The Perfect Murder

Sixteen

“Do you think that security guard you just paid will really call us if Malcolm comes in?” Jane asked.

Sebastian signaled before taking the Howe Avenue exit off Highway 50. “I do.”

“He’s already got your money. How do you know he won’t forget?”

“Because I promised him more money if he remembers.”

“How much more?”

The money he’d offered might make him appear far wealthier than he was at the moment. But he didn’t want to make a bigger issue of it by refusing to answer. “Five thousand.”

“Dollars?”

“I tried pesos, but…no go.”

She wouldn’t be diverted by his flip remark. “Five thousand dollars just for making a call.”

“No. Malcolm has to be there when we arrive. I have to get a glimpse of him.”

She adjusted her seat belt so she could turn toward him. “You don’t mind throwing away that kind of money?”

His bank account couldn’t hold out much longer. He figured he might as well use what he had left to full advantage. “If this works, it’ll be the best money I’ve ever spent, don’t you think?”

“Saving Marcie and Latisha is worth any amount. It just seems like a lot to pay someone who’s already on the clock,” she said. “I bet he would’ve done it for less.”

Maybe that was true, but Sebastian wasn’t taking any chances. “We want to give him enough incentive.”

“At that price he’ll study every face.”

“That’s the point. Now we can go to bed with some confidence that he’ll do his job.”

“True,” she murmured. “And I’m tired again.”

He pulled into her condominium complex and parked. “I’ll walk you to the door.” He didn’t ask. He stated it as if she didn’t have a choice. Because there was no way he’d let her walk up there without knowing she got in safely.

Fortunately, she didn’t argue. She actually surprised him by asking him to check inside, too. He thought it was her background that had her spooked until she explained that she’d been getting some harassing phone calls from Latisha’s father, someone she called both Luther and Lucifer.

Jane had left the kitchen light on, but the rest of the apartment was dark. They flipped switches as they walked from room to room. Sebastian had expected to see a fairly standard condo, furnished in a fairly standard fashion, but there was art everywhere-sculptures, paintings, handmade pottery, blown glass, metal objects. One painting, in particular, caught his eye. It was hanging on the wall in her bedroom and showed the outline of a man and a woman in a naked embrace. There were no details-no eyes or ears or specific body parts-just shape and color, but it brought the image vividly to mind.

“You like art,” he said.

She’d followed him into the room to watch him look in the closet, the bathroom and under the bed. “Yes. But it’s actually a fairly new passion for me. I never really thought about it or noticed it much before, but since Oliver…I don’t know. It helps me cope with the ugliness of the past.”

“This is nice,” he said, gesturing at the painting. “What is it, watercolor?”

“Yes.”

“You have excellent taste.”

“I’m no expert,” she said with a self-deprecating laugh. “I just buy what I like.”

“I don’t recognize any of the artists.”

“Because it’s all new talent. I can’t afford the more established painters and I don’t want replicas.”

“Only the real thing.”

“For me, it has to be original.”

“Then I’m especially impressed you were able to spot such gems.”

“I like helping new artists get started,” she mused. “As far as I’m concerned, they make the world a better place. Art is another way to fight back, to fill the world with beauty and inspiration instead of hatred and anger. Don’t you think?”

“I’ve never thought of it in that way, but I guess you’re right.” He turned to face her. “Where do you find new pieces?”

“I visit galleries wherever I go. I check eBay. Lots of places, really. I love the discovery process. You could say it’s become my hobby-my only hobby now that I’m working so much.”

He indicated a blown-glass piece on her dresser. “That looks expensive.”

“It was about three hundred dollars. Not bad, considering how much it’ll be worth someday.” She smiled. “If the artist makes it big, of course.”

He jerked his head toward the watercolor. “This painting had to cost more.”

“It did. I used my tax refund to buy it. I should’ve been more conservative and put the money into savings, but…I just had to have it.”

He could see why it appealed to her. The painting depicted two halves coming together to make a perfect whole.

“The blues suggest peace and tranquility,” she said.

The painting suggested a lot of things. But, at this moment, it was the sensuality of those figures that struck Sebastian most deeply. He wanted to make love to Jane in her own bed. “Is Kate at your in-laws’?” he asked, instead of commenting on the colors.

“Yes.” She was no longer at the door; she was standing right beside him. Within reach.

He turned to watch her expression while she gazed at the painting and found her watching him instead. Caught up in the artist’s vision and the energy that crackled between them, they stared at each other for several seconds without speaking.

Demanding honesty of himself, Sebastian refused to mask what he was feeling. He wanted her again, but this time he planned to make love to her tenderly-to take all night, if necessary. He wanted her to relax and to trust him.

But just as he was leaning forward to kiss her, she stepped back and shoved a self-conscious hand through her short hair. “Thanks for checking the place. I-I know I shouldn’t let Lucifer rattle me, but it’s a bit unnerving.”

It took so much effort to put those barriers up again. He didn’t understand why she bothered. What was she fighting?

Instead of filling the silence, he waited, hoping she’d change her mind. When she gave no indication that she might reconsider, he was disappointed, but he didn’t push. It wouldn’t be what he wanted if he had to pressure her into it. “Will you do me one favor?” he asked.

She seemed hesitant to commit herself. “What’s that?”

“Will you tell me what the tattoo is on your breast so I can sleep tonight?” He grinned by way of enticement.

“My tattoo? It was dark when…in your motel room. How’d you see it?”

“I didn’t see it then. I saw the edge of it above the neck of your sweater when we were in the car yesterday.”

Her chest rose as if she’d just taken a deep breath. “I-it’s nothing. Hard to explain.”

His eyes riveted to hers. “Then why don’t you show me?”

He expected her to refuse, but she didn’t. She gave him the kind of smile that said she’d take that dare and unfastened her blouse, parting it so he could see the portion of the tattoo that extended above her bra.

Suddenly he understood why she hadn’t been able to explain. It wasn’t a rose or a character or a butterfly. It was a beautiful, artistic decoration-so ornate that he almost didn’t see the letter R scrolled among the curving loops and lines.

When he did, he lifted his hand and, encouraged when she didn’t step away, ran a finger over it. “A lover’s name?”

“No.” She wouldn’t meet his eye.

Taking it one step further, he lowered the lace of her bra far enough to see the rest. The R wasn’t the only letter. There was an I and a P. “Rest in peace,” he said. “This is for Oliver?”

Her breathing had gone shallow. He wanted to kiss her-but she chose that moment to move out of reach. “No. Someone else. Someone who wouldn’t be dead if I hadn’t been stupid and lonely and weak.” She’d said it with finality, as if she wouldn’t elaborate, but her words triggered a memory, a snatch of something she’d told him before. He left me for dead, lying beside his murdered brother.

“Another member of the family?” he asked.

She started to button her blouse. Her fingers worked quickly as if she’d exposed too much-of her body and her pain.

He took her hands, which were ice cold. The fact that she was trembling suggested there was more to the story. “What happened, Jane?”

She shook her head. “Like I said, I was stupid.”

“Oliver thought you were having an affair with his brother?” Was that why he’d tried to kill her?

Tears swam in her eyes.

“Jane?”

“Yes.”

Yes, he thought it? Or, yes, it was true? “Was he right?”

“I was so lonely,” she whispered miserably.

That was another yes. Sebastian wasn’t sure how he felt about this revelation. It certainly wasn’t what he wanted to hear, wasn’t what anybody would want to hear. “How?”

She pulled away to finish buttoning her blouse. She had to feel for the buttons with her fingers because she kept her head high, almost challenging him to see the monster she believed herself to be. “Oliver came from a wonderful family. He had a brother, Noah, who was everything Oliver seemed to be but wasn’t.”

Her eyes glazed over. He could tell she was remembering and hating herself for what those memories brought to life. Seeing her emotions made Sebastian regret asking. The subject was too close, too private. He didn’t even plan on staying in Sacramento. He had no right to pry into her pain. “Jane, I’m sorry. This is none of my business-”

She held up a hand. “No, now that you’ve asked, now that you know this much, you might as well see how terrible I am.”

He could barely hear the last two words. “Jane-”

“Let me finish,” she said.

Realizing it was too late, he deferred with a slight nod.

“None of us really knew Oliver wasn’t what he appeared to be. He could make you believe he was Santa Claus, if he wanted.” She wiped a tear that rolled down her cheek and blinked away the rest. At that point he could almost hear her backbone snap into place. She was approaching this as one might approach a firing squad-determined to face her executioners with some dignity. “After he attacked Skye the first time, he was convicted of attempted rape.”

“Did he go to prison?”

She buttoned her top button, the one she usually kept open. “For over three years.”

There was a photograph on her dresser next to that glass sculpture-a young girl who had to be her daughter, Kate. “That left you and Kate where?”

“Adrift, mostly. I’d let myself depend on him and on our lifestyle so much that it felt as if I’d lost everything. I’d been out of the workforce for several years-and I’d never made much money when I was working. I had a cosmetology license but not a college degree, and I was rusty even at cutting hair. I guess you could say I’d grown spoiled. Lazy.”

“So it was a financial shock, in addition to everything else?”

She sat on the bed, which was covered with a large blue-and-green comforter and lots of pillows. “It wasn’t a smooth transition. I had no choice but to go back to cutting hair. But it’d been so long since I’d worked I didn’t have a clientele. None of the nicer shops would have me-my skills were out-of-date. I was also an emotional wreck. So angry and bitter, so sure Oliver had been wrongly accused and Skye had deprived me of my husband, my child’s father, our breadwinner, my fancy house, my high-class friends. Even my membership to the country club,” she added with a disgusted laugh. “And I thought she’d done it all out of spite.”

Sebastian shoved his hands in his pockets. “Was there much proof that he was guilty?”

“He admitted being in her house. He had to admit that. They had his DNA, his blood on her bed. But he claimed she invited him over for consensual sex, then freaked out because she was on drugs. He said she tried to stab him.”

“So, as far as you knew, he cheated on you first.”

“That’s no excuse.”

“I’m not excusing you. I’m trying to figure out how it all happened. Did you know Skye at the time?”

“I’d never heard of her before in my life. It was all so confusing. I couldn’t understand why she’d point a finger at my husband. There was no way he could be what she claimed. I would know, wouldn’t I? That’s what I kept telling myself. I lived with him, loved him, went to church with him…”

He whistled under his breath. “Those accusations couldn’t have been easy to hear.”

“Believing adultery to be the worst of his sins was easier than accepting the truth,” she said. “I was determined to forgive him and reclaim what we’d had together.”

She would’ve been better off divorcing him while he was in prison. Then maybe she could’ve gotten away before he attacked her and left that scar on her neck. “So you believed your husband.”

“He said he loved me.” She was no longer looking at him-or seeing him, at any rate. Her voice had fallen to a whisper, as if she was talking to herself.

“Maybe he did, in his own way.”

She shook her head. “No, Oliver never loved anyone. He was incapable of it. But his brother was different.”

A twinge of jealousy surprised Sebastian. “How’d you get involved with Noah?”

“He started coming over to help out, to make sure Kate and I had everything we needed-fix up the place, hang drapes, get us moved, whatever.”

Sebastian could easily imagine the situation. At least Noah had been trying to do right by his sister-in-law. Or maybe it was just hard for Sebastian to blame Noah because he felt the same attraction to Jane. “And it turned out to be a little too much time alone?”

“I was so needy…” He saw shame, even anguish, in her body language. She was shouldering all the guilt, but this Noah deserved some of it, too, didn’t he?

“It takes two,” he reminded her.

She managed a wobbly smile. “He didn’t mean for it to happen.”

“Did you?” Sebastian countered.

“Of course not, but-”

“People make mistakes, Jane.” Sebastian suspected there were some who’d hold this against her. But he’d been through a similar situation with Emily and he knew that even good people sometimes got involved in relationships they shouldn’t. Besides, how could anyone say what he or she would’ve done in the same circumstances? Although he’d never cheated, he had his own regrets. Some bad decisions were easier to correct than others.

“This was more than a mistake,” she said. “Noah is dead because of me. He left a wife and three children.”

In light of what she’d told him, the painting on her wall took on greater significance. Did the colors represent the peace she longed for but couldn’t quite achieve? Her emotional burden was so heavy, he was astonished that she’d been able to carry it for the past five years.

Knowing what he knew now, Sebastian could understand why she hadn’t been able to heal. She wouldn’t let herself. She was still berating herself, still paying penance. That explained why she hadn’t met someone else and moved on, why she hadn’t made love since the attack. It even explained why she wouldn’t allow herself to enjoy making love with him last night. This morning, human need had won out-briefly-but she was already back to self-denial.

He sat on the bed next to her. “How did Oliver find out about the two of you?”

“Once he got out of prison, and he and I were trying to make another go of it, Noah’s conscience got the better of him. It was never as if I was trying to steal Noah from his wife and kids, I swear. I knew all along that our…relationship couldn’t continue. I cared about the entire family. I didn’t want to see them hurt.”

“How’d his wife take the news?”

“To this day, she won’t really speak to me. She thinks I’m the worst kind of…Well, you can imagine the names she reserves for me. And I can’t blame her.”

Although she’d long since closed her blouse, Sebastian glanced toward the tattoo he’d seen on her breast. “You had that tattoo placed right over your heart.”

She seemed confused by the statement. “So?”

“I think that’s significant.”

“How?”

“What are you mourning, Jane? Noah’s death or your own?”

She stood. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Sure you do. You’ve cut yourself off from any chance at love. You say you’ve gone through counseling, but you won’t forgive yourself. What good is the counseling you’ve had if you’re going to continue punishing yourself?”

She watched him in the mirror but said nothing.

“Maybe Skye saved you from Oliver, but who’s going to save you from yourself?”

Rubbing her chest as if the tattoo suddenly burned, she faced him. “I don’t deserve any more than I have. As long as I have Kate, that’s all I need, all I ask for.”

“You’re settling.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are. You stock your house with inanimate objects that portray the love and completeness you won’t allow yourself.” He motioned toward the painting as a case in point. “But life doesn’t have to be so lonely!”

She raised a skeptical eyebrow at him. “Are you saying you’re the man I should trust?”

She had him and she knew it. He wasn’t any more whole than she was. “No,” he admitted. “I’m not.”

Although he could tell she’d been expecting his admission, the tightening of her mouth told him she was disappointed. “Then I guess we should say good-night,” she said and walked him to the door.

Malcolm had never gone inside Mary’s house. Not until now. In the past, he’d contented himself with skulking about the shrubberies and peeking in the windows. He hadn’t wanted to blow his cover until he felt sure he’d be welcomed. He’d stuck to the plan, and the plan was to woo her back, to set up their future together.

But now that he knew she was working with Sebastian, and probably had been from the beginning, plans had changed. She’d found out he was still alive. And she couldn’t be trusted.

It was time they met, time they came to terms with the past and the present, and who did what to whom. He’d thought he’d be able to wait for the meeting Sebastian and Mary had been trying to arrange. Turning the tables so perfectly really appealed to him. He’d imagined the scene so often… But then he’d realized that Mary wouldn’t show up at any meeting. Sebastian would come alone. And they’d only schedule it for a public place, where he couldn’t do anything because there’d be witnesses. He had to get to Mary while he could, in a setting he controlled-make her tell him where Sebastian was.

A noise from the street caused him to pause in the open doorway. What was that? He cocked his head to listen. He would’ve thought it was Marcie, screaming for help from inside his van, but he’d parked it three blocks away. And he’d gagged her to keep her quiet.

Several seconds passed and there was only silence. Satisfied that what he’d heard had been a neighbor’s dog, a car backfiring on J Street half a block over, or some other irrelevant noise, he dropped the lock-picking tools he’d just used in their felt pouch and returned them to his coat pocket. Then he adjusted his surgical gloves and closed the door. He’d chosen to enter through the front because that was the way he’d always hoped to come over, as a guest at first-and then, eventually, the owner, the patriarch of the family, Mary’s husband. He’d also chosen the front because it was the boldest approach, and he was making a statement here: Sebastian would never get the best of him.

The plastic bags he’d used to cover his shoes swished as he walked across the living room, but he wasn’t worried about a little creak or rustle. This was an old home, the kind of place that made a lot of settling noises. Midtown wasn’t the best neighborhood for kids, but the area had undergone a revival since downtown Sacramento had become a place to live as well as work. He could understand why Mary had kept the house after she and her husband split. It was small, but with its plaster walls, hardwood floors, arched doorway connecting the living room to the dining room, and steps that led from the dining room to a study alcove, all of which he’d seen many times through the window, the house possessed a cozy sort of Norman Rockwell charm. And it was practical. She worked at Sutter Hospital, only a few blocks away.

Tonight, it was too dark to see the details. A sliver of moon hung in the sky outside, but fog blocked even that. Afraid he’d betray his presence by bumping into the furniture or breaking something fragile, he turned on the flashlight he’d brought and angled it around the room.

This was a nice place, all right, certainly nicer than the dumps he’d lived in after blowing most of Emily’s money.

“We could’ve shared this,” he muttered. “But you traded it all away.”

Was it because he’d been unfaithful to her when they were in high school? If so, what a hard-hearted bitch. He wouldn’t want to get with anyone who could hold a grudge for that long, anyway. He’d already explained to her. He’d been a dumb kid, thinking with his dick instead of his brain, just like he’d said. And he’d paid the price for it, hadn’t he? Although he and Mary had tried to get back together a few times afterward, things were never as good as before. Otherwise, they might’ve gone to the same college, as they’d once planned. And they might’ve gotten married. Then he wouldn’t have married his first wife, who’d turned out to be the biggest shrew he’d ever met, always complaining about her emotional needs and how they weren’t being met. That hadn’t lasted long. He’d gotten out as soon as possible.

Spotting a family picture, Malcolm crossed to the buffet to take a better look. There was Mary with a tall dark man and her two boys. Her chestnut-colored hair was pulled back and she was smiling the same broad smile he remembered from high school. He loved her gorgeous smile. She really hadn’t changed much. She still had the same clear skin, the big brown eyes, the upturned nose.

“How could you be so cruel?” he asked as he gazed down at her.

Had Sebastian purposely ingratiated himself? For some reason, women couldn’t seem to resist Emily’s ex. They didn’t see how autocratic and overbearing he was. They didn’t see the way he constantly challenged those around him.

He’d probably shown up here, talking slick and flashing his money. Mary was certainly the type to be impressed by some big spender from New York City. She’d told him how cheap her ex-husband was.

Snapping off the flashlight, Malcolm moved toward the back of the house. Now that he’d familiarized himself with the obstacles he might encounter, there was no need to press his luck by using the flashlight. But before he killed Mary, he wanted to see her boys, to look down at them in their beds as he might’ve done had he become their stepfather. He couldn’t believe that while he’d been planning to become a good companion to her, she’d been trying to trick him-but it was right there, in almost every e-mail. She’d pressed him for his location, pretended she was still in love, even used his desire for her against him.

She’d made a fool of him, and nothing infuriated him more.

Judging by the number of doors branching off the hallway, there were two bedrooms and one bath in the house. A radio or a TV had been left on. He could hear the low rumble as he drew closer to the end of the hall. It helped to mask the creak of his footsteps.

The first bedroom wasn’t the one with the TV. That room belonged to the boys. Even if a night-light hadn’t revealed the children sleeping in twin beds that took up most of the space, Malcolm would’ve known it wasn’t Mary’s by the smell. Stale sweat from the sports jerseys, clothes, tennis shoes and cleats scattered on the floor competed with male cologne. The combination wasn’t a stench so much as it was a distinctive, familiar odor. It reminded him of Colton. His room had smelled the same way-of boy.

Why had he even considered taking on the responsibility of raising two more kids. Stepparenting was a thankless job. Colton had hated him almost as much as Sebastian had. They constantly united against him. Even Emily had taken their side more often than not.

But he’d dealt with her. He’d deal with Mary, too. And then Sebastian. Heck, he had several hours until dawn. Why not kill the whole family? That would make her regret what she’d done, wouldn’t it? That would hurt her as much as she’d hurt him. And then Sebastian would die knowing that his meddling had caused the loss of three lives, two of them children.

The older boy somehow had most of the younger boy’s blankets. He was using two comforters while his brother was uncovered and curled into a ball to ward off the cold. Typical, Malcolm thought as he stood over the bed. The younger brother never had a chance. That was how it’d been in his family, too. Jack had taken more than his share of everything, especially their parents’ love and attention.

Malcolm blew out a sigh. Mary cared more about these boys than she did about anyone or anything else. Should he march them into her room and kill them in front of her?

It’d be easier if he had his gun, he decided. Quick. Lethal. One shot and it would all be over, just like with Emily and Colton.

But he couldn’t use a gun. It was too loud and the ballistics tests would reveal too much. He had to use a knife. Did he have the nerve to murder two children he’d never even met, especially with a knife? The rage he felt certainly tempted him. Malcolm responded. He wants to know what’s in the package, but he didn’t leave an address. I’ll reply, see if I can get it out of him… She’d taken away the one positive aspect of his life, the one thing that had kept him going over the past few months since the money ran out. After being fired from yet another job as a security guard for a large commercial complex in downtown Los Angeles, he’d come to Sacramento to start over-again. Mary had been his promise that this time he’d finally build a new life, just as he’d planned ever since leaving Jersey.

But she’d ruined it for him. Sacramento wouldn’t be the answer. He’d have to move elsewhere, try to get on with another crappy security company, assume another alias-but not until he’d finished his business here. Not until he’d put an end to Mary and Sebastian and knew for sure that there was no one left-other than Pam Wartle-who had any idea he was alive. Only then could he truly forget the past. Only then could he really move on.

He could kill the kids, he assured himself. He’d do it in front of Mary. But not until he’d had the chance to confront her…

Slipping out of the boys’ room, he approached the door at the end of the hall and paused to listen to the TV droning behind it. Was she awake and watching a program as he liked to do? Or had she fallen asleep with the TV on?

He was about to find out, about to see the woman he’d loved since he was sixteen years old. Maybe he’d tell her she could save herself and her children by having sex with him. He’d threaten her, tell her not to make a sound while he forced her to deliver on all the false promises she’d made. She owed him that much, didn’t she? Then he’d kill the children, saving her for last, clean up any evidence he might’ve left behind and slip away.

Too bad her first glimpse of him would include overalls, a hairnet, gloves and plastic bags over his feet. Dressed this way, he certainly couldn’t compete with the stylish, debonair Sebastian Costas. But he couldn’t compete with him, anyway.

At least Mary would be scared. She’d be terrified, and that was all that mattered.

He’d teach her that he was no fool, he thought, and went into her room.