Jane motioned to the chair she’d placed across from her desk for Gloria yesterday and stepped back. She felt as if she was acting again, pretending to be a professional victims’ advocate instead of a mere trainee. But she instinctively knew Costas was the type of man who’d assume she didn’t deserve his respect if she didn’t demand it. “Please, have a seat.”

His lithe movements graceful yet extremely masculine, he did as she directed.

Jane cleared her throat. “Thanks for coming.”

“Hopefully, we’ll both be glad of this meeting,” he said. “What do you have on Wesley Boss?”

Jane didn’t sit down. She felt more in control standing. “Not much. Yet.”

“You said you have an address?”

“I have a P.O. box. Detective Willis is working on a street address.”

“Have you met Boss? Can you tell me what he looks like?”

“No. At this point, he’s only a name to me.”

He studied her so intently she felt the blood rush to her face. “How did he come up in connection with the two missing African-American girls?”

“One of them made a call last night using a cell phone that corresponds to his name.”

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Costas folded his hands in his lap. “Interesting.”

“We think so, too.” Jane realized that standing might make her seem nervous, so she took her seat and tried to appear more at ease. “Tell me what you know about Boss.”

“As I explained to Willis, he’s really Malcolm Turner, the man who killed my ex-wife and son in New Jersey, then faked his own death.”

“Was he married to your ex-wife at the time of the murders?”

“Yes.”

Jane couldn’t help sympathizing. She also couldn’t help wondering if he’d remarried. She didn’t think so; he wasn’t wearing a ring. “I’m sorry. I know that must’ve been hard for you.” She could tell it was hard for him even now. “But what makes you believe Wesley is Malcolm?”

“In a roundabout way, I’ve been in touch with him via the Internet for nearly three months.”

“You…chat with him?”

“After setting up his new life, he sent an instant message to Mary McCoy, a former girlfriend who lives here in town. He claimed to be Wesley Boss, but some of the things he said reminded her of Malcolm, so she gave me a call. They’ve been e-mailing, with me sort of listening in, ever since.”

“How did she know to contact you?”

“After the murders, I spent months visiting every friend, family member and acquaintance Malcolm Turner’s ever had. They all know to contact me if they hear from him.”

“I see.” She straightened the objects on her desk. “You’re very thorough.”

“I’m determined to achieve justice for Emily and Colton,” he said.

“So you’ve made contact with Mr. Boss but don’t know where he lives?”

“Not yet. He’s getting more and more interested in Mary, though, and he has her address. That’s why I’ve got to find him, fast.”

“You think he might go to her house? That he might hurt her?”

“He’s a murderer, Ms. Burke. There’s no telling what he’ll do.”

Jane was afraid her inexperience was showing. “What did you mean on the phone, when you mentioned roommates?” she asked.

“Last night Mary gave me the password to her e-mail account and I posed as her while chatting with ‘Wesley.’ I wanted to press him for his location, or get him to identify himself as Malcolm. He didn’t do either, but he seemed more distracted than usual and blamed two roommates.”

The phone interrupted. Jane ignored its ringing because she knew one of the volunteers would pick up. “And?”

“He mentioned they were girls, as opposed to women. He even said they were sisters.”

Excitement and hope shot through Jane. “My kidnap victims.”

“Possibly.”

“He talked as if they were still alive?”

“Yes.”

Jane had no idea what shape they’d be in but, given the odds, this was welcome news. “So if Wesley Boss is Malcolm Turner, and Malcolm’s such a racist, why did he take them? Why these two? Why not two white girls?”

“I’m guessing it was a crime of opportunity.”

“Earlier you said he was having trouble with them.”

“He made it sound that way.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“He didn’t specify. But if he has these girls with him, it would certainly explain why he’s been so reluctant to see Mary.”

Crossing her legs, Jane toyed with a ballpoint pen. “She’s willing to meet with him?”

“I’ll be the one doing that.”

“Oh, right. Of course.”

The intercom buzzed. “Jane?” It was Lisa, the volunteer who’d shown Sebastian into the room.

Jane hit the button that would let her respond. “Yes?”

“Detective Willis on line one.”

“Thank you.” Standing, because she had too much energy to remain seated, no matter how much more relaxed it made her seem, she picked up line one. “David?”

“Jane, I’ve only got a second. I’m on my way to perform a search. But I had someone else get the address associated with Wesley Boss’s P.O. box. Are you ready?”

Her eyes connected with Sebastian’s; then she grabbed a piece of paper from the holder on her desk. “Ready.”

He rattled off an address in Ione, a small town in Amador County about forty-five minutes away.

“Got it,” she said.

“I’ve already called the sheriff’s department. A deputy will join you there, but I’m betting he’s closer than you are, so you’d better hurry.”

“I understand. Thanks for letting me know.” She hung up and grabbed her purse from under the desk. “We’ve got to go,” she said.

Sebastian came to his feet. “You know where he is?”

“I have an address. What we’ll find when we get there is anyone’s guess.”

Eight

Could it really be over? After all the time he’d spent searching?

Sebastian almost didn’t dare hope. But as he drove Jane Burke to Ione-her car didn’t have GPS and he hadn’t yet sacrificed his Lexus-he called to share the news with Mary. He doubted he’d be able to reach her this early. She was at the hospital working in admissions until four. But he could leave a message she might get on her break. With those flowers showing up at her house this morning, he wanted to alleviate her fears as soon as possible.




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