21st Birthday by James Patterson (e book reader android .TXT) 📕

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, flashed its lights at the reporters blocking the way, and pulled up to the curb bordering the park. Crime Lab Director Hallows and CSI Culver got out of the van as ADA Yuki Castellano’s Toyota pulled up behind us.

“Record time,” I said to Brady.

Yuki passed papers through the driver’s-side window to my CO, who was also her husband. Brady unfolded the warrant.

“Judge Hoffman signed here, here, and here,” Yuki said, then she summarized. We had twenty-four hours to go through Burke’s house. We could open closed closets, cabinets, drawers, and doors. Could confiscate electronic devices and weapons. Without knocking out walls or otherwise damaging property, CSU could test for anything that might indicate evidence of crime.

Brady and I got out of the car. He put an arm around Yuki, squeezed her shoulders, and kissed the top of her head. Then he crossed the street to speak with Hallows. Yuki and I leaned against the Chevy while I phoned Conklin, who was at the top of the street, our outer perimeter.

I watched him duck under the tape and hold it up for Inspector Sonia Alvarez. Conklin introduced Alvarez to Yuki, and from the way she walked, talked, and handled herself, I thought Alvarez seemed all right. A straight shooter.

Brady joined us to say, “Hallows and Culver are ready for the walk-through. Any questions?” he asked Alvarez.

“No, sir. I’ve done this before.”

Brady sent Conklin and Alvarez to cover the rear door of the small two-story house. I peered through the front window and saw no sign that anyone was home. But to be on the safe side, Brady pulled his gun.

He said, “Are we feeling lucky?”

“Very.”

I stepped forward, knocked on the dark blue front door, and announced. When no one answered, I did it again. This time, I heard footsteps and the sound of the chain lock coming off the door, its brass knocker shaped like a fist. The door swung open. And there he was in the doorway, Lucas Burke.

“What do you want?”

Brady said, “We have warrants to search your house, Mr. Burke. This could take a long time, probably overnight. Is there somewhere you can stay? Or I can have an officer drive you to a hotel.”

“The hell you will. Do you understand? My baby girl is dead. I have to make arrangements. I’m in mourning. And look at this mob outside. Reporters, for God’s sake. My neighbors are seeing this. You’re ruining my life!”

Brady said, “We’re very sorry, but we need to go through your house. For your sake as well as ours, you shouldn’t be here.”

Burke slammed the door in our