by Ingrid Thoft
“Okay. And the cause of death?”
“Isn’t this public knowledge?” he asked.
“Not yet, and I want to hear what you know.”
“He was hit . . . with something.” Michael gestured toward the back of his head.
“How did you find out he was dead?”
He flinched at Fina’s question, but she didn’t apologize for her wording. She wasn’t insensitive, but she had to be sure that Michael really had the stomach for an investigation. And she hated all the euphemisms for death; when people “passed” it was either gas or a test. You die and you’re dead. That was that.
“My mom.”
“How’s she holding up?” Juliana Reardon and Hank had been divorced for five years, but according to the society scuttlebutt, they had a remarkably friendly relationship as exes. That was largely a credit to Juliana’s reasonable requests in the divorce. She could have taken Hank to the cleaners, but her own spiritual awakening precluded a nasty fight. The settlement left her an extremely wealthy woman, but it didn’t burden her with the karmic baggage of a lengthy court battle.
“She’s okay. Shocked. We all are.”
“What about his business partner?”
“Dimitri? What about him?”
“Do you like him? Did he and your dad get along?”
“He’s good at what he does. He and Dad didn’t always see eye to eye, but they complemented each other.”
Fina thought for a moment. “Who do you think killed him?”
Michael shrugged. “I don’t know, but things were fine until Renata Sanchez showed up. This is all her fault.”
Fifteen minutes ago it was all Fina’s fault, but she was happy to share the blame. In her experience, few things were ever just one person’s fault. There was usually plenty of blame to go around.
“When did you find out your dad had been a sperm donor?”
Michael cringed. “When the rest of the city did.”
He learned his father’s dark secret the same day as all of cyberspace? Ouch.
“Is there anything else you think I should know?” Fina asked.
“Like what?”
“Any conversations with your dad that seemed out of character? Had his behavior changed recently? Any fights or disagreements?”
Michael thought for a moment. “Nope.”
“Well, if you think of anything else,” Fina said, handing him her card, “let me know. I’ll be in touch.”
He followed her to the door.
“You should let your family know that you’ve hired me,” she said. “I’ll need access to investigate.”
“I’ll let them know right away.”
“How are they going to feel about my poking around?”
“They want to know who killed Dad, too. That’s all that matters.”
Fina watched him leave.
Huh.
That didn’t really answer her question.
• • •
The young Mrs. Reardon was currently unavailable, according to the woman who answered the phone, so Fina decided to shift gears and nose around Hank’s professional world. The skies opened up as she drove across the river to Cambridge; her windshield wipers could barely keep up. People darted from building to building in Kendall Square trying to escape the deluge. Fina always thought there was something missing in that neighborhood that gave it a cold, sterile feel. Regardless of all the activity and progress in the buildings above, she was always struck by the lack of energy on the street level, despite the presence of humans. Say what you will about the grit and dirt of other neighborhoods; at least they had a pulse.
Universum Tech headquarters was located in an oddly shaped mid-rise building with glass awnings sculpted into undulating waves. It looked like a feat of engineering, but an ugly feat nonetheless. Fina pulled into a visitors’ space in the garage and took the elevator to the first floor, entering an atrium that spanned seven floors. Glass-and-steel balconies bordered the space, and the ceiling that loomed above was made from frosted glass. The rain splattered down, the effect more noisy than soothing.
To the right of the seating area, a poster-sized photo of Hank Reardon sat on an easel flanked by large white flower arrangements. In the photo he was wearing a white Universum Tech golf shirt, which set off his tan nicely. He looked healthy and prosperous.
Fina turned toward the two twenty-somethings who were manning the reception desk that stood between two large potted ficus plants.
“Can I help you?” The young man smiled at Fina. His broad forehead, narrow head, and hooked nose called to mind an eagle. His name tag said TONY.
“I’m here to see Dimitri Kask on behalf of Michael Reardon.” She handed over her ID.
His face assumed a downcast expression. “Of course. Let me call his office.”
Five minutes later, Tony was standing next to her in the elevator, punching the button for the seventh floor.
“I’m sorry about Mr. Reardon,” Fina said. “It must be hard on the whole company.”
“It’s awful,” Tony replied in a hushed tone. “I mean, just dying would have been terrible, but murdered?” He gave her a knowing look. “I assume that’s why you’re here.”
Fina smiled, but stayed silent.
“I understand. You can’t talk about it,” he practically whispered.
“Do you know Danielle Reardon?” Fina asked, stepping off the elevator.
“Well, not personally, but we all kind of know her. She comes to company events.”
“With the baby?”
Tony thought for a moment. “Nah. She’s so little.”
Tony led Fina away from the atrium through an open space populated with cubes that looked corporate, but clearly there were no stifling rules about their decor. The ones she could see were decorated with pictures and posters and stuffed with comfortable furniture. In the corner of the building, two large glass-fronted offices faced each other with two assistants stationed in between. One office stood empty. In the other, a man with closely shorn black hair and a five o’clock shadow sat on a black leather couch under a window. He was not conventionally handsome, but even at first glance, Fina could tell that his clothes were expensive and he took care with his appearance.
“Ms. Ludlow for Mr. Kask,” Tony told the female assistant. She announced Fina to the man in the office and ushered her into the room.
“Dimitri Kask,” he said, and offered his hand.
“Fina Ludlow,” she said, matching his firm grip.
“Dana, could you please close the door?” he asked the young woman.
As she pulled it closed behind her, Dimitri walked over to the glass walls that fronted the rest of the office and pulled the blinds shut. “Sometimes the fishbowl can be a bit much.”
“I thought it was good for collaboration and all that,” Fina said, sitting in an Eames chair next to the couch.
“It is, except when you need to think.” Dimitri took a seat on the couch and crossed one ankle over the other knee. “What can I do for you?”
“I appreciate your seeing me without an appointment. I know how busy you must be.”
Dimitri Kask was a technical wunderkind who’d made and lost his first million by the age of twenty-five. Now forty-five, he had an international reputation, the go-to guy when anyone needed a pronouncement on the future of technology. He was extraordinarily bright and generally well liked.
“Obviously, I’m here about Hank,” Fina said.
“Yes, Michael told me you might be stopping by. You just missed the police.”
“Who’s leading the team?”
He peered at her. “Lieutenant Pitney. They don’t know you’re on the case?”
“I’ll be coordinating with Lieutenant Pitney and her team.” She mentally crossed her fingers behind her back.
Dimitri nodded. He picked a piece of lint off his expensive-looking black pants. He was wearing Italian leather loafers and a dress shirt without a tie.
“Can you tell me how Hank had been acting recently? Anything out of the ordinary?” she asked.
Dimitri chuckled. “There was nothing ordinary about Hank. Did you know he was one of the first people to market software platforms for e-commerce? Everything that we buy online nowadays, Hank had a hand in making that possible.”
“But he was more a business guy than a tech guy, right?”
“Correct. He understood enough about the technology to hire the right people, and his instincts were fantastic. He was able to identify the next big thing and jump on it.”
“When did you two start working together?”
“It’s been almost ten years.”
“So is e-commerce still the company’s focus?”
“We have a number of companies and projects under the Universum Tech umbrella.”
Fina nodded. His answer was pleasantly vague. “Did you two get along?”
Dimitri grinned. “Are you asking if I killed him?”
“Did you?”
“Do murderers usually confess to you?” He reached for a bottle of water on the glass coffee table and took a swig.
“You’d be surprised what people tell me.”
“No, I didn’t kill Hank, nor did I want to. I considered him a friend, not just a business partner.”
“Anyone you can think of who might have been upset with him?”
Dimitri scanned the room as he thought. Most of the surfaces were free of paper, but pieces of hardware littered the room. There were computer towers and laptops and what Fina assumed were motherboards and other components. Some had exposed innards from which wires were sprouting. Black-and-white abstract photographs hung on the walls, and on the credenza behind the desk, family photos offered the only pop of color in the space.
“I don’t know. Our competitors, maybe? Hank was arrogant—most hugely successful businesspeople are—and he didn’t mind stepping on toes. I can’t imagine anyone would kill him over business, though.”
“What about Danielle?”
“What about her?”
“Do you like her? Did she and Hank seem happy?”
“They seemed happy.”
Fina tilted her head. “You didn’t answer the first question.”
“Danielle is perfectly nice. Personally, I’ve always felt more of a connection with Juliana, but my husband is quite fond of Danielle.”
“Do you still see Juliana?”
“Occasionally at functions. I try to support her philanthropic work.”
Fina looked around the office. “I understand that Michael Reardon works here.”
Dimitri took another swig of water. “Yes.”
“But maybe that’s going to change?”
“I don’t know anything about that. You’ll have to ask Michael.”
“Was Hank grooming him to take his place?”
“He’s a little young to take his place, but I think that was his hope down the road.”
“And do you think Michael could fill his father’s shoes? If he wants to, that is.”
Dimitri pondered the question. “He’s smart and certainly ambitious.”
“But?”
“But his ambition comes from a place of having things as opposed to wanting things he’s never had.”
“I’m guessing the latter was the case for you and Hank.”
He nodded. “Hank grew up in a working-class family in Illinois, and my parents were immigrants from Estonia. We both felt compelled to do better. It’s a different dynamic than being the son of a billionaire.”
Fina thought about her own family. Carl and Elaine had built their fortune from nothing, and she and her brothers had been raised accustomed to a privileged lifestyle. The Ludlow children were all ambitious—it was in their blood—but none of them knew what it was like to fret over the electric bill. That kind of worry was uniquely motivating.
“Anything else that may have been causing problems for Hank?” she asked.
Dimitri shrugged. Fina watched him and waited. He watched her back. Dimitri Kask wasn’t going to fall victim to her usual bag of tricks.
“And the whole sperm donor issue?” she asked.
“What about it?” He shifted—just a tiny bit—on the couch.
“How did you feel about the revelations?”
“It wasn’t my business.” His expression was flat.
“So you didn’t have any feelings about it either way?” Fina smiled at him. “I find that hard to believe.”
“I wasn’t thrilled with the publicity,” he conceded.
“It is a little tabloidish. Donor babies coming out of the woodwork.”
“As I said, it didn’t really concern me.”
“You weren’t worried they would want a piece of the pie?”
“Of Universum Tech? There’s no legal basis for that.”
“There’s no legal basis for Renata Sanchez’s lawsuit, but that isn’t going to stop her.”
“With the help of your family’s law firm, if I’m not mistaken.” Irritation flashed in Dimitri’s eyes.
“You’re not mistaken. I make no excuses for my father.”
“But you do for yourself?”
Fina narrowed her eyes and gazed at him. “I don’t have anything to apologize for. I didn’t reveal Hank Reardon’s identity as the donor to the media, and now I’m just trying to find his killer.”
“So no guilt by association?”
“No, no guilt by association.” She leaned forward in her seat. “What about you? How’s that investigation into your child labor practices in China going? How old were they? The same ages as your kids?” Fina looked toward a picture on the credenza. It was an eight-by-ten photo of Dimitri, his husband, and their two young children.
“I think this interview is over,” Dimitri said, sitting forward.
Fina raised her hand. “Look, I didn’t come here to have a pissing contest or give you grief about your business practices, but turnabout is fair play.”
Dimitri looked at her, and then his gaze drifted to the picture behind his desk. “We resolved the China factory issue.”
They were silent for a moment.
Dimitri glanced at his watch. “I really wish I could provide more help, but I don’t know anything about Hank’s death, and I have another meeting.”
Fina rose from her chair and followed him to the door. “If you think of anything, let me know.” She handed him her card. “Would it be possible for me to see Hank’s office?”
Dimitri looked at the empty room on the other side of the space. “I’ll have to speak with our attorneys.” He slipped her card into his pocket.
“Sure. What about the murder scene?”
Dimitri’s assistant looked up with a pained expression and dipped her head again quickly.
“Just check in with reception before you go snooping around.” He walked back into his office and closed the door.
• • •
Fina found Tony behind the reception desk engaged in a spirited discussion with his desk mate. The snatch of conversation that Fina caught included the mention of boxers, Popsicles, and carpet cleaner. Tony was so engrossed in his story, he failed to notice Fina until his colleague nodded in her direction.
“How can I help you?” Tony chirped.
“I just spoke with Dimitri, and he said I should check in with you in order to see the crime scene.”
Tony winced. “That area is still closed off to cars, but I think you can walk around if you like.”
“That would be perfect.”
He touched a button on his headset and turned away from Fina. The circumstances did lend themselves to a certa
in amount of intrigue, but Tony would probably infuse any job with mystery. Fina could imagine him whispering into the microphone at Dunkin’ Donuts—“A sausage and egg croissant, please”—while stealing glances at the customers. It wasn’t the content but the delivery that made life exciting.
A moment later, a security guard in a blue blazer and pants appeared from behind double doors and walked over. Fina couldn’t peg his age—probably in his late forties—but the rest of his appearance did little to make her feel secure. He was about five feet five and overweight; most of the extra weight was around his waist, and when he walked toward her, there was a roll to his gait.
“This is the investigator who needs to see the area,” Tony confided to the guard.
“Joseph Skylar.” The guard thrust a beefy hand at Fina. “I’ll take it from here.”
Joseph led Fina to the doors from which he’d emerged and swiped a key card over an electronic sensor. The door beeped, and he held it open for her. Fina’s height advantage gave her a bird’s-eye view of the top of his head, which she could have lived without. Joseph’s hairline was sneaking over the top of his skull, and he seemed to be attempting to compensate by growing his hair down the back of his neck. It was not a good look.
“So you’re with the BPD on this one?” he asked as they waited at a bank of service elevators.
“I’m working with them, yes.”
“But you’re not a cop.”
“Private detective.”
The elevator dinged, and they got on. Joseph pressed the button for the third floor.
“I considered going the private route,” he said, rocking back and forth on his feet. “Decided I could do more good in a corporate setting.”
“Sure, I understand.” Fina snuck a glance at his torso. He had a small collection of key cards hooked onto his belt and a walkie-talkie, but he wasn’t armed.
“Did you ever consider joining the force?” she asked.
Joseph’s lip curled slightly. “What’s the point? Here, I do the work and get great benefits.”
Fina interpreted this to mean that he hadn’t passed the entrance exam at the academy.
The elevator moved at a glacial pace.
“I assume Mr. Reardon’s death was unusual,” Fina said. “I mean, this isn’t a violent place to work, right?”