“I can’t believe Stefano gave Alec a half-million dollars,” I say.
“Alec only transferred back two hundred thousand,” Derek says.
The transfer was the night before Belina was murdered.
“I need you to look into Belina’s bank account too,” I say. “In her journal, the day she died, she said she was transferring money. I need to know to who. And why.”
“The ‘who’ I can handle.”
As I hear him start to click, I begin looking through the bank records Derek was able to steal and connect to other accounts. It’s a lot of vendors, gas, boating equipment. I see one of Stefano’s corporations is listed as owner of one property on the East Side but close to North Main. “He owns Belina’s apartment building.”
“She hasn’t paid a lick of rent for five years,” he says. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that.”
We both laugh a little. I picture him in the abandoned farmhouse, almost a half hour from anyone else. I haven’t been there since he moved in a few years ago, but in high school it was my go-to spot. I could smoke weed or give hand jobs or whatever my current boyfriend was into. It was total privacy with a hint of rebellion, my ideal setting back then.
What a slut.
Your family knew.
You don’t deserve someone like Jack.
One of the last times I went there was during a lightning storm with this hot college dropout. We were on the porch, drinking vodka and Snapple, watching the flashes across the sky light up all that flat land. Some other high school freshmen joined us and threw their empties against the side of the house. I yelled at them because even though no one lived there, someone once had. Someone might again. I wished I could. Ever since I was eight, every time I walked down my block and saw my grandfather’s car parked in the driveway and tried not to throw up. I’d have given anything to live in that abandoned house. And now, my brother did.
It’s all your fault.
I take a minute to breathe through the sickness the memory brings, waiting for the anger. It arrives with a few tears, and I wipe them away and dig into the spreadsheet. It doesn’t take long for a theory to emerge.
“Okay,” I begin, “Belina starts working for Stefano’s company as an accountant even though she’s a college dropout.” I close my eyes as I pull at stray thoughts. “Possibly having an affair with him. Then she leaves her accounting job to work for the Mathers family. But she meets with CF, a.k.a. Stefano, right after taking the job. Keeps detailed notes about Alec. Stefano pays for her place. Two months after she starts, Alec starts getting deposits from Stefano’s shell company.”
“She never stopped working for Stefano,” Derek says.
“That’s my guess too.”
“This Alec guy pretty dumb?” Derek asks because it looks that way. His books, personal and business, are a mess.
“Dumb enough to listen to the wrong people,” I say on a sigh.
I open the complete file Uncle Cal sent over. It shows Alec’s business had a loss that first and only year of the grant. With things going poorly for Alec, he was vulnerable to the money-laundering scheme. To keeping up appearances.
To making his little nanny girlfriend happy.
And her boyfriend Stefano happy.
Line by line, I see Alec received regular cash payments, anywhere from a few thousand to tens of thousands. Likely, it’s an advance for the larger amount of money that Alec would clean.
If Belina set this up, I’m impressed. My guess is the dirty money would come to Alec in a cooler or whatever. Meanwhile, Alec gets weekly cash payments from buyers for the fish his captains bring in. It’s thousands each week, and he deducts a small amount for the boat rentals, gas, or whatever. Then he gives the captains cash but not the cash from the fish buyers. He gives them the dirty cash. Scattered among the captains, much of it likely not even deposited in a bank, it would be difficult to trace. Then the clean cash is deposited into the bank, sent back to Stefano as payment for the boats or whatever.
I keep thinking of the first item on Belina’s to-do list, “transfer money.” I notice Alec paid off his mortgage with a huge chunk of that half-million dollars. He also sent Misha to the spa. And paid six months on his leased BMW. I doubt that’s what Stefano would have wanted him to do with his money. But it doesn’t look like Belina transferred the money to Alec.
I see where Derek stopped his research, right at the Stefano data. He never minds hacking civilians, but when someone is good enough to really hide their money, he’ll stop. I’ll have to push him later.
You use him, even though he’s got nothing left.
Worst kind of sister.
He should have stopped talking to you like everyone else.
“This is a big help,” I say. “Can you dig into Belina’s accounts too?”
“Yeah,” he says. “Send me the deets, sis.”
“Sure,” I say. “Five thousand for your time on this? Another grand for Belina’s info?”
“Sounds about right,” he says. “About right, right.”
Repeating words means it’s not long now until he passes out.
“You seeing the family for Christmas?” I ask, trying not to sound like I care.
“Naw, better company here.”
While I legally emancipated myself from my parents as a teenager to get as far away as fast as I could, Derek played the long game. He was twenty-five when he left without a word. He moved outside their town but hardly ever speaks to them. “I’ll fly you out if you’d even want to stay—”
“Can’t board my cats,” he says. “Too mean.”
He’d also need to smuggle a lot of drugs up his ass. “Sure,” I say, not offering to visit either. “Thanks again.”
He grunts, and I hear the slack-jawed inhale of the doped up. There’s a little rumble in the back of his throat. I listen to him breathe. In and out, snore and wheeze. That sound is one of my few happy memories as a girl.
I close my eyes as he breathes. I hear his knock on my door, sleeping bag in hand. He was six, I was almost eight, and he noticed my light was on. I couldn’t sleep in the dark anymore. We didn’t need to say why, both of us knowing, him the witness and me the victim. He saved my life that night and every one that followed until I learned how to put a lock on my door. But even when I felt like no one could physically come into my room, I had to live in that house. Without Derek, I never would have survived.
“I love you,” I say, even though he’s passed out. He’s the only person I say it to at the end of a call, including Jack. But each goodbye with Derek feels like the last one we’ll ever have.
All your fault.
Chapter 19
I’m still awake in the early hours, my brain unable to slow down even as I ache for sleep. I spent the past twenty-four hours preparing for today. My recent legal work rarely required this level of attention, but when I was working for Uncle Cal, it was late nights and digging until dawn. I slipped into some dangerous old habits.
I won’t let that happen again. There are two lines of demarcation that I overcame to reach this point. At both edges I almost lost my life and my mind—first as a girl in Kansas and later a lawyer in DC. Now in Providence, I have a life worth living. I cannot go back.
Downstairs I order my files and put them in my messenger bag. I drop in Miguel’s business plan for his fishing enterprise. He sent it after I’d doctored some fake financial documents to prove I was a whale of a potential investor and signed a nondisclosure agreement. The plan is light on details, but nothing seems amiss or hidden. The opposite of Alec’s files.
It’s not only with Miguel that I get to play pretend today. First, a trip to see Belina’s mom to highlight my friendship and simple Kansas roots. If she’s a townie like Ricky said, the fancy East Sider persona won’t help me. I’ll save that for my meeting with Miguel after.
I hear Jack in the shower and go check on Ester. I bounced her through a lot of the night to keep her quiet so I could concentrate. I g
et her changed, and her diaper bag is packed just as Gillian arrives. She says she doesn’t mind coming along, but I can see she’d rather watch Ester at the house again.
Everyone sees how crazy you are.
I have to have Ester close. When she’s away from me, she’s a phantom limb, throwing off my focus, pulling me back when I need to be present.
We get into my SUV and hit the road. Gillian hums to Ester, who seems to like it, finally stopping her wailing. The silence and extra help releases calm, something I haven’t felt in days, weeks maybe.
We zoom down 95. Already all eight lanes are crowded as we pass the Providence River and dozens of tankers and cranes in the port. There are billboards for DUI lawyers and Cardi’s Furniture before I pass the iconic Big Blue Bug, supposedly the world’s largest artificial insect. The pest control mascot is wrapped in Christmas lights with a glowing Rudolph nose.
There’s not much else to look at until the South County exit toward Newport. The shift is immediate, trees swapped for billboards, the sky seeming wider as we head in the direction of the ocean.
My phone alarm beeps, which means it’s time to turn on Phillip’s interview.
The TODAY Show is broadcast live on Sirius radio. I press a couple buttons until I hear his voice, keeping the volume low so as to not disturb Ester.
“Yes, Leslie, I don’t believe the right man has been arrested. Belina’s day planner, which we released last night on TheHaleReport.com, indicates two other suspects were meeting her at the cemetery.”
Leslie clears her throat before she begins. “But the suspect arrested, Alec Mathers, had DNA evidence at the crime scene. The victim’s blood was in his car. Supposedly they had a relationship.”
“She was wearing his jacket at the scene,” Phillip says in his conspiratorial tone. “His wife, Misha, said that the blood, which was in the trunk, was a result of a scrape from the stroller earlier that day.”
“Seems a little convenient,” Leslie rightly says.
You’re setting him up to fail again.
Phillip lets out a friendly laugh. “Look, it’s possible it was planted. Why else drain her arm in that way? Alec’s car alarm wasn’t working, was possibly disabled by someone. My source at the cemetery says none of their cameras have footage of anyone other than Belina walking from the gazebo to where she was murdered. And yet a vial’s worth of blood is splattered in the trunk of his car, which was not at the scene?”
“On your website, you said you’re tracking down two other people Belina was supposed to have met with at the time she was killed?”
“We are. And we’re learning who Belina really was as a person. Not just how neighborhood gossips perceived her but her family and friends. A woman is dead, and all the media can focus on is how attractive she was and whether she wore yoga pants to run errands.”
“We’ll all be watching as your investigation into this murder continues,” Leslie says. “Phillip has agreed to be an exclusive NBC correspondent as he uncovers breaking news about this shocking crime haunting New England.”
I smile at that revelation, a last-minute negotiation, I’m sure. It puts more pressure on what I’m doing today. We have to keep up the drumbeat of evidence and reasonable doubt.
It’s all going down in flames, girlie.
Speeding away from the mainland, I head toward the first bridge to the island of Jamestown, where I’ll be stopping soon enough. Stefano’s fishing business and ships are based out of that town’s port. Alec docked his boat and tried to organize the captains with Ricky from there. That trip could wait only a day.
I cross the second bridge to Aquidneck Island, home of the tawny town of Newport. The large bridge, a blue cousin to the Golden Gate, is an appropriate gateway to the seaside town with colonial architecture and million-dollar yachts.
Once I’m off the highway, I take the long way. I cruise along Ocean Avenue and the large private homes before turning onto Belmont. Across expansive lawns and behind ornate gates are gigantic mansions that once belonged to Vanderbilts or Astors. They’re now maintained by the Newport Historical Society, so people in Steelers T-shirts and fanny packs can shuffle through the doors and listen to audio tours about great wealth and great divides.
Not that I can judge. There weren’t even any two-story houses in my Kansas town.
The GPS takes me off the main road to streets crowded with houses chopped into rentals. The screen door to Tina Cabrala’s first-floor apartment is propped open with boxes, though the front door is shut.
“You don’t mind waiting?” I ask Gillian after I put the car in park.
“Do what ya need to do, hon.”
How could you leave her again?
In the car, outside, in this neighborhood.
What a terrible mother.
I glance back to be sure Ester is still sleeping, even after the car stopped. She’s peaceful, and I grab my purse and a bottle of wine I swiped from our refrigerator.
Sometimes it’s intuition. Back in DC, I knew to take off my engagement ring and look forlornly at the balding guy at the end of the bar who would buy me a drink and tell me about his recently arrested buddy. Other days, it’s listening for small details. Once Belina made a joke that her mom liked pinot grigio more than her own daughter. She laughed, but it stuck. Most details do for me. It’s a survival thing. Clawing at every scrap you can get in case it matters.
To get to the doorstep, I cross over two boxes and a lamp with a torn animal-print shade. I press the doorbell, but it doesn’t work. There are two people talking inside, male and female, and their voices drop off at my cop knock on the door. I hear a back door slam.
The woman who appears looks nothing like Belina. She has that tight-faced, 1980s plastic surgery skin. Her breasts are large and too high, age spots and freckles dotting along the tan cleavage zipped into a short leather jacket with a dingy fur collar. She looks me up and down, her gaze landing on the bottle of white wine in my hand. “Yeah?”
“Hi, Tina. I’m Devon. I was a friend of your daughter’s. I’m so sorry for your loss.”
She rakes her long nails through her overpermed hair, squeezing her eyes tight and then opening them with a purse of the lips. “Whaddya want?”
“Have you been watching the news about the recent developments?” I ask. “See Phillip Hale on Good Day RI?”
She sticks her nose in the air. “That black fella? Yeah, he was pretty good.”
“He’s a smart guy,” I say. “I’m working with him on her case. Can I ask you some questions?”
She crosses her arms, leaning against the doorframe, several stacked bangles clanking. “I thought you were friends.”
“Belina didn’t share much with me,” I say. “Please, I’ll be quick.”
“I don’t got much time,” she says. “My boyfriend will be back soon to haul what’s left. We’re moving outta this shitbox.”
“I’ll help,” I say with my brightest smile. “I’m a very organized person.”
“I did just getta manicure,” she says. “Gel kind, ya know. Pretty expensive. Be nice to keep it.”
I am glad she can see through her pain to get her nails done. Inside the apartment, there isn’t much left other than a pile of clothes on the bed and a few pots and pans in open cabinets.
“It’s not much to raise a kid,” she says, swiping some crumbs off the counter. “We made it work. The new place is better. A real house, not too far from the water.”
“Good for you,” I say with a little Rhode Island on it.
She wrinkles her nose at the phrase. “It’s not exactly on Ocean Drive.”
“You want me to start here?” I ask, stepping toward the pile of clothes on the bed. She nods, and I fold a few gauzy tops, stuffing them into the black garbage bag lying on the floor. “Cute stuff,” I lie.
She doesn’t respond as she rummages through open boxes. She pulls out a corkscrew and coffee mug. “You want some?” she asks.
“No thanks,” I say. Anyone who
drinks white wine before nine a.m. does not want to share.
I fold and pack her Forever 21 wardrobe while she finishes the drink almost as quickly as she poured it into the Flo’s Clam Shack mug.
This is the future you deserve.
White trash is all you’ll ever be.
“Belina didn’t come around much after she moved to Providence,” she says, voice more relaxed.
“Why’s that?”
She shrugs and pours the second glass, bottle now half gone. “She helped me with bills. Thought that gave her the right to treat me how she did.”
“How was that?”
“She didn’t want no advice, for a start. She had opportunities, rich men interested in her. She’s pretty and smart, not a typical combination around here. She had two years of college. I told her where to work to meet men who’d help her. But she did what she wanted.”
“Where did you want her to work?”
“Places with people who had money,” she says flatly. “Why else do people like us live in a place like Newport?”
After tying a knot in the garbage bag, I pick up another one and shake air into it before folding more clothes. “Sounds like you wanted her to be the way they’re describing her in the news.”
She laughs at that, a throaty rumble I can imagine floating my way at a dingy hotel bar with a little caress of the shoulder and vodka martini. “Belina was always good at numbers. Wanted to have the power-suit lifestyle. I bought her a Coach briefcase, nice one secondhand. She said it was too flashy for her job.”
“Venantius Ventures?” I ask.
“That’s the place.” She takes a long drink. “Her attitude started when she went to her fancy high school, Saint George’s in Middletown.”
“That must have been expensive,” I say.
“I did what I could. She got a scholarship and thought her shit didn’t stink from then on.”
“What about her friends there?”
“They went to college. Good places not around here. Massachusetts or Maine or whatevah. I don’t think many of them were around. At the end of the day, she’s a townie. Boys liked Belina. That’s the only reason those rich bitches cared.”
Little Voices Page 17