her hair came to her chin, a length that few women could pull off without looking like a LEGO lady. Her makeup was understated, and with her clear skin and white teeth, Pamela was reasonably attractive.
She hung up the phone and returned to her straight-backed chair. She looked at Fina quizzically. “And this situation with Liz concerns the university how?”
“Actually, it concerns you.” Fina returned her license to her bag. “Liz had retained an attorney and was taking steps to sue NEU. Among the materials the attorney provided to me were a number of fund-raising letters with your signature.”
Pamela sighed, a smile turning up the corners of her mouth. “Fina, I send out thousands of those appeals every year. They’re generated by a database.”
“Right, but Liz also e-mailed you directly a number of times.” She pulled out copies of the e-mails that Emma had found. Pamela took them from her and scanned them. She handed them back to Fina, then picked up the teacup and sipped from it. Fina had to give her credit; she was as cool as a cucumber.
“So what is your question exactly?” Pamela asked.
“I’m wondering what contact you’ve had recently with Liz, and if the subject of her pending lawsuit was ever discussed.”
“Those e-mails are the last contact we had.”
“You never spoke in person?”
“Why would we?” Pamela asked.
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br /> “I don’t know. Liz was very angry, and you didn’t seem to be getting the message. Maybe she decided to deliver it in person.”
“Liz was misguided regarding the lawsuit. The athletic department was not responsible for her situation,” Pamela said. “There’s no evidence linking her difficulties to her athletic career at NEU. In terms of the fund-raising requests, she wanted to be off the list, and an administrative error kept her on the list. It was a minor misunderstanding.”
“If I were suffering from a debilitating disease and someone repeatedly asked me to fund the very thing that I believed caused the disease, I’d be bullshit,” Fina said.
“The NEU athletics program is one of the best in the country.” Pamela perked up, launching into an overview of the various teams and their winning ways. Her description was so positive, it was hard to imagine that anyone got hurt or lost a game when sporting the NEU colors. She made it sound like rainbows arced over every playing field and unicorns frolicked at halftime.
“Our goal,” Pamela concluded, “is to have a positive relationship with all of our alumni.”
“I don’t doubt it, but the threat of a lawsuit and bad publicity must have concerned you,” Fina said.
“NEU is a large institution with an extremely diverse population. It’s not always smooth sailing, but that’s just part of the territory for a school of our caliber.”
“So you weren’t worried?”
“Not especially.” Pamela smiled, but there was no warmth in her expression.
“So just to clarify, you never spoke with Liz in person or on the phone?”
Pamela didn’t speak for a moment. “She called me a couple of weeks ago.”
“What did you talk about?” Fina asked.
Pamela put up her hands in frustration. “She reiterated the request that her name be removed from the fund-raising database. I took care of it myself as soon as I hung up the phone.”
“And that was it?”
“That was it. Sorry to disappoint you.”
“Had you ever had contact with Liz before this issue arose?” Fina asked.
“We’d met at a couple of fund-raising events, but we certainly didn’t know each other.”
Fina nodded. “Is there anyone at NEU who might have some useful information?”
“About Liz? I have no idea. As I said, our contact was limited.”
“But she worked here.”
“So do eighteen thousand other people,” Pamela said. “I don’t know them all.”
“What about Kevin Lafferty?”
Pamela looked at her wristwatch. If she thought a social cue like that would get rid of Fina, she had another thing coming. “He’s a booster in the athletic program.”
“How well do you know him?” Fina asked.
“I’ve known Kevin for a number of years.”
“And he knew Liz?”
“You should ask him.”
“I have. I wanted to get your opinion.”
“I wish I could be more helpful, but I really have nothing to add.”
She didn’t envy Pamela her position. Since everyone was a potential donor, you couldn’t offend anyone. Fina wouldn’t last five minutes in that job.
Fina stood and gathered her belongings. “I don’t want to take up any more of your time.” She stepped over to the display cabinet to take a closer look. “This is quite a collection.”
Pamela looked uneasy with the change in conversational direction, but she was either too polite or too savvy to halt it. “Yes. They’re from my travels. I’ve had the privilege of visiting some wonderful places. Do you travel?”
“No. The idea appeals, but work and family always seem to require my attention.”
“You have to make time for it. There will always be something keeping you from doing what you really want.” Pamela’s gaze trained itself on the door.
“I suppose that’s true,” Fina said.
Pamela followed Fina to the reception area, where Fina handed over her card. “If you think of something that is relevant, please be in touch.”
“I can’t imagine I will.” Pamela folded her fingers around the card and retreated into her office.
Fina returned to her car, where she kicked off her shoes and stuck her feet next to the air vent. The conversation hadn’t been a rousing success, but at least she hadn’t been removed by security.
All in all, not a bad result.
—
You need to come by the station,” Cristian told Fina when she answered her phone on the way home.
“Why?”
“Why do you think? Because the brass want to give you an outstanding citizen award.”
“Finally! Someone’s noticed. I’m on my way.”
Fina headed toward police headquarters, not relishing the thought of what was to come. Historically, when she was summoned to the police department it meant she was in trouble. Not legal trouble—like most people who were summoned there—but professional trouble. Cristian’s boss, Lieutenant Marcy Pitney, and Fina had overlapped on a number of cases, and their relationship could best be described as contentious. Pitney rarely approved of Fina’s methods, and Fina thought Pitney didn’t give her due credit for her investigative chops. They were both smart and stubborn, and in an alternate universe might have been friends.
At headquarters, a uniformed cop escorted her upstairs to the Major Crimes division and left her in an interview room to stew. The metal table and chairs were bolted to the floor, and a camera winked in one of the corners of the ceiling. Fina wasn’t a germophobe, but these rooms always made her feel particularly unclean. Interview rooms and ERs were the giant petri dishes of modern society. She was trying not to focus on a dark stain on the floor and to distract herself with a game of solitaire when Pitney came in ten minutes later.
“Hello, Lieutenant. How are you?” Fina asked, stowing her phone.
“I’m fine. Where’s Menendez?”
“Contrary to what you may believe, we aren’t actually joined at the hip.”
Pitney gave her a withering look and popped her head out of the room. “Will someone find Menendez and tell him to come to interview three?”
Pitney closed the door and took the seat across from Fina. “Do you think it’s possible,” she asked, “for you to do your job without being a pain in my ass?”
Fina considered the question. “Possible, but not probable.”
“That wasn’t the answer I was looking for.”
“What?” Fina asked. “You want me to lie?”
“No,” Pitney said slowly, as if to a small child, “I want you to stay out of my way.”
The lieutenant crossed her arms over her ample chest. Today she wore a magenta sweater and forest green pants. Pitney made no attempt to blend in and bore no resemblance to the female cops on prime-time television. She was barely five feet two inches with a mop of curly hair that looked orangish or purplish depending on the lighting. She wore pants and tops that were garishly colored, and her nails were always painted in an equally bold hue. Fina wouldn’t be caught dead in her outfits, but she had to hand it to her—Pitney was a sartorial risk-taker.
“Perhaps you could be more specific in detailing my transgression,” Fina said.
The door opened and Cristian came in cradling two coffees and a diet soda between his hands. He put the coffees down on Pitney’s side of the table and slid the soda over to Fina.
“This doesn’t help, your providing room service,” Pitney said, eyeing him.
“Believe me, hydrating her will only make her more agreeable,” Cristian said, taking the seat next to Pitney.
“How’d the hockey game go?” Fina asked, popping the top on the soda and reveling in the faint hiss indicating maximum carbonation.
“It was good. Everyone had fun, no major injuries.”
“That sounds like the antithesis of Ludlow sporting events.”
“All right, enough chitchat,” Pitney cut in. “I was just telling Fina that she needs to stop getting in the way.”
“You were about to tell me what I’d done wrong this time,” Fina reminded her.
“I got a call from Gus Sibley this morning.” Pitney blew on the surface of her coffee before taking a tentative sip.
“Uh-huh.”
“He wanted to know why you were running a parallel investigation to ours and bothering him.”
“Did you explain that’s what private investigators do?” Fina asked.
“Oh, I explained that you bother people.”
“Lieutenant, our meeting was completely cordial. I asked him some questions and helped him and his grandson build a LEGO set. Did he mention that part?”
Cristian grinned behind his coffee cup.
“He left that part out,” Pitney said.
“I’m confused,” Fina said. “Some guy—who welcomed me into his home of his own free will—decides that wasn’t such a good idea after the fact, so he calls the cops on me? And you do his bidding for him?”
Cristian raised an eyebrow, knowing Pitney wouldn’t like the characterization of doing anyone’s bidding.
“Fina, if you annoy witnesses, it makes our job more difficult,” Pitney said.
“I understand that, but when I left, he wasn’t annoyed. And why would some innocuous questions from me make him so jumpy?”
“What did he tell you?” Pitney asked.
“Very little. He said he followed the player safety protocol when Liz Barone played at NEU. He last spoke with her a few weeks ago, and he knew she was filing a lawsuit. That’s it.”
Pitney tapped a coral-colored nail on the tabletop. “So you think he’s involved?” she asked.
“Is that really why I’m here?” Fina asked, her gaze moving between Pitney and Cristian. “So you can pick my brain?”
“You’re here,” Pitney said, “because I want you to lay off Gus Sibley and report any information you have. You always seem fuzzy on the concept of obstruction of justice.”