The Perfect Murder

by Brenda Novak

  The smell of grilled onions permeated the apartment. After the blood she’d seen in Sebastian’s backseat, the thought of food made Jane nauseous. But it was easier to focus on the sights and scents surrounding her than on Gloria, who was crying in her embrace. It had been hard enough to tell her that Marcie was dead, but it was even worse to say that her body had been found in Sebastian’s car and her own parking lot. Fortunately, that didn’t seem to make her blame Jane, but she was still brokenhearted.

  “I was afraid of this,” she cried. “I been livin’ in fear for weeks. But I never really believed it…. Why Marcie? Why my sister?”

  Jane continued to pat and rub her broad back. She had no answers. She only knew that Gloria’s sisters had been in the wrong place at the wrong time and, despite her best efforts and those of the police, Marcie was dead.

  She prayed that Latisha wouldn’t meet the same fate but couldn’t help wondering if she already had.

  Regardless of what happened in the future, she’d see Malcolm Turner behind bars if she had to dedicate the rest of her life to it. For Marcie. For Latisha. For Gloria. For Sebastian, too. But also for herself. Finding Malcolm had become a way to banish Oliver’s ghost. She finally had the chance to defeat a man who was just as bad as the one who’d nearly killed her. She’d strike back.

  “I’m so sorry.” Even as she said it, she realized that phrase was inadequate, but she had nothing better to offer. David was still processing the crime scene. He’d be arriving shortly, but they’d talked and decided it might be easier on Gloria if Jane visited ahead of him—to break the news. Sebastian was giving the police a statement. Since Marcie’s body had been found in his rental car, they had some questions for him.

  “I can’t live without her,” Gloria wailed. “I can’t do it.”

  Using her free hand, Jane wiped the tears sliding down her own cheeks. “You can, and you will,” she said. “I’ll help you.”

  “And what about Latisha? She probably dead, too.”

  Jane couldn’t promise otherwise. While she was searching for words that might comfort Gloria without giving false hope, the door swung open so hard it banged against the inside wall. Even Gloria jumped. She calmed the minute she realized it was Luther, but Jane grew that much more uneasy.

  “What do ya know.” A gust of wind whipped into the apartment along with him. “It’s the charity worker who’s too good to return my calls.”

  Jane had meant to call him. She’d told Jonathan she would. But, reluctant to deal with the force of his personality, she’d put it off. “The messages you left for me didn’t deserve a response,” she said. She couldn’t let him know he frightened her. That would only encourage him to continue behaving the way he was.

  “Because I’m not some white dude in a suit? Because I don’t have the money to make a donation to the cause?”

  Letting her arm slide away from Gloria, Jane stood. “Because your messages were antagonistic and abusive.”

  “My messages were abusive?” he scoffed with a laugh. “Bitch, you don’t know what the word means until you’ve lived in my world.”

  “Luther, stop.” If Gloria was intimidated by Latisha’s father, she didn’t show it. But, at the moment, she probably didn’t care a whole lot about her own welfare. She sounded fatalistic and just plain exhausted. “She ain’t the problem. Marcie’s dead. You hear what I’m sayin’? Dead. And you come in here cussin’ at the one person tryin’ to help us. What’s the matter with you?”

  Luther’s bloodshot eyes had widened at the word dead. Jane was pretty sure his brain hadn’t registered much beyond that. “What’d you say?”

  “Marcie’s dead,” she repeated numbly. “They found her body this mornin’.”

  His nostrils flared. “What about Latisha?”

  “She probably dead, too.” Gloria began to rock back and forth. “They both gone. Oh, God! How could this happen?”

  The news seemed to sap his strength as well as his anger. Slumping onto a kitchen chair that looked too small to hold him, he bowed his head. “It’s a bad cop,” he said to the floor. “I know it is. That’s what I been tryin’ to tell ya. It’s a bad cop who done it.”

  Because of Luther’s arrival, Jane had been hoping to make a quick exit. She’d been planning to grab her purse and her briefcase and go, but this gave her pause. She’d heard about Malcolm Turner’s background, guessed that he might’ve used a cop light or something similar to pull the girls over, but she hadn’t shared that information with Gloria, so Gloria couldn’t have passed it along to Luther. “How do you know?” she asked.

  “Word on the street.”

  “Which comes from where exactly?”

  “Some of the hos on Stockton Boulevard.”

  “Prostitutes?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “They’re familiar with Wesley Boss?” she persisted. “They’ve seen him?”

  “A man’s been comin’ ’round the past few months, flashin’ a badge. Won’t give a full name but says they can call him Officer Boss. Likes to rough ’em up a bit, make a few threats, but if they do him for free, he leaves ’em alone. Makes sense, doesn’t it? Marcie and Latisha stopped because they thought they were gettin’ pulled over.”

  She should’ve provided Luther with a photograph. But she’d avoided him rather than including him. “Has anyone described to you what this man looks like?”

  “Short, stocky and white,” he said pointedly.

  Ignoring his emphasis on race, Jane pulled Malcolm’s photograph from her briefcase and handed it to him.

  Gloria studied it while he did, but it was his rapt attention that held Jane’s focus. She could sense his desire to make Malcolm Turner pay for what he’d done to Marcie. “This him?”

  “That’s him,” she said. “Do you know when it was that the cop named Officer Boss was last seen?”

  He didn’t bother asking Gloria if she was finished looking before he folded the photograph and put it in his coat pocket. Jane had planned to give it to him but even if she hadn’t, she wouldn’t be getting it back. “Been a while, far as I can tell—more’n three weeks.”

  “He’s been busy since he took Marcie and Latisha.”

  “Strange thing is, the girls on the street, they say he only like white women. He won’t touch nothin’ else.” He pinned her with his angry eyes. “So what’s he want with Latisha and Marcie?”

  “Maybe it’s not about sex.”

  “It’s always about sex,” he said. “What else a man want with a woman? You think he wants to put up with all that bitchin’ and whinin’ for nothin’?”

  Jane was so offended by what he said that she almost told him to go to hell. But Gloria kept the conversation on track. “Then why would he take ’em?” she asked.

  “For companionship, to feel powerful, because they were easy marks,” Jane said. “Or maybe he has it in for minorities and is on some sort of power trip, trying to ‘cleanse’ the world of certain races. I can’t say. Some people hate just for the sake of hating.” She shifted her focus to Luther. He was one of those people, but she knew he didn’t see himself that way. To him, it was everyone else who was at fault. “If he comes around again, you have to let me know.”

  His large hands dangled between his knees. “What makes you think he’ll be back?”

  “There’s always a chance. I’m guessing it’s what he does for entertainment.” When he wasn’t gambling, anyway. “He’ll return when he gets lonely or bored.”

  “He come around again, I gonna kill ’em, and that’s a promise.” Luther got up and started for the door, but she grabbed his arm. When he jerked out of her grasp, she realized she should’ve kept her hands to herself, but she refused to cower at the threat he posed.

  “If you kill him, we might never find Latisha,” she said. “You have to call me so I can bring the police, or call the police directly, if you prefer.”

  “He is the police,” he said and stalked out.

  Now that he was
thinking clearly, Malcolm wished he’d dumped Marcie’s body somewhere else. He didn’t regret killing her, but he regretted revealing the fact that he knew where Sebastian lived. But when he’d worked his way around to the front and seen Sebastian arrive at Mary’s house, when he’d witnessed the man he hated more than any other sweep her into a hug, he’d grown so livid he could barely breathe. He’d had to strike back, especially when Sebastian disappeared before Malcolm could get close enough to see which condo was his. By then it was so close to daybreak, he couldn’t search without considerably raising the chances of being seen.

  Now, because of his own impetuous actions, Sebastian knew he had to keep his guard up. But there’d been no other way for Malcolm to vent his rage. At least he’d taken something for what had been stolen from him. At least he had the satisfaction of knowing how horrified Sebastian must’ve been to find an innocent young woman dead in the backseat of his fancy-ass car. Sebastian had to live with the knowledge that his involvement had cost another life—at any rate, he had to live with it until Malcolm killed him, too.

  Malcolm booted up his computer and waited for it to run through its opening sequence. He wasn’t in a bad position. The chance he’d taken hanging around long enough to follow Sebastian home had paid off. He knew where the bastard lived, didn’t he? It was only a matter of finding the right opportunity.

  “What do you want for dinner?”

  Glancing up, he saw Latisha watching him from over by the sink and shoved away from the table. As eager as he was to check his e-mail—he hoped he’d receive some sort of response from Sebastian or Mary, some hint of Sebastian’s devastation—he needed to give Latisha some attention first. Ever since he’d returned without her sister, she’d been acting more afraid of him than ever. He wasn’t sure she believed he’d let Marcie go….

  “I don’t know. What do you want?” he asked.

  Her gaze dropped to the floor. “We don’t have a lot of groceries.”

  Because of her sister, he hadn’t been able to shop when he needed to. That bitch had deserved to die. She’d been disgusting and vile, and he was glad to be rid of her. But he felt sorry for Latisha, who was sweet and willing to compromise. After putting a combination lock on his bedroom door, he’d pulled her into bed with him and slept for most of the day. When they woke up, she didn’t even try to fight him when he wanted to make love, but she’d gotten sick right afterward. She’d been vomiting in the bathroom ever since. She claimed it was just a flu bug, but she flinched whenever he touched her.

  Would he have to kill her, too? He hoped not. He’d rather kill Mary and Sebastian and take Latisha away with him. She provided a lot—housework, sex, companionship. And without Marcie to collaborate with her, she wouldn’t be as much of a threat to him. Maybe, over time, she’d settle in and he wouldn’t have to chain her up when he left the house. Hell, maybe he could even take her out with him. In law enforcement, he’d seen kidnap victims develop an affinity for their captors. It might be weird, but it was part of human beings’ ability to adapt.

  He just had to make sure she didn’t see anything about her sister’s murder on the news. He’d kept the TV off all day just in case.

  “What’s your favorite meal?” he asked, feeling generous.

  “My favorite?” she echoed.

  “Yeah, what would you eat if you could have anything?”

  She shrugged.

  “Come on, price doesn’t matter,” he told her. “I can give you whatever you want.”

  “I—I don’t know,” she mumbled.

  She might be too sick to eat. But she’d need food later. She’d already gone twenty-four hours without a meal. No way did he want her losing any weight. Her body was just right—so perfect it had probably spoiled him for anyone older.

  “You’re so pretty,” he said.

  This brought no response, but he imagined how flattered she was by the compliment and motioned her toward him. “Come sit on my lap.”

  She perched on his knee and stared at the floor, so innocent and sweet. Taking her chin, he turned her face toward his. “I’m going to buy you a present,” he said. “Do you want to know what it is?”

  “The chance to go home?” she asked softly.

  It bothered Malcolm that she was still bugging him about letting her go, but she didn’t understand how much better it was going to be now that he’d decided to make the most of what he had. “No, you’ll be staying with me from now on. But if I can trust you, it’ll get easier. I promise.” He studied her high cheekbones and almond-shaped eyes. “Maybe I’ll even marry you,” he said.

  Confusion drew her eyebrows together. “Why would you do that?”

  He winked at her. “Because I’m falling in love.”

  Her eyes filled with tears.

  “Don’t cry,” he whispered and kissed her cheeks, her nose, her mouth.

  She pulled back enough to meet his eyes. “Did you kill Marcie?” she asked.

  He was tempted to tell her the truth and get it over with, but he knew he never could. It would only come between them if he did—like that one indiscretion when he’d cheated on Mary in high school. He had to make Latisha believe he’d let Marcie go, and the only way to do that was to remain adamant. “Of course not. I wouldn’t do that to you, sweetheart.”

  Pressing her head against his shoulder, he rocked her until she fell asleep in his arms. Then he carried her into the bedroom and returned to his computer.

  There were no messages from Sebastian. But his bookie had written him three times. He’d lost the bet he’d placed on the Boston game last night, and now his bookie wanted him to pay up.

  Shit. Where was he going to get the money?

  Wendy’s car was parked in the driveway.

  Jane sat in her own vehicle at the curb of the Burkes’ house, her eyes on her sister-in-law’s minivan. Because of what had happened to Marcie, she’d asked Betty to get Kate from school so she could work longer, but it hadn’t occurred to her she’d have to face Wendy when she came to pick her up.

  “I hate this,” she muttered. It had already been a terrible day. The memory of Marcie’s blood in the backseat of Sebastian’s car would be forever etched in her brain—along with the expression on Gloria’s face when she heard the news. Now she knew why Skye and Sheridan made such an effort to shield her. Their work was hard. Besides her distress over today’s sad event, Jane had no idea what Luther was going to do, whether or not he’d cooperate if he came across Malcolm. She was afraid he’d get himself killed. Luther was formidable, but Malcolm used to be a cop, and he was sneaky, like Oliver had been. As far as Jane was concerned, that made Malcolm more dangerous than an angry pimp with pit bulls. He was certainly no one to trifle with.

  Cold air was seeping into the interior of the car. Jane pulled her coat around her, but she knew there was no point in delaying further. If she wanted her daughter, she had to go in. “Just what I need,” she grumbled and scooped up her purse before getting out.

  Her heels clicked on the pavement as she approached the house. Seeing her father-in-law through the front window, sitting in his favorite recliner, and her mother-in-law bringing him a plate of food, reminded her of the night Noah had called his family together, in that very room, to air his confession. He hadn’t even warned Jane that he was about to expose her….

  Oliver had soon joined that meeting, and he had not been as forgiving as Noah had hoped.

  The betrayal she’d experienced overwhelmed Jane again. As much as she’d loved and admired Noah, as much as he’d helped her get through those difficult years when Oliver was in prison, he’d failed her in the end. But he’d been under the false assumption that Oliver was innocent. She’d been equally convinced, so convinced she couldn’t even hold it against Noah. Besides, maybe it was all her fault, like Wendy believed. Maybe she’d purposely set out to seduce him. She didn’t think so, but she’d been so desperate, maybe she was capable of anything.

  Cringing at the memories she usually avoid
ed—and her role in what had taken place—she threw back her shoulders and let herself into the house. “Hi.”

  Her father-in-law twisted around to see who’d just arrived. “Janey!” He didn’t get up. He knew she’d come over to give him a hug. “How’s my girl?”

  She was terrible, a wreck. She hadn’t felt so on edge since the whole ordeal with Oliver. Maybe that was why she was thinking of her husband so often these days. Getting involved with Sebastian made her feel out of control. It also made her wonder if she was as bad as Wendy thought. She hadn’t been able to deny herself the pleasure Sebastian promised. She’d gone to his motel room not once, but twice. She’d even welcomed him into her bed.

  “I’m fine,” she said with a smile.

  Wendy entered the room, carrying a glass of soda for Maurice. Her step faltered when she saw Jane, but in less than a split second she continued as if Jane wasn’t even there. “Here you go, Papa. It’s the last of the ginger ale, but I can get you some more tomorrow.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “Betty and I need to do some shopping, anyway.”

  “Hello, Wendy,” Jane said.

  As usual, Wendy pretended not to have heard the greeting. Calling her children, she located her purse and got out her keys. “I’d better run. I’ll call you tomorrow, Papa. Tell Mom I said goodbye.”

  Maurice scowled. “You’re going already?”

  Wendy shot Jane an accusatory glance. “I have stuff to do.”

  “But it’s only been fifteen minutes since you got here,” he argued. “And Janey’s with us now.”

  Jane wished Maurice wouldn’t try to convince her to stay. He knew she was leaving because “Janey” was here. She always left. But he couldn’t accept it. He had to try and patch things up between them. Betty did the same.