Brutality (12 page)

“It is,” Fina said, scouring the tabletop for the fake flames.

“How can I help?”

“I’m gathering background information, and I’m interested in Liz’s playing days at NEU.”

“How would that relate to her injuries?” Gus asked.

“Well, Liz was going to sue NEU because of cognitive deficiencies she was experiencing, allegedly from the concussions she sustained playing soccer. Were you aware of the lawsuit?”

“She had mentioned it to me,” Gus said.

“When was this?”

“We last spoke a few weeks ago.”

“So you’ve kept in touch all these years?” Fina asked.

“I consider it one of the perks of my job,” he said. “The friendships I make with players and their families.”

“What did you think about the lawsuit?”

Gus prodded a piece with his fingertip. “I hadn’t given it much thought, really,” Gus said.

“Really? You were—are—the team doctor. You must have some opinion.”

Archer came running back into the room with two cookie sheets banging together. The threesome gathered up the pieces and spread them out on the metal sheets.

“I follow all the protocols provided by the CDC,” Gus said after a moment. “I always have.”

Fina looked at him. He was wearing glasses, and the reflection of the fire in his lenses made it hard to make eye contact. She decided not to press the point, and they worked in silence for the next couple of minutes.

“I still don’t understand what the lawsuit has to do with Liz’s injury,” Gus said, breaking the silence.

“A lawsuit like that is high stakes,” Fina said. “The university—and the people associated with it—would have a lot to lose.” Her eye was drawn to the NEU pin glinting on Gus’s lapel.

Gus scoffed. “You think someone did
it
”—he eyed Archer—“because of that? I’m sorry, but that strikes me as absurd.”

“Okay. Why do you think someone did
it
?”

“I haven’t a clue. Liz is a wonderful person.” Gus popped two LEGOs together that looked like the cab of the fire engine. “I can’t imagine a scenario that would lead to that particular outcome.”

“And yet we have reached that particular outcome,” Fina noted. Gus was silent. “So there’s nothing you can tell me? No one who had a beef with her? No conflicts that you’re aware of?”

Gus turned a piece over in his hand. “None, I’m afraid.”

“Do you know her husband, Jamie?”

“I’ve met him, but I can’t say I know him.”

“Any sense what their relationship is like?” Fina asked.

“Again, no.”

“Was there anyone else from the team or NEU who Liz kept up with? Another teammate? A coach?”

“The head coach passed away more than five years ago, so that won’t help.” Gus set aside a couple of stickers meant to decorate the sides of the fire engine. Archer continued sorting through the multicolor pieces.

“An assistant coach?” Fina popped a fire helmet onto one of the tiny LEGO men.

Gus shook his head. “I think these are part of the hose apparatus, Archer.” He handed a few black LEGOs to his grandson. “Can you snap those together?”

“Do you have an airplane to go with this?” Fina asked the boy.

“Uh-huh. I have two planes, and Santa just brought me the cargo terminal for my airport.”

“That comes with the conveyor belt, right?” she asked.

“Yup.” He swiped at his nose again. “And you could build that with us, too.”

Gus glanced at Archer.

“I don’t think you two need much help,” Fina said. “Dr. Sibley, you must know Kevin Lafferty.”

Gus frowned. “Everyone knows Kevin, or rather, Kevin knows everyone.”

“I spoke with him this morning. He’s quite the NEU supporter.”

“He does a great deal for the NEU teams.” Gus peered at her. “Are you related to Carl Ludlow?”

Fina smiled. “I am, but don’t hold it against me.”

Gus sighed. He leaned on the table and pushed himself to standing. “We appreciate your LEGO expertise, Ms. Ludlow, but I think you should probably be going.”

“I understand.” Nothing like the mention of Carl’s name to kill the moment. Fina clicked a wheel well into place before rising. She shook her leg, which was thrumming with pins and needles. “Archer, keep up the good work, buddy.”

“Uh-huh,” he murmured, his head bent over the task at hand.

Fina followed Gus to the front hall and tried to avoid the small puddles her boots had deposited during their conversation. Sweaty boots were bad enough, but they were particularly unpleasant when paired with wet socks. Gus handed over her coat, which she pulled on, fishing her scarf and gloves out of the pockets.

“If you think of anything that might be helpful, please be in touch.” Fina gave him her card.

Cold air greeted Fina on the front step, and her back muscles tightened in response. She’d never given much credence to the concept of mild weather being good for your health, but as she got older, it was beginning to make sense. Who wouldn’t prefer sunshine and frozen drinks to darkness and frozen toes?

8.

The ringing phone was a rude awakening at 7:23 the next morning. The screen indicated the call was from NEU, so Fina struggled to a sitting position to answer. Why do we assume that we think better sitting up?

“Hello.”

“I’m trying to reach Fina Ludlow. This is Jill from Pamela Fordyce’s office at New England University.”

“This is Fina.”

“A slot has opened up in Ms. Fordyce’s schedule. She can see you at ten thirty this morning.”

“That’s terrific.”

They dispensed with the details regarding directions and parking, and Fina hung up the phone. She reset her alarm, giving herself another hour of sleep.

After showering and throwing on some sweats, Fina grabbed a strawberry frosted Pop-Tart and munched on it while reviewing Pamela Fordyce’s bio.

A graduate of NEU and Stanford, Pamela was a senior member of the development team and traveled extensively representing the university. She was involved with some charities and had been married once, many years ago, according to the public records that Fina tapped into. She had no arrests, and according to property records, she owned a small condo in Charlestown. Everything about Pamela Fordyce indicated a straightforward interview.

Standing in front of her open closet, Fina contemplated her clothing options. Her years as an investigator had taught her that first impressions could be the difference between gaining access and being excluded. She was all for individuality and personal expression, but people who thought that their appearance didn’t have any bearing on the opportunities afforded by life were kidding themselves. You needed to get a place at the table, and then you could change the menu.

In light of this, she chose a conservative black pantsuit that she’d picked up at Ann Taylor and a cranberry silk blouse. The outfit felt like a straitjacket; maybe subconsciously she’d flunked out of law school to avoid the accompanying wardrobe. Fina pulled her hair back in a low bun and applied more makeup than usual, albeit tastefully. Her black leather tote bag had been an attempted bribe by Elaine years before. If Fina wasn’t going to stay home barefoot and pregnant, could she at least have a respectable job? No, apparently not.

In the NEU parking lot, she swapped her boots for low heels. As she struggled out of her boots, something caught Fina’s eye. A large dark sedan was idling at the end of the row. Fina looked around, but didn’t see any soon-to-be-free parking spots, which might explain the driver’s behavior. The tinted windows prevented her from seeing the driver, but perhaps he was on the phone or searching for something in his bag. There was something about the car that felt threatening, and Fina thought it warranted further investigation. Cristian had taught her that contrary to popular belief, when you were walking on the street late at night and felt insecure, you should make eye contact with the people you passed.
Let them know you see them
is what he said. If they thought you were unaware of their presence, they were more apt to take advantage. Unless, of course, they were nuts and were going to kill you either way.

Betting that wasn’t the case, Fina climbed out of her car and approached the sedan. She was about five feet from the driver’s-side door, staring at the outline of the driver’s silhouette, when the engine roared and the car sped away. It was possible the driver was just shy or late for an appointment, but Fina doubted it. Unfortunately, she hadn’t gotten the license plate number, and paranoia was an occupational hazard. She’d just have to stay on her toes.

NEU’s development office was housed in a traditional brownstone on a side street close to Huntington Avenue. Offices occupied all four floors and were accessed by an elderly elevator or a narrow, curved staircase. Once Fina was upstairs, Pamela Fordyce’s assistant directed her to a small waiting area and provided a glass of water to quench her thirst. The walls were decorated with large photographs, all NEU-related: the student center designed by a celebrity architect, action shots of the football team, a gaggle of students representing every color in the racial rainbow. It looked like a happy, engaging place to spend your time—kind of like the land of Barnes Kaufcan. Fina picked up a copy of the alumni magazine from the coffee table and flipped through its glossy pages. She was scanning the profile of an alum who made it big in the semiconductor business when she was retrieved by the assistant and ushered into Pamela’s office.

“Ms. Ludlow?” A woman rose from behind a large walnut desk and came around to shake Fina’s hand.

“Yes, and you must be Ms. Fordyce.”

“Pamela. Please, have a seat.” She waited as Fina took a seat on an upholstered sofa. Pamela sat in a Louis XVI–style chair facing her and placed a delicate teacup and saucer on the table next to her.

Pamela’s office suite—one half of the fourth floor—topped the building. Broad windows afforded views of Back Bay and the South End, depending upon which direction you looked, and a large fireplace served as a focal point. A fire burned in the grate, making the space feel more like a home than a place of business. The fireplace was flanked by display shelves, which held photos and tchotchkes.

“Would you like some coffee or some more water?” Pamela asked, tugging her suit jacket together over her middle.

“No, I’m fine. Thank you.”

Pamela launched into small talk, which was probably development office protocol. After a few minutes of chitchat, she got down to business.

“I apologize; Jill wasn’t clear about the reason for your visit,” Pamela said. “What is it that I can do for you?”

Fina had been purposefully vague when requesting the appointment. There was no point in getting Pamela’s hackles up before she even walked in the door.

“I imagine that you are aware of the situation with Liz Barone?” Fina asked.

A vein in Pamela’s neck began to pulse. “Of course. We take an interest in all our alumni.”

“Of course.” Fina sipped her water, drawing out the moment. “Liz’s mother and husband have hired me to investigate the attack on her.” She reached into her bag and pulled out her PI license.

Before Pamela could examine it, her office phone rang.

“Excuse me.” She answered it at her desk and engaged in a brief conversation. Fina took advantage of the moment to take stock of the woman. She guessed Pamela was an inch or so shorter than she was and in her midfifties. Her pantsuit was slightly ill-fitting, and her dark brown hair was cut into a graduated bob, a style that never made any sense to Fina. Why would you want the back of your head to look like a wedge of cheese? The front of her hair came to her chin, a length that few women could pull off without looking like a LEGO lady. Her makeup was understated, and with her clear skin and white teeth, Pamela was reasonably attractive.

She hung up the phone and returned to her straight-backed chair. She looked at Fina quizzically. “And this situation with Liz concerns the university how?”

“Actually, it concerns you.” Fina returned her license to her bag. “Liz had retained an attorney and was taking steps to sue NEU. Among the materials the attorney provided to me were a number of fund-raising letters with your signature.”

Pamela sighed, a smile turning up the corners of her mouth. “Fina, I send out thousands of those appeals every year. They’re generated by a database.”

“Right, but Liz also e-mailed you directly a number of times.” She pulled out copies of the e-mails that Emma had found. Pamela took them from her and scanned them. She handed them back to Fina, then picked up the teacup and sipped from it. Fina had to give her credit; she was as cool as a cucumber.

“So what is your question exactly?” Pamela asked.

“I’m wondering what contact you’ve had recently with Liz, and if the subject of her pending lawsuit was ever discussed.”

“Those e-mails are the last contact we had.”

“You never spoke in person?”

“Why would we?” Pamela asked.

“I don’t know. Liz was very angry, and you didn’t seem to be getting the message. Maybe she decided to deliver it in person.”

“Liz was misguided regarding the lawsuit. The athletic department was not responsible for her situation,” Pamela said. “There’s no evidence linking her difficulties to her athletic career at NEU. In terms of the fund-raising requests, she wanted to be off the list, and an administrative error kept her on the list. It was a minor misunderstanding.”

“If I were suffering from a debilitating disease and someone repeatedly asked me to fund the very thing that I believed caused the disease, I’d be bullshit,” Fina said.

“The NEU athletics program is one of the best in the country.” Pamela perked up, launching into an overview of the various teams and their winning ways. Her description was so positive, it was hard to imagine that anyone got hurt or lost a game when sporting the NEU colors. She made it sound like rainbows arced over every playing field and unicorns frolicked at halftime.

“Our goal,” Pamela concluded, “is to have a positive relationship with all of our alumni.”

“I don’t doubt it, but the threat of a lawsuit and bad publicity must have concerned you,” Fina said.