by Brenda Novak
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 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 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 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 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 coa
t.
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 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?”
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.
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 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.”
Nine
“So 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.”
“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.”
