Brutality by Ingrid Thoft Page A

want to share my progress on the Liz Barone case with you.”
    Cristian laughed. “Of course you do. I’m pretty busy working on that case myself, so why don’t you just tell me over the phone?”
    “It’s so much more fun to give you updates in person,” Fina said. It was true: Flirting with Cristian face-to-face was way more satisfying than on the phone.
    “I’ll be at the Jim Roche ice rink in West Roxbury at five P.M . I’ll have ten minutes or so.”
    “Why are you going to an ice rink when it’s ten degrees outside?”
    “Why do you think, Sherlock?”
    Cristian hung up, and Fina cursed her miscalculation.
    Even Cristian wasn’t worth freezing her ass off.
    —
    I t was about twenty-five degrees in the rink, and loud. The place was crawling with kids, most of them lumbering under the weight of hockey pads and helmets. Fina arrived just as the Zamboni emerged to smooth the shaved and pitted surface into a glassy, wet layer.
    A couple of the benches in the locker room area were occupied by men and women wearing pads and police department hockey shirts. Fina spotted Cristian and caught his eye. People on the force knew they were friends, but she didn’t want to put him on the spot in front of his colleagues. Some cops had nothing but disdain for PIs, and it was a relationship best kept on the down low.
    Cristian threaded his way over to her, and they found a spot on a bench. He dropped his bag onto the rubber floor and pulled off his boots.
    “Forget the cold, why are you playing hockey when you’re on a case?” Fina asked.
    “It’s part of the community outreach thing. It’s only an hour, and Pitney catches hell if we don’t put in the time. It’s also a good way to blow off steam.”
    Fina eyed the competition. “You’re blowing off steam playing against a ragtag group of neighborhood kids?”
    “I meant the other cops.” Cristian forced his foot into a skate and tugged on the laces. “The teams are mixed.”
    “Well, you’re a good man and a role model. I still don’t understand the appeal of a sport where you freeze your ass off.”
    “Never mind that. I only have until the ice is clean.”
    “All righty. Were there any signs of forced entry at Liz Barone’s house?”
    Cristian paused his lacing efforts. “Hold on. I thought you were going to update me.”
    “I am,” Fina said, “but I thought you could start.”
    He shook his head, winding the laces around the small hooks at his ankle. “No, there were no signs of forced entry.”
    “So either the door was unlocked, the perpetrator had a key, or Liz let the person in.”
    “Jamie says that they always lock the door.”
    “That rules out one option then. Did Jamie find her?”
    “Yes. Luckily, the kids were at a neighbor’s house so they were spared.”
    “Who has a copy of their house key?” Fina asked.
    “When’s the part where you give me information?” Cristian asked, moving on to the other skate.
    “So impatient. If you insist, I’ve spoken with Bobbi Barone, Jamie, Kelly Wegner, Tasha Beemis-Jones, and the attorney, Thatcher Kinney.”
    “And?”
    “And the attorney is clearly not the man for the job, but it’s not clear yet if the lawsuit had anything to do with the attack,” Fina said.
    “That’s great, but you’re not telling me anything I don’t already know.”
    “But I will, eventually. Maybe not today, but someday.” The Zamboni was turning the corner, making its final pass. “You got any alibis?” Fina asked.
    “Nothing airtight. We need a few more suspects in the meantime.” Cristian tucked his shoes under the bench and zipped up his bag. He stood and bounced lightly on the skates. “What’s next on your agenda?”
    “Gus Sibley and Kevin Lafferty.”
    Cristian blinked at Kevin’s name.
    “Oh, so maybe you don’t know everything,” Fina said.
    “Enlighten me.”
    “He’s a booster for NEU athletics, and he spent a lot of time hanging around the women’s soccer team back in the