Brutality (23 page)

“We’ve heard their funding is tight,” Cristian said. Fina noted his noncommittal answer, but she decided to plow ahead anyway.

“Did you know that he believes it was Liz’s fault? That they lost the grant because of her?”

“How so?” Pitney asked.

“Presumably, she screwed up some part of the application, thereby costing the lab a five-year grant.”

“Because of her mild cognitive impairment?” Cristian asked.

“Undetermined if her MCI was the cause,” she said. If she were being truly giving she would tell them about the source of the grant—the pharmaceutical consortium—but she wasn’t feeling quite that generous.

“Do you have any proof that Vikram and Liz butted heads?” Pitney asked.

“The postdoc in the lab claims that Vikram threatened Liz.”

“What’s the postdoc’s name?” Cristian asked, pulling out a small notebook.

“Dana Tompkins. I don’t know what your experience with Vikram was like, but the guy seemed like a bully to me.”

“Did he threaten to physically harm Liz?” Pitney asked.

“He said that she wouldn’t get away with it and he would make her pay.”

“Which could mean a lot of things,” Cristian said.

“None of them good,” Fina said.

“True,” Cristian conceded.

“So, what?” Pitney asked. “He killed her because he was angry about a grant? It seems a little thin.”

“Lieutenant, you’re underestimating the cutthroat world of scientific research. There are a lot of people competing for very limited resources. And the attack wasn’t premeditated. Whoever did this was pissed.”

“What makes you so sure it wasn’t premeditated?” Pitney asked, biting the end of a dill pickle.

“I think if you want to kill someone you usually bring your own weapon. You don’t look around the room and think, ‘Yes! That kitchen counter will be perfect!’”

Cristian chuckled.

“We appreciate the information,” Pitney said, waving down the waitress for the check. It was dropped on the table within seconds.

“I should hope so. In the interest of quid pro quo,” Fina said, “what’s the story with Kevin Lafferty’s alibi?”

“What about it?” Pitney asked.

“He told me he was at the Medical Society dinner at the Westin with hundreds of witnesses, but we all know that’s not really an airtight alibi.”

Cristian and Pitney exchanged a look.

“Yes, we know that,” Pitney said. “That’s why we’re looking into it.”

“My brother Matthew once went to a Bar Association dinner, rented a room to watch
Thursday Night Football
, and came back downstairs later when the event was winding down,” Fina said.

Pitney looked annoyed. “Why does that not surprise me?”

“I’m just saying that unless you’re the keynote speaker, those events are flimsy covers.”

“Noted,” Pitney said, examining the check before placing some bills on the table. “Anything else before we go?”

Fina briefly considered sharing Tasha’s impressions of Gus, but only briefly. Pitney was always riding her for proof, and she didn’t have any. She didn’t know what she had when it came to Gus Sibley.

“Nope. You’re all caught up,” Fina said. “It’s been fun.”

“And you’re staying away from Gus Sibley?” Pitney asked, maneuvering her way out of the booth.

“I haven’t been near him.”

“Good. Glad to hear it.”

Fina sat at the table for another few minutes contemplating the situation. It was always a balancing act, deciding what to tell the cops and what to keep to herself. She’d gotten in trouble in the past for withholding information, but that was an occupational hazard.

If you were going to tell the cops everything, why bother being a PI?

15.

Fina did another search on Gus Sibley before heading to the NEU campus. This time, she focused on the fluffier items that came up. He’d been named to
Boston
magazine’s Best Doctors list a few times and had also been featured in a couple of articles in the
Globe
sports section over the years. There were a number of photos of him at NEU sporting events and functions, and she stumbled onto the Facebook pages of two of his children. There was nothing remarkable about any of it.

She drove to the NEU field house, the location of the soccer round robin, and parked her car in yet a different lot. She’d spent more time in the past week on a college campus than she had in two decades, but it didn’t make her feel the least bit nostalgic. Fina had enjoyed her college years, particularly with Milloy by her side, but she wasn’t someone who pined for the good old days. She believed that the past was the past, and you should get your head in the game in the present. Occasionally, she heard people wax rhapsodic about high school; she could only imagine that their personal development had been arrested upon graduation.

The sports complex had a card scanner at the door, but Fina just tucked in behind a couple of guys and smiled when one of them held the door open for her. The world would never be a secure place until people worried less about offending strangers and instead insisted that they show proper ID.

Inside, she walked purposefully down the hallway. That was another trick that gained her access to more places than her lock picks: If you acted like you belonged someplace, most people assumed that you did. The first hallway led to a basketball court, which was crowded with large, sweaty men. One of them directed her to the field house at the opposite end of the vast complex.

Fina couldn’t help but wonder what previous generations would make of the facilities. Aside from workout spaces and a plethora of equipment, there was a pool, tennis courts, a café, and locker rooms boasting saunas and steam rooms. There was no denying that exercise was crucial to good health, but there was something ironic about having to schedule in physical activity because you were too busy the rest of the day driving or sitting behind a desk.

The field house itself was huge, with delineated track lanes around the outer edge, separated by netting from the two turf fields in the center. A handful of young men were scrimmaging on one field, and a group of young women were on the other, running soccer drills. Fina found an opening in the netting and walked around to a grouping of benches. A couple of players were putting on shin guards and sneakers. One young woman was lying on her back, and Gus was grasping her leg, kneeling next to her. He manipulated it in different directions while they talked.

“Hey, Dr. Sibley,” Fina said, striding over to him. She figured that approaching him in front of his players would perhaps keep him from kicking her out. Or at the very least delay it.

Gus looked at her for a moment before recognition washed over his face. He wasn’t happy to see her.

“Ms. Ludlow. Hello.”

“I just need a few minutes. Once you’re done with that.” She gestured at the young woman’s leg.

Gus didn’t say anything, and Fina took a seat on the metal bench a few feet away. She listened as he asked the player questions and then gave her suggestions regarding specific stretches. Fina knew that stretching was important, but she always felt she could spend her time doing something more productive—like eating or sleeping.

“I have nothing to say to you,” Gus said when he came over to Fina. He was wearing a suit with an NEU-themed necktie.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Fina said. She wondered if he was going to mention his call to Pitney.

“Then why are you here?”

“You don’t want to sit down?” Fina asked, gesturing toward the bench. “I know you’re not thrilled to see me, but we could have a civilized conversation.”

He glanced toward the players. The women had various body types, but all of them looked to be in terrific shape. Their calves and hamstrings were well defined, and their arms were lean. Most of them had long hair pulled back in ponytails.

Gus took a seat next to her, but was silent.

“These benches are so uncomfortable,” Fina commented. “How does anyone sit on them for more than two minutes?”

“They don’t, usually,” Gus said. His gaze traveled up and down her body. “It would be more comfortable if you sat up straight. You’re not doing your back muscles any favors.”

“Well, thanks for that tip.” She sat up a tiny bit straighter. “So, obviously, you know about Liz’s death.”

“Of course. I certainly hope you didn’t come here to tell me that.”

“No, no. What are your thoughts about Liz’s brain being donated to BU?”

Gus paused for a moment. “I don’t have any thoughts about it.”

Fina studied him. “You were her team doctor. It’s hard to believe you don’t have
any
thoughts about the situation.”

“If I have any thoughts,” Gus said, “I’ll share them if I’m deposed.”

“Ahh, right. Why say anything until you have to say it under oath?”

“I thought you said you weren’t here to ask me questions.” An errant ball rolled in their direction. Gus stood and kicked it back to one of the players.

“I’m not,” Fina said. “I just wanted to update you on my progress.”

He studied her. “Why?”

“Because I thought you’d be interested. I know you’ve been in touch with the police.”

He was quiet. Maybe he realized that going to the cops had been a miscalculation.

“I’ve heard that your relationship with Liz wasn’t as good as you led me to believe,” Fina said.

Gus remained silent.

“I wonder why you would suggest otherwise,” Fina said, “and I wonder why you two were at odds.”

He swallowed.

“Maybe it was because of the lawsuit,” Fina ventured. “Maybe Liz wanted you to take her side, but it’s hard to believe you would. After all, NEU still signs your paycheck.”

Gus gave her a tight smile. “I assure you, I don’t do this for the money.”

“Which suggests you do it because you love it. That’s an even more compelling reason to side with NEU. If you love this gig, you wouldn’t want to jeopardize it.”

“As I told you the last time we spoke,” Gus said, “I followed the protocol for head injuries that was in place at the time. I didn’t violate any regulations.”

A whistle blew, and the players gathered in a circle near the goal before dispersing for another drill. Fina and Gus watched as they took shots on the goalie; her arms seemed to extend like Stretch Armstrong.

“But you did put players back in against your better judgment,” Fina said.

“No, I did not,” he insisted, “and I don’t see how anyone could claim I did.”

“So if not for the lawsuit, you and Liz would have been fine?”

There was a minor collision on the field, and it took a moment for the players involved to untangle themselves from one another. One of them started to limp off, signaling the end of the interview. Gus stood up and beckoned the young woman over.

“Things were fine,” he said. “Friends occasionally disagree. There’s nothing noteworthy about it.”

“I think it’s my Achilles,” the player said, dropping down onto the bench. “Dammit!” She banged the metal bench with her open fist.

“Calm down, Colleen. We’ll fix it.”

“Thank you for your time, Dr. Sibley,” Fina said, and started to walk back toward the opening in the net. She paused for a moment and watched him attend to the player. He had dropped down to his knee again and was examining her foot.

Before leaving the sports complex, Fina checked out the offerings at the café and ordered a peanut power smoothie, which promised a creamy mix of peanut butter, banana, yogurt, and protein powder to propel her through her day. Presumably, the concoction was geared toward people who had already exercised, or planned to, but she never knew what might lie ahead. Better to fuel up now, just in case.

As she pushed a straw into the thick liquid, Fina wondered about Gus and Liz’s alleged falling out. She didn’t doubt that a lawsuit could fracture or even decimate a long-standing friendship—she’d seen it happen before—but something about it didn’t jibe. This lawsuit was going to be bigger than Liz and Gus. It was going to involve teams of lawyers and millions of dollars and probably years of legal wrangling.

Yes, Liz was injured and that was personal, but Gus was right: There hadn’t been concussion protocols back then.

So did Liz blame Gus for not being a mind reader or did she blame him for something else?

—

F
ina called Kelly and asked if she could stop by and ask her a few questions. She hesitated, which seemed to be the general reaction to Fina these days. Kelly ran down a list of pickups and drop-offs that boggled the mind, finally settling on ballet class. Fina could meet her at her daughter’s ballet class in an hour.

The studio was in an old brick building in Roslindale Village—
MISS LETTY’S SCHOOL OF DANCE
was etched on a glass door. Fina pulled it open and climbed the stairs to the second floor, piano music rising in volume as she did. She arrived at a scene that was like a whirling bowl of pink cotton candy come to life. Little girls, emerging from a room that had a curtain for its door, were chattering and shrieking, wearing pink tutus and matching tights, their hair pulled back in buns that were successful to varying degrees. They wandered around an area filled with small cubbies and wall hooks as a few mothers tended to flyaway hair and struggled to cram small feet in ballet slippers.

A woman appeared from behind another curtained doorway.

“Children,” she announced sternly. “Please proceed to the studio.” She was probably eighty years old, her face resembling that of a shar-pei. Her hair was pulled back in a tight bun, and her face was heavily made-up. Blue eye shadow, heavy black mascara, and ruby-red lips only accentuated her skin’s lack of elasticity. To complete the look, she was dressed in a black leotard, black tights, and a small sheer skirt.

She looked at Fina with disapproval, her gaze lingering on Fina’s shoulders. “Yes? Are you here about classes?” Little girls maneuvered around them toward the dance studio, like water around river rocks.

“God, no,” Fina replied. “Are you Miss Letty?”

“I am.”

“I’m meeting one of the moms, Kelly Wegner.”