The Perfect Murder

by Brenda Novak

But Sebastian had chosen the perfect parking spot; Malcolm couldn’t see him, either. He wasn’t about to march up to the front door. If Malcolm could get off a clean shot, take him down that easily, he’d do it. Then there’d be no reason for him to keep Jane alive.

  After sending David the text, he left his keys in the ignition so Jane could drive it if he was lucky enough to get her out of the house, and he went around to the trunk. There, he peeled off his coat and strapped on a bulletproof vest he’d bought over the Internet several months ago. He had a flashlight in the trunk, too, as well as a pair of infrared goggles and an army helmet to strap it to. Twelve months of preparation had come down to this.

  Although the temperature felt like it was dropping fast, Sebastian put his coat in the trunk. He didn’t want to wear anything that might restrict his movements. He had too much adrenaline pouring through him to be bothered by the cold, anyway. “This is it,” he promised himself. “This is where it ends.”

  After stuffing ammunition in every pocket, he closed the trunk with a quiet click. Then he crouched with his gun at the ready and began working his way to the back of the house.

  Twenty-Nine

  Malcolm stood to the side of the living room window. He’d seen the car slow, then turn down the driveway, watched as the headlights drew closer. He’d been tempted to shoot at that vehicle. Maybe he could hit the driver before this went any further. But he knew he might just shatter the window and scare Sebastian off before he could get him in the house.

  He had to bide his time, wait for the right moment…. But his nerves were stretching taut. The forensics team that had been processing the house was gone, as he’d expected. They wouldn’t be coming back tonight because there was no reason to think he’d return, but there was plenty of proof that they’d been here. Fingerprint dust and Luminol covered everything. What it revealed made Malcolm anxious to be on his way. The bloodstains on the carpet going down the hall and into his bedroom were the perfect shape of his footprints. He could see them fluoresce in the darkness and hated Latisha for forcing him to allow so much evidence to fall into the hands of the authorities.

  “So what?” He told himself to keep a cool head. He couldn’t get back at everyone. He’d take care of Sebastian and Jane, the two people who really mattered. Then he’d get the hell out of town and disappear for good.

  Jane groaned. Apparently, she realized that lover boy was here. Whether she truly believed it or not, Sebastian was about to meet his maker, and there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it. Malcolm had tied her to a chair—gagged her, too. When Sebastian didn’t immediately show himself, he put a gun to her head. “You’d better hope he doesn’t try anything funny.”

  As they waited, Malcolm could feel sweat matting Jane’s hair. Maybe she acted tough, but she was scared. She had reason to be. If he could, Malcolm planned to blow her away right in front of Sebastian. Maybe he’d even rape her first, take from Sebastian what Sebastian had taken from him. There wasn’t enough he could do to torture the man he hated above all others.

  He imagined wounding Sebastian, then tying him up so he could have all kinds of fun with them both. Maybe he’d slit Jane’s wrists and rape her while she bled out at Sebastian’s feet.

  Malcolm smiled at the thought of making her moan and writhe in pain while Sebastian looked on, helpless to stop him. “Relax, sweetheart.” He smoothed her hair when she began to tremble. “This will all be over in a minute.”

  Where the hell was Sebastian? Leaving Jane a few feet away, Malcolm leaned against the cold window, trying to discern the shadows over by the cars. Before his breath fogged up the glass, he could see fairly well. But he couldn’t make out the shape of a man. There was no sound, either. No movement.

  “You’re pissing me off, asshole,” he sang out, and Jane whimpered. “You get it,” he told her. “You know he’s pushing my buttons, don’t you? I’m going to punish you both for that.”

  Then he heard a bang loud enough to wake the dead. He jumped at the sudden noise, relaxing only when he figured out what had caused it. Sebastian had just kicked in the back door. He was in the house.

  Taking a calming breath, he turned Jane’s chair in the other direction and stood behind it, his gun to her temple. The show was about to begin.

  Jane’s heart pounded in her throat as she silently prayed. Please don’t let him be killed. Please don’t let him be killed. She didn’t think she could take seeing Sebastian shot down—not after finding Noah, the only other man she’d ever really loved, lying dead. She’d asked Sebastian to stay away, wanted him to stay away, despite what it meant for her. But she knew that the man who’d approached that Ione house like a member of the local SWAT team wouldn’t play it safe. If she had her bet, Sebastian hadn’t even called the cops.

  What did that mean?

  It meant someone wouldn’t walk away from this tonight. That someone could be Sebastian, or it could be her, or it could be both of them.

  Only if they were extremely lucky would it be Malcolm.

  Determined to make sure that Sebastian knew where the danger was, Jane began to grunt and moan as loudly as possible.

  “Shut up!” Malcolm hissed and hit her with his pistol, once, twice, three times.

  Pain ignited with each blow. She could feel blood rolling into her eyes, but she wouldn’t stop. Malcolm wouldn’t kill her. Not yet. She was Malcolm’s insurance policy—and Sebastian’s handicap.

  Following the muted sounds from the living room, Sebastian found what he was looking for. But he didn’t enter the room. He used the kitchen door as a shield against any bullets that might fly toward him.

  With his infrared goggles, he could see Malcolm standing behind Jane, who was tied to a chair. He would’ve squeezed off a shot himself, but he couldn’t shoot in that direction, because he couldn’t risk hurting the wrong person.

  “Let her go,” he said.

  Malcolm was so angry, Sebastian could hear him wheeze with each gulp of air. “The stupid bitch!” he was yelling. “I’m going to kill her. I’m going to kill you both, so help me God.”

  “You’re going to need someone’s help,” Sebastian told him. “Because if she’s dead—you are, too.”

  “She’s not dead,” he cried and lifted her head by the hair. “Say something!” he screamed at her.

  Jane groaned and her eyelids fluttered open, but she seemed confused, dazed. And she was obviously bleeding. The sight of her injuries made every muscle in Sebastian’s body tense. Malcolm had beaten her. Sebastian hadn’t expected that. He’d expected Malcolm to care too much about getting to him to risk hurting her.

  Malcolm was losing his edge, sacrificing reason to emotion. But that wasn’t a good thing. It made him less predictable and far more dangerous.

  What now? Sebastian needed Jane to be conscious, alert. He needed her to walk out under her own power and be able to drive the car. He wanted her as far away from this place as she could get.

  “Jane? You okay?” he asked.

  There was no response.

  “Answer him!” Malcolm raised his gun as if he’d hit her again, but Sebastian growled a warning that stopped his downward thrust.

  “You hit her one more time and I’ll shoot you this instant. Do you understand me?”

  “You don’t know how to shoot,” Malcolm said, but that went against all evidence to the contrary. Sebastian was no longer the trusting, law-abiding dad Malcolm had known a year ago. And there was enough uncertainty in Malcolm’s voice to tell Sebastian he’d noticed the changes.

  Getting down on one knee, Sebastian took careful aim. “Try me.”

  It was a bluff, but it worked. Malcolm didn’t strike Jane. Lowering his gun, he shook her with the opposite hand.

  “Hey, snap out of it. Sebastian’s here. Tell him you’re fine.” He tore off her gag. “Tell him you want to go home.”

  “I wanna go home,” she repeated dully, and Sebastian wished, more than anything, that he could make it possible.

/>   “Untie her. She has nothing to do with this, Malcolm. This is between you and me.”

  “Throw down your gun and I will.”

  Sebastian couldn’t do that. The second he did, he and Jane would both be at Malcolm’s mercy. “I won’t give up my gun.”

  “Sebastian, get out of here.” Jane seemed to be regaining her faculties, but Sebastian ignored her. He couldn’t afford the distraction. Not right now.

  “Cut her loose and let her walk out,” he told Malcolm.

  “Are you kidding me? So she can help you? So she can call the police?”

  Sebastian’s finger began to sweat on the trigger. He wasn’t getting out of this as quickly as he’d hoped. The police were probably on their way. Would they intervene before he could finish? Would the surprise cause Malcolm to fire? “This is your game, Officer Turner. What kind of play do you want to call?”

  “That’s it. She’s dead.” Malcolm spoke as if he was tired of fooling around, as if killing Jane was his only way out. So this time when he put the gun to her head, Sebastian feared he’d really pull the trigger.

  In a panic, he raised his own weapon to get off a shot he hoped would save her life. It was her only chance. But the blast that nearly blew out his eardrums told him Malcolm had fired first.

  The noise took Malcolm by complete surprise. He’d been about to pull the trigger when someone fired at him from the other doorway. Who the hell was it? Had Sebastian called the police? Malcolm had been so caught up in his standoff with Sebastian, he hadn’t noticed any other movement, any other noise—but he hadn’t been listening for it, either.

  Scrambling to take cover before he could be fired on from both directions, he managed to roll behind the couch, which effectively shielded him from both doorways. Jane was the only one out in the open. She was tied to that chair and couldn’t move, but Malcolm didn’t care about her. He thought it would be the greatest irony in the world if Sebastian shot her himself. Then maybe he’d rot in jail while Malcolm took off for the Bahamas or some other tropical paradise.

  Another shot rang out. This one sounded as if it lodged in a wall. A third followed. Sebastian cried out to whoever it was to stop, but if this was a cop, he didn’t seem to realize that another person was at risk. He just kept firing.

  Sebastian dashed in to save Jane—and took a bullet. Malcolm heard the shot and the resounding grunt. He’d been firing himself, had done so several times, but he didn’t think he’d hit anything.

  In an instant, Sebastian toppled the chair and threw himself on top of Jane, protecting her with his body. Now that he was so low to the ground, Malcolm couldn’t hit him without standing up, and he knew the second he got up he’d be dead.

  “Who are you and what do you want?” he cried out to the stranger.

  “I want you,” came the response.

  “Luther? Luther, stop!” It was Jane. She seemed to recognize the man’s voice, but Malcolm had never met a Luther. Who was this person and how had he found them? Why did he have a gun? He was quite obviously not the police.

  And then it became clear.

  “This one’s for Latisha,” the man yelled and fired again. “You will never touch my daughter, or any other man’s daughter, again.”

  Malcolm became aware of Sebastian pulling Jane from the room. He wanted to stop them, but he couldn’t lift his head without the risk of having it blown off. It seemed the stupid son of a bitch who’d pinned him down from the opposite doorway was determined to keep shooting. But just as that thought went through his mind, the bullets stopped.

  “Take her and get out of here,” Luther called in the ensuing silence, and it was only then that Malcolm realized his error. The bullet Sebastian had taken must’ve been his own because Luther hadn’t been shooting toward Jane. He’d been shooting away from them, giving Sebastian the cover he needed to get her to safety.

  And now Latisha’s father was shooting to kill. There was nothing to stop him.

  This was over. He had to get out, but how? The police were on their way. Even if he could make it to the door—and that seemed impossible—they’d be on top of him before he could get as far as the drive. And being captured would be worse than death. Then everyone he knew from before, his family, his neighbors, his friends on the force, they’d all know what he’d done.

  The sirens were drawing close. Seconds later, he could hear the slam of car doors and the shouts of men he didn’t recognize. He had to make a decision. Dropping his gun, he lifted his hands and stepped in front of Latisha’s dad.

  “Do it!” he yelled. “Do it now! I’m right here.”

  His actions took the man by surprise. Seemingly determined to give Malcolm exactly what he’d asked for, he aimed. But then he lowered his weapon. “Hell, no. You ain’t worth it. I’d rather leave you to your own kind.” Then he fired a final shot into the ceiling and ran out the back.

  The stampede of feet told Malcolm the police were coming through the front door. Scrambling for his gun, he reclaimed it and raised it, pointing at the entrance to the room. If he couldn’t get Latisha’s dad to shoot him, he’d provoke the first officer. But that officer didn’t fire. Instead he ducked behind the wall and yelled out, “Put down your weapon!”

  “You’re not taking me in. I won’t go to prison,” Malcolm said. Then he turned the gun on himself. Squeezing his eyes closed, he swallowed hard and told himself to pull the trigger. One shot, and his brains would splatter on the wall. It would all be over. It was the only way left to win.

  But he couldn’t do it. He didn’t have the guts.

  Sagging to his knees, he let the gun fall as tears began to streak his face. Sebastian had won.

  Jane couldn’t believe that Sebastian was safe. She saw the dent in the bulletproof vest he’d been wearing that showed where the bullet had gone. It had hit him hard enough to knock the wind out of him. He admitted that it hurt, said he’d have a bruise on his chest, but it hadn’t seriously harmed him. He was fine and, although she felt as if her head was about to explode from the beating, Jane knew she’d be okay, too. Once again, she’d survived.

  “Where’s Kate?” she asked as Sebastian held her in the back of David’s car. David was inside now, but he’d called an ambulance, was insisting that both of them get medical help. Afterward, they’d have to answer a lot of questions. But that could wait. The police had more important things to do right now.

  “At the Burkes’.”

  “Does she know that I was in danger?”

  “No. I didn’t tell her.”

  “That’s good.” She closed her eyes until she felt Sebastian nudge her gently.

  “Can you believe it’s over?” he murmured.

  She gazed at the car that held Malcolm. He wasn’t looking at them. His head was bowed as if he knew he’d made the biggest mistake of his life.

  “He’s going to prison,” she said.

  “He was a cop who murdered three people. They have irrefutable proof. I think he’ll get the death penalty.”

  “Where do you suppose they’ll try him?”

  “Here.”

  “But he killed two people in New Jersey. They have the death penalty there, too, don’t they?”

  “They do, but they haven’t had an execution since 1976.”

  An officer crossed the lawn and strolled up, frowning over some notes he’d been taking on a clipboard. “When I got here, I heard two different kinds of gunshots. But you two were the only people I met coming out. Was there someone else inside the house, someone besides the two of you and Mr. Turner over there?”

  Jane sat up despite the blazing pain in her head and looked around them. Where had Luther gone? He’d appeared and disappeared in a matter of minutes. Why hadn’t he stayed?

  And then she understood. There must be warrants out for his arrest. If he’d stayed, he would’ve ended up in jail himself, even though it was largely because of him that she and Sebastian had made it out alive. “No, I don’t think so,” she said. “But then, I�
�m a little confused. I—I was punched in the head. I heard shots. But I have no idea where they were coming from.”

  The officer turned to Sebastian. “What about you?”

  Sebastian glanced at Jane, seemed to grasp what she was doing—and why she was doing it. “I fired a few shots. And Turner over there fired a bunch. He hit me with one. But that’s it, far as I know.”

  The officer frowned. “I’ll be damned,” he muttered and walked away.

  Jane smiled at Sebastian, then asked for his phone. He pulled it out of a pocket that was otherwise stuffed with ammunition and turned it on before handing it to her.

  She wasn’t sure she could remember Luther’s number, but after three attempts, she reached him. “How did you know?” she asked without preamble.

  “Know what?” he said.

  “Where we were?”

  “I came over to the office to see if I could fin’ you. I wanted to tell you that our boy was roughin’ up some hos earlier today, that he was back to his old tricks. I saw the van turn out of the drive and knew it was him. That was the same car my girls described to me. I tried to follow it but lost him. Took me a while, drivin’ that damn highway, to find it again. But then I saw it sittin’ there, plain as day in the driveway.”

  “You saved our lives.”

  “You did all you could for Latisha. I…appreciate that.”

  It was the kindest thing Lucifer—Luther—had ever said to her. “Wow,” she murmured. “You’ve got me feeling all warm and fuzzy. Like maybe you don’t hate skinny white bitches anymore.”

  His laugh was a deep rumble. “Don’ let it go to your head.”

  She slipped her hand into Sebastian’s. “The police were wondering about a third shooter,” she told Luther.

  “What’d you tell ’em?”

  “That we don’t know of a third shooter.”

  There was a slight pause. “That’s probably the best,” he said.

  “We thought that might be the case. But they may not let it go. The evidence tells a different story, you know.”