by Frank Perry
Karina Chuikov and her mother. As you know well, Karina was murdered in this county on the defendant’s order.”
Before Jelavich could answer, his attorney spoke, “That’s only hearsay, you can’t prove anything by that.”
The prosecutor entered the conversation, “Oh I don’t know about that. I think a jury would find Dr. Evanoff quite believable. He has very strong credentials and personal references from Boston University. As you know, BU is a first rate institution, right up there with U of M. Oh, and we should also mention that Karina Chuikov’s mother has given a video deposition; nothing like a grieving mother to appeal to the jury.”
Milton looked concerned, which was unusual for the seasoned defender of scum. Jelavich was seething, regretting having let the older woman live. The attorney composed himself, “This is all very interesting, but I hardly think it’s convincing enough for a murder conviction.
The prosecutor continued, “Then let me introduce Mr. Rack Angelis.” He’d been standing, amused, beside Evan. “Mr. Angelis has an unusual profession, he kills people for money. His longest-term employer is your client (pointing to Jelavich).”
Gregor turned bright red, yelling, “I do not know this man. I have never seen or heard of him before.”
The prosecutor continued, “That’s not quite true. You see, Mr. Angelis has an extensive library of emails from his clients, all the way back to when he was in college. Back then, you weren’t careful about hiding your true address, even when using your codename. You see, Mr. Jelavich, he has known your identity for almost ten years, and is willing to testify for some immunity that we have granted to him. He has many interesting stories to tell, including the author killed in Denver and the two people shot here in Jackson County, one of whom died. You have known Mr. Angelis as “Odd Job.” He has all your messages carefully stored away, and now we have them.”
It hadn’t been difficult to locate Rack after the attempt on Evan’s life. He stayed in the area at a small motel, waiting for confirmation that Evan had died. This was a very tightly coordinated community, but also a community accustomed to being watchful with a maximum security prison nearby. The police had circulated his description and he was recognized immediately after checking in, despite his common appearance. Jim Olander identified him in lineup, and they had fingerprints matching his on a chair from room 310 at the hospital. It wasn’t long before a deal to testify against Jelavich was reached. He would plead guilty to involuntary manslaughter for Karina and charges would be dropped for shooting Evan. They promised to advise the Littleton, Colorado, Police of his cooperation in nailing a Russian mafia kingpin who ordered her killing.
Jelavich was seething. He knew he could beat the charges in Russia, he controlled the law there, but not so in America. He had first argued with his attorney to make a case for extradition back to Russia for some minor crimes he could admit, but there was no extradition in a capital case. He would ultimately be charged with first degree murder in Michigan and Colorado. The federal case would wait until those trials were settled. He would be in the court systems for years, even after beginning life terms without parole.
Resolution
She rolled over in bed and kissed him on the back of his neck, wrapping her warm body around his, skin to skin. He pretended to sleep and she kissed him again before he said, “Once more.”
She laughed and pushed him to get him moving. It was Jim’s day off, and he was sleeping in after a vigorous night of lovemaking, lasting into the early morning. She pushed harder, “We need to pick up Sibley and Jason and meet with Whit Fiske at ten o’clock.”
He moaned, “Why do I need to go? Let me sleep.” He grabbed the pillow and rolled on his side. Moments later, after she’d slipped out; he leapt upright as a dribble of ice water hit his ear. He wrapped his long arms around her naked thighs and pulled her to him, “Oh, I was having this perfect dream chasing you, just like this, down some deserted beach.”
She smiled, “That’s a re-run pal; you need to broaden your subconscious library.”
Kiki had resigned her position in New Hampshire and moved back to Michigan after Jim proposed. She’d never been really needed in Tranquility, Wilson and Sherry could handle it fine. Wilson just needed to be prodded, and Sherry was an expert. Chad would continue at UNH without worrying about tuition from his out-of-state mother.
This day, her family would meet with the attorney to finalize the title to the farm and the family trust. Sibley would finally move back home. She admitted loving the old farm as a child and wanted it to recover. Kiki and Jason would be joint trustees of everything when she passed away, hopefully no time soon. Jason bought a house nearby and proposed to his long-time girlfriend. He would manage the farm under salary and hire workers, as needed. The farm equipment was being replaced and there was already a new tractor with chemical sprayer and Brushwacker mower. The proceeds from selling the Army boxes to the White Russian Prince went into the trust to pay for all bills against the property, including Whit Fiske, with the remainder in trust for both of Sibley’s children.
Kiki and Jim were planning to be married in the spring, probably in some small destination ceremony that hadn’t been agreed upon yet. Jim wanted to wait until the trial was over before planning anything definite. It was scheduled to start in another two weeks. The defense had asked for a delay, but couldn’t convince the judge that there was an overwhelming amount of research needed. In the meantime, Jelavich was held without bail in the county jail.
After Prince Peter Mikhailovich was murdered, along with his son and brother-in-law, nobody claimed the Army boxes, so it was auctioned by the Federal Government as abandoned property. It was sold in lots of ten to fifty boxes to museums and surplus businesses, bringing in less than ten thousand dollars overall. Kolchak’s secret died with him.
*** End ***
About the Author
Frank lives with his wife near the seacoast of New Hampshire, enjoying the ocean breeze in summers and solitude in winters. He spent his career with technical companies doing business around the globe, writing countless articles and proposals. Today, he enjoys the freedom to write fiction, unconstrained by facts, while overlooking a small apple orchard. His fiction is laced with tidbits of his experiences and acquaintances where all authors must draw their inspiration. Contact him at: [email protected]
