“Of course I’m mad at Shepherd!” I yelled, angrily gripping the steering wheel.
“May I ask why?”
I glanced sideways at Gilley, wondering if he was teasing me, but he had an earnest expression, which confused me. “Because he arrested an innocent man. Again!”
“Did he?” Gilley asked. I leveled a look at him, and he added, “I’m just playing devil’s advocate, Cat, because you know Shepherd’s going to give you the same argument.”
“Yes, he’s innocent,” I said firmly. “You met Aaron. Do you think he’d be capable of murder?”
“Cat, it’s been my experience that human beings are capable of anything. Even the nice ones can commit murder.”
I mulled that over for a few minutes. “No,” I said at last. “Yelena was stabbed to death. That method of murder requires a certain personality type, Gilley. Someone capable of snapping in absolute fury, and Aaron didn’t show any sign of that. If Yelena was the woman he was still pining for, then he must have been aware of her reputation—and her show—and yet when he came to see me, he was distraught not over what she might say about him from the stage but about not having her in his life. There was no hint of jealousy or anger over being made fun of. He simply wanted her back in his life.
“Plus, you didn’t hear the heartbreak in his voice when I called him earlier. He was destroyed, Gilley. Just absolutely, heart-breakingly destroyed. And it was obvious, even to you, when he picked up the line that he was distraught. How could he have faked that if he wasn’t crying before we called?”
Gilley nodded slowly. “That’s all true,” he said. “Great point.”
I smiled and squared my shoulders. I knew I was right. Aaron simply wasn’t a killer. I could feel it in my gut, and my sister always said that one should always trust one’s gut feelings.
Fifteen minutes later we pulled into a parking space right next to Marcus, who was just getting out of his car. He looked devilishly handsome in a tan suit with bright orange tie and cream-colored dress shirt. He lowered his sunglasses to mid-nose to stare at us over the rims after Gilley and I got out of the car, and I swear Gilley practically swooned with the cool silhouette Marcus cut.
“Catherine. Gilley,” he said with a nod.
“Hello, Marcus,” I said, adding a small wave.
“Hello, gorgeous,” Gilley said.
I eyed him sharply, but Marcus covered his mouth to hide a chuckle.
“I mean, he is gorgeous, right?” Gilley said to me.
“He’s quite handsome,” I agreed, joining in the banter.
“And that suit!” Gilley added, waving at Marcus’s duds. “Perfection!”
Marcus dropped his hand to give in to that chuckle, and I could tell he was pleased by the compliments. “Thanks, Gilley,” he said, running his fingers along his lapel. “It’s an art.”
We gathered in a half circle, and I made a sweeping motion toward the door. “Shall we?”
“Whoa, whoa,” Marcus said, holding up a hand to stop us. “What’s this ‘we’ business?”
“Cat wants to yell at her boyfriend,” Gilley said.
I glared at him, and he stared insolently back at me.
“No one’s going to yell at anybody, at least not until I find out what the facts are,” Marcus said.
“The facts are that Shepherd has once again arrested an innocent man,” I said.
“Do you know what evidence he might have against Nassau?” Marcus asked.
“Uh . . . no,” I said. “Whatever it is, it’s probably flimsy.”
“But you don’t know that for sure?”
“Well, no. I don’t.”
“Okay, listen, Catherine, I know you mean well, but if Nassau agrees to retain me to represent him, then your going in there to yell at Shepherd could jeopardize my case.”
I took up a stubborn stance with my hands on my hips. “How could that jeopardize your case?”
I wasn’t trying to be contrarian. I simply wanted to yell at my sweetheart.
“Well, for starters, say Shepherd engages you in an argument. And say he begins to question you about your client. Did you know about the relationship between Mr. Nassau and the deceased?”
I opened my mouth to answer, closed it for a moment to think, then said, “Well, yes. But not right away. He told us that he’d dated a woman who’d dumped him flat and he was distraught over it.”
Marcus nodded. “Uh-huh. When did he tell you this?”
“Um . . .” I said. “Yesterday.”
“Mm-hmm,” Marcus hummed. “So, the day of the murder, Mr. Nassau was agitated. Is that fair to say?”
“Upset,” I corrected. “He was upset.”
“I see. Thank you for that clarification. So, on the day of the murder, you saw Mr. Nassau upset at the fact that Ms. Galanis had broken up with him and was seeing other men? And that Mr. Nassau was very likely aware that Yelena Galanis had a hit show running at the local theater, where her material was comprised entirely of her dating escapades and likely featured Mr. Nassau as one of the unnamed twelve angry men. Do I have that correct, Ms. Cooper?”
I could see what he was doing from a mile away, and I hated that I’d been naïve enough to believe I could simply barge on over here, yell at Shepherd and, in doing that, assist Aaron in his situation. It was a ridiculous assumption, and one I was feeling very embarrassed for having.
“Marcus?” I said after a long, thoughtful pause.
“Yes?”
“Do give Mr. Nassau our best and tell him to reach out, should he wish to talk, once you’ve gotten the charges dismissed.”
“Let’s hope that’s as far as this gets,” Marcus said. “But I hear you. I’ll pass on the message.”
“Will you call us later with an update?” Gilley asked.
“Sure, but I’ll speak to you only about what the police have on Nassau, nothing about what he tells me.”
“Attorney-client privilege,” I said.
Marcus nodded.
“All right. Thank you, Marcus. We’ll look forward to your call.”
With that, I took Gilley by the elbow, and we left Marcus to his job.
Gilley and I drove in silence for much of the ride home, until finally he said, “So you’re really not going to ask Shepherd about what he was thinking arresting Aaron?”
“I can’t,” I said. “You heard Marcus. If I do, I could open Aaron to incrimination.”
“But what if Shepherd asks you?”
I shrugged. “He can ask all he wants, but I’m not going to tell him a thing unless he calls me in for an interview, and even then, I wouldn’t go without Marcus.” And then I looked at Gilley, knowing he had overheard my entire first meeting with Aaron. “You have to promise not to say anything, either.”
Gilley lifted a dainty pinky. “Pinky swear. And if he hauls me in, I’ll call Marcus to the rescue.”
“Good,” I said.
Gilley jumped at the sound of his phone ringing and pulled it out from his back pocket. After glancing at the display, he simply allowed the phone to continue to ring.
“Are you going to answer that?”
“Probably not,” Gilley said.
“Who is it?”
“Michel.”
I raised my brow in surprise. “Ah,” I said.
Gilley’s phone rang one more time and then stopped. He pocketed it again, and we drove the rest of the way home in silence.
* * *
Several hours later Gilley and I were just finishing up the dinner dishes when my phone rang. Thinking it was likely Shepherd, I was actually surprised to see that it was Marcus.
“Hello, Counselor. Calling with good news, I hope?”
“Afraid not, Catherine,” he said somberly.
“Tell me,” I said, grabbing Gilley’s arm to alert him that there was trouble.
Marcus sighed heavily. “Shepherd has some pretty damning evidence against Mr. Nassau.”
“Like what?”
“Like the m
urder weapon for one.”
“They found the knife?”
“It’s a letter opener with the Danish royal family crest on it, and although the handle was wiped mostly clean, EHPD was able to lift a partial thumbprint that matches Mr. Nassau’s.”
“Oh, dear,” I said, while Gilley’s brow furrowed as he looked at me.
“There’s also video footage from Ms. Galanis’s doorbell camera, showing Mr. Nassau arriving at her home shortly after she left for the theater yesterday. It was around five, which was a half hour after she left for the theater. The video shows him peeking into her windows and trying the door handle.”
“Oh, my,” I whispered.
What? Gilley mouthed. I could only shake my head and hold up a finger, telling him to wait.
“And there’s a recording on Ms. Galanis’s voice mail of Mr. Nassau telling her that he can’t stand to live without her, and he might do something drastic if she doesn’t take him back.”
“Oh, Aaron, what were you thinking?” I whispered.
“What? Cat, what? What was he thinking?” Gilley pleaded.
I didn’t answer him, because Marcus was continuing to talk.
“And, if that weren’t enough, Shepherd has video footage from a gas station two blocks from the theater where Aaron stopped to purchase a bottle of water just ten minutes before Yelena’s intermission break.”
I put a hand over my eyes. This was terrible. “Are you going to take the case?”
“Of course I’m going to take the case,” Marcus said. “And the first thing I’ll do is contact the Danish embassy to see if I can secure sovereign immunity for Mr. Nassau.”
“Sovereign immunity?” I repeated.
“Yes. Since he is a member of the Danish royal family, I might be able to get Mr. Nassau an exemption from prosecution of a criminal act. He’s already got it for civil acts, but I’d push for it, and if granted, he’d have to leave the country immediately, but at least he wouldn’t face a murder one charge.”
I took that in, struck by how much it felt like justice was being cheated in light of all the evidence that Marcus had just revealed to me. “But, Marcus . . . what if he’s guilty?”
Marcus didn’t answer me right away, and I felt in that moment before he spoke that he was weighing what he’d say against how I might view him. “It’s not my job to determine his guilt or innocence, Catherine. It’s my job to represent him legally and keep him out of jail—any way I can.”
“You’re right,” I said. I’d almost forgotten. Still, it didn’t sit well with me. “Thank you for filling me in, Marcus. I very much appreciate it.”
“Have a good night, Catherine,” he replied, and I swear I detected a note of relief in his voice.
When I got off the call with Marcus, I filled Gilley in.
“So, Aaron did murder Yelena?” Gilley said after I’d finished.
I thought about it for a long moment before I answered him. “What I can’t figure out is why Aaron would leave my office yesterday, so desperate for my help in getting him to move on from the love of his life, and then, within hours of that pained confession, commit premeditated murder.”
“I don’t know that I’m following you,” Gilley said.
“What I mean is, if you’re going to kill the woman who left you, the woman you’re clearly still so in love with, why would you set up an appointment with a life coach?”
“To cast doubt on your actions,” Gilley said. “Maybe Aaron knew you’d testify in court to his frame of mind a few hours beforehand.”
I nodded. “Agree. However, did anything about Aaron’s pained session with me yesterday strike you as false?”
It was Gilley’s turn to take a moment to consider that. Finally, he said, “If I’m being totally honest, Cat, no. Nothing about his manner or his story or his professed love for his ex seemed contrived. He genuinely looked and sounded heartbroken.”
“Exactly,” I said. “He sounded the same on the phone with me earlier. And he also said something that stuck out to me when I first asked why he was so upset.”
“What?”
“He said, ‘I take it you don’t read the papers.’”
“The papers? You mean newspapers?”
“Yes.”
“So, you think Aaron learned about Yelena’s murder through the newspaper.”
“Yes. He didn’t say, ‘Watch the news,’ Gil. He said, ‘Read.’ ”
“Why is that important?”
“Aaron sounded like he’d just learned of the news, but we know that Yelena’s murder was the lead story on all the local news programs both last night and this morning. So if he’d been faking, he would’ve said, ‘You don’t watch the news,’ not ‘Read the news.’ When we reached out to him today, he truly sounded like he’d just learned of Yelena’s death, which means he’d read about it when he opened up his paper today, and not before.”
Gilley nodded and pointed a finger at me. “It’s a subtle distinction that lends more to truth than to fakery,” he said.
“Exactly.”
Gilley and I were both silent for several moments while we each contemplated what we thought of Aaron’s guilt or innocence.
Finally, I said, “Say, Gil, what would you think about—”
“Yes,” he said, cutting me off.
I blinked. “You didn’t even let me get out my question.”
Gilley rolled his eyes. “Oh, please. You were about to ask me if we should poke around a bit into Yelena’s murder and do a little sleuthing of our own.”
I blinked again. “How did you know that was what I was going to ask?”
Gilley grinned and reached over to tap my temple. “Because I live inside your head.”
I laughed and knocked his hand away. “Whatever. Where should we start?”
“Probably with her act, don’t you think? We should figure out who the lovers were in Twelve Angry Men. That’d at least give us eleven other suspects to focus on.”
I snapped my fingers and pointed at him. “Exactly! Gilley, that’s exactly where we should start.” Tapping at my lip, I thought for a moment and said, “Tucker McAllen was Lover Number One, right?”
“That’s the general consensus,” Gilley said. “I think Joel Goldberg was Lover Number Four.”
My brow furrowed. “Lover Number Four. Remind me again, what were the clues?”
“The guy who introduced her to a girl’s best friend, and then she waggled that big tennis bracelet, remember?”
“Ah, yes. Now I remember, and didn’t Reese tell you that the rumor was that Goldberg was Lover Number Four?”
“He did. He heard it from a woman who said she’d seen Goldberg and Yelena canoodling at a café next door to one of his jewelry stores.”
Goldberg was a familiar name. His jewelry stores were very high end and dotted every town in the Hamptons.
“Thank God for your bat-like hearing,” I said. I hadn’t heard much other than murmurs during the show.
“Comes in handy,” Gilley said, moving over to the couch to plop down next to Spooks, who had just finished his bone treat and was busy licking his paws. As Gilley put his feet up on the ottoman, Spooks got up, turned around on the couch cushion, then settled himself with his big silver head in Gilley’s lap.
“Awww,” I said, moving over to sit next to the pair. “He knows he’s home.”
Gilley stroked one of the pup’s ears. “I hope so. I never, ever, ever want him to feel abandoned again.”
Pointing to the dog bed in front of the couch, I said, “So, you’ve given up on the rule of no dogs allowed on the furniture already?”
Gilley shrugged. “I still have the receipt. We can take the beds back to the Pet Palace tomorrow.”
I chuckled, then got serious again. “Okay, so do we know any of the other lovers?”
“By we, I’m assuming you mean me.”
“That’s what I like about you, Gil. You’re so perceptive.”
Gilley rolled his eyes but allowed
himself a playful grin. “I got the feeling that Lover Number Five was in the navy.”
“The ‘six gold stripes’ line?” I asked. Yelena had made a crack about Lover Number Five being cheap, saying that the only gold he paid for were the six gold stripes on his sleeve.
“Yeah,” Gilley said. “She also said he was a three-star guy in a two-star suit. The gold stripes mean length of service, if I’m not mistaken, and the stars indicate rank.”
“What would three stars make him?” I asked.
“Don’t know,” Gil said, then he pointed to his tablet, which was on the coffee table. “Would you mind?” he asked, indicating that if he bent forward to get it, he’d disturb Spooks.
I smirked but got up to retrieve the tablet and handed it to him. Gilley balanced the tablet on his lower thigh, cracked his knuckles, wiggled his fingers over the keyboard, and dove in. I waited patiently, stroking Spooks’s head and smiling when the dog sighed contentedly.
“Aha!” Gil said.
“You found out what rank three stars is?”
Gilley eyed me first in confusion, then in impatience. “No. I mean, yes. That’s the first thing I looked up, along with the stripes. Lover Number Five has at least twenty-four years in service, and he’s a vice admiral.”
“Wow. An admiral? Yelena dated a naval vice admiral?” I had no idea what a vice admiral did, but it sounded impressive.
“No, Yelena dated a Coast Guard vice admiral.”
“How do you know it’s the Coast Guard and not the navy?”
“Because I found out who she dated. The only vice admiral anywhere near the Hamptons is this guy . . .” Gilley swiveled his tablet around so that I could see the photograph of a very handsome man with chiseled features, black hair that was gray at the temples, and a big, beautiful smile. He was dressed in a dark blue uniform with six gold stripes on his sleeves and three gold stars near his shoulder.
“He’s pretty,” I said.
Gilley swiveled the tablet back toward himself. “Right?”
“Yeah. I can see why she’d be attracted to him.”
Gilley tapped the corner of his tablet and said, “Meet Vice Admiral Liam Leahy. He has a place on Shelter Island.”
Shelter Island was to our north. It was a medium-sized island for these parts, sandwiched between Sag Harbor and Greenport—the two end prongs of Long Island.
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