Brenda Novak - The Perfect Murder

“Let me know when you have it.”

He muttered Boss’s name under his breath. “Wesley Boss…Wesley Boss.”

“What is it?” she asked.

“That name sounds familiar.”

“Why would it?”

“I’ve heard it before. Recently. Or maybe not.” He stepped onto the stoop. “Wait, I remember now. Some guy from New York came to the station a few weeks ago, asking about a Wesley Boss. He said Boss loves police work, forensic shows, ambulance chasing. He wanted to know if he’d been a nuisance or tried to befriend any of the officers.”

Jane hid behind the door to spare the other people in her complex the sight of her in her bathrobe. “Why was he looking for Boss?”

David didn’t answer. His mind was elsewhere. “What was the name of that guy?” He squeezed his eyes closed. “It was Greek, I know that. Coast? That’s close. Hang on.” He hit a speed-dial button on his phone and asked someone on the other end to check his desk for a business card with a Greek last name beginning with the letter C. “It should be in my top drawer,” he told whoever it was.

While he tried to come up with the information, Jane took the towel off and started patting her head dry. Her hair was short and choppy these days. She needed to style it, before it dried.

“No…no…no…There’s a New York address…That’s it,” she heard David say. “What’s the name?…Give me the number, too.”

He still had her pen. He wrote the information on his pad, then tore out the sheet and handed it to her. “Call this guy and see if he ever found his man.”

“You’re willing to let me do this?” she asked in surprise.

“A homicide case I’ve been working for the past two months just went into fast-forward.”

So the safety of Gloria Rickman’s sisters wasn’t the only thing keeping him up at night. “I’ll take care of it,” she said.

He tossed her a tired smile. “I’ll get to the post office once I handle this.”

“Okay.” Jane read the name on the paper. Sebastian Costas. “What’s his connection to Boss? Why’s he looking for him?” she called after David.

He paused midway to his car. “He claims Boss is an alias for a man named Malcolm Turner, an ex-cop from Jersey.”

“And?”

“He believes Turner killed his wife and stepson, then faked his own death.”

“So Costas is a cop himself? Or a private investigator?”

“He’s the father of the boy who was murdered.”

Her thoughts immediately reverted to Kate and how easily she could’ve lost her five years ago, when Oliver went on his killing rampage. “Ouch.”

“He might not be thinking clearly.”

“Is there any chance he could be right? About Boss?”

“I placed a call to New Jersey. They’re convinced Turner is dead. They have DNA to prove it.”

“So this Costas is crazy or desperate or both.”

David seemed to consider the question. “What he says is highly unlikely. But…one thing I’ve learned in law enforcement-anything’s possible.”

“True. I’ll talk to you later.” She watched him drive away, then stared at the note he’d handed her. Maybe Sebastian Costas was out of his mind with grief or maybe he refused to believe that the man who’d killed his son was dead because he needed a target. Both were plausible scenarios. But Marcie’s phone call had originated from a number owned by a Wesley Boss, and it was awfully coincidental that Mr. Costas was searching for a man with the same name.

Something was up with Mr. Boss. Whether he was actually Mr. Turner remained to be seen.

The ring of his cell phone woke Sebastian. Patting the desk, he managed to locate it without opening his eyes. “Hello?”

“You won’t believe this,” a female voice announced.

Biting back a groan occasioned by the crick in his neck, he sat up. “Mary?”

“Did I wake you?”

Still groggy, he checked the clock. It was after eight. He’d spent the night in front of the computer. “Looks like it’s time to get up, anyway. What’s going on?” He couldn’t imagine she’d heard from Malcolm since she’d given up her screen name. He jiggled his mouse to dissolve his screen saver. She hadn’t signed on from an alternate location. He was still actively connected, and his was the last message in the conversation.

“He sent me flowers!” she said.

“Malcolm?”

“Yeah. A dozen red roses. They arrived a few minutes ago. The card says, ‘Happy Anniversary.’”

Sebastian came to his feet. “How did he sign it?”

“He didn’t. That’s all there is. Just ‘Happy Anniversary.’ But…aren’t you excited? They have to be from him. He’s letting me know his true identity! Malcolm’s falling for it!”

Sebastian raked his fingers through his hair. “The anniversary may not be the giveaway you think it is.”

“Why not?”

Wishing he had some aspirin, he rolled his shoulders. “I mentioned it to him last night.”

“Oh.”

As he passed the foot of the bed, he caught his reflection in that same damn mirror and turned away. He didn’t need to see his raggedy-ass appearance. He needed coffee, even more than aspirin. “I was using anything I could to make him show his hand,” he explained.

“But one guy would never send flowers to commemorate a competitor’s anniversary.”

“True. I guess that makes it a bigger step forward than I initially thought.”

“He’s getting closer and closer to revealing who he really is.”

The scent of coffee granules rose to Sebastian’s nostrils as he tore open the packet of gourmet roast that had been sandwiched between the coffeemaker and the bathroom wall. “Maybe. But I’m concerned about one thing.”

“What’s that?”

Apparently, she was so pleased by their progress she wasn’t thinking of the risks. “He has your exact address.”

Silence. Then she said, “Do you think he sent the flowers just to show that he can find me?”

He poured the grounds into the filter. “Knowing Malcolm? Probably. He told you he could get the information and this is his way of proving it.”

“Sometimes it’s hard for me to see him as the bastard you say he is,” she admitted.

Sebastian’s hand hovered over the start button. “Seriously?”

“He cheated on me, but we were kids. I never dreamed the boy I knew, the boy I slept with, would grow up to become a cold-blooded murderer. To be so dangerous. He had his moments, like everyone else, but he could be really sweet, too.”

Sebastian started the coffeemaker, then wandered back into the room and pulled open the heavy drapes on the window. “Even Ted Bundy was once a kid. Did you call the Jersey police and check out my story, like I asked you to?”

“I did. I wanted more details. I thought it might help me absorb the shock. The man I spoke to said Malcolm killed his wife and stepson. But he also said Malcolm killed himself.”

A thin fog and slight drizzle made Sebastian less than eager to head outside. From what he’d heard, Sacramento had perfect weather nine months out of the year. Just his luck to be here during their three-month rainy season. “That’s the part that isn’t true and you know it. You’ve been communicating with him for months.”

“It’s weird, that’s all.”

“You need to accept it. He’s getting more committed to your relationship.” The flowers signified as much. They also signified that he’d act soon. Now that he really thought about it, “Happy Anniversary” was a commitment of sorts, a milestone. He just hoped Malcolm acted the way they wanted him to. That was where the gamble came in.

“You don’t think he’d surprise me by coming here,” she said.