Identity (12 page)

“We’ve got to do something about this,” Fina said, walking into Carl’s office.

“What’s the matter?” Matthew asked. He and Scotty were sitting with Carl at the shiny walnut table.

“We’re in the middle of something,” Carl said, flicking a glance in her direction.

“Well,
you
may be able to get work done, but I can’t when I’m being followed by reporters.” Fina had been trailed by a few when she popped out to get a hot chocolate and chocolate croissant earlier that morning. Forget the building manager—it was hard to detect when you were so damn detectable.

“What do they want from you?” Scotty asked.

“They seem to think that I’m going to lead them to some secret land populated by Hank Reardon’s cryokids and his murderer. I can’t do any investigating with an entourage, and my building manager is getting tetchy.”

“What do you want me to do about it?” Carl asked.

“I don’t know. Can’t you threaten to sue them?”

“On what grounds?” Carl asked.

“It’ll die down, Fina,” Matthew said. “Another story will push it off
the front page. You just need to be patient.” He and Scotty looked at each other and burst out laughing.

“That’s hilarious.” Fina glared at her brothers.

“Why don’t you just solve the case?” Scotty said. “That might shut everyone up.”

“Who’s going to pay for that?” Carl asked, suddenly looking alert.

“Just put her on it for a limited number of hours,” Scotty suggested. “We did kind of contribute to the situation.”

“I’m not in the charity business,” Carl said.

Carl’s assistant poked her head around the door. “Mr. Ludlow, there’s a gentleman here to see you. His name is Michael Reardon, and he insists on speaking with you.”

Scotty and Matthew glanced between their father and sister.

“That’s his son, right?” Matthew asked.

“Yes. From his first marriage.” Fina felt the stirrings of a headache. She walked over to the bar and pulled out a diet soda.

“Set up an appointment, Shari,” Carl instructed.

“I don’t think he’ll take no for an answer,” Shari whispered.

“Dad, let’s just get this over with.” Fina sat down in an empty chair at the table and popped open the soda.

Carl sighed. “We’ll finish this later, boys.”

Scotty and Matthew gathered up their folders and laptops and were barely out the door before Michael Reardon strode in.

“I called you last night and this morning,” Michael said.

Carl stood and offered his hand to Michael. He then gestured to the chair that Scotty had vacated. “And I was going to return your call. Sit down, Michael.”

Even though he was twenty-eight, Michael Reardon dropped into the chair as directed. Fina recognized the behavior. In her experience, young men raised by powerful fathers were often blustery to the outside world, but cowed in the presence of their fathers or comparable father figures.

“This is Fina, my daughter. She’s a private investigator.”

“I know who she is.” Michael looked at her. “She’s the one who outed my father. This is her fault.”

Fina rolled her eyes. “It’s a little more complicated than that, but yes, I did uncover your father’s identity.”

Looking at him, Fina could see the family resemblance. More cute than handsome, Michael Reardon had sandy blond hair and a lean physique. He looked like a stretched-out version of his father, who had been shorter and a bit beefier.

“What can we do for you, Michael?” Carl asked. To the untrained eye, Carl might appear solicitous, but Fina knew his question was in service of his goal of dealing with Michael and moving him along.

“You need to fix this.”

Fina looked at Carl and then Michael. “What exactly do you want us to fix?”

“You need to find out who killed my father.”

“I think that’s a job best left to the police,” Carl said.

“Aren’t the first forty-eight hours the most important?” Michael whined. “After forty-eight hours, doesn’t the chance of finding the killer dramatically decrease?”

“That may be true for most murders,” Fina said, silently cursing
Dateline
, “but your father’s case is hardly typical. I’m sure every available resource is being brought to bear to find his killer.”

“It’s not enough.”

Fina sipped her soda and watched him clench and unclench his fists. When he felt her gaze, he slipped his hands into his lap.

According to a profile in
Boston
magazine, Michael had recently experienced an awakening of his social conscience and was seriously contemplating leaving Universum Tech for a more civic-minded position. It seemed to be an effort at atonement for having grown up the child of a billionaire, but his current attitude suggested that old habits die hard. He still fostered the belief that if you weren’t signing someone’s paycheck, you really couldn’t count on them to get the job done.

“So you want to hire Fina to find your father’s killer?” Carl asked.

Michael barked out a laugh. “I don’t think I should have to pay you. You’re the reason my father’s dead.”

Carl stared at him. “Did your father ever work for free, Michael? Is that how he ran his business?”

Michael swallowed. “No.”

“Well, neither do we. You can hire Fina, but she doesn’t do volunteer work.”

Fina glared at Carl. She didn’t want to do
any
work for the Reardons. She wanted to distance herself from them, not get more entangled.

“Fine. You’re hired.”

Fina opened her mouth to speak, but Carl cut her off. “Why don’t you two continue this in the conference room? I have work to do.”

“Dad.”

“Fina.” He stared at her. She relented.

“Michael,” she said, and stood up from the table. “Let’s go upstairs.”

The Ludlow and Associates boardroom was an impressive space. It was vast, like Jules Lindsley’s boardroom, with floor-to-ceiling windows and a conference table that could seat two dozen. Fina rubbed her bare arms and punched up the thermostat a few degrees. She took a seat at the head of the table and swigged her soda. Michael sat down next to her in one of the large leather chairs.

“I am genuinely sorry about your dad,” she said. “I’m not taking responsibility for his death, but I regret any role I may have played.”

Michael nodded, but was silent.

“But I need you to understand,” Fina continued, “that I have to tread lightly if I’m going to investigate this. Pissing off the cops isn’t productive.”

“Understood.”

“And we need to get one thing straight: When I investigate, I’m all in. I won’t tiptoe around your family even if it gets ugly.”

“Ugly? Uglier than Hank Reardon, businessman extraordinaire, fathering multiple cryokids?”

“It can always get uglier, Michael, and your description makes him
sound like a pro athlete with a kid in every city. He was a sperm donor. Some people might consider that a selfless act.”

A sour look overtook his features. “My father was many things, Fina, a lot of them good, but selfless was not one of them.” He wasn’t as cute when he was being pissy.

“I’m just warning you that I have to investigate everyone: the cryokids, you, your mom, and your stepmother, too.”

Michael looked defiant. “Are you suggesting that my family had something to do with this?”

“I’m suggesting that I don’t know. Neither do you. But if the prospect of my digging annoys you, then this isn’t going to work.”

He examined his nails. They were neatly trimmed and buffed. “Fine, but none of us killed him.”

“But there may be other dirt that gets unearthed.”

“I don’t care.”

Fina studied him. “All right. Why don’t you tell me what you know?”

Michael took a deep breath. “A security guard found my dad in the Universum Tech garage.”

“Okay. And the cause of death?”

“Isn’t this public knowledge?” he asked.

“Not yet, and I want to hear what you know.”

“He was hit . . . with something.” Michael gestured toward the back of his head.

“How did you find out he was dead?”

He flinched at Fina’s question, but she didn’t apologize for her wording. She wasn’t insensitive, but she had to be sure that Michael really had the stomach for an investigation. And she hated all the euphemisms for death; when people “passed” it was either gas or a test. You die and you’re dead. That was that.

“My mom.”

“How’s she holding up?” Juliana Reardon and Hank had been divorced for five years, but according to the society scuttlebutt, they had a remarkably friendly relationship as exes. That was largely a credit to
Juliana’s reasonable requests in the divorce. She could have taken Hank to the cleaners, but her own spiritual awakening precluded a nasty fight. The settlement left her an extremely wealthy woman, but it didn’t burden her with the karmic baggage of a lengthy court battle.

“She’s okay. Shocked. We all are.”

“What about his business partner?”

“Dimitri? What about him?”

“Do you like him? Did he and your dad get along?”

“He’s good at what he does. He and Dad didn’t always see eye to eye, but they complemented each other.”

Fina thought for a moment. “Who do you think killed him?”

Michael shrugged. “I don’t know, but things were fine until Renata Sanchez showed up. This is all her fault.”

Fifteen minutes ago it was all Fina’s fault, but she was happy to share the blame. In her experience, few things were ever just one person’s fault. There was usually plenty of blame to go around.

“When did you find out your dad had been a sperm donor?”

Michael cringed. “When the rest of the city did.”

He learned his father’s dark secret the same day as all of cyberspace? Ouch.

“Is there anything else you think I should know?” Fina asked.

“Like what?”

“Any conversations with your dad that seemed out of character? Had his behavior changed recently? Any fights or disagreements?”

Michael thought for a moment. “Nope.”

“Well, if you think of anything else,” Fina said, handing him her card, “let me know. I’ll be in touch.”

He followed her to the door.

“You should let your family know that you’ve hired me,” she said. “I’ll need access to investigate.”

“I’ll let them know right away.”

“How are they going to feel about my poking around?”

“They want to know who killed Dad, too. That’s all that matters.”

Fina watched him leave.

Huh.

That didn’t really answer her question.

•   •   •

The young Mrs. Reardon was currently unavailable, according to the woman who answered the phone, so Fina decided to shift gears and nose around Hank’s professional world. The skies opened up as she drove across the river to Cambridge; her windshield wipers could barely keep up. People darted from building to building in Kendall Square trying to escape the deluge. Fina always thought there was something missing in that neighborhood that gave it a cold, sterile feel. Regardless of all the activity and progress in the buildings above, she was always struck by the lack of energy on the street level, despite the presence of humans. Say what you will about the grit and dirt of other neighborhoods; at least they had a pulse.

Universum Tech headquarters was located in an oddly shaped mid-rise building with glass awnings sculpted into undulating waves. It looked like a feat of engineering, but an ugly feat nonetheless. Fina pulled into a visitors’ space in the garage and took the elevator to the first floor, entering an atrium that spanned seven floors. Glass-and-steel balconies bordered the space, and the ceiling that loomed above was made from frosted glass. The rain splattered down, the effect more noisy than soothing.

To the right of the seating area, a poster-sized photo of Hank Reardon sat on an easel flanked by large white flower arrangements. In the photo he was wearing a white Universum Tech golf shirt, which set off his tan nicely. He looked healthy and prosperous.

Fina turned toward the two twenty-somethings who were manning the reception desk that stood between two large potted ficus plants.

“Can I help you?” The young man smiled at Fina. His broad forehead, narrow head, and hooked nose called to mind an eagle. His name tag said
TONY
.

“I’m here to see Dimitri Kask on behalf of Michael Reardon.” She handed over her ID.

His face assumed a downcast expression. “Of course. Let me call his office.”

Five minutes later, Tony was standing next to her in the elevator, punching the button for the seventh floor.

“I’m sorry about Mr. Reardon,” Fina said. “It must be hard on the whole company.”

“It’s awful,” Tony replied in a hushed tone. “I mean, just dying would have been terrible, but murdered?” He gave her a knowing look. “I assume that’s why you’re here.”

Fina smiled, but stayed silent.

“I understand. You can’t talk about it,” he practically whispered.

“Do you know Danielle Reardon?” Fina asked, stepping off the elevator.

“Well, not personally, but we all kind of
know
her. She comes to company events.”

“With the baby?”

Tony thought for a moment. “Nah. She’s so little.”

Tony led Fina away from the atrium through an open space populated with cubes that looked corporate, but clearly there were no stifling rules about their decor. The ones she could see were decorated with pictures and posters and stuffed with comfortable furniture. In the corner of the building, two large glass-fronted offices faced each other with two assistants stationed in between. One office stood empty. In the other, a man with closely shorn black hair and a five o’clock shadow sat on a black leather couch under a window. He was not conventionally handsome, but even at first glance, Fina could tell that his clothes were expensive and he took care with his appearance.

“Ms. Ludlow for Mr. Kask,” Tony told the female assistant. She announced Fina to the man in the office and ushered her into the room.

“Dimitri Kask,” he said, and offered his hand.

“Fina Ludlow,” she said, matching his firm grip.

“Dana, could you please close the door?” he asked the young woman.