9 More Killer Thrillers

by Russell Blake

  “Two down, huh?”

  “Exactly, your honor,” Sasha said. “The women in these photographs are, from left to right, Ellen Mortenson, Clarissa Costopolous, and Martine Landry. The evidence is overwhelming that the same person killed Ms. Mortenson and Ms. Costopolous and that he intended to kill Ms. Landry.”

  The judge passed the folder to Diana Jeffries, who opened it and stared. Then she turned to the second photograph.

  Diana turned to Sasha and said through clenched teeth, “Where did you get these?”

  “I’ll be happy to have a witness come in and explain in open court, if the District Attorney’s Office insists on moving forward with this farce,” Sasha said, addressing the judge and not her adversary.

  The judge said, “Diana, don’t do this. If I have to dismiss these charges from the bench, it’s going to destroy your campaign. Obviously, Mr. Moravian or whoever he is realizes that copping to murder of an unborn child will sign his death warrant, so he concocted this ... story. But you don’t have the goods on Costopolous. Drop it now and save yourself. Build a case against this Moravian guy and nail his hide to the wall for killing that young woman and her baby.”

  For a long moment, the only sound was the white noise. Then the door from the hallway swung open and banged against the wall with a loud thud.

  Judge Foster glanced up and frowned. Sasha turned and saw a uniformed police officer standing in the doorway.

  “Can we help you, officer?” the judge asked, flipping off the white noise machine.

  The police officer looked young to Sasha. Possibly even younger than Judge Foster’s interns.

  She gripped her patrol cap with both hands and cleared her throat. “Yes, ma’am. I mean, your honor. I’m sorry to interrupt but I need to speak with the District Attorney, ma’am. Detective Gilbert sent me. It’s urgent,” she said. She stood ramrod straight and waited for an order.

  The Judge waved a hand at Diana. “Go talk to her, but make it quick.”

  “Yes, your honor.” Diana bobbed her head and hustled down the aisle to the waiting police officer.

  They whispered loudly for a few moments. Sasha could tell from the district attorney’s posture that she was growing irritated. Finally, she nodded and put up a hand to cut off the patrolwoman. Diana stormed back toward the bench, frustration flashing in her dark eyes.

  When the district attorney reached her spot next to Sasha, the judge flicked a switch and white noise filled the courtroom again.

  “Well?” Judge Foster demanded.

  “Well,” Diana said, smoothing her features into an approximation of a smile, “the murder weapon does not appear to be from Mr. Costopolous’s tool set.”

  Sasha hid her surprise.

  “Is that so?” the judge asked.

  Diana looked sideways at Sasha then nodded.

  “Yes. It seems Mr. Costopolous has a Craftsman Professional toolset, and the hammer found at the scene was a DeWalt. I am also told that the hammer found at the scene appeared to be brand new, save for its use in the attack.”

  The judge looked from Diana to Sasha and then back to Diana. “Ms. Jeffries, it’s time to make a decision. Fish or cut bait, as they say.”

  Diana Jeffries smiled a broad politician’s smile, but anger stained her cheeks beneath her freckles and she said, “In light of the totality of the evidence, the People will withdraw the charges against Mr. Costopolous.”

  “Go back to your tables,” the judge instructed, then she nodded to the bailiff.

  They returned to their seats as the sheriffs arrived with Nick. He’d aged over the weekend. His eyes were dull, his skin gray. Sasha felt a twinge of pain when she looked at him.

  Larry clasped him on the back. “Did they treat you okay, son?” He’d called his friend and had extracted a promise that Nick would be protected.

  “As well as could be expected, I guess,” Nick answered. His voice was like his eyes, lifeless and flat.

  Sasha leaned over. “It’s almost over, Nick,” she whispered close to his ear.

  He didn’t respond.

  The judge moved her microphone close and said, “Good morning, Mr. Costopolous.”

  “Uh, good morning, your honor.”

  “Ms. Jeffries?” The judge said.

  Diana stood. Sasha saw her chest rise as she inhaled deeply, perhaps thinking about the upcoming election. She exhaled slowly, then she said, “May it please the court, the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania moves to drop the charges against Mr. Costopolous in light of new evidence that has come to the attention of my office.”

  A murmur of surprise shot through the audience.

  Nick grabbed Sasha’s arm. “Is she serious?”

  “Yes,” Sasha answered, removing his hand and patting it.

  “What new evidence?” he asked.

  “They found the man who killed Ellen and your wife. He grabbed Martine Landry’s son this morning,” she whispered.

  “What? How?”

  “I’ll fill you in later.” Sasha turned her attention back to the judge.

  “Mr. Costopolous, the charges against you are dismissed. Sir, you are free to go,” Judge Foster said, giving Nick a warm, genuine smile.

  Diana started to pack up her bag. Her assistant cornered Larry. Sasha heard him promise that he’d send papers over before lunchtime dropping both the motion to revoke Greg’s bail and the charges against Greg.

  They were done. She had two free clients, and a killer was in custody.

  “That’s it?” Nick said.

  “That’s it,” she answered.

  CHAPTER 58

  Still flushed with the excitement and adrenaline that came with victory, Sasha wandered around her office, straightening stacks of paper and otherwise wasting time until Maisy showed up for the promised exclusive.

  She picked up the phone, thought about calling Connelly, then dismissed the idea. What would she say? How’s the house-hunting? By the way, I caught a killer, saved a woman’s life, and got my clients’ murder charges dismissed; wish you were here to celebrate with me?

  She was returning the phone to her desk, when Naya walked in, a bounce in her step and a bottle of champagne in her hands. She noted Sasha’s hand, still on the phone.

  “Did you call Connelly?” she asked.

  “What? No. Why?”

  “What do you mean, why? Sasha, call him.”

  Sasha jerked her head toward the bottle and changed the subject. “Where’d that come from?”

  “Prescott & Talbott,” Naya answered, placing it on the conference table and giving Sasha a long look.

  “Are you serious?” Sasha couldn’t believe the balls on Cinco.

  “Well, Will Volmer, specifically,” Naya clarified.

  That was less creepy. Will had already left her a message congratulating her and letting her know he’d do what he could to protect Caroline. Sam had also left a message. As had Detective Gilbert. She supposed she should start returning them.

  Larry came through the door with Nick and Greg in his wake. “Look what I found on my way in.”

  Greg shook Sasha’s hand. “Thank you. From my heart, Sasha, thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” she said.

  Nick enveloped her in a tight hug. He’d showered and smelled like cologne. “Thank you,” he murmured into her hair.

  She freed herself and tugged her jacket down. “And you’re welcome, too.”

  “We came to invite you to my place for a sort of combined wake and celebration. We’re going to remember our wives and give thanks for our freedom,” Nick said. “Will you join us? All of you?” he said, including Naya and Larry with a wide smile.

  “Sure,” Naya shrugged.

  “One drink to toast freedom, of course,” Larry said.

  “I have a meeting in a few minutes,” Sasha said, “but maybe I’ll catch up with you after.”

  “Please do,” Nick said.

  “Let me grab my purse. I’ll meet you guys downstairs,” Naya said an
d walked over to her office.

  The men trooped out of the office, Larry in the lead, waxing poetic on freedom and the criminal justice system.

  Naya popped her head back in. “You are coming, right, Mac?”

  “I’ll try,” she said.

  “Call Connelly,” Naya said and withdrew her head before Sasha could respond.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  The empty offices were too quiet, and Sasha was too fidgety to stay there alone until Maisy arrived. The glow from the win had worn off and something was nagging at her, tugging on the back of her brain.

  So, she headed downstairs for a wholly unnecessary cup of coffee.

  Ocean and Kathryn were huddled by the cappuccino machine, giggling and whispering. She walked over to the counter.

  “Hi, Sasha,” Kathryn said, unable to hide her grin.

  “What’s so funny?” Sasha asked.

  “Nothing.” More giggles.

  Ocean burst out laughing, “Kathryn just saw her crush.”

  Sasha looked around. The shop was empty.

  “A customer?”

  “Not one of ours. Yours.” Ocean said.

  Kathryn poured Sasha a coffee and said, “A client, I guess. He was with Naya and Larry and some other dude. He’s old. But he’s cute in a swarthy way.”

  The girls dissolved into more laughter. Sasha realized they were talking about Nick and shook her head.

  “Thanks for the coffee,” she said, turning to leave.

  Kathryn elbowed Ocean, and they pulled themselves together. “Don’t be mad,” Kathryn said, “I would never hit on one of your clients; he’s just so smoldering.”

  “I’m not mad, but he’s way too old for you. And, he’s a widower. They both are,” Sasha said, in case the girls didn’t follow the local news.

  Ocean gasped. “Like, they had wives? And now they’re dead?”

  “Just like that,” Sasha said.

  “Oh, that’s so sad,” Kathryn said. “Especially for the cute one.”

  Ocean turned to her friend and said, “You know he’s not that cute, Kath. And he’s kind of creepy.”

  Kathryn rolled her eyes.

  “Well, he creeped me out,” Ocean insisted.

  Sasha was curious. “What did he do that creeped you out, Ocean?”

  Ocean hesitated, then she said, “I mean, it wasn’t a big deal. It was just kinda odd. One day last week, the sink in the back was leaking, so Jake sent me over to Home Depot to get some washers right after the lunch rush died down, you know?”

  “Sure.”

  “Well, that store is just totally confusing. So, I wandered around and finally ended up at the tool area in the middle. I was just gonna ask someone. The guy was busy with a customer. It was your guy. The cute one. Anyway, this Home Depot guy was trying to help him pick out a hammer, going on and on about, um, DeWalt, I think it was, and how it was such a great brand, but cute guy did not want any help. So, finally he grabbed a hammer off the pegboard then stalked away. Creepy,” Ocean finished with a dramatic eye roll.

  Sasha’s stomach roiled.

  “You okay?” Kathryn asked. “You look ... green.”

  “Yeah, I’m fine. Ocean, can you remember what day it was? It’s really important,” Sasha said. She put down her coffee and gripped the edge of the counter with both hands, willing herself not to vomit.

  “Uhm,” Ocean thought, “it had to be Tuesday.”

  “You’re sure?” Sasha said.

  “Positive sure.”

  On Tuesday, two days before his wife’s murder, Nick had purchased a DeWalt hammer, the same brand that had been used to kill his wife, even though he claimed to have not needed a hammer that day and to have not known his had gone missing.

  “Do me a favor,” Sasha said.

  “Sure,” they said in unison.

  “A woman named Maisy Farley is going to come in looking for me. She’s a very pretty blonde with a Southern accent. Please tell her an urgent personal matter come up and I had to leave. Will you do that?”

  “Uh-huh,” Ocean said.

  “Got it,” Kathryn added.

  Sasha could barely hear them over the blood rushing in her ears. She smiled a weak thank you and left. In the hallway, she took deep, gulping breaths, but it felt as if her throat were blocked. She tripped up the stairs and locked up the office. She put her head down and walked out to her car as quickly as she could on shaking legs. She had to get home.

  Rich Moravian might have stolen Nick’s hammer, but Nick had dealt the blows that had stolen Clarissa’s life.

  Epilogue

  On the twelfth day after Sasha learned that Nick Costopolous had played her for a fool, she came home from work and changed out of her suit. She pulled on her yoga pants, and they promptly puddled into a heap around her ankles.

  A quick inspection in the bathroom mirror revealed that her rib cage was visible in both her chest and her back. Although her appetite had disappeared twelve days earlier, replaced by a persistent nausea and low-level panic, she decided it was time to eat a meal.

  Sasha wondered if the recipes Connelly had left for her included his white chicken chili or the country-style mushroom and lentil stew that made her think she was at a chateau in Bordeaux every time she smelled it. She wasn’t certain he’d deem either dish appropriate for her skill level, but if she had to eat, she wanted homemade comfort food—something warm and filling—and she had no desire to visit her parents.

  So, the only option was to make it herself. Preferably with ingredients she already had on hand, which was going to add to the difficulty level, considering she hadn’t been to Trader Joe’s since she realized that she’d freed a murderer. Buying groceries had seemed frivolous and somehow indulgent, despite Larry’s daily call to remind her that she had simply being doing her job.

  She fired up her laptop and queued her music play list. Train filled her kitchen, singing soulfully but soothingly, while she dug out her striped apron and twisted the cap off a beer. Tackling a meal was exactly what she needed to take her mind off the mess she’d created.

  She pulled the recipe box down from its spot on the pot rack. The box, with its country kitchen motif, was wildly out of place in her sleek kitchen of polished bronze and recycled glass. But it had earned its prominent spot: back in the spring, the secretary to a murdered judge had used the box to conceal a mini-cassette that the judge’s killer had desperately wanted to get her hands on. So, the recipe box had stayed, and Connelly had gradually filled it with detailed recipes he’d written specifically to be Sasha-proof.

  She carried the cardboard box and her Yuengling over to the island. Something rattled around inside the box. She leaned against the island and, as Train sang to her about that one night and promised it wasn’t a drive by, she put down her beer and opened the box.

  In the front was a recipe card with a hole punched in the top left corner. She removed the card. A piece of kitchen twine was threaded through the hole and the dazzling ruby ring Connelly had tried to give her their last night together dangled from the twine.

  She stared at the deep red stone for a few seconds before she took a pull on her beer and read the card. In his messy scrawl, Connelly had written “A Starter. Serves Two. Ingredients: You. Me. Telephone. Directions: Pick up the phone. Call me.”

  Author’s Note

  I’ve heard from lots of readers about this book’s ending. Some people seem surprised to learn that Pennsylvania’s Rules of Conduct (the ethical rules governing lawyer conduct) really would prevent a lawyer in Sasha’s position from reporting what she learned to the authorities. I know! Other people want to know whether Sasha and Leo are going to get back together. Well, I’m happy to report that Lovers and Madmen, a bonus novella set after the next full length-novel in this series provides a little closure regarding both the ethical issue and the personal one.

  THANK YOU

  Thank you for reading Irretrievably Broken! I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. If you
want to pick up the rest of the books in this series, you can find them here: The Sasha McCandless Legal Thriller Series

  Sign up. To be the first to know when I have a new release, sign up for my email newsletter here. I only send emails when I have book news—I promise.

  Review it. Please consider posting a short review. Honest reader reviews help others decide whether they’ll enjoy a book.

  Connect with me. I’d love to hear from you! You can email me at melissa@melissafmiller.com or stop by my Facebook page for updates, cover reveals, and general time-wasting.

  About the Author

  Melissa F. Miller is a commercial litigator. She has practiced in the offices of international law firms in Pittsburgh, PA and Washington, D.C. She and her husband now practice law together in their two-person firm in South Central Pennsylvania, where they live with their three young children. When not in court or on the playground, Melissa writes crime fiction. Like Sasha McCandless, she drinks entirely too much coffee; unlike Sasha, she cannot kill you with her bare hands.

  Go back to the Features Index

  Go back to The Blurbs

  Never Go Home

  L.T. Ryan

  (Jack Noble)

  Copyright © 2013

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be copied, reproduced in any format, by any means, electronic or otherwise, without prior consent from the copyright owner and publisher of this book. This is a work of fiction. All characters, names, places and events are the product of the author's imagination or used fictitiously.

  Chapter 1

  The woman emerged from a pack of pedestrians. They parted as she passed. They stared at her in awe. I imagined them asking each other, “Who is that woman?” She drew attention in part because of her beauty. In part due to her confidence.

  Surrounding her were six men.

  Dressed in black.