Brutality (13 page)

“NEU is a large institution with an extremely diverse population. It’s not always smooth sailing, but that’s just part of the territory for a school of our caliber.”

“So you weren’t worried?”

“Not especially.” Pamela smiled, but there was no warmth in her expression.

“So just to clarify, you never spoke with Liz in person or on the phone?”

Pamela didn’t speak for a moment. “She called me a couple of weeks ago.”

“What did you talk about?” Fina asked.

Pamela put up her hands in frustration. “She reiterated the request that her name be removed from the fund-raising database. I took care of it myself as soon as I hung up the phone.”

“And that was it?”

“That was it. Sorry to disappoint you.”

“Had you ever had contact with Liz before this issue arose?” Fina asked.

“We’d met at a couple of fund-raising events, but we certainly didn’t know each other.”

Fina nodded. “Is there anyone at NEU who might have some useful information?”

“About Liz? I have no idea. As I said, our contact was limited.”

“But she worked here.”

“So do eighteen thousand other people,” Pamela said. “I don’t know them all.”

“What about Kevin Lafferty?”

Pamela looked at her wristwatch. If she thought a social cue like that would get rid of Fina, she had another thing coming. “He’s a booster in the athletic program.”

“How well do you know him?” Fina asked.

“I’ve known Kevin for a number of years.”

“And he knew Liz?”

“You should ask him.”

“I have. I wanted to get your opinion.”

“I wish I could be more helpful, but I really have nothing to add.”

She didn’t envy Pamela her position. Since everyone was a potential donor, you couldn’t offend anyone. Fina wouldn’t last five minutes in that job.

Fina stood and gathered her belongings. “I don’t want to take up any more of your time.” She stepped over to the display cabinet to take a closer look. “This is quite a collection.”

Pamela looked uneasy with the change in conversational direction, but she was either too polite or too savvy to halt it. “Yes. They’re from my travels. I’ve had the privilege of visiting some wonderful places. Do you travel?”

“No. The idea appeals, but work and family always seem to require my attention.”

“You have to make time for it. There will always be something keeping you from doing what you really want.” Pamela’s gaze trained itself on the door.

“I suppose that’s true,” Fina said.

Pamela followed Fina to the reception area, where Fina handed over her card. “If you think of something that is relevant, please be in touch.”

“I can’t imagine I will.” Pamela folded her fingers around the card and retreated into her office.

Fina returned to her car, where she kicked off her shoes and stuck her feet next to the air vent. The conversation hadn’t been a rousing success, but at least she hadn’t been removed by security.

All in all, not a bad result.

—

Y
ou need to come by the station,” Cristian told Fina when she answered her phone on the way home.

“Why?”

“Why do you think? Because the brass want to give you an outstanding citizen award.”

“Finally! Someone’s noticed. I’m on my way.”

Fina headed toward police headquarters, not relishing the thought of what was to come. Historically, when she was summoned to the police department it meant she was in trouble. Not legal trouble—like most people who were summoned there—but professional trouble. Cristian’s boss, Lieutenant Marcy Pitney, and Fina had overlapped on a number of cases, and their relationship could best be described as contentious. Pitney rarely approved of Fina’s methods, and Fina thought Pitney didn’t give her due credit for her investigative chops. They were both smart and stubborn, and in an alternate universe might have been friends.

At headquarters, a uniformed cop escorted her upstairs to the Major Crimes division and left her in an interview room to stew. The metal table and chairs were bolted to the floor, and a camera winked in one of the corners of the ceiling. Fina wasn’t a germophobe, but these rooms always made her feel particularly unclean. Interview rooms and ERs were the giant petri dishes of modern society. She was trying not to focus on a dark stain on the floor and to distract herself with a game of solitaire when Pitney came in ten minutes later.

“Hello, Lieutenant. How are you?” Fina asked, stowing her phone.

“I’m fine. Where’s Menendez?”

“Contrary to what you may believe, we aren’t actually joined at the hip.”

Pitney gave her a withering look and popped her head out of the room. “Will someone find Menendez and tell him to come to interview three?”

Pitney closed the door and took the seat across from Fina. “Do you think it’s possible,” she asked, “for you to do your job without being a pain in my ass?”

Fina considered the question. “Possible, but not probable.”

“That wasn’t the answer I was looking for.”

“What?” Fina asked. “You want me to lie?”

“No,” Pitney said slowly, as if to a small child, “I want you to stay out of my way.”

The lieutenant crossed her arms over her ample chest. Today she wore a magenta sweater and forest green pants. Pitney made no attempt to blend in and bore no resemblance to the female cops on prime-time television. She was barely five feet two inches with a mop of curly hair that looked orangish or purplish depending on the lighting. She wore pants and tops that were garishly colored, and her nails were always painted in an equally bold hue. Fina wouldn’t be caught dead in her outfits, but she had to hand it to her—Pitney was a sartorial risk-taker.

“Perhaps you could be more specific in detailing my transgression,” Fina said.

The door opened and Cristian came in cradling two coffees and a diet soda between his hands. He put the coffees down on Pitney’s side of the table and slid the soda over to Fina.

“This doesn’t help, your providing room service,” Pitney said, eyeing him.

“Believe me, hydrating her will only make her more agreeable,” Cristian said, taking the seat next to Pitney.

“How’d the hockey game go?” Fina asked, popping the top on the soda and reveling in the faint hiss indicating maximum carbonation.

“It was good. Everyone had fun, no major injuries.”

“That sounds like the antithesis of Ludlow sporting events.”

“All right, enough chitchat,” Pitney cut in. “I was just telling Fina that she needs to stop getting in the way.”

“You were about to tell me what I’d done wrong
this
time,” Fina reminded her.

“I got a call from Gus Sibley this morning.” Pitney blew on the surface of her coffee before taking a tentative sip.

“Uh-huh.”

“He wanted to know why you were running a parallel investigation to ours and bothering him.”

“Did you explain that’s what private investigators do?” Fina asked.

“Oh, I explained that you bother people.”

“Lieutenant, our meeting was completely cordial. I asked him some questions and helped him and his grandson build a LEGO set. Did he mention that part?”

Cristian grinned behind his coffee cup.

“He left that part out,” Pitney said.

“I’m confused,” Fina said. “Some guy—who welcomed me into his home of his own free will—decides that wasn’t such a good idea after the fact, so he calls the cops on me? And you do his bidding for him?”

Cristian raised an eyebrow, knowing Pitney wouldn’t like the characterization of doing anyone’s bidding.

“Fina, if you annoy witnesses, it makes our job more difficult,” Pitney said.

“I understand that, but when I left, he wasn’t annoyed. And why would some innocuous questions from me make him so jumpy?”

“What did he tell you?” Pitney asked.

“Very little. He said he followed the player safety protocol when Liz Barone played at NEU. He last spoke with her a few weeks ago, and he knew she was filing a lawsuit. That’s it.”

Pitney tapped a coral-colored nail on the tabletop. “So you think he’s involved?” she asked.

“Is that really why I’m here?” Fina asked, her gaze moving between Pitney and Cristian. “So you can pick my brain?”

“You’re here,” Pitney said, “because I want you to lay off Gus Sibley and report any information you have. You always seem fuzzy on the concept of obstruction of justice.”

“I am crystal clear on that concept.” Fina sipped her drink. “May I go now?”

“Is there anything else you want to tell us before you leave?”

Fina studied the ceiling for a moment. “I think the Pats have a good chance in the playoffs.”

“Go,” Pitney said, rotating out of her seat. “Before I have you arrested for criminal obnoxiousness.” She strode out of the room.

Fina took a long drink and swallowed. “There’s something weird about Gus Sibley calling you guys. Our conversation really was benign.”

“Apparently not to him.”

“What a baby.”

“Not everyone is as tough as you,” Cristian said.

“Ain’t that the truth.” Fina rose from her chair, and Cristian followed her into the hallway. “Keep in touch.”

“I know you will if I don’t,” he said, giving her a gentle nudge in the direction of the exit.

—

B
obbi Barone had left a tearful message on Fina’s voice mail. Fina was used to bearing witness to people’s misery, but generally it was after the fact, when she had the benefit of a little distance from whatever terrible event she was investigating. This time was different, and Fina tensed up when she listened to the message. She was witnessing the unfolding of Liz’s fate, and it was miserable to see, even though she didn’t know the woman. When she was hired to find a missing person or investigate a botched surgery or even look into a murder case, the worst had already transpired. Fina wasn’t convinced that the worst was over in this case, and the waiting and wondering added a whole new level of stress. She couldn’t imagine how Bobbi and Jamie were holding it together.

Fina returned the call, and Bobbi suggested they meet at a pizza place a couple of blocks from the hospital. Fina was relieved to avoid the bright hallways and antiseptic smell of MGH, but felt guilty for even thinking such a thing. Bobbi had no choice but to return to that building.

Bobbi was sitting at a round table in the back, nursing a coffee, when Fina arrived. Three other tables were occupied, one by a group of orderlies and the other by men and women in white coats. It was a casual place where you ordered at the counter and your name was called when your food was ready. A beefy young man behind the counter in a too-tight white T-shirt got her a diet soda. His hair was slicked back in a modified pompadour. It was an interesting choice for the early twenty-first century.

“Do you want anything else, Bobbi?” Fina asked before he rang her up.

“No, thank you.”

The young man and Fina exchanged a look. Their proximity to the hospital suggested he was used to the medical population, both the staff and those related to patients. Bobbi’s hunched posture and sad face suggested her membership in the latter group. Fina gave him a tight smile and accepted her change.

She brought her drink over to the table and set it down across from Bobbi’s mug of coffee.

“Sorry I didn’t answer when you called,” Fina said. “I was talking to the police.”

Bobbi’s head lifted slightly. “Any news?”

“Nothing concrete, but I’m starting to annoy people. In my experience that means I’m making progress.” She sipped her drink. The nearby table of orderlies erupted in laughter. “How is Liz?”

Bobbi opened her mouth to speak, but the only thing that came out was a small, strangled sound. It wasn’t even a cry, just the mangled suggestion of it. Tears streamed down her cheeks. Fina pulled some napkins out of the metal dispenser and handed them to her. She reached across the table and grasped Bobbi’s hand.

“I am so, so sorry, Bobbi, and I know that is a woefully inadequate thing to say.”

Bobbi just nodded and cried. Nobody in the place seemed to take notice, perhaps because they were used to displays of emotion.

Bobbi cried silently for another minute, Fina clasping her hand. She didn’t say any of the platitudes she found to be obnoxious or insensitive that people often trot out on such occasions. Nobody wanted their loved one to be in “a better place.” They wanted their loved one sitting next to them, happy and healthy.

Finally, Bobbi blew her nose and took a deep breath. “She’s still alive, but not really,” she said, gesturing toward the hospital. “She’s brain-dead.”

Fina felt an ache in the pit of her stomach. “How is Jamie handling all this?”

“He’s shell-shocked. He’s completely overwhelmed.”

Fina nodded, but remained silent. She had lots of questions, but she knew that if Bobbi wanted to say more she would.

“We have to make a decision,” Bobbi said after taking a deep breath.

Fina looked at her. “That’s a horrible thing to have to do,” she said.

“It is.”

“Are you and Jamie on the same page?”

“I think so, but it’s difficult having these conversations with him. I realize it would be difficult for anyone, but Jamie doesn’t generally take the bull by the horns.”

“I’m sorry to interrupt, ladies.” The young man from the counter had appeared at their table. “But we have an extra order of our famous garlic bread, and I’d hate for it to go to waste.” He placed it on the table in front of them. A strong garlic aroma tickled Fina’s nose. “And I brought you a fresh coffee and some water,” he said to Bobbi.

“Oh, that’s so nice, thank you,” Bobbi said, patting her moist cheeks with a napkin.

Fina looked at the guy, who was probably in his midtwenties, and felt a powerful urge to marry him or adopt him on the spot. She wasn’t sure which one, but she knew he was a keeper. “That’s very sweet. Thank you very much,” she said, giving him an appreciative smile.

“My pleasure,” he said, returning to his post behind the counter.

“It does smell good,” Fina said, pushing the plate in Bobbi’s direction.

Bobbi picked up a piece and took a bite. She chewed it thoughtfully before taking another.