The Perfect Murder (12 page)

"Average. Five foot nine, hundred and seventy-five pounds. Irish 89

background. Red hair. Blue eyes. Why?"

"Just curious."

She might be seeing him in a few minutes. Until then, Sebastian had a picture he could show her. Leaning across the seat, he opened the jockey box and fished around inside, eventually coming up with the photograph he'd been using in his search. "That's him," he said, handing it to her. "Emily and Colton, too. It's what they sent in their last Christmas card."

She studied the photograph.

"So?" he prompted. "Have you ever seen him before?"

"No."

"Is he what you expected?"

"Not really. He's losing his hair."

"You can tell in
that
picture?" he asked, surprised.

"I used to be a hairstylist." She held the photograph closer. "He seems to have a nice physique, though."

"Classic short man's complex, trying to compensate with muscle mass for what he lacks in height."

She didn't respond to his comment. "Emily is beautiful."

Bitterness overwhelmed him.
"Was
beautiful," he corrected.

Jane hadn't said anything about Colton, but Sebastian guessed she was studying the similarities between them. His son had looked so much like him, except he'd had his mother's light-colored eyes.

Grabbing the photograph before she could mention it, Sebastian shoved it back in the jockey box. He didn't want to talk about Colton. Not with a virtual stranger. And not with anyone who was close to him, either. That was the real reason Constance was moving on. He hadn't been able to include her in what he was suffering. He'd withdrawn.

Fortunately, Jane said nothing. She watched the green rolling hills between Sacramento and Ione fly past her window--or stared at nothing, he couldn't tell which--but she gave him some space and for that he was grateful.

Several minutes later, she resumed the conversation, and her question had nothing to do with the photograph he'd shown her. "What about the five hundred thousand dollars you mentioned? Where'd that come from?"

The money he could talk about. He'd been talking about it since Malcolm's escape. It was the strongest proof that Malcolm was still alive. "That was Emily's.

90

She'd gotten an insurance settlement a few months before and cashed the check.

She was saving it to build a new life for her and Colton. At least, that's what she told me. But after the funerals were over and we went to clean the house, the key to the safety-deposit box was there but the money wasn't."

"Maybe she moved it."

"Where? There was no record of it ever going into any of their accounts.

And if she was ready to invest it, she would've asked for my help. I'm an investment banker. She mentioned doing something with it once, but Malcolm put a quick stop to my involvement. He said he didn't trust me, and he accused us of having an affair."

"More smoke and mirrors?"

"A way to make sure the money wasn't tied up when he made his getaway."

"Malcolm traded his profession, his family,
his whole life
for an amount that might last him five years--if he lives modestly?"

"People have killed for much less," Sebastian said quietly.

"Usually those people are on drugs or looking for the money to get high.

They're not thinking straight. This was planned. Was he in debt?"

For someone who'd seemed a little out of her element when they were at the office, Jane was actually pretty savvy. She came across as sort of tough, certainly more streetwise than the typical middle-class white woman. Sebastian respected that. "Deeply. He probably wanted her to bail him out, but she wouldn't do it. As I said, she planned to use her money to leave him and start over. Not only would he lose her, he'd have no insurance settlement to avoid financial ruin."

"A major embarrassment, to say the least."

"Exactly. But if he killed his wife and stepson and faked his own death, he could take the money, escape punishment
and
evade his creditors without ever having to face the people he'd hurt."

"A good plan, provided you're a monster," she said. "So what kind of debts did he have?"

According to GPS, they'd already driven eighteen miles on CA-14. Sebastian slowed, looking for Ione Road. "His credit cards were maxed out, and he'd pulled all the equity from their house so it was way overmortgaged. He'd borrowed from his parents, his brother, his best friend. He'd even drained his retirement account."

"Where was the money going?"

"Sports gambling. That's all I can figure. I'm guessing he kept chasing his 91

losses. I think he was even placing bets online."

"Online gambling's illegal, isn't it?"

"Depends on the state. There's only been one guy I'm aware of who's been prosecuted for placing bets online. He paid a five-hundred-dollar fine, but his winnings were over one hundred thousand dollars, so I doubt he minded too much."

"Did you tell the police about Malcolm's financial situation?"

"Since he admitted to having financial problems in his suicide note, they weren't overly concerned." He shot her a glance. "But they didn't meet the shady character who showed up at the house one night while I was there."

"A loan shark?"

Sebastian found their turn. According to GPS they had another five miles before the next one. "He claimed to be a friend, said Malcolm owed him money.

Apparently, he'd missed the piece in the paper announcing the death of the whole family. Or he was coming by to pick the bones."

"What was his name?"

"Johnny DiMiglio. At least, that's the name he gave me."

"Did you tell him you thought Malcolm was alive?"

"I did. I was hoping he'd go after him. It would've saved me a lot of time and trouble."

"But that didn't happen."

"I haven't seen or heard from DiMiglio since. He probably figured he'd spend more to find Malcolm than he'd lose by letting it go." Lord knows Sebastian had lost enough.

"Bottom line, Malcolm thought he had nothing to lose by murdering Emily and Colton and everything to gain."

"That's my guess."

She adjusted her seat belt. "Now I know why you're doing what you're doing."

He felt his eyebrows go up.

"I'd be doing the same thing," she said.

There was no time to respond. They'd reached their destination.

Jane's stomach muscles tightened with trepidation as Sebastian pulled to the side of the road, next to a canal, a good distance from the lonely rambler that 92

matched the address Detective Willis had given her. They'd already driven by the house twice. Located at the edge of town, it sat on a large square lot that was mostly mud, thanks to a lack of landscaping and plenty of rainy weather. A dated Volkswagen Beetle, dented and rusted with a flat tire, took refuge beneath the attached metal carport.

The place wasn't much to look at. If Wesley Boss was Malcolm Turner, he certainly hadn't spent much of Emily's insurance settlement on lodging. But Ione encompassed such a hodgepodge of housing styles that such a dilapidated ranch house didn't surprise Jane. The thousand or so households in the area straddled a wide range of styles and incomes--everything from broken-down trailers to a handful of high-end mansions overlooking Lake Comanche.

"What I don't understand is why there's no deputy around," she said. "We couldn't have beaten him here. We had to drive all the way from Sacramento."

That was the second time she'd mentioned it, and the second time Sebastian ignored her. Reaching under his seat, he retrieved a handgun and got out of the car.

He didn't seem to care about the deputy. He cared only about finding his man. But what would happen then? He couldn't arrest Wesley Boss or Malcolm Turner or whoever the guy was.

"This can't be good," she breathed. She had her 9mm in her purse. She'd taken it out of her bottom desk drawer before leaving the office, but she was still very conscious of the fact that she hadn't received her license to carry concealed.

And Sebastian was from New York. Even if he had a license, California law didn't recognize CCW licenses issued in other states.

"One way or another, we're going to get into trouble. Where's the damn sheriff's deputy?" she asked again, only this time she was talking to herself.

Sebastian was halfway to the house, keeping low to the ground and using every tree or bush he could for cover.

Briefly, Jane acknowledged that he looked good using the SWAT approach, like a professional. But she had more important things to worry about than admiring his athleticism and technique--like trying to stop him from taking the law into his own hands.

"Sebastian!" she hissed, standing on the triangle of soggy earth outside her car door. "This isn't safe. Someone could get hurt."

She knew he'd heard her when he looked back. But he wasn't happy she'd broken the silence. With a dark scowl, he waved for her to get back in the car and 93

shut up.

Obviously, he was going in whether she liked it or not. She could call David and try to find out where the deputy was, or she could follow him.

It would definitely be safer to stay in the car. But if Malcolm Turner was in that house and he was as dangerous as Sebastian thought, she should probably try to help. And what about Latisha and Marcie? They could be inside, too. Jane definitely didn't want them to get hurt in whatever was about to happen.

With a curse, she stepped around the car door and closed it so softly it didn't actually latch. Then she copied Sebastian's SWAT performance. She was positive she didn't look as good doing it, but there were no neighbors to witness her behavior--and she preferred to take any precautions she could to avoid getting shot.

"This is crazy," she told herself over and over.

Sebastian was on the porch before she reached the front yard. He glanced in her direction, then did a double take. Pointing, he motioned for her to return the way she'd come, but she shook her head resolutely and continued forward, forcing him to wait for her.

Once they were close enough to speak without alerting anyone inside, she whispered, "I'll go around the house, in case anyone comes out the back door."

He'd been about to complain, or order her back to the car, even though he had no authority to do that. He had no authority to do anything, but he wasn't asking permission, and she could tell by the crease in his forehead that he didn't care if she had complaints.

Her plan must've made sense to him, however--or else he was pacified by the fact that she had a gun and could defend herself if necessary, thus removing the burden from him. Either way, his annoyed expression dissolved into the determination that'd been there before.

"Okay," he said, his voice barely audible. "But make sure you have some sort of cover at all times. Do you understand?"

Ignoring the "Do you understand?"--who put him in charge, anyway?--she slipped around to the side yard. Fortunately, she didn't have to worry about running into any unfriendly dogs. There was no fence around the property. She could see that the backyard held nothing except a weather-beaten shed, some old tires and more mud.

"This is going to ruin my nice shoes," she grumbled and did her best to hug the concrete foundation of the house--to avoid their destruction as much as her 94

own.

It started to sprinkle as she took her position behind the shed. Although she was farther from the house than she would've liked, she couldn't find better cover.

The tires were lying flat on the ground, and there wasn't so much as a tree between her and the back door.

Nothing seemed to be happening, anyway. Where was Sebastian? Had he knocked? He hadn't fired; she would've heard that.

The wind whistled through the cracks of the shed, but there were no voices, no evidence of movement.

"Come on, come on." Peering around the corner, she saw the same static view she'd seen before and wished it was all over. Her teeth chattered from the cold and rain. She'd been so concerned that a man she'd met an hour ago was approaching the house with a loaded firearm that she'd left the car without her coat.

A sudden noise--a loud crack--made her knees go weak. She was just reassuring herself that it hadn't been a gunshot when Sebastian called out to her.

"It's safe. There's no one here."

Thank God.
Leaning her head back to gulp for breath, she dropped her gun to her side.

"Hey, Burke!" he called when she didn't answer. "You there? You okay?"

Burke? She hated going by Oliver's last name. She would've changed it except that she would've had to change Kate's, too, which would have hurt Oliver's parents even more. They were good people. They didn't deserve the pain he'd caused them.

"Burke!"

She leaned over to see him standing under the small covering that sheltered the back porch. The crack had been the wind wresting the door from his grasp and slamming it against the exterior wall. She could tell by the way he was hanging on to it.

"Name's Jane," she said. "And I'm fine."

"You planning to stay out in the rain all day?" he asked when she didn't budge.

With her free hand, Jane rubbed the wetness from her face. So many things could've happened in the past few minutes. She could've been shot in a gunfight--

or shot someone else. Innocent victims might have been injured or killed. She could've been apprehended by the police and lost her weapon and any hope she had 95

of obtaining a permit. Any of which would've cost her the job she needed in order to support her daughter.

All because of Sebastian Costas.

A surge of anger lent Jane's legs fresh strength. Too furious to worry about damaging her shoes, she marched across the muddy yard, sinking a few inches with every step. "What did you think you were doing?" she demanded. "Trying to get us both killed? You're not a cop! You don't have a license to carry that gun in California! And no one put you in charge!"

"Calm down," he said. "Everything's okay."

"Only because there was no one around for you to shoot!"

Obviously not intimidated by her, he looked her up and down as she came closer. "That isn't strictly true, now is it?"