The Perfect Murder (Last Stand 6) - Page 74/96

U shod see my ring.

He bought u a ring?

He luvs m. Tel Maecie we wrre wrong bout hum.

Her mistakes were getting worse. She was normally a good typist and a great speller, much better than Marcie or Gloria, but her fingers seemed to fumble all over the keyboard. He ben thru a lt. He feel bad he wasnt nic to us at feirst. At lest he lt Marcie go, rit?

What r u talkin bout?

She made more of an effort to type correctly. At least he let Marcie go.

That don’t make sense, Latisha. He didn’t let Marcie go.

Latisha straightened in her seat. She was beginning to sober up. Sure he did. She’s not here anymore.

Marcie’s dead. And that man killed her. U gotta get help before he do the same to u. U gotta get away!

The smell of smoke seemed to penetrate the house as if Wesley was out back doing the burning all over again. But Latisha knew that wasn’t the case. She was still alone.

U lyin’, she typed. Gloria just wanted to make sure she came home and finished school. Gloria wanted to keep them all together.

I’m not. He killed her, Latisha. Stabbed her to death. And dead is dead. Get out! Now!!! I can’t lose both of u.

“‘I can’t lose both of you,’” she read aloud. It was those words, more than any of Gloria’s accusations or exclamation points that finally convinced her. Gloria was tough. She didn’t say anything sentimental. Not unless she’d been stripped of the pride that kept her going from day to day.

Jumping to her feet, Latisha tripped and almost fell into the table. The empty rum bottle was still on the counter. A package of sleeping pills lay next to it.

Had Wesley put them in her drink? If so, why?

Because he’d wanted to leave. That much was obvious. And he’d wanted her to be here when he returned. But where had he gone? And why had he lied? He’d said he wanted to marry her!

Images of the time they’d spent together in the bedroom came back to her, and she understood. He’d been using her. She made life more comfortable for him out here in this lonely house. He wouldn’t let her go. He was lying about that as well as the future he’d promised her.

Her heart raced as she clutched at her aching chest. She’d believed him. She’d ignored the blood on his shoes and the burning he’d done out back because she didn’t want to acknowledge that her sister was dead. It was so much better to think of her at home with Gloria, where she belonged. Gloria would take care of her. It was Gloria who’d always taken care of them both.

But now…Gloria wasn’t here.

He’d kill her eventually, Latisha realized. Maybe not today or tomorrow. She was still of some use to him. She wasn’t like Marcie. She’d let him control her, let him take what he wanted. But what if she ever defied him? What would happen then?

The answer was all too clear. Gloria was right. She had to get away.

How? Where could she go for help? They were in the middle of nowhere. It was pitch-black outside, which meant she could easily stumble into a ravine or a ditch. She couldn’t think as clearly as she needed to, because of whatever he’d given her. And, more frightening than anything else, she had no idea when he’d be back.

Remembering the way he’d kicked Marcie in the face, she cringed. He wouldn’t like it if he caught her trying to leave him…

Come morning, would he be burning clothes with her blood on them in that barrel outside?

Twenty-Three

It wasn’t as easy to get inside a condo as it was a house. He needed to be cautious. Make a plan.

Malcolm sat at the bus stop across the street from where he’d dumped Marcie’s body, wearing his female disguise. To cover his face, he’d wrapped a large scarf around his head the way some Russian immigrants did, and no one had looked at him twice. It was starting to rain, which helped; most people either stayed inside or sheltered beneath an umbrella. Only an old lady with no teeth, who kept her eyes closed and mumbled to herself, and two teenagers listening to iPods and purposely ignoring everything else around them, waited at the bus stop. When the bus arrived, the three of them got on, but no one seemed to notice that he didn’t.

Getting to Jane was going to be tricky. Although her unit was on the ground floor, her complex faced a busy street. Late at night, traffic thinned considerably-he knew because that was when he’d dumped Marcie-but because of it he didn’t feel comfortable entering from the front.

If he went around back, there was less chance of being spotted, but more chance of standing out if someone did happen to see him. He’d already circled the complex in his van to get a sense of the layout. Each unit had a back door, with a porch and a small patch of fenced yard.

That would be his point of entry. He could easily scale the fence and go in when he was sure Sebastian wasn’t there. According to The Last Stand Web site, some of the women who worked for the charity were experts in self-defense. They even offered courses. Jane could be one of them. There was no need to get in over his head. He’d take her on alone, kill her and wait for Sebastian to return. Then he’d get to witness Sebastian’s reaction…

Malcolm studied the units on either side of number 53. With such close neighbors, a gun would be too loud. Only a quiet killing would give him the time he’d need to wait for Sebastian, which meant he’d have to use his knife again. Fortunately, such an intimate murder wasn’t as hard as he’d thought it would be. All it took was enough hate.

“Excuse me. Do you know how much longer it’ll be before the bus comes?”

He glanced up to see one of those freaky “green” types who biked to work in a suit. Tall and skinny, the guy wore biking gloves and had his bicycle with him. The gloves looked sporty-but his glasses were fogged up and he had a rubber band around one pant leg. Apparently, the guy was tired of getting wet or had left the office later than usual.

Malcolm had no clue about the bus schedule. Neither did he care. He couldn’t talk, anyway. Maybe he was small enough to pull off dressing as a woman, but there was nothing feminine about his voice.

Shaking his head, he waved as if he didn’t speak the language and shuffled off.

Once he’d turned the corner and was out of sight, he strode more briskly toward the van, which he’d parked on a nearby street. It was almost nine. He had to get back before Latisha woke up. She wasn’t anything like her sister-thank God-but he couldn’t leave her alone too long.

Imagining her sleeping in his bed, awaiting his return, he smiled. There was something to be said for hooking up with someone so young and naive. She didn’t fight him the way his previous wives had; she gave him complete control.