Until the End (Volkov Bratva #2)(4)

Lauren had no idea what had become of Anya and frankly, she really didn’t care. Anya played her part in the destruction of not one, but two families and deserved whatever fate came to her.

She had been conflicted at first, feeling guilt over Viktor’s death and what Alex—Mishca’s sister—must have been going through, but that guilt soon turned to resentment and the longer it stewed inside of her, the less she felt bad about it all.

The only one Volkov that made her feel anything other than burning hatred was Mishca. With him, she felt…anger…betrayal…unequivocal shame…but the final part of her, the part that refused to go away, felt the love that had been building since the moment they had bumped into one another at the café.

“Miss. Thompson?”

Lauren was torn out of her thoughts by the two detectives entering the tiny room. She eyed them warily, searching for the signs she knew were coming. She was raised by a homicide detective after all and knew what to look for.

“Call me Lauren.”

The shortest of the two, with a receding hairline and beady eyes, smiled gratefully, like he had assumed she wasn’t going to cooperate. He took a seat at the table, his partner standing off by the door with his arms folded across his chest.

“I’m Detective Stifler,” the short one said. “Detective Baker. We just have a few questions for you.”

She nodded, matching his relaxed pose because she knew they were only questioning her about Viktor’s murder, which despite all Viktor had done, she wasn’t the one to kill him. “Okay.”

“Tell me, what was your relationship with Viktor Volkov.”

Lauren met his eyes, not showing fear. “We didn’t have a relationship. He was my boyfriend’s—ex-boyfriend’s—uncle.”

“Isn’t it true that you came in a few months ago*, claiming that Viktor Volkov was allegedly involved with…” He flipped through the folder on the table, reading from a sheet of paper inside that Lauren was sure he had already memorized. “…The murder of a Doctor Cameron Thompson? That’s your father correct?”

“Yes, that’s my father, but no I didn’t accuse him of it, Anatoly Stonosky did.”

With police, especially during interrogations, it was important to be literal, ensuring that words couldn’t be twisted and shaped to fit an alternate meaning.

“But you gave a statement saying you heard Viktor Volkov’s voice the night of the murder. Is this true?”

“Yes.”

“And you learned that he was the one to kill your father?”

“I guessed.”

“You guessed?”

Lauren shrugged. “I was five, locked in a closet for I don’t know how long. My statement isn’t very reliable.”

That was another reason why she chose not to wait on the justice system to do something about it. There was no physical evidence connecting Viktor to the crime, nor were there any remaining witnesses. So maybe, no matter how she tried to deny it before, had wanted Viktor to die.

“And did you ever see Viktor after that day.”

Now they were venturing into dangerous territory. “Yes.”

“When was that exactly?”

“End of February, maybe March.”

“Can you be a little more specific?”

“Not really,” she said honestly.

“And where were you on the night of April twenty-fifth?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” asked Detective Baker joining in, sounding terribly disbelieving. Guess he was bad cop. “How can you not know?”

“Considering it’s May, don’t you think if I had a ready alibi, that might look suspicious?”

“But you do have an alibi for that night?” He reiterated.

“Do I need an alibi, detective?”

He looked annoyed with her word games, but she was begging truthful. She really didn’t know where she had been that night, and it wasn’t going to matter much because Amber had been gone from the apartment for the last two weeks. Which meant, Lauren had no one to corroborate her statement.

“I didn’t think I needed one,” she went on before he could respond. “Am I under arrest?”

“No. We’re just trying to get some answers.” Detective Stifler tried for a disarming smile, but Lauren read right through that. He leaned close, close enough that only she would be able to hear him.

“Let me tell you what I know, Lauren. I know you got involved with a known mobster. You might not have known what he was then, but there’s no reason for you to be protecting him now. You find out that his family is behind your father’s death, I can understand why you would be a little angry and might want to take the law into your own hands. A jury will understand that, and if you cooperate with us, I’ll put in a word for you with the DA.”

Lauren opened, her mouth, ready to tell him that she wanted a lawyer when the door was pushed open, a woman in an expensive beige suit stepping in, her heels clicking on the floor.

“This interrogation is over,” she said in a no-nonsense voice, carrying herself like she was used to her orders being followed. “Lauren, don’t say another word. Detectives, I have surveillance photos and a formal statement from the cab driver that picked up Lauren on her way home on the night in question.”