The Perfect Murder (13 page)

Jane narrowed her eyes. "Are you threatening me?"

Irritation carved another crease in his forehead. "Of course not. I'm just telling you to stop being such a pain in the ass."

"
I'm
the pain?" she shouted. "I trusted you when I brought you here." She ignored the fact that he'd driven, because she'd provided the address. "And then you pull out a loaded weapon and approach this house as if you've got the right to storm anyplace you want. What was going through your head? For all you knew, there were children inside!"

"Malcolm Turner is dangerous."

"He doesn't even live here anymore. What if someone else had moved in?"

His face an implacable mask, he shrugged. "Then I would've put the gun away."

Blowing out a sigh, she shook her head. "If I report this, you could be brought up on charges. At a minimum, your firearm would be confiscated. You realize that?"

"Nothing happened,"
he reiterated and walked inside.

Unwilling to be left in the rain, Jane followed. "You're making me wonder who's more dangerous--you or Wesley Boss," she yelled at his back.

He didn't respond. He went into the entry hall and checked the coat closet.

Then he went into the garage.

She remained in the empty living room, staring down at her feet. Sebastian was to blame for her soggy shoes, too. But haranguing him about it wasn't going to change anything.

96

After her blood pressure returned to normal, she began to look around herself. Obviously, whoever had lived here had packed up and moved on. There was some old furniture--just the bare necessities--but no signs of habitation. That had to be why the deputy wasn't around when they arrived. He'd already come and gone.

Avoiding the kitchen because Sebastian had just gone in there, she walked from room to room. Brown shag carpet, matted from wear, covered the floors, except for a small patch of tile at the front door. There were three bedrooms, two baths, the standard kitchen and dining room combo with a large family room. Jane didn't see any evidence that Latisha or Marcie had ever been here. But she didn't see any evidence that Wesley Boss had been here, either.

When she returned from her quick tour, Sebastian was still in the kitchen, going through the cupboards and drawers. She wasn't sure she wanted to speak to him, but now that her anger had dissipated, there didn't seem to be any point in holding a grudge. Not if sharing information could help them both. Maybe he was reckless, but he seemed to be very capable. His approach to the house had been breathtaking in its confident precision.

"I smell only cleaning chemicals and room deodorizer," she said, leaning against the doorway. "Makes the place feel as if it's been vacant for a while."

He looked up at her, met her eyes, then moved to a different drawer. "I think it has been. I'm guessing whoever lived here moved away months before the girls were abducted."

"I'll have to contact the owner to see for sure," Jane said. "Maybe he can provide a forwarding address. Someone obviously went to some trouble to salvage his security deposit."

"I'm guessing the only address the owner will have is the P.O. box connected to the phone," he said.

"I could always do surveillance on the post office where that box is located.

See if Malcolm shows up."

"Problem is, you could be sitting there for a while. He could go days, weeks, even months without checking it."

"It might be the best lead we have."

The slam of another cupboard resounded in the empty house. "Not if I can convince him to meet me."

Via their Internet chats. That did seem a lot less random. "What do you think 97

the chances are?"

"Tough to say, but..." His words fell off. He'd found a drawer with something in it. From what Jane could see, they were manuals for the various kitchen appliances. She expected him to close that drawer like every other, but he didn't. He riffled through it. A minute later, he pulled out the dishwasher manual and began to read some words that'd been written on the back.

"What is it?" Jane took a step toward him, but he tore off the cover and slipped it inside his coat.

"Nothing. Let's go."

98

Nine

"S
o now you're shutting me out?"

Sebastian glanced over to see Jane watching him with narrowed eyes. They were on their way back to Sacramento, but she hadn't spoken for the first thirty minutes of the trip. He'd cranked up the radio and the heat to fill the void.

"I'm not shutting you out," he said.

She turned down the radio until the squeak of the windshield wipers, beating frantically against a fresh onslaught of rain, was the only sound. "You found something at that house. What was it?"

He scowled at the gray sky. The constant damp made the car feel more like a cocoon. "It's nothing, like I said."

"Then why'd you take it?"

Realizing she wouldn't let the subject go, he pulled the cover of the dishwasher manual out of his coat and handed it to her.

She read it, then frowned at him. "This is directions to an Indian casino."

"See what I mean?"

"No, I don't. Why do you want it?"

He adjusted the heat coming into the car. "It's written by hand."

Understanding dawned in her eyes. "You think Malcolm Turner wrote this?"

"I think he
could've
written it. The gambling would appeal to him. That's what caught my attention."

"I doubt handwriting evidence would ever trump DNA evidence," she said, but she spoke slowly, as if she was still considering his find, wondering about its value. "But I guess if the handwriting matched, it would show us that your Wesley Boss and my Wesley Boss are indeed the same man. Right now, all we have to connect the murders and the kidnappings is the name and those cryptic comments your Wesley Boss made about the 'sisters.'"

"Handwriting is unique to each individual. And handwriting evidence is more than I've got now, which is just a pile of missing money, along with a missing gun, badge and police uniform."

She put the torn-off cover on the dash. "The gun concerns me."

99

"It should. He definitely knows how to use it."

"What would you have done if Malcolm had been there?" she asked.

He wanted to believe he would've called the police. But Malcolm knew how to work the system, was a product of it. If he had sufficient ID to "prove" he was Wesley Boss, they'd start by questioning him about the kidnappings, and he'd know how to play that. If they couldn't get anything on him, they'd release him pending further investigation--and he'd be gone long before they ever got around to identifying who he really was. It wasn't as if they'd send him back to New Jersey on Sebastian's word, or get a court order compelling him to provide a DNA sample. They had certain procedures they had to work through. Police involvement equaled bureaucracy, and bureaucracy was never efficient.

But what did that mean? Did it mean Sebastian would've shot him?

Maybe. He might not have been able to stop himself.

"Do you plan to answer me?" she asked.

He turned the radio back up. "He wasn't there."

Jane hesitated as she stepped out of Sebastian's Lexus. Unless the landlord of that house could provide a new address, he was suddenly in a much better position to find Wesley Boss than she was. He was in contact with him, wasn't he?

That meant she needed to continue working with him, enlist his help, regardless of how she felt about the way he'd handled the situation in Ione. "So you'll call me? You'll let me know if you arrange a meeting with Boss?" she asked.

Sebastian leaned forward until she could see his face. "I'll think about it."

She didn't like his attitude. "I shared my information with
you."

"Your information turned out to be a bust."

"Not a complete bust," she argued. "You got directions to that Indian casino."

"Which might mean nothing more than an enjoyable night of craps."

She adjusted her purse. The gun inside made it unusually heavy. "What about my kidnap victims? Surely you're not so consumed with revenge that you don't care what happens to them."

He scowled. "That isn't it at all."

"Then what is?"

"I don't see how bringing you along will help save them."

His arrogance irritated her. "Oh, really? Who backed you up in Ione, even 100

though you had no business doing what you did?"

The barest hint of a smile curved his lips. "I wish I could've caught that on tape."

Jane stiffened. "What?"

"You, trying not to get your shoes muddy while hurrying toward me with that gun."

She hadn't realized he'd paid enough attention to notice. "Little good it did me," she grumbled. "My shoes are ruined."

He sobered. "Could've been worse."

"I think that was
my
argument." Besides, it was easy for him to say. He was obviously used to having money. No one she knew rented a Lexus. At least, no one she knew
these
days. "Point is, I could've stayed warm and dry in the car," she said. "So will you cooperate with me or not?"

Wearing a scowl, he stared off into the distance.

"Sebastian?"

His gaze moved her way, and he studied her as if seeing her for the first time. She might've been flattered, except there was a calculating air to the appraisal that told her he wasn't necessarily admiring her figure. "Maybe there'd be some benefit to having you involved."

"Meaning..."

"Maybe you could provide a woman's perspective."

"Considering I
am
a woman, that shouldn't be too difficult," she said dryly.

Another flash of his pearly whites told her he understood why she was a little piqued. "Good. Mary works until four. Then she does homework with her kids and takes them to various sports practices. Most nights she doesn't get on the computer until eight. I need to stick with the same pattern as much as possible, so I'll sign on with her screen name about that time. If you want to be part of this, come to my motel room at seven-thirty."

Kate would be home then, but Jane knew she could take her daughter to her in-laws' for the night. Kate would be excited about staying with Grandma and Grandpa. When Oliver was in jail, she stayed there often, but now Jane rarely allowed it on a school night. "Where's your motel?"

"The Raleigh Pete, off Cal Expo. Room 213."

That wasn't far from her Howe Avenue condo. "I'll be there." She started to shut the door, but he spoke again.

101

"If I gave you fifty dollars, is there any chance you'd bring dinner?"

Jane wasn't sure she'd heard correctly.
"What?"

"I hardly ever get a home-cooked meal," he admitted, as if that was reason enough to make her agree.

Austin, an intern from Del Campo High School who was working at TLS in order to get credit for a sociology class, had just parked in the lot. Jane said hello and waited for him to go inside before responding. Then she said, "You want me to make you dinner?"

"I'll pay for it, like I said. Is some pot roast or meat loaf too much to ask?"

"How do you know I can cook?"

"You've got a kitchen, don't you?" He pulled out his wallet and handed her a fifty-dollar bill. "I've been on the road since forever. Anything's got to be better than what I've been eating."

As Jane accepted the money, she couldn't help feeling some measure of sympathy. Maybe Sebastian wasn't the humblest person she'd ever met. But he'd been traveling a long time and no one knew the impact of violence like she did.

"I've got to cook for Kate, anyway," she said.

"Kate?"

"My daughter."

"I didn't realize you had a child. How old is she?"

"Twelve."

"What will you do with her?"

"She'll go to her grandparents' for the night."

His gaze fell to the tattoo on her hand. "What happened to you, Jane?"

Survivor.
That word had reminded her of who she was during the difficult months when she'd fought to recover from being attacked by her own husband.

Skye had been with her when she'd visited Express Yourself Ink. They'd both gotten the same tattoo. Skye's was on her shoulder blade, which she usually kept covered, but Jane had needed hers in plain sight.

"Maybe we'll talk about it later," she said and closed the door.

The room smelled like clean male. So many of Jane's memories of Oliver were negative that she'd forgotten this more appealing aspect of the opposite sex.

Afraid she'd never experience that scent again, at least not in such an intimate setting, she paused to appreciate it before the aroma of the food she carried in her 102

picnic basket could overpower it.

"Come on in." Sebastian was standing at the door, wearing faded jeans and a burnt orange long-sleeved thermal shirt.

A second later, that male scent was gone, replaced by the sausage in her homemade lasagna and the garlic butter on the bread.

"That smells good," he said, taking the basket from her as she passed him.

She smiled--she'd just been thinking the same thing but about a completely different scent.

Moving into the room, she purposely turned her attention to the furnishings, which were beige and green and fairly standard, so she wouldn't be tempted to stare. If she'd thought Sebastian was handsome before, he looked even better without his coat. That shirt fit his upper body like a second skin, revealing the contour of every muscle--and there were plenty of muscles to admire.

Even at his best, Oliver had never been built like that. Jane had been attracted by his sweetness, his harmlessness, his earnestness, his intelligence. And the fact that she'd felt safe with him....

"Is something funny?" Sebastian asked.

Sobering, she shook her head. "No, I was just...remembering."

He'd been about to dive into the hamper, but at this he paused.

"Remembering what?"

"What it was like," she said.

"To..."

"Be innocent."

He gave her an odd look. "In what way?"

She shrugged. "In every way, I guess." She could never go back, never be the person she'd been before. That made her sad. But trusting the one man who was supposed to love her above all else had nearly gotten her killed. Wasn't it better to be wise than innocent?