Sasha McCandless 03 - Irretrievably Broken (16 page)

Sasha waited a beat before she answered.

“Connelly, I can’t think about this now. I have a client accused of murdering his wife. Please tell me you understand.”  She searched his eyes.

Connelly nodded. “Sure. No problem.” His face was blank.

“Connelly, please.”  She reached out and took the ring, turning it between her fingers. “It’s stunning.”

“Try it on,” he urged.

“Let’s wait until we can talk, okay?  We need to figure out what we’re doing first, don’t you think?”  She handed the ring back to him, and he returned it to the box.

He nodded again. “You’re right.”  He snapped the box shut.

“You know I love you, too, right?” she said.

“I know.”

She stretched on to her tiptoes and kissed him. He accepted the kiss, but Sasha could tell by the rigid way he stood that she’d hurt him. She felt a pang of guilt, but she couldn’t ignore her obligation to Nick.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” she promised.

They walked hand-in-hand down the stairs to the foyer. At the bottom of the stairs, he peeled off and headed for the kitchen.

“What are you doing?” she asked, as she wound a fringed scarf around her neck.

Connelly looked up from the cutting board. “I’m going to finish making these short ribs. All you’ll have to do this weekend is reheat them.  That way I won’t have to worry that you’re eating peanut butter straight from the jar.”

“
Once
. I did that
one time
.”

She’d returned from a double sparring session and a six-mile run and had felt woozy and faint. A quick hit of protein had perked her up, but, of course, she’d timed it to coincide with Connelly’s unannounced arrival.

Even on her way out the door to tell Nick that he was likely going to spend the night in jail, and even with the ring and Connelly’s new job buzzing around in her brain, she laughed at the memory of the look of pure horror on Connelly’s face when he’d caught her with a jar of peanut butter in one hand and a spoon in her mouth.

CHAPTER 30

As she rushed to her car, Sasha tried Greg’s cell phone first. Five rings. No answer. Then, she tried Nick’s, even though she’d insisted that he keep it turned off. She was relieved when her call went straight to voicemail. She left no message.

On the short drive to Greg’s house, she tried to reach Larry but wasn’t surprised when no one answered there, either. Larry and Bertie were up before the sun rose, but they retired not long after it set. It was well past their bedtime.

She pulled up in front of the house and was pleased to see lights on in the living room but no sign of Nick’s truck. He must’ve had the sense to put it in the garage. She parked in the dead center of the driveway, effectively blocking the road, just in case her client got any ideas about fleeing.

Sasha killed the engine and scrolled through her phone’s address book. She cleared her mind of everything not related to Nick Costopolous. She’d deal with her exploding personal life later. Right now, she needed to talk to someone who could explain the process of surrendering to the police. And fast.

Will picked up on the first ring.

“Hello, Sasha.”

“Hi, Will. I’m sorry to bother you so late,” she said, even though she wasn’t sorry at all and they both knew it. Taking a business call at home late at night might not be fun, but it was part of being an attorney.

“It’s no bother at all,” Will lied. “What can I do for you?”

Sasha skipped the niceties. “I’m representing Nick Costopolous.”

“Clarissa’s husband?”

“Right.”

“For what?” Will asked.

“He’s about to be charged with her murder, Will.”  Sasha tried hard to keep her impatience out of her voice.

“I see.”

“Will the firm post his bond?”

“Oh. I don’t know ... I mean, I presume so. I’ll have to check with Cinco, though.”

Sasha exhaled loud enough for him to hear. “Is Cinco the head of the criminal defense practice or are you?”

“Now, you know that’s not how it works.”

She did know. And she felt momentarily chastised for trying to goad him.

“Can you find out, please?  I have—” she paused to check the time, “—about an hour to show up at police headquarters with Nick. It’d be nice to know before we walk in.”

“He’s turning himself in?”  Will’s view of the wisdom of this decision was evident.

“He doesn’t really have a choice. He pulled a disappearing act. They’ve been looking for him all day and
someone
told them I was his attorney.”

“It wasn’t me, if that’s what you’re insinuating, as I had no earthly idea that you were representing him. And, as a friend, Sasha, I’m not sure it’s a good idea. I don’t mean to denigrate your ability in any way, but you’ve never handled a criminal matter before, and now you’ve taken on two high-profile murder defenses?”

“I not only appreciate your concern, Will, I share it; that’s why I’ve asked Larry Steinfeld to assist me.”

The relief in Will’s voice was palpable. “That’s an excellent idea. Larry’s a seasoned veteran and a very sharp man. Please give him my regards.”

“I will. Will you call me on this number after you talk to Cinco?”

“Of course.”

“Please point out to him that this second gruesome murder actually supports his theory that someone is out to get Prescott.” 

The brief silence that followed made clear that Will understood Cinco’s strengths as a manager were balanced by some fairly significant shortcomings as a legal strategist. After a moment, he said, “Certainly.”

“Thanks.”

She depressed the button to end the call and stepped out of the car. The night air was cool, and gauzy clouds hung across the moon. She tossed the phone in her bag and hurried up the walkway to the porch.

She pressed the doorbell and heard the long chimes echo through the house. She waited but didn’t hear footsteps approaching the door. She jabbed the bell again. Waited again. Still nothing.

She rapped hard on the door. Another moment passed.

She had her fist raised to pound again, when she heard shuffling and murmuring on the other side.

Greg’s pale face filled the glass in the top of the door. Sasha waved and smiled up at him. He didn’t smile back, but the deadbolt slid out of place, and the door swung inward.

He stopped the door mid-swing. He didn’t invite her in, but stood in the doorway with his left arm braced against the doorframe, and a foot jammed against the door. In his right hand, he held one of his dirty tumblers, mostly full of what looked to be scotch. Over his shoulder, Sasha could see Nick leaning against the wall, his fingers wrapped loosely around the stem of a martini glass; he swayed, and the liquid inside sloshed from side to side as if he were on a boat.

“Sasha,” Greg said, over-enunciating in his effort not to slur. “What are you doing here?”

Great. They were drunk.

Her first instinct was to push her way in and chew them out for getting plastered. But that course of action, as satisfying as it would be, was unlikely to result in her showing up at the police station in less than an hour with a reasonably cooperative Nick in tow. Instead, she pasted a concerned look on her face.

“I just wanted to check on you guys,” she said, ducking under Greg’s arm and slipping into the house before he could object.

He pushed the door closed behind her and rested his forehead against the heavy wood. Sasha walked over to Nick and swept the martini glass out of his hand.

“Hey!” he protested, swinging his arms after her.

She continued straight to the back of the house and surveyed the open kitchen. She poured the drink down the drain and set the glass in the sink.

Greg and Nick trailed in, grumbling in loud boozy whispers. She ignored them and turned her attention to a single-serve Keurig coffee maker beside the sink. She selected two packets of the strongest option from the cloth-lined basket of various coffees that sat on the counter and popped one into the machine. As the liquid started to stream into a pastel blue mug, she dug through the silverware drawer and found a spoon.

Uncomfortable in her own kitchen, Sasha was surprised to find herself bustling around an unfamiliar space, but she knew her best chance at ensuring compliance from her drunk clients was to keep moving. They would be slow to process what was happening. With any luck, she’d have Nick halfway out the door before he could object.

Sasha pointed to the square oak table. “Have a seat,” she directed.

Nick hurried over, tripped, and landed sprawled in a chair.

Greg narrowed his eyes and stayed where he was.

She put the first mug of coffee, along with the cream and sugar, on the table in front of Nick, who dutifully started to fix his coffee. She got the second mug started on the coffee machine and then walked over and stood close to Greg.

“Nick’s going to need your support in a few minutes. And I’m going to need your assistance. It’d be nice if you were in a position to be helpful,” she said in a low voice, looking up at him and holding out the mug of coffee.

Greg sighed but traded her his tumbler for the coffee.

“Thank you.”

He nodded. “You’re welcome.”

He joined Nick at the table, and his drink joined Nick’s down the drain. Sasha rinsed both glasses and then made a final mug of coffee for herself.  The only sound was the hissing coffee machine.

She joined the men at the table, carrying a cheerful red mug. Not until she’d taken a seat did she notice the words
I Got Lei-ed in Hawaii!
printed across the front. Judging by Greg’s snicker, it was printed on the other side as well.

“Nick, the police want you to come in and talk to them,” she said.

Anger sparked in his eyes, but he said, “Fine. I told you before, I don’t have anything to hide. Let’s go. The sooner they rule me out, the sooner they can catch the bastard who killed Clarissa.”

She put a hand on his arm to keep him in his chair and said, “They think
you’re
the bastard, Nick.”

He crumpled into himself. “They think I killed her?”

“Of course, they think you killed her. You’re the husband—the
estranged
husband, no less,” Greg said.

Sasha shot him a look that said
you’re providing the support, remember?

Greg dropped his eyes to the table, and when he spoke again the tightness and bitterness in his voice were gone. “But, just tell them the truth, Nick. It’s all you can do.”

Nick nodded slowly and looked at Sasha with large, sad eyes. Like a puppy.

“They just want to talk to me?” he asked, his voice betraying that he had not a shred of hope that was true.

“They’re probably going to arrest you and process you. I’ve reached out to Prescott to see if they want to post your bond, provided we can get a bond.”

Nick’s face turned gray.

“Before we go anywhere, though, you’re going to have a cup of coffee and a hot shower,” Sasha told him.

“Why?”

“Because you look and smell like you’ve been on a bender,” she explained.

Nick shrugged, a concession that it was true, and picked up the coffee.

Sasha turned back to Greg. “Have you two eaten anything?”

Greg squinted and bit his lip while he thought about it. “Not since lunch,” he said finally.

Just as she resigned herself to making them sandwiches or something, Greg pushed back his chair. “I’ll make some pasta. It’ll be done by the time Nick’s out of the shower.”

“Are you sure you’re up to it?” Sasha asked. She didn’t want to add dealing with a house fire to her evening’s activities.

Greg didn’t answer but walked with exaggerated care to the cabinet and pulled out a shiny, new-looking pot then filled it with water and set it on the cooktop. Sasha watched for a minute to satisfy herself he could stay on his feet, and then she turned her attention back to Nick.

“Go take a shower and shave. See if Greg has any clothes that will fit you. Nothing flashy. Just clean and unwrinkled.”

 “Okay,” Nick said, gulping his coffee.

“While you’re in the shower, I want you to think hard about your life with Clarissa. Is there anything you need to tell me?  Anything at all that the police could view as giving you a reason to kill Clarissa?”

Nick nodded. “I will,” he promised.

“Also, think about anyone who Clarissa might have talked to about her plans to divorce you. Family, maybe?  Or close friends?”

Nick shook his head. “Not her family. I would have heard about it. Our parents are old friends, from back in Greece. There’s no way she could have told her sisters or her mother that she was leaving me without my mom hearing about it. No way.”

He sounded sure, so Sasha accepted it. “Okay, then, friends?”

Greg was cutting up a sausage at the kitchen counter. Over his shoulder, he said, “Martine, Nick. If she told anyone, it was Ellen and Martine.”

“Martine Landry?” Sasha asked.

“Yes,” Nick confirmed, “Clarissa, Ellen, and Martine were really tight. They started at Prescott together.”

“The Terrific Trio, right?” Sasha said.

“Exactly,” Greg confirmed, as he passed by the table on his way to refrigerator. He selected a hunk of cheese and headed back to check on his pasta water.

“That’ll boil faster if you salt it,” Sasha offered, happy to share one of the few cooking tips she’d retained from Connelly’s lessons.

Greg didn’t acknowledge the comment, but he tossed a pinch of salt into the pot.

Sasha returned to the subject of Clarissa’s friends.

“Do you think she told Ellen or Martine?” she asked Nick.

He gave her a helpless look and spread his hands wide, “I honestly don’t know. She saw Ellen every day, practically. And it wouldn’t surprise me if she had confided in her. I mean, I know they talked about Ellen and Greg’s ...” he trailed off and nodded toward Greg’s back, then looked back at Sasha. “But the thing is, she really wasn’t unhappy. This divorce stuff came out of nowhere. We weren’t fighting. Everything was fine.”

Obviously not
, Sasha thought.