“I’m sorry,” she said, holding up his mangled glasses.
He waved a hand. “Eh, I have a spare pair at home.”
Sasha led him inside the office and settled him into her guest chair. She sat across from him in the chair’s mate. He took a handkerchief from his pants pocket and dabbed at the cut on his head, then winced.
“It’s dried,” she told him. “Wanna tell me what happened?”
Larry returned the cloth to his pocket and shrugged. “I was reading those bail revocation cases you’d found. I needed to relieve myself, so I went to the restroom. I left the door ajar. My mistake, I admit. I didn’t see a need to lock it just to run to the bathroom.”
“I don’t generally lock up to go to the bathroom or pop downstairs for a drink, either,” Sasha told him.
“Well, you should start,” he said. “I returned to see a man pawing through the papers on the table. He had his back to me. I stepped into the doorway and cracked him with my cane.”
“You hit him?”
Larry looked at her. “Don’t you lecture me about avoiding the fight. I’ve practiced Krav Maga since you were in diapers. Sometimes the principles aren’t practical.”
Sasha raised an eyebrow but wasn’t about to argue with him. “Okay, go on.”
“I belted him good. His shoulder has got to feel like hell. Anyway, I reared back to hit him again, and he charged me. He knocked the wind out of me and I crashed into the door.” Larry shook his head, a forlorn, wistful look on his face. “Ten years ago, I’d have managed to at least trip him when he ran by.”
“He take anything?” Sasha asked.
“No.”
“Did you get a good look at him?”
“Eh, white kid, early twenties. Completely nondescript. Not much to go on,” Larry said.
Sasha rubbed her eyes with her palms and tried to think. After a moment, she said, “Okay. I need to make two phone calls. Then, I’m going to drive you home, unless you’ll agree to let me take you to the hospital to get checked out.”
Larry threw her a look. “Home, Jeeves.”
She surprised herself by laughing. “You stay here. I’m going to get you a cup of tea and a wet cloth for that cut.”
She patted his shoulder and headed toward the door. When she reached the doorway, she turned and said, “Just in case I run into this guy again, which shoulder do I want to go for?”
He smiled at her. “The right one.”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
While Sasha waited for Larry’s tea, she pulled out her phone. She actually had three calls she needed to make, but Larry couldn’t know about this one.
Daniel answered on the third ring. “Hello?”
“Daniel, it’s Sasha,” she said, turning away from the counter and speaking in a low voice.
“I was about to call you,” he said. “I’m at my folks’ place, and dad never came back from your office. Is he with you?”
“He is,” she said. “And he’s fine. But before I got here, we had an intruder. Your father apparently tried to beat him with his cane, but the guy knocked him over and took off. Your dad hit his head when he fell. He had a nasty cut on his forehead and his glasses are broken, but other than that, I think he’s mainly embarrassed.”
Daniel was quiet for a second, then he said, “That old coot won’t accept that he’s aging. Sasha, promise me you’ll stop with the Krav Maga before you’re in a nursing home.”
She laughed, relieved that Daniel was taking the news so well. She knew Bertie would be a different story.
“I promise. Listen, he doesn’t want to get checked out. But I have a friend, a gerontologist, who I’m sure will come to the house as a favor and just give him a once over. Will you be there to make sure your dad submits?”
Daniel let out an exaggerated sigh. “I’ll be here. Your doctor friend should bring restraints, though. You don’t know my dad.”
She went on, “I hate to do this, but I am going to have to drop your dad off and run. I need to get back here and figure out what the guy was looking for.”
“No problem. It’s probably for the best if you don’t come in. I’m sure my mom’s going to be on the warpath,” Daniel said. “Just pull into the driveway and I’ll come out to get my dad. And Sasha?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t skip class tomorrow. Sounds like you need to be on alert.”
She ended the call and thanked Ocean for the refill.
Back in the office, while Larry cleaned up his cut and drank his tea, she dialed Dr. Kayser’s number.
“This is Al Kayser,” he answered.
“Dr. Kayser, it’s Sasha McCandless.”
She glanced up at Larry to gauge his reaction to hearing her address the doctor. He was frowning at her, but his shoulders were slumped. He looked resigned to what was about to happen.
“Sasha, how are you?”
“I’m well, thanks. How have you been?” she asked.
“Good, good. Too busy, as always. I’ve just returned from a conference in San Diego and digging out from under all the paper that accumulated while I was away has been quite a chore. But I assume you’re not calling me on a Sunday afternoon to chat. Is there something I can do for you? Do you have another case?”
Dr. Kayser was her late grandmother’s physician; he was also a well-regarded testifying expert in the area of geriatric medicine—a fact that had helped Sasha immensely in her representation of an elderly man up in Clear Brook County back in the spring. Dr. Kayser had determined that the old guy wasn’t incompetent, but, rather, was being drugged by his treating physician.
“Not exactly,” Sasha said. “But I do have a favor to ask of you.”
“Anything for you, dear.”
“I appreciate that. I have a colleague who ... took a bad fall. He says he’s fine, but I’d feel much better if you could have a look at him.”
Dr. Kayser didn’t hesitate. “Certainly.”
“Thank you. I really appreciate it. Larry lives around the corner from you, on Shady Avenue. Do you think you could meet him at home?”
“Not Larry Steinfeld?” Dr. Kayser said.
“As a matter of fact, it is Larry Steinfeld,” she said.
Dr. Kayser chuckled. “Took a fall, my left foot. You tell Larry I told him at his last visit, it’s time to retire from the hand-to-hand combat.”
“Don’t you worry, I certainly will.”
“Is Larry at the house now?” Dr. Kayser asked.
“No, we’ll be leaving here in just a minute,” Sasha said.
“Okay, then I’ll leave now and try to butter Bertie up before you get there,” Dr. Kayser said with another soft laugh.
Sasha hung up and looked at Larry. “It appears we have a mutual friend. Al Kayser’s going to meet you at home and check you out,” she said.
Larry grumbled something indistinct.
“He said to tell you ...” she began.
“Bah, move on,” Larry cut her off with a wave of his hand.
She was delighted to see him acting so brusquely. It helped confirm her belief that his pride hurt worse than his body.
“We’ve got one more call to make and then we’re out of here,” she said.
Larry hoisted himself from the chair and leaned on his cane. He started to walk toward the table.
“I’ll just pack up these cases and take them with me, then,” he said.
Sasha came around to the front of the desk.
“Larry, listen to me. I’ve got this. Please, just rest. Do what Dr. Kayser says. If he tells you not to come to court tomorrow, listen to him. If he says it’s okay, you can come to keep me company. But don’t worry about the cases. I’ve got it.”
“I’m fine. You really shouldn’t worry about me,” Larry said.
“I’m not worried about you. I’m worried about what Bertie will do to me if you don’t take it easy,” she said.
Larry laughed but made his way back to the chair and eased himself into it. Sasha gathered up the
files while she waited for Naya’s answering machine to pick up. She’d do the rest of her preparation from home. Just in case their visitor decided to return.
“Hi, Naya, it’s me. When you get home, please hop on the people search databases and find out what you can about Richard Vickers. Google is a dead end. And, stay away from the office tonight. Larry had a run in with an unwelcome guest. Call me at home if you have any questions.” Sasha said to the machine.
She took one last look around the room to make sure she had everything.
“Let’s get out of here,” she said to Larry.
CHAPTER 54
MONDAY
Sasha should have been tired, but instead she was wired, filled with anticipation and energy. She drank her morning coffee standing in the kitchen and then was out the door while the sky was still dark.
She watched it turn from black to indigo to pre-dawn gray as she ran up the hill from Shadyside and through the sleeping business section of Forbes and Murray (up street, as the locals said) to her Krav Maga class. The storefronts were still dark and the commuter traffic was light.
For class, Daniel paired her with Corey, a shy teenager. He was a junior at the high school around the corner and a wrestler. He was quiet and intense. He blistered her with punches and held nothing back.
After the session, he offered her a sweaty fist bump. He hurried off to shower before his homeroom bell summoned him. Daniel nodded at her and excused himself from his conversation with an eager student.
“How’s your dad?” she asked as he walked toward her.
“Still smarting from the blow to his pride and the browbeating from my mother and Dr. Kayser, but otherwise fine. He’s planning to meet you at the courthouse later,” Daniel said.
“That’s great,” Sasha said.
“Yeah, I suppose. Listen, this guy, you think you know who he is?” Daniel asked.
Sasha looked closely at his face. She saw no anger or thirst for revenge. “I do,” she said. “Why?”
Daniel shook his head. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to take the fight to him. And my dad is refusing to report the attack to the police, but what’s your plan?”
She wasn’t sure. Naya had found Rich Moravian, born Richard John Vickers. She’d called after midnight with an address on the South Side and an employment history. Rich worked for none other than Andy Pulaski. The Big Gun himself. He was the killer, she was certain. But the issue was when to spring it on Diana Jeffries, and how. She wanted to consult with Larry.
She looked up at Daniel. “The plan is fluid right now, just know he’s going to pay for what he did, Daniel.”
Daniel considered her for a moment. Then he put a hand on her shoulder and gave her a gentle squeeze, almost a half-hug. “Be careful, Sasha. Don’t be brave.”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Sasha’s focus was on her upcoming court appearances as she left class. She ran mindlessly, her attention on her arguments. Her pace felt good, fast, and easy. But when she tuned into her surroundings, she realized she was headed toward Point Breeze. Instead of continuing straight down the hill from Squirrel Hill into Shadyside, she’d apparently hung a right somewhere.
She slowed her pace, bemused at her wrong turn. At the corner, she jogged in place to read the street signs. She was two blocks from Martine Landry’s house. She checked her watch. It was almost seven-thirty. Close enough to a civilized hour in a household full of kids, she decided. She turned right and ran toward Martine’s street, trying to decide what she would say when she arrived.
Four houses down from the Landrys’ yellow brick two-story home, she slowed to a walk to catch her breath. At the end of Martine’s driveway, a boy of about ten stood, pulled slightly backward by the oversized backpack on his shoulders, with his head bent over a handheld game.
“Hi,” Sasha said loudly as she approached.
He raised his head. “Hi.” Then it was back to the game.
“Is this your house?” she asked.
He looked up again, curious now. “Yeah,” he said, taking in her running clothes.
“Is your mom home? I’m an attorney. I used to work at Prescott & Talbott, too,” Sasha said, giving him a smile.
“Oh,” he said, his tone conveying disappointment that she was just another boring old lawyer, “yeah, she’s in the kitchen, cleaning up breakfast. I’m waiting for the bus.”
“Thanks. Have a great day,” Sasha said.
He was already done with her, his thumbs flying over the controls on his device.
Sasha walked up the wide front stairs and crossed the porch. She pressed the bell and heard the chime sound deep within the house. She waited. She was raising her hand to ring the doorbell again when she saw a figure walking from the back of the house.
A pale, round face ringed by strawberry blond curls appeared in the window.
“May I help you?” Martine said, polite but cautious. She looked past Sasha to check that her son was still at the end of the walk.
Sasha had decided that a direct approach would be best. “I don’t know, but I think I can help you.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I’m Sasha McCandless,” she said, putting her foot up on the threshold to stop the door when Martine inevitably tried to shut it in her face.
Martine pushed the door forward to close it. It hit Sasha’s sneaker and stopped.
“I think you’re in danger. I have reason to believe that Ellen and Clarissa weren’t killed by their husbands,” Sasha continued.
“Of course you do,” Martine said in a harsh voice. “You represent them.” She pushed hard on the door, trying to force Sasha’s foot back so she could slam it shut.
“I think Richard Vickers killed them,” Sasha said in a rush.
“Who?” Martine said.
Sasha felt the pressure lessen on the other side of the door. “Jessa and Malcolm Vickers’s son. He goes by the name of Rich Moravian now. And he works for a divorce attorney named Andy Pulaski, who was representing both Ellen and Clarissa.” Sasha saw Martine’s eyes spark with recognition at the name.
Martine swung the door open. “I know, but, I’m not getting a divorce,” she said.
“Not yet,” Sasha said, “but you’re the last living member of The Terrific Trio, and I think you’re next on his list.”
Martine stared at her and pursed her lips, thinking. She looked back at her son, the sunlight reflecting off the top of his tousled hair as he played his game. “Come on in,” she said and stood to the side to let Sasha pass.
“He’s okay out there, right?” Martine asked, gesturing toward the boy. “His bus should be here in three or four minutes.”
“I don’t see why not,” Sasha said. “If Vickers follows his pattern, step one is going to catch your husband engaged in some behavior that’s a deal breaker in your relationship. He’s methodical.”
Martine laughed as she shut the door. “Well then I wish him all the luck in the world. Tanner’s a saint. Do you want a cup of coffee or something?”
“I have a personal policy to never refuse an offer of coffee,” Sasha said, following her to the kitchen.
“What makes you so sure Vickers killed them? I’ll grant you that it’s a pretty big coincidence that he works for that divorce attorney, but it could be just that: a big coincidence,” Martine said over her shoulder as she pulled a red ceramic mug out of a glass-fronted cabinet above her coffeemaker.
“It could be, but it’s not. Vickers figured out Nick and Greg’s weaknesses, set them up, and snapped pictures of them in the act. What I can’t work out is how he steered them to Pulaski,” Sasha said.
The mug landed on the counter with a bang. Martine turned to her wide-eyed. “I know how he did it. Clarissa told me that the day the pictures were delivered to the office, she ran into a messenger for Andy Pulaski in the lobby who gave her Pulaski’s card. She checked him out and he seemed like an aggressive attorney, so she called him and recommended him to Ellen.”
“They g
ot the pictures at work?” Sasha asked.
“That’s what Clarissa told me. Why?”
“Because those aren’t the only pictures that were delivered to the office,” Sasha said.
She was steeling herself to tell Martine about The Terrific Trio photos, when they heard the scream.
CHAPTER 55
Rich hadn’t been able to believe his eyes when he’d seen Sasha freaking McCandless walk up to the boy and start talking to him. Then, to make matters worse, she’d gone up to the front door, and a few moments later, Martine had let her in.
“Are you kidding me?” he mumbled aloud from his position in the bushes. Now what was he supposed to do? Over the weekend, he’d considered and rejected grabbing the kid and holding him somewhere, hoping to cause disharmony between his parents, maybe instigating a big, public fight. Or worst case, killing the kid and pinning it on Tanner. But he had to stay true to his father. And he knew his father would never have approved of that.
So, he’d decided to wait until the boy had gotten on his bus. Then he was going to put on his mask, force his way into Martine’s house, tie her up, and ransack it, telling her that Tanner owed him money for drugs. It was weak, he knew. But he hoped it would cause a rift. Then, he’d call from Andy’s office on a pretext about Ellen’s will. In a stroke of luck, Ellen had bequeathed some volume of legal books to her. Then ... then, his plan got fuzzy. He had to hope she’d be angry enough at her husband that he could lead her into a conversation about divorce or something. It was important to follow the pattern: problem in the marriage, divorce, murder.
Now, this McCandless wench was messing up everything. What was she in there telling Martine?
Rich could feel his panic rising in his chest. He had to get in there and stop her. He half-rose from his crouch. Cold metal touched his ear.
“Stay right there,” a husky female voice said from behind him.
The woman patted him down one-handed. Then she said, “Turn around, nice and slow.”
Rich turned. He faced an older woman with silver hair in a sleek bob. She wore a black pantsuit and held the gun with authority. He’d never seen her before.
9 More Killer Thrillers Page 51