To Coach a Killer

by Victoria Laurie

  I shrugged. I had no idea.

  “If you asked Shepherd, would he tell you?”

  “Doubtful. You know how he bristles when I try to insert myself into his investigations.”

  Gilley lowered his finger and looked at me with a wicked glint in his eye. “There is a way to find out, you know. . . .”

  “We are not hacking into his computer!” I said immediately. Sometimes it shocked me how willing Gilley was to break privacy laws.

  “Relax,” he said calmly. “I didn’t have anything like that in mind.”

  “Then what did you have in mind?”

  “Well,” he said, and I could tell he was trying to figure out how to break it to me gently. “Do you trust me?”

  “No.”

  Gil leveled his eyes at me. “Cat,” he said.

  I sighed. “I trust you with my life, Gilley, but I don’t trust that you won’t do something that could land the two of us in prison.”

  He laughed. “Fair. But this won’t land anyone back in jail. At most, it’s a misdemeanor, and we’d face a fine.”

  “How much of a fine?”

  “More than a traffic ticket, less than it’d cost to hire Marcus for a murder trial.” I hesitated, and Gilley added, “Listen, we need to know if Basayev’s murder is connected with Jason Sutton’s, because if they’re not, then we know we’re probably dealing with a jealous ex who wants to ruin Chanel’s life, but if they are, then that’s a whole new can of worms, and Chanel could be in real danger.”

  “She’s already in real danger,” I said. “Her grandaunt was murdered.”

  “Oooh, that’s another reason why we should call the crime lab,” Gilley said.

  “Wait, we’re calling the crime lab?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why would they give us any information in an ongoing police investigation?”

  “Because they’ll think the call is coming from Shepherd,” Gilley said.

  My brow furrowed. “How’re you going to pull that off? You don’t have access to his phone and you don’t sound anything like Steve Shepherd, Gilley.”

  Gilley cleared his throat and said, “Catherine, you need to butt out of my investigation!”

  My eyes widened. Shepherd had a distinct voice. It held a note of smoky rumble and low undertones and Gilley had just mimicked it nearly flawlessly.

  Gilley bounced his brows. “I’ve been practicing. I thought it might come in handy someday. And to your other question, it’s an insanely easy thing to piggyback my number onto any phone number I want. The caller ID on the other end of the line would register as Shepherd’s cell when I call the crime lab.”

  My palms began to sweat. “Oh, God,” I said. “You really want to do this?”

  Gilley wiggled his phone. “I’m ready when you are.”

  I got up to pace, tapping my lip just like Gil had done not five minutes before. I needed to think this through. After only two times back and forth, traversing the room, I decided it was too risky and turned back to Gilley, who was putting his phone to his ear. “Julio? Detective Shepherd,” he said tersely as the call was picked up.

  Blood drained from my face and my heart started to hammer hard in my chest. He’d made the executive decision to go through with it. He’d called the crime lab.

  “Is the ballistics report back on the Basayev case?” There was a pause, then, “If I got that e-mail, do you think I’d be calling? Just read me the damn report!”

  Although he sounded spookily like an irritated Shepherd, Gilley was grinning at me and holding a thumbs-up like he was having the time of his life. “Mmmhmm,” he said. “Yep . . . yep . . . okay, and what did the ballistics on the Sutton case show in comparison? . . . Same caliber? . . . Mmmhmm, mmmhmm. . . same grooves . . . yep . . . so you’re certain the two bullets were fired from the same gun? Good. One more thing. Have you reached out to New Canaan P.D. like I asked to get that ballistics report yet? . . . What the hell do you mean I didn’t order you to do that? Julio, I definitely ordered that first thing this morning! . . . Well, get on it! I’ll call you back in twenty to get those results.”

  With that Gilley clicked off the phone and his grin was ear to ear. “That was fun,” he said, with a squeaky laugh.

  I sank onto the sofa, my hand over my heart. “Good God, Gilley. You’re going to give me a heart attack one of these days!”

  He snickered. “That got your heart racing? Jeez, Cat, remind me never to divulge the stuff I don’t tell you about.”

  I gulped. “Not. Helping.”

  He chuckled. “I’m kidding.”

  “Good,” I said.

  “Mostly,” Gilley added. I glared at him. “Anyway, the good news is that now we know that Sutton’s murder and Basayev’s murder are connected.”

  I stared out into space, truly puzzled. “So, it was more than likely someone in their organization who murdered both men.”

  “Yes,” Gilley said.

  “But what does any of it have to do with Chanel?” I wondered.

  “Well, maybe Chanel’s ex is also in the organization,” Gilley said simply.

  My breath caught. “Ohmigod, Gilley,” I whispered. “Of course!” I got up to pace again too. “It would explain how Chanel got Basayev’s listing. She probably floated in those circles when she was dating this guy.”

  “Did Shepherd ever tell you his name?” Gilley asked.

  “No. In fact, he said that Chanel was careful not to mention it. She merely referred to him as her IO.”

  “IO?”

  “Insignificant other.”

  “Ooo, that’s clever.”

  “And telling,” I said. “If he in fact was someone within that crime family, then you could see how being left by his girlfriend would be a big blow to his ego.”

  Gilley nodded. “So what we really need to do is track down who Chanel’s ex might’ve been.”

  “Yes,” I said. “But how would we even do that?”

  “Well, maybe you could go to Maks and ask him?” Gilley suggested. “I mean, he’s connected to all those players, right? And he might even have met or have seen Chanel with someone high up in the organization, right?”

  I hadn’t seen Maks since our night together. I didn’t even know if he was still going to his office regularly . . . but I could check.

  Still, the thought of seeing him made my pulse quicken, not from desire, but from guilt given the previous night’s . . . sparking joy adventures with Shepherd.

  “What’s with that look?” Gilley asked me.

  I shook my head. “What look?”

  “The look of guilt you’d wear if you had actually cheated on Maks.”

  “Didn’t I?”

  Gilley rolled his eyes. “Cat, you’re not exclusive with Maks. And you’re not exclusive with Shepherd. My God, woman, you’ve only had a tiny tryst with both of them, and so what if it’s in the same week. That’s hardly cheating.”

  “It feels like cheating, though, Gilley.”

  “Well, for someone who was married for as long as you were, it probably would, but for everyone else who’s been single in the past decade, it’s not a big deal. You have nothing to feel guilty about. Besides, the three of you are all adults; I’m sure no one expects anyone to be quite so serious yet.”

  “Really?” I asked.

  “Really,” Gilley said. “Now, go find that gorgeous hunka man and ask him about Chanel. I’ll stay here and try another route to ferret out this ex-boyfriend of hers.”

  “What other route?”

  “Social media, of course,” Gilley said.

  I pointed at him. “You know, that might help us track her down too, Gilley. She’s obviously gone into hiding. Maybe you’ll pull up something that can lead us to her location.”

  “I can try,” he said.

  I left Gilley and drove to the office. It took me twice as long as normal to arrive at my building due to the weather. It was starting to get a little treacherous outside, with all the wind and rain.
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br />   Hurrying inside, I hustled first to my office to flip on the lights and make it look like I was in residence, and then I deposited my coat, umbrella, and purse before locking the inner office door again to make my way upstairs.

  Pausing on the second-floor landing, I saw Dr. Strickland—the dentist—locking up.

  “Hello, Doctor,” I said when he turned away from the door.

  He jumped slightly. “Catherine,” he said, recovering himself. “I was just leaving. The storm’s getting bad out there, and we’ve had nothing but cancellations, so I thought I’d take the rest of the day off to hunker down.”

  “Good choice,” I said as he began to pass me.

  He nodded. “Don’t stay here too long yourself,” he suggested. “I hear some trees are starting to come down and the roads are only getting worse.”

  “I won’t. You take care and drive safe.”

  He waved over his shoulder and was gone.

  Looking down the hallway, I noticed the darkened door of the other suite and remembered the absence of cars in the parking lot. I suddenly wondered if it’d been a fool’s errand to come into the office at all this morning.

  Still, I had to check just to be sure, so I continued up the stairs to the third floor, which was very quiet.

  Moving to Maks’s door, I tried the handle first, but it was locked. I knocked anyway, but no one came to the door. With a sigh I abandoned the locked door and headed back downstairs to sit in my office for a few minutes and think of what to do next.

  With some reservation, I pulled out my cell and sent Maks a text that I needed to talk to him. It was urgent.

  And then I busied myself with a game of solitaire for an hour, my gaze flicking every few seconds to the phone, but there was no response from Maks.

  Staring moodily out the window, I knew I needed to get back home before the storm got even worse, but an idea kept niggling at me, and try as I might I couldn’t let it go.

  I didn’t know where Maks lived, so there was no heading to his home to confront him, but I could access his office with the master key and look for a clue or two as to where I might find him.

  After one last glance at my phone, I acted on that impulse and reached into Gilley’s desk for the master key ring.

  Hurrying out the door and up the stairs before I could change my mind, I approached Maks’s door again, my heart racing. By this time, I was quite certain that I was the only one left in the building. I’d seen my first-floor tenant walk out shortly after Dr. Strickland, so I knew there wouldn’t be any curious eyes to see me enter Maks’s locked office, but I was still shaking with nerves because I’m usually a fairly upstanding citizen who doesn’t go around entering private spaces she hasn’t been invited into.

  Then I thought back a few months to a similar excursion and had to concede that I might be making this a habit. Still, I pressed forward, entered the key into the lock, turned the handle, and let myself in.

  The space wasn’t very surprising, or exciting. It was neat and orderly with an open area at the entrance and two offices off the central lobby—which held a seating area, a Turkish rug, and a fake plant.

  The lights were all off, and I kept them that way, even though, with the wind howling eerily outside, I really wanted to turn them on and help settle my nerves.

  Plus, it was quite dark in the interior given the storm. I settled for using my phone as a flashlight and shined the light around, looking for anything that might indicate where I could find Maks.

  Making my way out of the seating area and over to his office, I peered in at his desk. There was no desktop computer—he probably carried a laptop with him—and there was nothing on his desk, no mail carried in from home that might have given me a clue as to where he lived.

  Knowing it’d been a long shot but still frustrated that I wasn’t finding any leads to follow, I began to make my way out, but stopped at the closed door to the second office. “Might as well be thorough,” I whispered, trying the handle. It opened easily, and what was hidden behind the door sent a jolt of shock straight down to my toes.

  Chapter 17

  Stepping forward into the room, I walked over to the canvases and stared down at the dozen or so paintings laid up against the far wall.

  The room was empty save for the artwork, which had been packed in brown paper but was all exposed now, facing outward. One painting in particular drew my attention—the Bilmes painting I’d been so drawn to at the Suttons’ gallery was center stage among the pieces.

  I touched the top of the canvas, but then withdrew my hand quickly. These pieces had all been at the gallery, I was certain of it. But what were they doing here? Why did Maks have them tucked away like this?

  And then another thought formed in my mind. A tiny seed that implanted itself into my head and sprouted the first leaves of doubt. I stepped back from the canvases and frowned. I didn’t know what they had to do with anything, but I did know they likely came from the Suttons’ gallery on the day Jason Sutton was murdered, and that bothered me.

  A lot.

  So I closed the door and traced my way quickly out of Maks’s office, locking the door behind me as I went.

  From there, I couldn’t seem to get to my office quickly enough. I wanted to leave the building immediately, get home, and tell Gilley what I’d found. Together maybe we could come up with a reason why Maks would have those paintings in his office, a reason that would help spray that little plant of doubt in my mind with some weed killer.

  But when I approached the door to my office, I found it open. And what was even more troubling . . . someone was inside, rummaging around.

  I stopped short and put a hand to my chest. I’d locked the door when I went upstairs—I was certain of that. And I knew I’d done that, because as I was locking the door, I’d had the thought that it was a silly thing to do because the building was clearly empty, and no one was going to just come strolling in on a day like today, but I’d had my Birkin stowed in Gilley’s desk, and that was a purse I never took chances with.

  Gripping my phone, I wondered if I should call the police, as I was certain there was an intruder in my office, but then I took one look out the window and knew the East Hampton P.D. had far more urgent matters to attend to than my Birkin.

  But I couldn’t just walk away. The nerve of some would-be thief, taking advantage of the cover of the storm to prey upon local businesses . . . Well, it made me mad.

  So I used that anger, and a bit of theater when I rounded the corner and shouted, “Freeze, dirtbag!”

  There was an ear-piercing shriek, and something came flying across the room at me. I ducked in the nick of time and avoided getting hit in the face by the missile.

  “Gilley!” I yelled. “What the hell are you doing!”

  “Cat!” he yelled at the same time. “What the hell are you doing!”

  We both glared at each other, our hands on our hearts, adopting identical expressions of shock and anger. “I asked you first!” I snapped.

  Gil wiped his forehead with his fingers. “I’ve broken out into a cold sweat! You scared me half to death!”

  “What are you doing here? And why are you rummaging around in . . . your desk?” I realized how stupid I sounded, but adrenaline was still coursing through my veins.

  “I was looking for some extra batteries,” Gilley said, walking toward me. He bent down near my feet and scooped up what I now saw was a remote. “Please don’t be broken,” he whispered to it as he turned it over to inspect.

  “Why are you here?” I asked again. “You shouldn’t be out here in this weather.”

  Gilley, having finished his exam of the remote, popped open the back lid for the battery compartment and began changing the batteries. “My projector was here. And you were here. And I had a whole presentation to show you.”

  “A presentation?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you kidding?”

  “No.”

  I stared at him rather speechless. I co
uldn’t understand what he was even talking about. So I simply waved to him to show me.

  He motioned me over to his desk and cut the lights. I could see his projector was set up on his desk, and it was currently casting an image across the room to the far wall. The image was of a woman with long black hair, olive skin, and gorgeous olive green eyes.

  “Who’s that?” I asked.

  “Lenny Shepherd,” Gil said.

  I stiffened. I didn’t really know what I’d expected Lenny to look like. Shepherd was a good-looking man, so I knew he would’ve attracted someone at least his equal, but Lenny Shepherd was breathtaking. “Whoa,” I whispered.

  “She was stunning, right?”

  “Yes,” I agreed. “She was.” Without realizing it I wrapped my arms around myself, feeling a bit self-conscious. I’d inherited most of my looks from my mother—who’d once been a stunning beauty and Veronica Lake look-alike, right down to the peekaboo hairstyle from her high school senior picture.

  So, while I was fairly confident and comfortable with my looks, even I knew that I was no match for someone like Lenny, who held an exotic, natural beauty.

  “Why are we looking at Lenny?” I asked, hoping Gilley would get to the point quickly, as the wind outside was howling so loudly I had to raise my voice just to be heard.

  “Because I told you I was going to dig into Chanel’s social media accounts, but that girl isn’t even on Instagram, so I had to go back to known associates and I came across Lenny’s account.” Gilley pressed the remote and another photo came up. It was Lenny and Chanel out at a club, dancing together and having a great time.

  I wondered if Lenny ever suspected that the other woman Shepherd was seeing was her good friend and business partner. And I wondered if the photo was taken at the time that Shepherd was having his affair with Chanel.

  For her part, Chanel seemed to be having a glorious time. She was holding on to Lenny’s arm and smiling genuinely at her friend.

  It was quite obvious to me that Chanel cared about Lenny, and I wondered that someone with that much affection for another could still betray them so deeply.