Identity

by Ingrid Thoft

  “Your mom’s not home?” Fina sat down in an easy chair next to the couch.

  “She had some conference and then was picking up Alexa.”

  Fina nodded. “Sorry about dragging you home.”

  “Whatever.”

  “No, it’s not whatever,” Fina said. “I know you’re royally pissed at your mom, but she was worried about you.”

  Rosie pulled a knitted afghan over her lap. “I think she was worried about how it looked.”

  Fina didn’t respond.

  Rosie looked at her. “You aren’t going to defend her?”

  “I think you know who your mother is, Rosie. I’m not going to pretend otherwise. She likes crusades, sometimes at your expense. You’re seventeen; you know this.”

  “But she does it because she loves me,” she said sarcastically.

  “She does love you, and that’s a big motivation for her, I’m sure, but that doesn’t excuse the havoc she wreaks.”

  Rosie picked at the afghan in silence.

  “Anyway, I’m sorry I forced you home. Why don’t you stay with a friend for a little while if you need some space?”

  “Maybe.” Rosie stared at the talk show on the TV screen. “Why are you helping her? I thought she fired you guys.”

  “She did, although she didn’t really follow the correct procedures to terminate the relationship.”

  Rosie snorted. “She never does.”

  “I wanted to let you know that Michael Reardon has hired me to investigate Hank’s death.”

  Rosie’s head swiveled toward her. “Isn’t that a conflict of interest?”

  Fina shrugged. “Your mom fired us, and then he hired us, and then she kind of rehired us. It’s a bit of a mess, but I’m confident I can be objective.”

  “Let me guess: Michael Reardon thinks my mom killed his father.”

  “No. He doesn’t know who killed him.”

  “Has it occurred to him that maybe it has nothing to do with my mother? Maybe it has to do with the fact that his father donated sperm to half the state!”

  Fina declined to point out that his father was, in fact, her father. “Michael’s definitely pissed at your mom, but I think he’s pissed at his dad, too. Lots of people are pissed at other people.”

  Rosie burrowed farther into the couch. Fina slipped a foot out of her wedge sandal and massaged her instep. She looked at Rosie. “So this is quite a mess.”

  “Which part?”

  “All of it.”

  Rosie eyed her. “I’m not sure I should be talking to you now that you’re working for the enemy.”

  “Technically I probably shouldn’t be speaking with you without your mother present, but I thought maybe we could talk off the record.”

  “How do I know you’re not going to tell the media everything I say to you?”

  “You don’t know that, but I hate the media. My family is always on their shit list.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Fina filled Rosie in on Melanie’s murder and the cloud of suspicion that cloaked the Ludlows.

  Rosie nodded. “I remember that from earlier this summer. I didn’t realize when my mom hired you guys that you were those Ludlows.”

  “Maybe that’s why she hired us. My father doesn’t shy away from controversy in legal cases, although he prefers staying out of the limelight when it relates to his own family.” Fina slipped her shoe back on. “But even before that we were always being featured for something untoward or scandalous. For example, my father worked for that old lady who killed her grandson.”

  “Gasser Granny?”

  “The very one. Believe me, I grew up with a lot of unwanted attention.”

  “And it didn’t bother you?”

  “I hated it, but I didn’t have a choice. Luckily, I have brothers, and we’ve always stuck together.” Well, almost always.

  Rosie frowned. “Alexa isn’t much help.”

  “Can I give you a piece of advice?”

  Rosie looked at her.

  “There’s always going to be someone, somewhere, saying something nasty. You have to learn to tune it out.”

  “It’s not that easy.”

  “But it gets easier as you get older. It’s one of the few benefits of aging.”

  Rosie twirled a curl around her finger. “It just sucks.”

  “I hear ya.”

  They sat. Outside, bottles could be heard smashing into a recycling truck.

  Rosie finally spoke. “He really didn’t want anything to do with us, did he?”

  “Hank, you mean?”

  Rosie avoided her gaze. “Yeah.”

  “He didn’t seem to, but believe me, Rosie, that was about him, not you.”

  “Did you meet him?”

  “A couple of times.”

  “What was he like?”

  “Handsome, well dressed. Obviously he was incredibly smart. And very rich.”

  “So I’ve heard.”

  “Does that matter to you?”

  “Doesn’t it matter to everyone?” Rosie examined her toenails, which were painted bright purple. “Actually, it doesn’t matter to me that much; I mean, not fancy cars and stuff. I’d like money for college, and I don’t want my mom to have to work forever, but beyond that, I don’t really care.”

  “Can you explain to me how you ended up at that apartment in Allston?”

  “My friend’s brother lives there, and my friend is crashing there while his brother is out of town.”

  “The brother is William Hedquist?”

  She nodded. “His brother, Sam, is a friend of mine from work.”

  “How does Tyler figure into this?”

  “I couldn’t deal with all the media attention, and Tyler could relate. We hung out, and then Tyler brought me to the apartment.”

  “When was this exactly?”

  “On Monday night.”

  “The night you told your mother you were staying with your friend Laura?”

  “Right.”

  “And Sam was there with you the whole night? He can vouch for you?”

  Rosie looked confused. “He’s in a band, and they had a gig. They went out afterward, so he didn’t get home until early the next morning.”

  “So you were there alone when Hank Reardon was killed?”

  “I didn’t kill Hank Reardon!” Rosie looked aghast at the suggestion.

  “I’m not saying you did.”

  “But you’re acting like I need an alibi.”

  There was a commotion outside, and Rosie sat up abruptly. Fina motioned for her to stay where she was. Peeking around the blinds, she saw Renata and Alexa coming up the stairs.

  Renata was threatening to call the cops on the reporters when she pushed open the front door and slammed it shut behind her younger daughter.

  “Rosie, turn on some lights in here.” She reached over to the switch, and the room was bathed in light. “They already know we’re home.”

  Alexa tossed down her backpack and ran into the kitchen. Renata blinked at Fina.

  “Hello, Fina.”

  “Hello, Renata.” The exchange was more challenge than greeting. “I wanted to stop by and make sure Rosie was doing okay.”

  “She is.” She looked past Fina toward the kitchen. “Thank you for your help.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  They looked at each other. The silence was heavy under the weight of their mutual distrust.

  “Was there something else? I did fire your family before Rosie pulled her disappearing act,” Renata said, their warm, fuzzy moment having passed in the blink of an eye.

  “I know you did, but technically, you have to do it in writing, and then you kind of rehired me when she went missing. Remember?”

  Renata rolled her eye
s and put her hands on her hips.

  “And I’m not here in that capacity anyway,” Fina added.

  “So why are you here?”

  “Michael Reardon has hired me to investigate Hank’s death.”

  Renata’s mouth fell open. “You’re working for him now?”

  “Well, per your wishes, I’m not working for you.”

  “Your family is unbelievable.”

  Fina held up her hand. “Spare me your righteous indignation, Renata. At the moment, you don’t have a leg to stand on when it comes to family values.”

  Rosie looked at the floor and smiled.

  “Regardless,” Renata sputtered, “you shouldn’t be questioning my daughter without me present.”

  “Oh, right. You’re so concerned about my well-being,” Rosie muttered.

  “I’m always concerned about your well-being.”

  “We were talking off the record,” Fina said.

  “That may be, but she’s my child. It’s unethical. I can’t believe your father would sanction this.”

  Oh, lady. You have no idea.

  “If I want to talk to her, that’s my business,” Rosie said, standing up and putting her hands on her hips just like her mother. “What’s left to say, anyway? You’ve already told everyone our business!”

  “That’s not true, Rosie.”

  “Yes, it is! At the shelter, everybody keeps talking about cryokids and donor babies like I’m a freak!” Rosie stomped upstairs.

  “Well, thank you very much for that,” Renata said, glaring at Fina.

  “Oh, come on. You did that all by yourself, Renata.”

  Renata turned on her heel and walked into the kitchen. Fina followed her and watched as Renata filled a glass with water and took a long drink. Alexa was visible through the doorway, sitting at the dining room table. She was reaching her hand deep into a can of Pringles.

  “We can help you or I can put you in touch with people who have different expertise,” Fina said. “Crisis managers, a criminal attorney.”

  “I don’t need a criminal attorney! I didn’t kill Hank Reardon!”

  “Your tendency to speak your mind will get you in trouble, and Rosie might need to explain her whereabouts the night Hank died.” Fina reached into her bag and pulled out a small notebook. She wrote down a couple of names and numbers, ripped off the sheet, and handed it to Renata. “I’m trying to keep the kids out of the investigation.”

  “Why would you care? You get paid either way.”

  “Like I was telling Rosie, I know what it’s like to pay for the alleged sins of the father. It sucks.”

  Renata glared at her, and the doorbell rang. Footsteps thundered across the floor above their heads.

  “I am so sick of these assholes,” Rosie yelled, bounding down the stairs.

  “Rosie, don’t open that door,” Renata cautioned, moving toward the living room.

  “Oh wait, good news!” Rosie exclaimed. “It’s just the cops!”

  Renata swallowed and tugged down on the hem of her blazer.

  “Renata, you shouldn’t speak to them without an attorney,” Fina cautioned.

  “I don’t need an attorney,” she scoffed, “and I’ve already spoken to them.”

  Fina shook her head. “Well, at the very least, will you let me hang around while you talk to them now?” she asked.

  “Fine. Let them in, Rosie.”

  Fina and Renata avoided each other’s gaze and were joined a moment later by Cristian and Pitney. Rosie disappeared as quickly as she’d appeared.

  Pitney was decked out in her usual bright attire: a purple pantsuit with a yellow starburst–patterned shirt that was snug across her large breasts. And her breasts weren’t Playboy playmate–big, but real-life big: oval-shaped and unruly. Her mass of wiry curls was being held back by a pair of oversized sunglasses.

  “Ms. Sanchez, it’s nice to see you again,” Pitney said. Cristian smiled and nodded at Renata and Fina. “We’d like to ask you some more questions.”

  “I already answered your questions.” Renata reached down and pulled off her sensible pumps, which she shoved into the corner.

  “I know, but murder investigations are complicated. We often conduct multiple interviews and ask the same questions multiple times.”

  Renata shrugged.

  Pitney turned toward Fina. “Don’t you have someplace to be, Fina?”

  “You two know each other?” Renata asked.

  “Some of my cases have overlapped in the past with Lieutenant Pitney’s and Detective Menendez’s,” Fina said.

  “Well, that’s very cozy,” Renata said, reaching into a cupboard and pulling out an apron. She put it on over her black pantsuit, then turned on the oven.

  Pitney looked at Renata and then Fina. “I think we should do this privately.”

  Renata began opening various cabinets, pulling out dishes and ingredients. She didn’t say anything.

  “Or we can do it at the station,” the lieutenant suggested.

  Renata sighed. “Just do it now. It doesn’t matter to me if Fina stays.”

  Pitney glared at Fina.

  “I don’t have anyplace to be, really,” Fina said, and smiled. She leaned her hip against one of the counters. Cristian suppressed a grin.

  Pitney scowled at her, then turned her attention to Renata. “We wanted to talk a little more about your interactions with Hank Reardon.”

  Renata’s eyes strayed to the next room, where Alexa was still sitting at the table, writing in a journal.

  Cristian nodded toward the girl. “Should she maybe . . . ?”

  “It’s fine. I don’t believe in keeping secrets from my children.” Pitney and Cristian exchanged a glance. This open-book approach to parenting was increasingly popular and wildly inappropriate. Some of their work-related conversations were barely suitable for adults, let alone children. “And he wasn’t her father, anyway.”

  “That hardly seems the point, Ms. Sanchez,” Pitney said. Cristian watched his boss. Pitney was tough, and he was often caught in the middle between her and Fina, but she was forthright and principled. Cristian respected her. “She’s a minor. I don’t think we should discuss this in front of her.”

  “I have to agree, Renata,” Fina said, earning a raised eyebrow from Pitney.

  Cristian looked at Alexa, who peered up at him from beneath her thick bangs. She popped a chip into her mouth.

  “I’ll decide what’s best for my child, not the police.” Renata turned to the counter and faced the stack of ingredients she’d gathered there. She peeled the top off a Tupperware container filled with red liquid and dipped a tortilla into it. She spooned meat and cheese onto it, rolled it into a tight parcel, and placed it in the bottom of a casserole dish.

  “Had you ever met Hank Reardon before you learned he was your donor?” Pitney asked.

  “Not that I can remember. We hardly moved in the same circles.”

  “No, but you were both active in community events,” Pitney commented.

  “I don’t attend the galas and fund-raisers that people like the Reardons do. I don’t have thousands of dollars to spend on buying a table.”

  Fina knew her father often purchased a table at the events hosted by his favorite charities. Usually, the minimum outlay was ten thousand dollars; that kind of charity required deep pockets.

  “So when did you first meet him?”

  “At the meeting with them.” Renata gestured toward Fina.

  “Carl arranged a meeting with Renata and the other SMC, Marnie Frasier,” Fina said. “Jules Lindsley and Hank Reardon were there, as well as Danielle Reardon.”

  “What happened in that meeting?” the lieutenant asked.

  “Renata, don’t answer that. It’s protected by attorney-client privilege.”

  Cristian
frowned at Fina.

  “I don’t have anything to hide, Fina.” She filled and rolled another tortilla. “He tried to pay us off.”

  “How much did he offer?” Cristian asked.

  “Five million per child.”

  Pitney whistled. “That’s a lot of money.”

  “I can’t be bought, Lieutenant.”

  “And it’s not really a lot of money when you consider his net worth,” Fina added.

  “Enough from you,” Pitney said, pointing a finger at her. “I’ll deal with you later.”

  Fina tried to look chastened; it was a reach.

  “So you were pissed at Hank Reardon,” Pitney said to Renata.

  “Absolutely, but I didn’t kill him.”

  Fina glanced at Alexa through the doorway. She was pouring crumbs from the Pringles can into her mouth.

  Pitney watched Renata. “You used two different donors to conceive your children?” she asked.

  “How is that relevant?”

  “It’s our job to decide what’s relevant, and it’s your job to provide the information.”

  “Fine. I used two different donors. By the time I decided to have a second child, donor #575651 was no longer available.”

  “You didn’t bank any when you had Rosie?” Cristian asked. He watched Renata’s nimble fingers assemble the enchiladas.

  “Someone’s done his research.”

  “Detective Menendez is more than just a pretty face,” Pitney offered.

  “Indeed,” Fina mumbled.

  Renata ignored them. “No, I didn’t bank any. You have to remember this was almost twenty years ago, and the industry was relatively young. I didn’t think to do it, and the bank didn’t have an aggressive marketing campaign like they do now.”

  “But you would have preferred having the same donor,” Pitney ventured.

  Renata held her hands up in exasperation. They were dripping with chili sauce. “Well, of course, but if there’s no sperm, there’s no sperm.” She nudged the kitchen faucet with her elbow and rinsed her hands. Pitney and Cristian stepped out of the way as she pulled open the oven door and slid the pan into the heat.

  “Anything else?” Renata asked.

  “Yes. Where were you on Monday night and Tuesday morning?” Pitney asked.

  Renata untied her apron. “I already told you. I was here, asleep.”