60. Anderson
60
ANDERSON
“ M r. Walsh, call your next witness.”
Tanner gives me a slight smile. “The prosecution calls Yuri Kravchenko, AKA Vittorio Mastriani, AKA Pierre Cassel, to the stand.”
Who?
The rear doors open, and my heart stutters in my chest as Moss walks in. He avoids eye contact, staring ahead with a determination that frightens other people. I see it on their faces. But I know what that determination means in Moss’ world.
He’s doing something he doesn’t want to do.
Betrayal is not a familiar feeling for me. I like Moss. Though, I suppose that should be past tense. But right now, I see a man bound by duty. He’s protecting someone. Or maybe he’s tired of being the bloody hand of rich men. But then, my pity dies as something clicks. He’s the one who told us about the video. Was that real or a trap? My gut sinks with that realization.
Turns out, when you hide a body with a friend, you should hide two bodies.
After he’s sworn in, Tanner asks, “Mr. Kravchenko, what moniker do most Bostonians know you by?”
“Moss.”
“That’s your business name?”
“Da.”
“And please state for the court what business that is.”
He clears his throat and leans to the microphone. “Break bones. Stab hands. Whatever it takes to make problem go away.”
Tanner paces as he speaks. “Let me remind you that you are under oath. Have you ever killed in the line of duty?”
“Da. Before I come to this country, I help many people—governments mostly—deal with their problems. I fix.”
“And you worked for Anderson West in this capacity?”
“Da.”
“Did you kill Neil Johnson?”
He stares down at his hands. “No.”
“Do you know who did?”
Moss’ face goes paler than usual. “Da.”
Tanner stands up tall, readying for a coup de gras. “Who murdered Neil Johnson, Mr. Kravchenko?”
Moss looks up at him. “No one.”
Gasps all around, and my gut winds tight. What is he trying to pull?
Tanner looks pissed. “What did you say?”
“Murder means intent. No one intended to kill Mr. Johnson. It was accident.”
The prosecution asks the judge, “Permission to treat Mr. Kravchenko as a hostile witness?”
“Granted.”
“Mr. Kravchenko, who killed Mr. Johnson?”
He rasps out, “Anderson West.”
Something in me hollows out.
“Tell us what happened the night Anderson West murdered Neil Johnson?—"
“Objection!” Dana shouts over the din.
Judge Ackerman slams his gavel a few times. “Order! I will have order in my court!” After people quiet down, he says, “Sustained! Mr. Walsh, one more slip like that, and you will find yourself in contempt!”
“Apologies, your honor,” he lies. Tanner looks at Moss. “Tell us what happened the night in question.”
“Anderson call me, says he wants to go haddock fishing?—"
“Please stick to the relevant parts of the night, Mr. Kravchenko.”
“This is relevant. Fishing is when you hide body.”
Tanner nods. “I see. Please go on.”
“I meet him to pick up the haddock—the body—at June’s apartment building lobby.”
There are more murmurs, but people keep it quieter this time. No one wants to be kicked out.
“What did you see when you arrived?”
Moss sits back. His voice goes quiet. “June’s neck was bruised, like when you strangle someone?—"
“Objection!” Dana blasts. “How does this witness know what that looks like?”
He simply says, “Because I’ve strangled people to death.”
Without another word, she sits down.
Tanner sneers. “Go on, Mr. Kravchenko.”
“It broke my heart to see her that way. Anderson … he had been in fight. Bloodied, bruised. Clothes torn.”
“And Mr. Johnson?”
“Dead on floor.”
“What condition was Mr. Johnson’s body in when you arrived?”
“Beaten. Bloody.” He shrugs.
Tanner asks, “What happened next?”
“I gave them tasks to hide evidence ...” He details everything we did that night.
I feel sick. I can’t believe he’s doing this to me. Some part of me wants to hang onto the idea that he’s a good guy in an impossible position. But I’m just a guy he knows. His former boss. I thought we had a bond. I took a bullet for the man. Shouldn’t that buy me some kind of loyalty? I feel like an idiot for thinking we were ever anything but employer and employee.
I was nothing but a job to him. This is one hell of a resignation letter.
Worst of all, Dad won’t let this go. But I can’t let him hurt Moss’ family. No matter how this betrayal stings, I won’t let Dad punish them.
Tanner Walsh glowers at Dana. “Your witness.” Then he sits, looking so pleased with himself that I half expect him to pour a congratulatory martini right here and now.
Dana’s words are clipped as she speaks. “Mr. Kravchenko, why are you testifying today?”
“I have no choice.”
“And why is that?”
“My van was caught on cameras that night. A man at the dock saw us carry the haddock out. Either I testify with full immunity, or I go to prison.” He bows his head, his tone apologetic. “I cannot go to prison ever again.”
I guess that’s something. I just hope it’s enough to stop Dad from retaliating against him and his family. For that matter, I wonder if Dad’s already texted someone to go after them. I have to intervene.
Moss betrayed me, but I won’t let his family pay the price.
“No further questions, Mr. Kravchenko.”
“You’re free to go,” Judge Ackerman says.
As Moss climbs down from the stand, he can’t bring himself to look at us. Can’t say I blame him. But Dad gets in his way. He doesn’t say a word. He just looks him in the eye. Then he steps aside, letting Moss pass.
I definitely have to talk to Dad. And soon.
Chapter Sixty-One-June
Once the front door is closed, the first words he says are, “Pizza. Extra everything, the works. Let’s be bad tonight.” But it turns out neither of us is that hungry. Once the pie arrives, we just pick at it. “I’m glad I got Dad under control before we left.”
“Do you really think he’d do something to Moss’ family?”
“Da.”
I shudder, hearing that. “Don’t sound like that traitor.”
“I don’t want to believe he’s a traitor, even now.”
“I know we’ve been married for, like, five minutes at this point, and over the decades to come, you’re going to get sick of me saying this, but I blame your father.”
He frowns. “For Neil?”
“No, genius, for you wanting to see the best in Moss!”
“Why, exactly?”
“I think your dad has programmed you to be too forgiving, even when someone betrays you.”
“My dad has never betrayed me.”
“Bullshit!” I can’t keep it in. The words just flow right out of me. “The first dirty job he sent you on, he sent you off against three armed men without giving you a gun or a clue! You could have died!”
Anderson takes my hand in his. “I’m beat. Can we go over Dad’s sins another time?” He asks that like we have a future ahead of us.
But I can’t pretend anymore. “What if there isn’t another time?”
He leaps to his feet and pulls me into his arms, but I can’t let him comfort me. I can’t breathe. The walls are closing in, and I push him back. He looks so hurt, but there’s nothing I can do.
I can’t even speak. The room is spinning. I yank my shirt over my head before jerking my pajama bottoms off and running to the bedroom. I throw myself onto the bed and breathe into my pillow to stop hyperventilating.
“June, talk to me!”
But I can’t. I look up at him, tears raining down my face, before burying myself into the pillow again.
His weight dips the bed next to me. “Do I need to call an ambulance?”
I shake my head no.
“Is it okay if I just lay here?”
I nod. It’s not okay, but I don’t want to hurt his feelings again. I force myself to put him out of my mind and focus only on my breathing. In. Out. Long in. Longer out. Nope. Not happening. I can barely hold still. I start hyperventilating, and I can’t stop.
“June, baby, we’re going to figure this out.”
The words shred their way out of my throat. “You can’t know that!”
“You’re right. But does that make you feel any better?”
“None of this makes me feel better! Moss is a piece of shit coward!”
“I won’t defend him. The betrayal … ” He gulps, trying to hold back his emotions. “I haven’t taken the stand yet, and honestly, him forcing the truth out might end up in our favor. He laid the groundwork for me to tell the truth from our point of view. I don’t think the jury will convict me.”
I stare at my beautiful husband. Even now, down and out and depleted from stress, he’s still the most handsome man I’ve ever seen. “You pretty idiot.”
He snorts a laugh. “Thanks.”
“Do you honestly think that a man will get away with killing someone just because he put his hands on a woman? Do you understand that happens all the fucking time with no one giving a shit?”
“I’m well aware, June. You’re not the only lawyer in the room.”
“Maybe not, but I don’t think you get it. You killed a man who was a smart, good-looking guy who worked hard, paid his taxes, and was friendly with the little old lady next door. You killed the perfect victim, Anderson.”
He shrugs. “Then, I will go to prison with a smile on my face, knowing you’re safe.”
My voice shatters at the words, “How can I be safe if you’re in prison?”
He pulls me to him, and I let him. The feel of his lips on mine is a comfort I didn’t know I needed. I hate that I must taste like tears right now. But I open to him when his tongue presses against me there. As he sweeps in, I let myself get carried away by the sensation of him. Anderson gently pushes me back onto the bed.
But everything inside of me seizes. The panic tries to come back, and if it does, I’ll lose it. I push him back. “I can’t do this. I don’t have it in me—I don’t think I’ve ever been this sad in my life.”
Quietly, he asks, “Can I hold you instead?”
I nod, and he spoons me, pulling the blanket over us. Anderson rubs my arm up and down like he doesn’t want to stop touching me.
“Do you really think there’s hope?”
“There’s always hope.” He answered too fast for my liking.
“I mean it. Don’t just say what I want to hear.”
My request gives him pause. “I want to believe there’s hope. I don’t know if that hope will pan out. But when it comes to you and me, I will always hold out hope for the best.”
“I don’t think I can do that.”
“How come?”
“Hope can betray you. I’d rather have luck.”
He huffs a laugh, blowing into my hair. “Yeah, we could use some luck.”
Out of nowhere, a memory comes to mind. In law school, one of my professors used to say that if a client is depending on luck for their outcome, then cut them as fast as possible. Luck puts people in prison.
I fall asleep, praying Professor Jenkins was wrong.