Brutality

by Ingrid Thoft

  Now she stood listening to an elderly gentleman give her a blow-by-blow description of his knee replacement. Fina did her best to nod and murmur in the appropriate spots, but her attention was drawn across the room to where Jamie and Gus were standing a few feet apart, steadfastly ignoring each other. Although both were speaking to other people, their body language betrayed their true intentions. Rather than coexisting in the same space casually, they stood stiffly, angled away from each other. Fina had seen it before and had practiced this kind of body language herself, especially if Elaine was nearby.

  Jamie’s conversation wrapped up, and he stole a glance at Gus. A woman spoke to Jamie, but he brushed her off and, giving Gus a wide berth, made his way out of the room.

  The old man was threatening to roll up his pant leg and give Fina a gander at his new knee, but she had better things to do. She wished him luck with his orthopedic endeavors and set her empty plastic cup on a table, then left through the same door Jamie had.

  The hallway was empty, so Fina retraced her steps to the entry of the community center, but its only occupants were a few preschoolers dragging backpacks across the tiled floor. She popped outside and thought she caught a flash of him turning the corner of the building.

  When Fina caught up with him a minute later, he was hunched over a cigarette, trying to strike a match in the stiff, frigid wind.

  “Here,” Fina said, standing in front of him and cupping her hands above his.

  Jamie touched the flame to the end of the cigarette and inhaled deeply. Taking a step toward the building, he pulled his sunglasses out of his jacket with his free hand and placed them on his face.

  Fina fished her gloves out of her pockets and pulled them on. “I don’t know how people deal in places where it’s really cold,” she commented, “like Alaska.”

  Jamie held out the package of cigarettes in her direction. “Want one?”

  She shook her head.

  “It’s my wife’s funeral,” Jamie said after a minute of silence. “I’m thirty-eight, and it’s my wife’s funeral. There’s something seriously wrong with that.”

  “I agree.” Fina kicked at a small hillock of ice. “Anyone you’re surprised to see here today? Or not, for that matter?”

  “What do you mean?” He tapped loose ash onto the ground.

  “Just that. Is there anyone that you thought would show up who hasn’t?”

  He shook his head. “No.”

  “Anyone you weren’t expecting?”

  “What? Like her attacker?”

  Fina shrugged. “It’s more common than you might think.”

  “Like arsonists who return to the scene?”

  “Essentially.”

  Jamie inhaled again and held the smoke in his lungs for a moment before exhaling. “Nope. I haven’t noticed either way.”

  Fina nodded. She wasn’t going to ask him about Gus. It would be easy for him to shrug it off or claim she was mistaken about them purposely ignoring each other. She was going to hold on to that little tidbit for the time being.

  “I’m going to say good-bye to Bobbi,” Fina said, backing away from him.

  Jamie made an approximation of a wave and turned his focus to his cigarette.

  Inside, Fina sought out Bobbi and they exchanged a tight hug. The grief and exhaustion etched on Bobbi’s face were just the impetus Fina needed to get back to work.

  —

  Is this supposed to be symbolic, Pamela? Meeting the day of Liz Barone’s funeral?” Kevin slid onto a bar stool next to her. They were at a restaurant and bar near his office, just before the lunch hour.

  “No. There’s nothing symbolic about it.” She took a long drink from the tumbler in her hand.

  “Are you drinking at this hour? You need to calm down and stop worrying.”

  “It’s club soda, Kevin. Don’t be a moron.”

  He made a face of mock offense and gestured to the bartender. Kevin ordered a soda, and his attention drifted to the TV over the bar. A basketball game was on. It took him a few seconds to identify the teams and would only take a minute more for him to become thoroughly engrossed.

  “Focus, Kevin,” Pamela said, tapping the bar in front of him. The bartender put a tall glass down. Some tiny bubbles leapt off the surface, but Kevin was willing to bet it would taste flat and slightly metallic.

  “What’s the emergency?” he asked, taking a sip that confirmed his suspicions.

  “I spoke with Fina Ludlow a few days ago. She’s not going to stop nosing around.”

  “She’ll stop eventually.”

  “I want her to stop now,” Pamela said, nudging her empty glass away.

  Kevin shrugged, feeling irritated. “No one cares about minor transgressions when there are more serious matters at hand.”

  “So you say.”

  “What do you want me to do? We’ve already had this conversation. Stop worrying and just do your job.”

  “Right.” Pamela reached into her bag and pulled out some cash.

  “That’s it? You dragged me out of my office for this?”

  She stopped and looked at him. “How’s your girlfriend, Kevin?”

  “I don’t have a girlfriend, and idle gossip is beneath you, Pamela.”

  “I just want to make sure that you understand the seriousness of the situation,” she said.

  “Oh, I understand, but it seems to me that you’re causing more problems by freaking out.”

  “I am not freaking out.”

  Kevin leaned toward her and lowered his voice. “Then calm down, for Christ’s sake.”

  She exhaled loudly. “Just remember that you have something to lose, too. It’s not just me.”

  He glared at her. “That sounds like a threat.”

  “Of course it’s not a threat. Don’t be so touchy.” Pamela slid off the high stool and picked up her coat and bag. “I thought you were good at getting your way and fixing things. I’m not seeing much evidence of that.”

  Kevin watched as she crossed the room.

  That woman could be such a cow.

  20.

  Fina stopped by a drive-thru and got a burger and fries to take home. There had been finger food at the reception, but she’d been too focused on the guests to make a dent in her hunger.

  Once home, she kicked off her heels and padded into the living room. She grabbed a diet soda from the fridge—carbonated drinks from a fountain machine were a crime against humanity—and unwrapped the food on the coffee table. It felt good to sit back and ingest some calories.

  As she chewed, Fina replayed the funeral in her mind. There hadn’t been any earth-shattering revelations, but there were morsels here and there that warranted a second look. Not that deep reflection was at the top of her list at the moment; she was due a nap.

  Fina was heading to the bedroom to change when there was a knock at her door. When she’d first moved into Nanny’s, she’d provided the concierge with a list of visitors who should always be granted access, including her brothers, Cristian, Milloy, Frank, Patty, and Risa. She’d also added Hal and Emma to the list given their frequent visits, so she wasn’t surprised to see Hal on the other side of the peephole.

  She opened the door and ushered him inside. “Hey, Hal.”

  “Is this a bad time?” he asked. “I thought I’d take a chance and see if you were in.”

  “This is a good time.”

  He followed her into the living room, Fina gazing longingly in the direction of the bedroom. Alas, her nap was not to be.

  “You look so nice, Fina,” Hal said, placing a computer bag on the floor and struggling out of his parka. “I’m not used to seeing you so dressed up.”

  “I had to go to a funeral. Have a seat.” She wandered into the kitchen and returned a minute later with a glass of ice water, which she handed to him. Given
his corpulent nature and perpetual signs of exertion, Fina was always a tad worried Hal would keel over in her home. Not that a glass of water would stave off the inevitable, but it seemed like a good first step.

  “Thanks,” Hal said, taking a long drink. “Was it Liz Barone’s funeral?”

  “It was,” Fina said. “No one likes funerals, but there’s something about little kids at their parent’s funeral that’s particularly depressing.”

  Hal shook his head. “I can’t imagine if I died or my ex did. Sarah would be devastated.”

  “Don’t even contemplate it,” Fina said. “I mean, contemplate it to the extent that you have your affairs in order, but then put it out of your mind.” Fina was well acquainted with estate planning; the Ludlow men might have been personal injury lawyers, but they acted like estate attorneys in their insistence of “having your affairs in order.” But they were also greedy control freaks, which might explain their diligence in that area.

  “Don’t worry,” Hal said. “I’m very careful about that sort of thing.”

  “Good.” Fina raised herself off the couch and tucked her feet underneath her. Hal averted his gaze, as if not wanting to catch her in a compromising position. “So do you have info about Liz?” Fina asked.

  “What happened to your hand?” Hal asked.

  Fina looked at the gauze. “Just a minor mishap.”

  “You wouldn’t have it bandaged if it were minor,” Hal said seriously.

  “You worry too much,” Fina insisted. “It’s really okay.”

  Hal was one of the few people in her life who seemed genuinely distressed by the injuries she sustained. If she told him about the car fire, he’d probably get worked up and have trouble focusing. It was a story for another day.

  “So, Liz?”

  He glanced at her hand before continuing. “Right. Liz. A couple of things. First of all, I haven’t found any signs that she was having an affair, at least none of the telltale ones.”

  “Like what? Hotel receipts, fancy restaurants?” Fina asked.

  “Right. Victoria’s Secret.”

  “I know people do that, but it’s such a cliché.”

  “Most clichés have some truth to them,” Hal said. “Both men and women rack up those bills. Hundreds of dollars’ worth sometimes.”

  Fina always thought that if novelty was your goal, you should buy new lingerie and model it for your current partner rather than finding a new partner. Granted, it wasn’t as exciting an option, but it was less expensive in the long run.

  “So her expenses were pretty routine,” Fina said.

  “Yes, and you know, I always say that it’s about the patterns.” Hal sipped his water.

  “If the patterns change, that’s a red flag, but everybody has their own weird bugaboos when it comes to money.”

  “Exactly. I don’t understand women who spend thousands of dollars on shoes, but that’s beside the point. It’s only noteworthy if that spending habit changes over time. Does she stop buying shoes? Does she buy even more or from a new place?”

  “So Liz’s patterns hadn’t changed recently?” Fina asked.

  “No. She was very consistent.”

  “What about her husband, Jamie?”

  “He’s consistent, too, but I did find one thing that piqued my curiosity.”

  “Oh, goody.” Fina pulled Nanny’s afghan over her legs, as if settling in for a juicy story.

  “Starting a few months ago, Jamie started withdrawing cash from a particular ATM in Central Square.”

  “Okay.”

  “So that’s a change in the pattern. Normally, he only took money out near their house or his office.”

  “Neither of which is near Central Square,” Fina said.

  “Correct, and the withdrawals have become more frequent over time.”

  “How much is he taking out?”

  “Initially it was a hundred dollars a pop, but more recently, up to three hundred,” Hal said.

  “Did you find any receipts from purchases in the area? Any credit card charges?”

  “The occasional purchase at CVS.”

  “So the only thing that shows up in that neighborhood is the withdrawals and those small purchases?” Fina asked.

  “That’s right.”

  “When did this start?”

  Hal reached into his computer bag and pulled out a slim laptop. He flipped open the top and tapped on some keys. “Mid-October. I can send you the exact dates.”

  “Thanks. That would be helpful.” Fina thought about it for a moment. “Did you find any signs of significant debt?”

  “No. They have a big mortgage, but so does everyone these days. No student loans.”

  “Liz went to NEU on at least a partial soccer scholarship, so I’m not surprised by that,” Fina said.

  “They did recently upgrade their insurance,” Hal noted.

  “Life insurance?”

  “And disability and long-term care.”

  “That could just be good planning,” Fina said. “Liz, at least, was planning for a less than rosy future.”

  “Her husband, of course, is the main beneficiary of her life insurance. Five hundred thousand is nothing to sneeze at.”

  “But is it enough to kill someone for?” Fina asked. “Half a million doesn’t get you very far these days.”

  “That’s a sad commentary, but maybe true. It depends how high off the hog you live, and I don’t get the sense that either Liz or Jamie had expensive tastes. Five hundred thousand could certainly make life easier,” Hal said. His fingers flew over the keyboard. “I just sent you my report. Read and destroy, as always.” He tucked his computer back into his bag.

  “Of course. I never hang on to anything that I don’t want the cops to read.”

  Hal shuddered. “God forbid.” He placed his nearly empty glass on the coffee table and struggled to a standing position. Fina handed him his coat and walked him to the door.

  “Don’t be a stranger, Hal,” she said.

  “Always a pleasure, Fina.”

  She watched him walk to the elevator before closing her door and taking a seat in front of her computer at the dining room table. Hal’s e-mail was sitting in her inbox. She clicked it open and perused the details they had just discussed, not learning anything new.

  Unfortunately, it was too late to nap; by the time she woke up, Fina would want to get ready for bed, so she decided to do a little work and touch base with Milloy instead. She left him a message wondering if he was available for dinner, then dialed Cristian.

  “Menendez.”

  “Hey,” Fina said.

  “I’m guessing you want something from me,” Cristian said. Fina could hear a child in the background and a singsong sound track that would garner better results than waterboarding.

  “Is that Matteo?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  “What’s that awful music?”

  “It’s one of his train videos,” Cristian said.

  “Sounds horrible.”

  “I don’t even notice.”

  “Parental deafness,” Fina said. “I’ve heard it’s a vital skill.”

  “We were talking about what you want.”

  “Right. Could you send me a copy of the videotape from the parking garage?” Fina asked.

  “Not necessarily.”

  “Well, then, how about some still photos of the guy?”

  “Maybe,” Cristian said. “You’re going to try to identify him?”

  “That’s the plan.”

  “We’re working on it, you know.”

  “I’m not questioning your competency, Cristian, just the allocation of resources. I’m guessing that Liz’s murder and my car situation are not the only things you have to solve.”

  “That’s true.”


  “So let me help.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Thank you. See how painless that was?”

  He snorted.

  “I’ll talk to you soon then,” Fina said.

  “Do you want to have dinner one of these nights?” Cristian said in a rush before she could hang up.

  “Sure,” Fina responded, a slight question mark in her voice.

  “You’re right; we haven’t seen much of each other outside of work,” he said. “I thought we should remedy that.”

  “I’d love that, but there’s a reason we haven’t seen each other, and that reason is named Cindy.”

  There was a long pause. “Yeah, she’s not really a reason anymore,” he said.

  “You broke up?”

  “Something like that.”

  “I’m sorry, Cristian. I thought things were going well.”

  “They were. It’s just . . .” He trailed off.

  “Dinner would be nice,” Fina said, no more anxious than he was to do a postmortem on his relationship. “Just let me know when, and I look forward to getting that videotape and maybe the inventory from the crime scene at Liz’s house.”

  “Photos, wisenheimer, and I didn’t make any promises.”

  “You never do,” she said, hanging up.

  She sat on the couch, pondering the turn of events. She wanted Cristian to be happy, but she was glad to hear that Cindy the speech pathologist wasn’t the woman of his dreams. Before she could contemplate it further, Fina’s phone rang, and she hatched a dinner plan with Milloy. He’d be over in about an hour, which gave her time for one more call.

  Fina scrolled through the numbers on her phone and pressed the button for Greta Samuels. She was on the brink of hanging up when Risa’s aunt answered.

  “Hello?” Greta always answered the phone with a question instead of a declaration of greeting.

  “Greta? It’s Fina Ludlow, Risa’s friend.”

  “I’m sorry, who?”

  “Fina Ludlow. Risa’s friend.” Unlike Risa, Fina had met Greta in person. Their brief interaction had been contentious, leaving neither woman with warm, fuzzy feelings. Fina’s ire had only grown since hearing about Greta’s claim that her kidney donor was a selfless stranger. She considered asking her about it, but really, what was the point?