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  Copyright © 2014 by Ingrid Thoft

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  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Thoft, Ingrid.

  Identity / Ingrid Thoft.

  p. cm.

  ISBN 978-1-101-59635-7

  1. Women private investigators—Fiction. 2. Paternity—Fiction. 3. Murder—Investigation—Fiction. I. Title.

  PS3620.H58I44 2014 2013050432

  813'.6—dc23

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Version_1

  For the usual suspects,

  Doug Berrett

  and

  Judith Stone Thoft,

  and a few new ones:

  Erika Thoft-Brown,

  Lisa Thoft,

  and

  Kirsten Thoft

  CONTENTS

  TITLE PAGE

  COPYRIGHT

  DEDICATION

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Blood trickled out of her nostril onto her upper lip. It tasted metallic when the tip of her tongue instinctively swiped at it.

  “Really?” Fina asked.

  “Oh my God. I can’t believe I just did that.” Haley stood rooted to the floor, her gloved hands limp at her sides.

  Fina freed her hand from the sweaty glove and grabbed a towel to blot her nose. “At least we know you can get in touch with your inner anger.”

  “Aunt Fina, I’m so sorry.” Haley wrestled off her gloves and followed Fina over to a bench at the edge of the gym. “Should I get some ice or something?”

  Fina gingerly palpated her nose with her fingertips. “It isn’t broken.”

  Haley leaned back against the exposed brick wall. “I’m so sorry.” She looked genuinely distressed.

  Fina swatted at her with the towel. “I’m fine. You think one errant punch is going to do me in?”

  “I guess not.”

  “Hey, you’ve thrown your first punch and drawn blood. I’m proud of you, sweetie. You’re a true Ludlow now.”

  Haley looked doubtful. “If you say so.”

  “How about a clean towel? That would help,” Fina said.

  Haley made a beeline for the desk near the front door of the small bare-bones gym. Fina didn’t frequent the establishment, but it was in her neighborhood, and the signs for self-defense and kickboxing classes had piqued her curiosity. Her brothers had taught her to fight, and she didn’t understand why it wasn’t an equally valued skill set for girls and young women. Certainly it was more useful than sewing a button onto a shirt.

  At the desk an older gentleman with cauliflower for ears handed Haley a fresh towel. Fina was dabbing at her nostril with it when her phone rang.

  “Yes, Father?” she said when she answered.

  “What are you doing?” Carl asked.

  “Teaching your granddaughter essential life skills.”

  The line was silent for a moment. “I’m not sure I like the sound of that.”

  “Trust me, I’m doing you a favor.”

  “Well, wrap it up. I need you in the office.”

  “What’s going on?”

  The phone went dead.

  Ahh. Another satisfying father-daughter interaction.

  • • •

  Fina Ludlow was the private investigator at the family law firm. Ignoring her boss—her father, Carl—wasn’t an option. She walked Haley to the T, then grabbed a quick shower at home, where she pulled on some jeans and a fitted T-shirt and put her hair in a bun. When actively working a case, Fina opted for sensible shoes, but not knowing the nature of the summons, she grabbed a pair of black strappy sandals. It was the end of August, and the Boston weather couldn’t make up its mind: Summer? Fall? Summer? Fall? It had settled somewhere in between; cool breezes alternating with humid, still air.

  Carl was sitting behind his desk when Fina arrived, a remote control pointed at the TV. A fifty-five-inch version of her father stared back, urging them to call the 800 number at the bottom of the screen.

  “You make a habit of watching your own commercials?” Fina asked.

  “I approve everything before it airs.”

  As a teenager, Fina had been embarrassed by the television ads hawking Carl’s talents as a personal injury attorney. It was bad enough that her friends saw them between episodes of 21 Jump Street and Cheers, but a family trip to San Diego revealed the true extent of her father’s reach: his ads ran nationwide. People she’d never met had formed a likely negative opinion of her family. When Fina and her brothers complained about the notoriety, Carl reminded them that there would be no fancy trips or designer jeans without the ads, which was true, but Fina couldn’t help but notice that her classmates got the same spoils from parents performing arthroscopic surgery and building skyscrapers downtown. Over the years, though, Fina grew to understand that the family firm had its redeeming qualities. They were the top dogs who represented the underdogs. Sometimes, Ludlow and Associates was the only option for poor souls down on their luck.

  Carl gestured at his doppelgänger onscreen. “That tie is bothering me.”

  Fina shrugged. “Looks fine to me.”

  “Not that I should be taking style advice from you,” Carl commented, hitting pause, freezing himself. “You couldn’t bother to dress up a little?”

  “For what? You wouldn’t tell me what’s going on.”

  “We have a potential client. She’ll be here any minute.”

  “Who is it?”

  “Renata Sanchez.”

  “Renata.” She contemplated the name for a moment. “Renata from the Ramirez case?”

  “That’s the
one.”

  Renata Sanchez had been a peripheral witness in a lawsuit a few years earlier. Fina had done some basic background on her and a phone interview, though they’d never met in person. She was the director of the Urban Housing Collaborative, an organization dedicated to addressing the housing challenges of the poor. She was a heroine or a pain in the ass, depending on whom you asked, and she didn’t shy away from controversy.

  Fina walked over to the bar tucked into the corner of the office. She pulled out a cold diet soda.

  “That stuff is crap, you know,” Carl commented.

  “You think?” Fina asked, eyeballing the bottles of booze on the bar. Carl took good care of himself—his broad shoulders and flat stomach belied his age—but he had a selective memory when it came to his own vices.

  Carl ignored her and clicked his mouse. Fina popped open the can and sat down across from him. She took a sip.

  “So, tell me about Renata.” Fina put her soda on the desk and rocked onto the back legs of the chair. The furniture in Carl’s office was high-end and contemporary. Glass and leather dominated and symbolized his approach to the law: Carl was interested in breaking new ground, not upholding the traditions passed down through generations. The space was dotted with sports memorabilia and black-and-white photographs of Boston’s twenty-first-century landscape. An antique map of Boston Harbor would never adorn these walls.

  “You break it, you buy it,” Carl said, gesturing at the precarious tilt of his daughter’s chair.

  Fina rolled her eyes. “The case?”

  “It’s a doozy.” He brushed the lapel of his jacket. “She wants to sue the cryobank that provided the sperm for her kid.”

  “Why? Is there something wrong with the kid?”

  “No. She thinks she and her daughter have a right to know the sperm donor’s identity, despite signing off on an anonymous donation seventeen years ago.”

  Fina gently squeezed her nose. “There’s no way she can win.”

  “Maybe not.”

  “So why are we even meeting with her?”

  “I want to see how it plays out.”

  “Sounds like a waste of time to me.” Fina dropped the front chair legs back to the floor.

  “Let me worry about that.” Carl narrowed his gaze. “Is that blood?”

  “What?” Fina reached up to her nose and dabbed at a lone drop that had materialized. “Damn. I thought I stopped it.” She rummaged in her bag for a tissue and blotted her nostril.

  “Very classy,” Carl remarked.

  “Ms. Sanchez is here,” Carl’s assistant, Shari, said, poking her head into the office before Fina could respond.

  Carl nodded and straightened his tie. Shari returned with a woman who couldn’t have topped five feet two, her short stature only reinforced by her bottom-heavy physique. She had short wavy hair that was rich dark brown and skin the color of light brown sugar. Her pantsuit was black and looked inexpensive, but any lack of sartorial prowess was compensated for by her posture. She stood erect and looked Carl in the eye when he got up and shook her hand.

  “Carl,” she said.

  “Renata. This is my daughter, Fina.” Fina stood and offered her hand. Renata’s grip was beyond firm, but short of crushing. It was clear this woman meant business.

  Carl gestured to the empty seat next to Fina. “Please have a seat. Did Shari offer you something to drink?”

  “Yes. She’s bringing me coffee.”

  They sat, and Carl leaned back in his chair. “Fina is the firm’s private investigator. As I mentioned on the phone, I think she could play a role in your case.”

  Renata placed a beat-up leather tote bag at her feet and turned in her chair to face Fina. “I assume your father has given you the details?” She wore a thick gold ring on her right index finger. Her hands were small and doughy, almost like a child’s.

  Fina glanced at Carl. “Yes, but I’d like to hear it from you.”

  Renata pursed her lips in annoyance.

  “I know it may seem like a waste of time,” Fina said, “but there are things I’ll hear in the telling that a third party just can’t convey.”

  Renata placed her hands on the arms of the chair and crossed her legs. “Fine. I want to sue Heritage Cryobank.”

  “Okay.” Fina took a sip of her drink. “And why do you want to do that?”

  “To learn the identity of the sperm donor I used to conceive my eldest child.”

  “Why?” Fina asked after a moment.

  Renata looked puzzled. “What do you mean, why?”

  Shari tapped on the door and entered bearing a tray. She set a small French press coffeepot and the necessary accoutrements on the corner of Carl’s desk. She depressed the lever and then poured a cup for Renata before taking her leave. You’d think Carl was Queen Elizabeth II the way she backed out of the room.

  “Why do you want to determine the donor’s identity?” Fina asked. “Presumably you went into the arrangement satisfied that he would remain anonymous.”

  Renata stirred a spoonful of sugar into the hot liquid and added a liberal splash of cream. Fina waited as patiently as a Ludlow could and took comfort knowing that however eager she was to get things moving, her father was even more so.

  “Things have changed.”

  “What things? Unfortunately, changing your mind isn’t going to cut it in court.”

  “I signed those papers seventeen years ago. There was no other way for me to start a family, and I was naïve. I didn’t think the identity of Rosie’s father mattered, but it does. It’s a fundamental human right to know where you come from.”

  “Not everyone would agree,” Carl said.

  Renata took a tentative sip and placed the china cup back onto its saucer. “Did you know that they recently outlawed anonymous sperm donations in British Columbia? They ruled that keeping that information secret is unconstitutional.”

  “So, what now?” Fina asked. “They’re opening all those files for the world to see, despite the promise of confidentiality?”

  Renata sniffed. “No, but they’ve acknowledged it’s wrong.”

  “That’s Canada.” Carl looked unimpressed. “This is the United States.”

  “And there are lots of kids who don’t know their biological parents because of adoption or abandonment or being the product of an affair,” Fina noted. “Not knowing a parent’s identity doesn’t doom them for life.”

  “You’ve done research on the matter?” Renata asked testily.

  “Anecdotal research,” Fina said, and took a long drink, struggling to swallow her annoyance. “I interact with a diverse population in my line of work.”

  “If you’re not interested in the case,” Renata said, rotating the coffee cup on the saucer, “I’m sure I can find someone who is.”

  “That’s not what we’re saying,” Carl assured her, “but as Fina said, changing your mind isn’t the basis for setting a new precedent.”

  Renata leaned forward in her chair. “Does a day go by that you two don’t consider your blood connection?” Her stare volleyed between father and daughter.

  Fina and Carl both squirmed.

  “Our connection is hard to ignore,” Fina said after an awkward pause.

  “Exactly. Whatever the nature of your relationship, it’s a vital part of your identities. I’m only asking that my daughter be given the same basic information. Times have changed. A piece of paper shouldn’t stand in the way of progress.”

  Fina raised an eyebrow in her father’s direction. Renata would have to be kept on a tight leash if they were going to take on her crusade.

  “I’ve told Renata that the only legal precedent for breaking the contract is in the case of medical necessity,” Carl said.

  “Which doesn’t exist in this case?” asked Fina.

  “Correct,” Carl said.


  “But what if something were to happen to me?” Renata asked. “My daughter would be left with virtually no blood relatives. And what if she has a medical condition that we don’t even know about? Medical testing has made leaps and bounds in the last two decades.”

  Fina touched her nose. “I don’t know. It still sounds like a reach to me. Dad?”

  “Renata, the chances of winning this case are practically nonexistent.”

  “That’s what they said about the low-income housing the Collaborative built in Dorchester. They said it couldn’t be done, that we would drown in red tape. One hundred and fifty families moved in last year.”

  “Be that as it may, we’re not talking about politics,” Carl said. “We’re talking about the law. You could fight a long, public battle and still end up with nothing to show for it.”

  She straightened up in her chair. “That’s a chance I’m willing to take.”

  Carl drummed his fingers on his leather blotter. “We can approach it from two angles,” he said after a moment of contemplation. “We can research the feasibility of filing a suit against the cryobank on the basis that maintaining the donor’s anonymity is a violation of Rosie’s human rights, and in the meantime, Fina can figure out the donor’s identity, which might give us leverage.”

  Fina looked at Renata. “Why don’t I just try to find out his identity? It could be done under the radar with the same result as a messy lawsuit.”

  Renata waved Fina’s suggestion away with a flick of her wrist. “It wouldn’t be the same result. As I’ve said, this isn’t just about my daughter’s father; it’s a human rights issue. All cryokids have a right to know.”

  “How does your daughter feel about this?” Fina asked, draining her drink.

  Renata licked her lips before speaking. “She understands that I think it’s important.”

  Fina tilted her head. “Okay, but what does she think?”

  Renata fiddled with the ring on her finger. “She’s fine with it.”

  “Renata, anything you say is protected by privilege, but I can’t be effective if I’m operating in the dark.” Fina looked at Carl. He nodded ever so slightly. “What does your daughter really think?”

  Renata met Fina’s gaze. “She’s reluctant, but Rosie’s always been very independent.”