To Coach a Killer

by Victoria Laurie

  No, I thought. If that were the case, Maks and Jason would both be dead. Still, the fact that some evidence existed that had pointed the police so quickly to Maks meant that someone was trying to set him up to take the fall, and I had no real qualms about defending Maks on that front because I believed in his character, and I’d also been set up for a murder I hadn’t committed, so I knew what that felt like.

  So who had set Maks up to take the fall? An enemy in the organization, no doubt. But if it wasn’t Basayev, then it was someone else capable of murder, and that thought made me shudder.

  “Penny for your thoughts?” Gilley said, and I jumped, because he was practically standing right in front of me and I hadn’t even noticed. “Whoa, sugar,” Gil said, sitting down next to me to eye me with concern. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. And I should know; I’ve seen plenty.”

  I put a hand to my chest and attempted a smile. “Oh, Gilley, I’m sorry. I was lost deep in thought.”

  “Care to share over dinner? It’s ready and on the table.”

  I shook my head to clear it and stood up. “It smells amazing. Thank you for making it.”

  Gilley was clearly pleased by the praise. “Come,” he said. “We’ll eat a little nosh and talk about what’s causing that furrow to your brow.”

  I rubbed my forehead self-consciously as I followed Gilley to the table. I gazed appreciatively at the bowl of pasta he’d prepared. It was a work of art. “This looks heavenly,” I said.

  Gilley swiveled back and forth. “Thank you. Now, sit, sit!”

  We sat down and got settled, and then I took a bite and moaned. “Oh, my God.”

  “Good?”

  I held up my hand and splayed my fingers. “Five stars, my friend. Five stars.”

  Gilley poured me a glass of chardonnay and shimmied his shoulders. I’d learned that there were two ways to Gilley’s heart. One, flatter his outfit. Two, flatter his cooking. Do both, and you had a friend for life.

  “All right,” he said when I moaned again. “That’s enough smoke up my ass. Now tell me; what dark thoughts were rattling around in that pretty head of yours?”

  I sighed. “It’s a very dark thought, Gil.”

  “So tell me about it. Maybe I can make it a little brighter.”

  I appreciated Gilley’s enthusiasm, even though I knew there was no way for anyone to take the frightening feeling out of my mind. “I was just thinking that Maks was probably set up,” I began.

  “Duh,” said Gil.

  “Okay, so you already figured that out. But, what I keep wondering is who might’ve set him up?”

  “We don’t know any of the facts yet,” Gil said. “It’s impossible to speculate, Cat.”

  And I think that, more than anything, made me feel a little better. We didn’t know any of the facts, so my leap from thinking that Maks couldn’t have murdered Jason to Jason being murdered by someone who wanted to frame Maks was a huge leap. “You’re so right, Gilley. I think I needed that reality check.”

  We spent the rest of dinner chatting about the events of the day. “I really should reach out to Willem and see how he’s doing,” I said.

  “I tried calling him three times already,” Gilley told me. “He’s not answering his phone or returning my calls.”

  “That’s worrisome. Thank goodness the people in the balloon were okay. We need to make sure he knows that they’re all right. I don’t want him backing out of our plan.”

  “Wait, wait, wait,” Gilley said, holding up his hand in a stop motion for emphasis. “You mean you’re planning on taking him on another outing?”

  “Of course,” I said. “We knew pushing the curse would come with a few risks, and today’s events were considerably more intense than I’d imagined, but I’m not about to give up on Willem. He needs us.”

  Gilley scowled. “Where could we possibly take him that won’t have risks, Cat? I mean, a hot air balloon dropping out of the sky? Like, what the freak?!”

  I sighed and forced myself to speak softly to Gilley, even though my patience was running thin. “Can you please find a place that’ll have minimal risks?”

  He scowled at me. “How about the moon? We could just load him into a rocket and keep our fingers crossed.”

  “Gil . . .”

  “Fine, I’ll look for something.”

  I was about to thank him when my cell rang. I got up to retrieve it. “It’s Marcus,” I said.

  “Answer it!” Gilley encouraged when I hesitated.

  “Hello, Marcus. Is Maks all right?” I said, after picking up the call.

  “He’s fine, Catherine. But I’m calling because we need you to come down and give a statement.”

  I stared at Gilley, my brow furrowed. He mouthed, What?

  “You want me to come down and give a statement?” I repeated.

  “Yes. Right away if you can.”

  “You mean like a character statement?” I was confused.

  There was a pause on the other end of the call, but then Marcus said, “No. We need you to state that Mr. Grinkov was with you last evening.”

  “Oh!” I said. “Well, yes, of course. That’s true.”

  I heard Marcus sigh in relief. “Excellent. You’ll need to come down and give a sworn statement about that to provide Mr. Grinkov with an alibi. The police won’t release him without it.”

  “I’ll be right down,” I said. “I just have to remember the time we were together, correct?” I was thinking that I’d left Maks at the bar at around seven, but it could’ve been later.

  “Correct. He couldn’t remember the specific time you two were together, but he knows that you two left your office building around six-thirty, and then you drove him in to work early this morning.”

  I blinked. “Come again?” I said.

  “I’m sorry, what part didn’t you hear?”

  My mind was racing to catch up to what Marcus was telling me. “No, I heard you. I mean . . . yes. Yes, that’s correct. I’ll be right there, Marcus.”

  I hung up the phone and stared at Gilley. “What’s happened?” he asked.

  “It’s Maks. He’s asking me to lie.”

  “About what?”

  “About where he was last night . . . into this morning.”

  Gilley got up and came over to me. “He needs an alibi?”

  “Apparently.”

  “And you’re going to give him one?”

  I sighed. “Apparently.”

  Gilley closed his eyes as if he was thinking about how to break some bad news to me. When he opened them again he looked at me very seriously and said, “Maks is accused of murder. That’s a felony and, I’m no lawyer, but lying to police about his whereabouts might also be a felony. So, I have to ask, are you absolutely sure you want to do this, Cat?”

  I tucked the phone away in my purse and moved over to retrieve my coat. “Of course I don’t want to do this, Gilley, but what choice do I have?”

  “You could tell the truth,” he said simply.

  I bowed my head and pinched the bridge of my nose. A headache was starting to form from all of this stress. “Maks was there for me when I needed someone to believe I didn’t kill Heather Holland. I think I owe him this favor.”

  Gilley stepped forward to reach for my hand. Squeezing it to get my attention, he said, “I know you think you do, Cat, but this will get you mixed up in something that’s pretty scary.”

  “I’m already mixed up in it,” I muttered.

  “What’s that mean?”

  I sighed. “It means that my mind is made up and I’m going to help Maks by covering for him.”

  Gilley nodded. “Okay. But be prepared to look Shepherd in the eye and tell him that Maks was with you last night. All night.”

  I felt my stomach muscles clench. “Dammit,” I whispered. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “Are you changing your mind?”

  I shook my head. “No. But someday I hope I can explain all this to Shepherd.”

&n
bsp; “Me too, sugar. Do you want me to come with you? For moral support?”

  I did want Gilley to come, but I also knew that Shepherd might then want to grill Gilley about whether or not he’d seen me with Maks last night and this morning, and I couldn’t allow Gilley to be tempted to commit perjury too.

  “No. Thank you, Gilley. I’ll be fine.”

  Gil hugged me. “I’ll whip up some dessert that’ll be ready for you when you get back.”

  I offered him a lopsided smile. “No nuts in the brownies, okay?”

  Gilley put a hand to his chest. “Perish the thought.”

  I kissed him on the cheek and set off, ready to commit a very real, very serious crime.

  Chapter 10

  Marcus met me at the door of the East Hampton P.D. “Thanks for coming so quickly,” he said, escorting me through the lobby. “Detective Shepherd is waiting to take your statement.”

  “Of course,” I said. “Is there any chance I can see Maks first?”

  Marcus eyed me sideways. “No. I’m afraid I can’t allow it.”

  “You can’t allow it?” I said.

  “Your conversation would be open to being recorded by the police, Ms. Cooper. I can’t allow Maks to say anything on record that might further implicate him in this crime.”

  I understood immediately. “Yes,” I said. “Yes, of course. I’ll just give my statement then.”

  We headed through a corridor and made our way to familiar territory—one of two interrogation rooms, in front of which a stoic, blank-faced Steve Shepherd now stood.

  “Ms. Cooper,” he sneered when we stopped in front of him.

  “Hello, Detective,” I said just as formally.

  No one said anything for an awkward few moments, but I could feel the tension radiating off Shepherd. He was angry, that much was obvious, and I had no doubt that, mixed in with the apparent jealousy that my statement was about to justify, was also a real anger that I was about to blow his case. Shepherd opened the door to the interrogation room. “After you,” he said.

  Marcus and I filed in and sat down, and Shepherd closed the door and brought a file with him to the table. As he sat down I could feel my heart rate tick up, but I did my best to appear calm.

  “Mr. Grinkov has given us an accounting of his whereabouts last night, and I need to confirm the details with you.”

  “Of course,” I said, hating that I’d have to look him in the eye when I lied.

  “Okay,” he said. “Why don’t you tell me about your evening with him last night.”

  “Well,” I said, trying to think of what details Maks might’ve divulged to Shepherd during the interrogation. “I’m not especially comfortable telling you every minor detail of our date, Detective,” I said, as a way to both stall and be as vague as possible, and with a pang in my heart I noticed that his neck went a slight shade of crimson. “What I can say is that Maks and I went out for drinks, one thing led to another, and we ended up back at my house. And then we went in to the office this morning together, and that’s the last time I saw him until you showed up to arrest him.”

  Shepherd’s finger tapped at the desk, and it was impossible to tell if he believed me or not. “Who drove?” he said.

  My brow furrowed. “Who drove?”

  “Yeah. It’s a simple question, Catherine. Who drove the two of you to your house from the bar?”

  I resisted the urge to shift in my seat—a clear body language signal that I’d be lying, and instead my memory honed in on what Marcus had said to me on the phone earlier—that I’d driven Maks in to work this morning, which meant that he needed me to say that we took my car. Knowing Maks, however, I felt that, even though we’d taken my car, he probably would’ve said that he drove, and this was why Shepherd was asking specifically about who drove home from the bar. Crossing my fingers that I was getting the story right, I said, “Well, as Maks probably already told you, we drove separately to the bar, and then over the course of a few drinks, I’d felt the alcohol hit me, and I asked Maks to drive my car back to Chez Cat.”

  Shepherd frowned, but in a way that suggested he was disappointed that I’d answered the question the right way for Maks. But then he looked into his folder and produced a receipt, which he showed me. “See, this is the part that doesn’t make sense to me,” he began, as I took in the receipt, which was for only two cocktails. “You felt impaired after one drink, Catherine?”

  I smiled pleasantly to show Shepherd he wasn’t going to rattle me. “I know it may seem odd, but I’d had very little to eat all day and I’d also had a very stressful afternoon on top of that, and as I’m only five-foot one and one hundred and five pounds, Detective, a normal-sized martini, for me, can often pack a wallop.”

  For the first time since I’d sat down, Shepherd regarded me skeptically. “You forget; you and I have been out to dinner, and we’ve thrown back a few.”

  This time it was my cheeks that felt the heat of embarrassment, and out of the corner of my eye I swear I saw Marcus arch an eyebrow. Still, I had a counterpoint that I hated to use, but I felt like Maks needed his alibi to be iron-clad. “That’s true; we have gone out and shared a few, but if I recall, both of those occasions involved a substantial amount of food spread over a few hours. Maks and I didn’t linger at the bar. I . . . I was anxious to get . . . home.”

  “Why were you anxious to get . . . ?” Shepherd began, and I arched my own eyebrow at him. He stopped midsentence and dropped his gaze, that same crimson color returning to his neck.

  I felt terrible in that moment, both for lying to him and for allowing him to think that I’d made some kind of a choice—when I hadn’t. And even if I had, I would never want to hurt Shepherd by blurting it out like that. The man could be an absolutely insufferable horse’s ass, but he’d also saved my life and had opened up to me in a way that I knew was especially difficult for him.

  Shepherd pulled the receipt back to the folder and traded it for a piece of paper that read, “Witness Statement.” He then shoved a pen across the table, got up, and turned to the door. “Write it all down, Ms. Cooper,” he said, and then he simply left.

  After the door closed, Marcus put away his legal pad, which he’d extracted from his messenger bag when we’d sat down. I simply stared at the paper and pen on the table, fighting the water forming in my eyes.

  “Are you all right?” Marcus asked, after a moment.

  “Fine,” I said hoarsely. Then I swallowed hard, pulled the paper forward, and began to write out my statement.

  When I was done, I handed it to Marcus, who looked it over and nodded. He then got up and moved to the door. Poking his head out into the hallway, he spoke to someone who said something back, and then he pulled his head in again. “We can go,” he said to me.

  I stood and picked up the statement. “What do I do with this?”

  “Leave it on the table,” he said softly.

  I held on to the statement for a moment of hesitation. I wasn’t officially committing a crime until I walked out that door and left the statement behind.

  “Something wrong?” Marcus asked.

  “No,” I said, adopting a smile and setting the statement down. “Let the chips fall where they land,” I muttered, and moved out into the hallway.

  Marcus offered me a curious look as I passed him, but he didn’t otherwise comment.

  Instead he walked me to the front entrance, where I paused and turned toward him, because I still had so many questions. “What evidence did they have linking Maks to Jason Sutton’s murder, anyway, Marcus?”

  “I’ll let Maks explain,” he said.

  I frowned, but Marcus added, “If I took the time to explain, I’d have to bill you, Ms. Cooper.”

  “Ah. I forgot. Marcus Brown is always on the clock.” But I put a hand on his arm to let him know that I still thought of him as a friend.

  He rewarded me with a beautiful smile. “Have a good night, Catherine,” he said, and went back inside.

  I drove home i
n a frustrated fog. I’d learned nothing, other than Maks hadn’t wanted to place himself at his house the night before, or . . . if I really thought about it . . . near his car. That was a curious detail, and I wondered how it would all play out.

  * * *

  When I got to Chez Kitty, Gilley was waiting up for me. I couldn’t help but notice as I set down my purse that he’d consumed a quarter of a pan of brownies and a half gallon of milk. “Thank the baby Jesus you’re finally home!” he said. “Tell me everything.”

  “There’s really nothing to tell,” I said, moving to the cupboard to fetch a dessert plate. “I lied, and I have no idea why I needed to.”

  “Yikes,” Gilley said. “So no one told you what evidence they have against Maks?”

  “Marcus said he’d have to charge me a billable hour to take me through it.”

  “Ha! Marcus—ever the professional,” Gilley giggled. “So, did you actually lie to Shepherd’s face?”

  I took a bite of brownie, and while I was chewing I lifted the glass of milk I’d just poured in the air in a toast motion. “I did indeed.”

  “Whoa,” Gilley said. “Was it hard?”

  “Yes, and I feel so guilty. It sucked, Gilley. It sucked big, rotten, stinky, ostrich eggs.”

  Gilley pulled his chin back. “You sound like your sister.”

  I shrugged. “We’re cut from the same cloth. I just work at stifling my inner trucker mouth, while she lets that freak flag fly free.”

  Gilley smirked. “How’d Shepherd take it?”

  I shoved more of the brownie into my mouth. “He was hurt,” I said bluntly, because I knew it to be the truth.

  “Damn, girl. Shepherd got his feelings hurt? That would be hard to see.”

  “It felt like kicking a stray dog,” I confessed. “And I hated it.”

  Gilley took the now empty plate from my hand and walked to the counter, where he cut me off another big piece of brownie. “I should’ve made a double batch,” he said, bringing it back to me.

  “Thanks,” I said, taking up the second piece. “It’s even more terrible because I can’t really talk to anyone about any of this . . . Well, at least not to anyone but you, and even you I can’t tell everything to.”