21st Birthday by Patterson, James (ebook reader screen .TXT) 📕

T-shirt, had blue-streaked hair, and was tapping on her phone, fingers flying.

She looked up and Conklin made the introductions. When he and Alvarez were seated, he said, “Ms. Simmons, you have something to tell us about Tara Burke?”

“I hope,” she said. “Anything I can tell you to help find her, I will. She was like my sister and we shared everything.”

Conklin said, “You mind if I ask you some questions, get them out of the way?”

“No, go ahead.”

“Do you know where Tara is?”

“I wish I did. I’m very, very worried. I haven’t heard from her since the weekend. Her mailbox is full.”

Alvarez said, “Okay to call you Johanna?”

The young woman nodded.

“What can you tell us about Tara?”

“We’ve been friends since the sixth grade. Like, close. We used to double date, and I was her bridesmaid —”

“What’s her marriage like, Johanna?” Alvarez asked. “Do you have any idea?”

“They definitely have problems. Lucas is like, what, twenty years older than us? To be honest, I think she may have been hooking up with someone on the side. And no, she never told me who. She was teasing me, with like ‘Ooooooh, someone likes me.’ So, why was she saying that? I don’t know. I really don’t know.”

Conklin watched as Johanna pulled her hair back from her face and twisted it and then kept talking. “I really think Lucas loves her and Tara tortures him. She just thinks faster, like, runs circles around him and whatever. And Tara told me that she thinks Lucas has a girlfriend, so like that’s not cool, either.”

Alvarez said, “I’m new to this case, Johanna, so tell me more about Tara. Why would she have a boyfriend when she’s only been married for a short time? Three years?”

“Three years and two months. She might do it to get Lucas mad. That’s the kind of thing she might do, like the way she never locks the doors on their house. And she showed me a bruise on her wrist once. I don’t know if Lucas did it, but I asked her. Listen, she’s very cute. You’ve seen her picture? Then, you know. Guys were always hitting on her.”

Conklin said, “I just want your opinion, Johanna. Do you think Lucas would hurt Tara?”

She shook her head no, vigorously. Johanna said, “If anything, he loved her too much.”

“You know that the baby was found today. Lorrie’s dead.”

Johanna Weber’s eyes filled with tears. Her mouth quavered. Alvarez said, “Okay, okay,” while Conklin found a package of tissues on the shelf under the mirror.

Alvarez said, “In your opinion, could Tara have hurt her baby, say in a fit of anger, or even by accident?”

“No, not ever. She loves LuLu. If something happened, Tara would take her to the hospital so fast.” Johanna dried her eyes and then said to Conklin, “Tara’s dead, isn’t she? She’s been killed.”

Conklin said, “We’re looking for her. Every cop in San Francisco is looking for her.”

She thanked him and he thanked her, gave her his card, and told her to call if she thought of anything, heard anything, anything at all. He told her he’d walk her out and said to Alvarez, “I’ll be right back.”

Conklin returned with his laptop and loaded the video of Brady and Lindsay’s interview with Burke. He played it for Alvarez.

“Let’s see the Burke interview. I need to hear him, watch him.”

Conklin hit a few keys and the video came up. Brady and Lindsay started by going easy on Burke, then working him over. The video ended with Burke in cuffs on his way up to holding.

Conklin said, “So what are you thinking?”

Alvarez said, “He’s believable. If he’s lying, he could be a movie star.”

Said Conklin, “Academy Award. At least a Golden Globe.”

Alvarez said, “So, what now, partner?”

“Let’s see what Brady wants us to do.”

CHAPTER 27

BRADY AND I WAITED in an unmarked Chevy in front of Lucas and Tara Burke’s house on Dublin Street.

It was a fairy-tale house: small, baby blue with gables, bay windows, and a white picket fence. It didn’t look like even mice were killed here.

We’d gotten all we could get from Lucas Burke as a material witness, and his attorney had sprung his client from our humble jail in under twenty-four hours.

At that time, Burke had given us his verbal consent to search his house, even turned over his keys. But if we found evidence, Burke’s attorney would move to exclude it because we’d had no warrant. I could hear it now. My client’s baby had been murdered. The police say, “Okay if we go through your house? See if Tara left a note, anything like that. Clear up some questions?” Mr. Burke should have said “Get a warrant,” but he was grieving. And he was not under arrest. Because he’s innocent and the police had no probable cause.

Clapper said, “We have no choice. Brady, keep eyes on him. Night shift. Swing shift. We do what we can do.”

Meanwhile, three days after she’d left home with Lorrie, Tara was still missing. On that basis, most judges would approve a search.

We’d been waiting in our car for hours.

If I were a smoker, I’d have gotten out of the car and lit up. But I didn’t smoke, and Brady and I both stink at small talk. So we listened to radio calls and stared out at McLaren Park across the street, a rolling 320 acres of grassy heaven. (Assuming you didn’t know about the bodies buried in that park that once went undiscovered for decades.)

I thought of the murdered baby and her young missing mother and asked myself if, by the end of the day, we would have probable cause to charge Lucas Burke for the murder of one or both.

My phone buzzed and I grabbed it off the dash.

“I’m ten minutes out,” Yuki said.

“Good. And thank God.”

“Thank me later,” she said with a laugh.

I told Brady and he grunted, looked at his watch. The CSI van appeared,