Finlay Donovan Is Killing It

by Elle Cosimano

  Without a word, we shoveled all the dirt back into the grave and returned the shovels to the trunk, careful not to leave any traces of ourselves behind. When it was done, I got behind the wheel of Andrei’s car, and Vero followed me in the loaner to an overgrown field about a mile down the road, where we abandoned Andrei’s car and left his wallet in the glove box.

  On the way home, we stopped at Ramón’s garage, switched out the loaner for Vero’s Charger, and headed the rest of the way to South Riding in silence, too shocked and exhausted to speak.

  We reached the park just before sunrise. Vero pulled over, checking to make sure nobody was watching as I climbed into the trunk. With an apologetic smile, she slammed it shut, closing me inside.

  Curled up beside the shovels, I listened to her tires roll back onto the road. Her engine wound down to a soft purr as she slowed past Officer Roddy’s car, making sure he and Mrs. Haggerty both saw her return home alone.

  I rocked as the car swung into the driveway. It idled while the garage door groaned open. The car pulled forward a few feet, then the engine died. Through the walls of the car, the motor hummed as the garage door lowered again. Vero’s door slammed, her sneakers squeaking on the smooth concrete as she rounded the car. The trunk flew open to her weary, grime-coated smile as she reached in to help me climb out of the dark.

  CHAPTER 40

  Vero and I kept the news on, watching the changing headlines as the day waned into night. We had just tucked the kids into bed when the story broke.

  Six bodies, including the remains of Harris Mickler, reported missing by his wife nearly three weeks ago, have been found buried at the Rolling Green Sod and Tree Farm in Fauquier County. One of the bodies has been identified as suspected mob enforcer Andrei Borovkov. Detectives with both Fauquier and Fairfax County police say the killings appear to have been executions related to organized crime. While the owner of the farm claims he had no knowledge of the events before tonight and police say he is not a person of interest at this time, suspected mob boss Feliks Zhirov and an unnamed associate have been detained by police for questioning. More as this story develops.

  My phone buzzed. I fished it from the sofa cushions. Steven’s name flashed on the screen.

  “Finn? Are you and the kids okay?” He sounded frantic. I hated to admit it, but it was good to hear his voice.

  “We’re fine. I just saw the news. Are you all right?”

  “I think so. But they took Theresa in for questioning. I don’t know what’s happening.” I could hear the noises of the station in the background—walkie-talkies and buzzing doors, the booming voices of the officers ribbing one another in the halls. “Finn, I swear to god, I didn’t know about any of this.”

  “I believe you.” I hugged my knees. It was hard not to feel guilty for my part in all of it. But even if I hadn’t buried Harris and Andrei in my ex-husband’s field, there had been four other bodies hidden there, thanks to Feliks Zhirov. At least now they could be identified and properly laid to rest. “Do you think Theresa knew?”

  “Honestly, I don’t know. She swears she didn’t. But I don’t know what to believe anymore. I’m at the station right now. Your cop friend is here—Nick. He said I can stay until they’re done with her, but it might be a few hours before she’s released.”

  If she was released. If Nick or his boss believed Theresa had any inkling of what had been buried in that field, he’d book her and charge her as an accessory to the crimes.

  “Take whatever time you need,” I reassured him. “Vero and I will take care of the kids. Do you want me to ask Georgia if she can meet you at the station?”

  Steven released a shaky sigh. “That’d be … really great. Give the kids a kiss for me. I’ll call you tomorrow when I know more. And Finn,” he said, “I’m sorry. About all of this.”

  “It’s okay,” I said. “We’ll figure it out.” He disconnected.

  “Do you think Nick suspects anything?” Vero asked as I set down my phone. She curled on the other end of the couch in a pair of fuzzy slippers and warm pajamas, hugging a throw pillow. The news flickered on the muted TV. The headlines hadn’t changed much in the last few hours.

  “If he did, we’d already be in the back of a cruiser on our way to the station.” Patricia would be a fool to confess anything now. If she was smart, she would come out of the woodwork, claiming she had suspected the mob was involved in her husband’s disappearance and she’d gone into hiding, fearing for her life. She could provide eyewitness testimony of her husband’s connections to Feliks’s dirty business, collect Harris’s life insurance policy, and go on to live a long, happy life with Aaron and their three dogs.

  And Irina Borovkov was probably thrilled. Her husband was dead. Problem solved.

  “What happens to Theresa?” Vero asked, resting her chin on the pillow, looking as tired as I felt. I doubted either of us would sleep much that night.

  I tipped my head back against the couch, the events of last night finally catching up with me. “I guess that all depends on how much she knew. If she knowingly took bribes and allowed the mob to use the farm, she’s complicit in whatever crimes were buried there. If the police can prove it, she’ll probably go to jail.”

  “Would that be so bad?” Vero asked.

  I sighed. Maybe that thought should’ve given me some petty sense of satisfaction, that after all Theresa had done to our family, she’d gotten her just deserts. But I couldn’t make myself feel that way. Whoever Theresa had been to me, she was someone else to my children, and my heart hurt when I thought about what I would say to them if she ended up behind bars. I hoped, for her sake as well as theirs, that she’d had no idea what Feliks had truly wanted from her. And maybe part of me—the bigger part—hoped that for Steven, too.

  “I’m pretty sure Steven’s suffered enough.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Do you think he’ll come crawling back?”

  I shrugged. “He can ring the doorbell and see if I answer, just like everybody else.”

  CHAPTER 41

  Georgia showed up at my door the next morning with bags under her eyes and a box of glazed donuts under her arm. Apparently, she’d been at the station with Steven all night.

  I put on a pot of coffee as she filled me in. The DA had offered Theresa a plea bargain: everything she knew about Feliks and his operation—and her association with it—in exchange for a lesser charge. She probably wouldn’t keep her real estate license, but she’d never spend a night in prison. Theresa’s decision had been easy, and she’d stayed through the night giving her deposition.

  Georgia and I took our coffee and donuts into the living room. It would be easier to have this conversation side by side on the couch, rather than across a table. That way, I wouldn’t have to look her in the eyes. She sank into the cushion beside me, sipping her coffee as she shared what she knew around a mouthful of donut.

  According to what she’d read in Theresa’s statement, Feliks had hired Theresa to find a plot of land. He’d told her he only wanted a lease, and she was never made aware of its intended purpose, only that he needed to bury something for a short period of time. She had assumed he was hiding drugs, and claimed she would never have agreed to let Feliks use the farm if she had known he’d intended to hide bodies there. She’d agreed to let Feliks rent the fallow field for a few months in exchange for a large sum of cash, the first deposit of which Steven had found in her underwear drawer.

  Steven had assumed Theresa and Feliks were having an affair. And he hadn’t been wrong. Theresa did, in fact, have an alibi for her whereabouts the night Harris Mickler was murdered. She had been consummating her agreement with Feliks over champagne in the back of his limo at the sod farm, which was how Nick had come to discover the soil and sod caked in the limo’s undercarriage. According to the ME’s initial report, Harris was probably buried that night, the other four victims a few days after that, and Andrei Borovkov as recently as thirty-six hours ago. All but one had been shot at close range.
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  Harris’s death, Georgia explained, would take some time to sort out. But Feliks was expected to be charged with all six counts.

  I picked at the edge of my donut. “What does Nick think happened?”

  “The going theory is that Andrei was contracted to kill the first five victims for Feliks, and then Feliks had Andrei killed to cover his tracks. Andrei had been careless lately. Too many arrests and too many headlines made him a liability to Feliks’s operation. Feliks probably wanted him gone. So he used him for a few quick jobs, then buried him with the rest of the trash.

  “Nick’s guessing Feliks never planned to exhume and move the bodies. Most likely, he’d planned to just leave them there, assuming they’d never be found.” Georgia popped a huge chunk of donut into her mouth. Mine turned to a dry ball against my tongue.

  “What’s Feliks saying?” This was the sticky part. If Feliks admitted to killing the four unnamed men they’d found, but claimed he was innocent of Harris’s and Andrei’s murders, would the police believe him and open a new investigation? Or would they assume he was lying?

  “Feliks hasn’t made a statement yet. His lawyers are being cautious, taking time to come up with a game plan. With Theresa’s deposition and testimony, Feliks is going to have a hard time walking away from this. As far as Nick can tell, every victim in that hole had a direct connection to Feliks’s organization.”

  “What was Harris Mickler’s?”

  “Money laundering. Apparently, he was one hell of an accountant, but he must have done something to piss Feliks off.” Feliks must not have told them about the stolen key and his missing money. Why would he? It would only provide the police with a motive to use against him.

  “Did they ever find his wife?”

  Georgia snorted around her donut. “They tore that field apart last night and never found her. Ironically enough, she called into the station early this morning after seeing the news. She said she’d left town, afraid for her own safety because she suspected the mob might have been behind Harris’s death. She said she’d received a death threat at her house and she’d been too afraid to say anything to the police, because she didn’t believe they could protect her. OCN sent someone over to her house to check out her claim, and sure enough, they found a knife mark in her back door, exactly where she told them to look. Apparently, her story checks out. Once she saw Feliks had been arrested and Andrei was dead, she said she finally felt safe enough to come out of hiding.”

  “I bet she did.” Because now that Feliks had been set up to take the fall, she didn’t have to worry that I would rat her out.

  “And,” Georgia added, “she offered to turn over everything she knew about Harris’s laundering activities in exchange for immunity from any obstruction and withholding charges. She agreed to come in later today to give a statement and bring in Harris’s files.”

  “I’m glad she’s okay,” I said through a forced smile. Though I guess it was mostly true.

  “And get this,” Georgia said eagerly. “Andrei Borovkov’s wife offered her full cooperation with the police. She agreed to give a statement about her husband’s involvement with the mob. Her attorney worked out a deal with the prosecutors. Immunity for dishing dirt on Zhirov.”

  So, the whole thing wasn’t exactly neat, but I was guessing Irina was happy. As far as she was concerned, the job was done, and I could wash my hands of her.

  “Nick must be pleased with the way things turned out.”

  Georgia licked sugar from her fingers. “Nick’s on cloud nine,” she said with her mouth full. “Between Patricia Mickler’s testimony, Irina Borovkov’s statement, and Theresa’s depositions, he should have enough to shut down Feliks’s operation for a long, long time. Nick might even come away with a promotion after this one.”

  “So he’s not in trouble?”

  “What? Because of your book?” Georgia made a face. “Nah. He’ll get a slap on the wrist for too much pillow talk—”

  “It wasn’t pillow talk!” She raised an eyebrow, and I threw the rest of my donut at her. “It wasn’t like that! There were no pillows involved!”

  “Whatever.” She pulled my cruller from her lap and dusted it off. “Back seat of his car then.”

  “Front,” I corrected grudgingly. She smirked. “Is he still mad?”

  Georgia shrugged. “He’ll get over it. But if he does come back, I wouldn’t make it too easy for him. Make him work for it.”

  Mostly, when I’d imagined seeing Nick again, it involved an arrest warrant. All I could see when I pictured his face was the disappointment in his eyes after he’d tossed my wig-scarf at me.

  “How’s Steven holding up?” I asked, changing the subject.

  Georgia gave a slow shake of her head. “Not gonna lie. He was pretty torn up. Nick says he overheard Steven and Theresa arguing after her deposition. Steven told her he planned to move out. I’m guessing the engagement is off.” Georgia watched my reaction out of the corner of her eye. “If he asked, would you take him back?”

  “I’m not in the business of plea bargains,” I said, wiping the glaze from my hands. “I’m moving on with my life. Steven’s a big boy. He’ll be fine.”

  “Moving on, huh?” She raised an eyebrow. “You and Nick?”

  “No.” I rested my sock feet on the coffee table, crossing them at the ankles as I considered the possibilities. It felt good, to have possibilities. “No. Just me. Me and Vero and the kids. We’re going to be okay.” The bills were paid, my van was back, and there was a little wad of cash under the broccoli in the freezer. I was pretty sure I knew how my story was supposed to end.

  Georgia put her feet on the table, too. She leaned back and closed her eyes, wearing a contented smile. “Good. I guess I can finally stop worrying about you.”

  CHAPTER 42

  Picking up the mail wasn’t as daunting as it used to be. The box was usually empty now, with the exception of a few catalogs and coupon books, and the occasional insignificant bill. I crossed the lawn just before dark, hunched into my jacket, my hands jammed in my pockets against the cold as I dodged the paper skeletons hanging from the tree out front and the Styrofoam gravestones peppering my front yard. The air was redolent of chimney smoke and carved pumpkins, the misty night shimmering with the promise of Halloween.

  Crisp blades of frozen grass crackled underfoot, and I waved at Mrs. Haggerty’s kitchen window, certain she must be watching me. I didn’t mind her nosiness so much anymore.

  The hinge on the mailbox creaked as I fished out a short stack of envelopes. I thumbed through them mindlessly as I crossed the lawn back to my front door. Electric bill, water bill, internet and phone, the usual … I paused over a fat envelope from Steven’s attorney, which probably contained the new joint custody agreement he’d proposed this week.

  As I flipped to the next envelope, my feet jerked to a stop. The thin letter had no postage. No return address. Just my name written in stark bold letters across the front.

  I looked both ways down the street. No strange cars lined the sidewalk. No one was standing out on their lawn. Officer Roddy had been dismissed days ago, as soon as Feliks had been taken into custody, and I glanced back at Mrs. Haggerty’s window, wondering if she might remember who’d delivered it.

  The house felt overly warm as I dropped the bills on the side table and kicked the door shut behind me. The foyer was thick with the heavy smells of bubbling cheese and pasta sauce spilling over from the kitchen. I tore open the envelope, slowly unfolding the paper inside.

  PANERA. 10 A.M. TOMORROW.

  “What’s that?”

  I started as Vero peered over my shoulder. “You scared me half to death.”

  “A little jumpy?” Vero studied the note. “You think it’s Patricia Mickler?”

  “Who else could it be?” I shredded it as I carried it into the kitchen and stuffed the pieces down the garbage disposal.

  “You’re not gonna go?”

  “No. It’s over. I’d be happy if I never
saw Patricia Mickler ever again.” That was exactly how I felt about Irina Borovkov, too. I’d been dodging her calls for days. I didn’t want any more of her money. No matter how it might look to her, I wasn’t the one who’d killed her husband, so there was no reason for me to accept payment for it. As far as I was concerned, our business was over. I was ready to put this entire disastrous chapter of my life behind me.

  I cracked open the oven, relieved to see my lasagna boiling, the noodles at the edges a light golden brown. Vero reached around me to lift the foil, and I smacked her hand away.

  “It’s my turn to cook. This is your party.” I closed the oven and pulled down two glasses for wine. Vero had passed her accounting midterm exams, and tonight, the four of us were celebrating.

  Vero grumbled as she set the table. “Well, I might have a few things to say to the woman if I were you.”

  “Who? Patricia?” Oh, I wasn’t without things to say. I could go on for hours about her little disappearing act and what her boyfriend had pulled in my garage. I turned on the faucet and flipped the switch on the disposal, letting the last of Patricia Mickler and her crazy husband slide away as I washed the pots and pans I’d used to prepare dinner.

  The doorbell rang. It had only been a few days since the police had dug up Harris’s body, and Vero and I still held our breaths a little, every time. I turned off the disposal. Vero’s eyes met mine.

  “You expecting someone?” she asked.

  I shook my head. “Probably just Steven coming to talk about the new custody agreement. It came in the mail today.”

  Vero crept to the door. The lock snapped and the door swung open, letting in a rush of cold air.