by Ingrid Thoft
“That’s great, thanks. I’ll take a look right now.”
Fina toggled over to her e-mail and scanned the list of transactions from Emma, quickly at first, then more slowly a second time.
Dammit.
There was nothing there.
• • •
Walter Stiles had left the office for the day, and Fina decided to approach him away from the cryobank. Catching him off guard seemed like a good idea, and he might be less cagey if his professional reputation wasn’t foremost on his mind. This was more likely to happen at his home in Framingham.
Five minutes after exiting Route 9, Fina was winding along sparsely populated roads that tucked in and out of the woods. She didn’t understand the appeal of living out in the sticks, even if you were really only ten minutes from the nearest mall. Some people found it peaceful, but it felt creepy to her.
She turned into a road marked by two stone columns and followed Walter’s driveway to a moderate-sized contemporary house. The exterior was shingled in dark wood that blended in with the large forest it abutted. The doorbell didn’t sound like a standard chime, more like the first few notes of a classical piece. As she waited, Fina peeked in through the glass bordering the door. The space was full of light and wood and looked expensive and custom-built. Walter had done all right for himself.
A woman opened the door. She was in her fifties, wearing a velour tracksuit, her dyed blond hair pulled back in a loose ponytail. Fina recognized her as Walter’s companion at various charity events that had been featured in the Globe. “Yes?”
“I’m here to see Walter. Ellen said he’d left for the day.”
“Is he expecting you?”
“He should be.”
“He’s back there,” she said, and led Fina through the living room with its white walls and high ceilings. The doors were framed with intricate moldings, and the wood floors were polished to a sheen. They walked through a modern kitchen, which featured a corner of windows overlooking the woods. The accoutrements of dinner preparations were laid out on the counter, and a small TV was broadcasting the news. “Do you work at the bank?” the woman asked over her shoulder.
“No, just consulting. I’m Fina.”
The woman turned and offered her hand. “Lucy. Walter hasn’t mentioned you.”
“Our work hasn’t overlapped much.”
“Walter, Fina is here.” Lucy poked her head around the door frame into a smaller room.
Walter sat at a wooden desk, his back to a wall of windows. He was reading something on the desk and glanced up after a moment. He peered at Fina and scowled.
“Why are you here?” He started to rise from his seat.
Lucy looked confused.
“I was telling Lucy that I’m consulting with the bank on the Reardon situation.” Fina stared at him. It was a game of chicken, but Fina couldn’t really lose; if he kicked her out, that just confirmed that she was onto something.
“Should I not have . . . ?” Lucy glanced between the two of them.
“It’s fine. I’ll take care of it.” He pointed to a love seat perpendicular to the fireplace, and Fina sat down. The room must have been cozy in winter, but without a roaring fire and autumn colors outside the window, it seemed oddly barren. Walter glared at Fina, and Lucy padded down the hallway.
“Is that your housekeeper or your wife?” Fina asked before he could speak.
“Neither. What are you doing at my home?”
“Short workday for you today, or do you always leave before three?” He didn’t answer. “Okeydoke. I have some questions I want to ask you.”
“I’m calling the police. This is harassment.” He picked up the phone on the desk.
“Please do. They can fill me in on your interactions with Hank Reardon. I’m assuming you’ve already told them about that?” Walter stopped dialing. “I don’t actually care about your baby-making empire. I’ve been hired by Michael Reardon to find his father’s killer. That’s my only concern.”
Walter was quiet. He moved his jaw as if he were actually chewing on this notion. He sat down in his large desk chair. “There’s nothing to tell.”
“So the police know you had contact with Hank shortly before his murder?”
“The police are aware of details that are relevant to the case.” He folded his hands on the desk.
Fina smiled. “Nice try, Walter. I’m from a family of attorneys, remember? I’m fluent in evasion.”
“Any conversations I had with Hank Reardon are covered by doctor-patient confidentiality.”
“What? That’s bogus. You weren’t his doctor.”
“I have nothing to say on the matter.”
“Obviously you and Hank knew one another, but I can’t figure out why you and his widow don’t want anyone to know that he was in touch. What’s the big secret?”
“You’ve never heard of privacy?”
“I think the fear of bad publicity trumps privacy.” Fina stood and looked at the bookshelves. A couple of shelves were filled with medical journals and some awards. There were a few pictures of Walter receiving the awards, smiling proudly while holding a crystal bowl or a shiny plaque. The other shelves were crammed full of books—the classics, from the looks of the spines—but Fina would have bet money that they had been acquired by a decorator, not a voracious reader. A couple of banker’s boxes were on the ground next to a basket of firewood.
“Do you want to hear my theory?” Fina asked.
“No, and would you kindly sit down? I don’t want you pawing at my things.”
“Walter, I haven’t touched anything, but if it makes you feel better.” She reclaimed her place on the love seat. “I think that Hank Reardon was incensed and was coming after the cryobank.”
Walter gave her a pitying look. “That’s preposterous, and why are you so sure he was angry? Maybe he wanted to champion the work of the cryobank.”
“You make it sound like you’ve cured cancer. I know reproductive medicine is a big deal, but you’re not Jonas Salk or Mother Teresa in a lab coat.”
“You shouldn’t assume donating sperm was a source of shame or unhappiness to Mr. Reardon.”
“I didn’t say it was, but I know that he didn’t want the publicity. Trying to convince me that he wanted to be the next poster child for the cryobank is going to be a hard sell.”
Walter waved his hand. “Your theories aren’t of any consequence. It’s time for you to leave.”
“Okeydoke.” Fina rose once again. “Take care, Walter.”
She walked back through the kitchen, where Lucy stood at the sink.
“Nice to meet you, Lucy.”
“Bye.”
Fina saw herself out and sat in her car for a moment before turning the key. There was some issue or bone of contention between Walter and Hank, she was sure of it. If Hank had just threatened legal action, he would have sent Jules Lindsley as his emissary, but he’d contacted Walter directly.
Walter and the widow Reardon could stonewall her all they wanted. It just made her more curious.
• • •
This time, Danielle Reardon’s maid didn’t make her wait on the doorstep, but she did leave her in the foyer for ten minutes. Fina took a seat in an elaborate chair that was probably from some French monarchy. It had a scrolled back, and the arms were oversized and curvy. Covered in striped silk, it probably cost more than Fina’s car.
“She’s in her study,” the maid announced.
“I can find it if you tell me where it is,” Fina said, rising from the chair.
The maid gave her a withering look. “I’ll take you.” The security at the Reardons’ was certainly better than that at Heritage Cryobank.
They rode the elevator to the fourth floor. Fina was directed a few doors down the hallway into a room overlooking Commonwealth Ave. There was a large
couch, a fireplace, bookshelves, and a flat-screen TV mounted on the wall. Danielle was on the phone, pacing by the window.
“But he assured me that he would take care of the permits,” she said, gesturing for Fina to come in. “Uh-huh, uh-huh. Would you? Thanks.” She hung up a moment later.
“What’s going on?” Danielle asked. She was wearing a wrap dress that hugged her figure perfectly, and her hair was down. It was shiny and glossy, like she’d just stepped out of a shampoo commercial. She wore a couple of necklaces of varying lengths. Her feet were bare, with manicured toenails. Fina could see a pair of three-inch heels kicked off in front of the couch.
“Do you have a minute?”
“Sure.” Danielle shrugged and walked over to a wall cabinet. She pushed on a panel, which opened to reveal a wet bar. “Do you want a drink?”
“Sounds good. What do you have?”
Danielle stood back to show off an incredibly well-stocked bar. “I’m partial to vodka myself. Vodka martini? Vodka and cranberry? Vodka tonic?”
“Vodka and cranberry.” Fina sat down on the couch. The room retained the feeling of a men’s club, but there were touches indicating this was Danielle’s space. There were framed black-and-white photographs on the shelves, and the coffee table books were all art-related. The couch was covered in a cranberry-colored fabric, and the room was accented with deep reds and silvers. “I didn’t know if you’d be busy with baby stuff right now,” Fina said.
“No.” Danielle glanced at a crystal clock on the wall. “She’s having a bath.”
Not on her own, presumably, since she couldn’t sit up unassisted. Fina’s understanding was that, unless you had a catlike baby who didn’t like water, bath time was one of the highlights of having an infant. Patty and Scotty always loved bathing their babies.
Danielle mixed the drinks and brought them over to the couch. Fina took a sip and fought the urge to wince. She wasn’t kidding about liking vodka.
Danielle took a long draw from what Fina guessed was a vodka tonic. Her shoulders visibly relaxed.
“I heard the funeral was a bit of a scene,” Fina said.
“I told Michael she shouldn’t come,” Danielle said with a sigh, “but he’s never been very good at standing up to his mother.”
“Most men aren’t,” Fina commented. Her brothers crushed opponents in court but tiptoed around Elaine. It was ridiculous to see grown men act like such pussies.
“I’m surprised your security didn’t deal with her.”
“And create even more of a scene? There were press there. They would have had a field day if I’d thrown her out.” Danielle drank some more.
“Why did you lie to me about that phone number?” Fina asked.
Danielle swallowed and looked at Fina. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“The phone number I showed you on Tuesday. You recognized it. Why was Hank calling Walter Stiles?”
Danielle sat back against the cushions and fiddled with her engagement ring. “Who’s that?”
Fina put her glass down on the coffee table with more force than was required. Danielle started. “Please don’t waste my time and Michael’s money.”
Danielle met her gaze. “Fine,” she said after a moment. “I don’t know why Hank was calling him.”
“But you do know who he is?”
“The sperm dealer? Yes, I know who he is.”
“So why lie about it?”
“Because it’s nobody’s business. Whatever Hank was discussing with him was a private matter.”
“Danielle, nothing is private when it comes to murder, and little is private when you’re a public figure. You know that.”
“Well, it should be. Hank made those donations when he was young and stupid, but he made them believing that his identity would be kept confidential. He didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I agree.”
“That’s rich, coming from you. You’re the one who outed him.”
“I did what anyone could have done.”
“So you’re not responsible?”
Fina tipped her head to the side. “I’m responsible for the role I played, yes. But the revelation of Hank’s identity was a matter of when, not if.”
“It’s still just an excuse.”
“Maybe.” Fina picked up her glass and took another drink. “What was Hank’s reaction when the news broke?”
“He was bullshit. It was a complete invasion of his privacy, and it couldn’t have come at a worse time.”
“Because of the waterfront development deal?”
“Yes, and bad publicity is never good for Universum.”
“Did you know about the sperm donations before we identified him?”
Danielle tapped her glass with a perfectly manicured fingernail. “Of course I knew. I was his wife.” She looked at Fina. Most people avoided eye contact when they were lying, but there was a smaller subset who looked you straight in the eye, defied you to call their bluff. Fina wondered if Danielle was a member of that subset.
“And did it bother you? The possibility that he had fathered other children?”
“He had fathered another child—Michael. It wasn’t like I thought I was getting first crack at him.”
“A child from a previous marriage is quite different from multiple children from assisted reproduction.”
“I’m Hank’s wife, and Aubrey is his legitimate daughter. That’s all that matters.”
“So you really have no idea why Hank contacted Walter Stiles?” Fina asked. She finished her drink and placed the glass on the coffee table.
Danielle shrugged. “Nope.”
There was a light tap on the door, and a different maid entered the room. She carried a tray on which sat a plate of sashimi and a small bowl of wilted spinach.
“Your dinner, Mrs. Reardon.”
Danielle checked her watch. “Thank you, Marie.” The maid put the tray down and picked up Fina’s empty glass, which she spirited away.
Fina stood. “You don’t like to cook?”
“Nah, and I never needed to. When Hank was alive, either we went out or he was out, and I’d have the cook make me something or order in. I didn’t want to cook for two people, let alone one.”
“I don’t cook, either. My mother thinks it’s a character flaw, although she doesn’t cook much anymore.”
“Mine thinks the same thing, but I think she’s just jealous.” She picked up a pair of lacquered chopsticks.
“If you think of anything, like why Hank was in touch with Walter, let me know.”
Danielle shook her head. “I won’t think of anything. Can you find your way out?”
“Yup. The elevator and down. Take care.”
Fina glanced back on her way out. Danielle had reached for a remote, and the large TV screen sprang to life. She had the chopsticks in her hand as she flipped through the channels. It was a picture of wealth and privilege and downright loneliness.
Fina stopped at a diner in Allston and ordered a BLT and fries. Walter Stiles had been on her list since their confrontation outside the cryobank, but he’d vaulted to the top. Hank Reardon was pissed that he’d been outed and had contacted Heritage’s director; did he blame Walter for the release of the information even though it hadn’t come from the cryobank directly? She couldn’t compel Walter to talk to her, but she could be a pest. Oftentimes, people would talk if they thought it would make you go away.
When she pulled into the parking lot at the club it was after seven, safely beyond the dinner hour. She bumped into Patty and the kids walking through the parking lot. Fina exchanged kisses and hugs.
“I’m pumped for that field hockey game, Hale,” she said to her niece.
Haley rolled her eyes. “Don’t embarrass me. Seriously, you’ll be disinvited if you don’t behave.”
Pa
tty laughed as she corralled the boys into the car.
“Of course I’m going to behave,” Fina protested. “Aunt Patty will keep me in line.”
“I will,” Patty said. “It’s Pap we need to worry about.”
“My dad’s going to a game?” Fina asked. Carl wasn’t exactly a hands-on grandfather. He loved the kids and spoiled them in many ways, but rarely with his time.
“That’s what he says.”
“That should be a hoot. Is my mom here?”
“I plead the fifth.” Patty climbed into the front seat.
“Shit.”
“Aunt Fina!” Teddy scolded her. “You owe Mommy a quarter!” The other boys giggled. Fina reached into her wallet and pulled out a five-dollar bill. She handed it to Patty, who had rolled down her window.
“Let’s run a tab.”
Patty shook her head. “It doesn’t work that way.”
“Bye.”
Fina walked through the lot and up the path to the pool area. The light was waning, and there were only a handful of people around. Schools had started back, and summer schedules were giving way to the demands of September. In a couple of weeks, the pool would close for the season, and the socializing would move indoors.
Fina spotted her parents sitting at a table with Matthew and Scotty. There was an unfinished bowl of ice cream melting into a puddle and a plate with half a slice of cheesecake. Other empty bowls suggested other, larger appetites.
“I thought you said you couldn’t make it,” Carl said.
“I couldn’t, but I told you I’d stop by with an update.”
“Are you going to eat something?” Elaine asked. Most mothers would be poised to order her something, but Fina knew her mother would only do that if she could offer color commentary on Fina’s choices. Eating was always an opportunity for a critique, in Elaine’s book.
“No, Mom.”
“What? You don’t like the food here all of a sudden?”
“Did you dig anything up on the good doctor?” Fina asked Matthew.
“Nothing. I’ll let you know if I do.”
“I gotta go.” Scotty stood up and stretched. “Any word on our young interviewee?”