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

There was a tapping on the glass wall from outside Brady’s office and I came back to the moment. It was the woman who’d accompanied Burke to the Hall.

“This is my ex-wife, Alexandra Conroy,” Burke said. “She called me when she heard that Lorrie was murdered. Do you have any suspects, sergeant? Besides me?”

“I’m very sorry,” I said, dodging the question.

Brady was halfway down the squad room aisle briefing Chi and Cappy. I collected myself. I stood up and introduced myself to Burke’s ex-wife. We shook hands, and I told her to sit at my desk. “We won’t be long.”

I started gathering impressions.

Conroy looked to be in her forties, about Lucas’s age. She was well put-together in cream-colored knit separates. She had sun-streaked hair, a sun-pinked nose, and she wore no wedding band. My take? She had free time. She didn’t get messy. And despite the divorce, apparently she cared for Burke.

Burke wore a short-sleeved white shirt and khakis. His face and arms were burned to the point of peeling. Since the last time I saw him, he’d been exposed to the sun without SPF anything. Could be that he and Ms. Conroy had been lounging on a beach. Was it an alibi?

I watched Burke clutch the newspaper, shaking it as he reread Cindy’s report of Misty’s gruesome death. He was muttering, making hurt sounds, “Oh, God. Oh, God. Why? Why her?”

I said, “Lucas. Did you know Wendy Franks?”

He looked up at me like he’d stumbled out of a dark cave into daylight. “Who? No.”

I heard Brady ask Cappy and Chi to bring Ms. Conroy to Interview 1. “Take notes. I don’t want to wait for the transcript.”

Brady headed back toward his office, shook hands with Conroy, and introduced her to the detectives.

Then Brady said to Burke and me, “Let’s make ourselves more comfortable.”

Burke said, “I demand answers.”

“Same here,” said Brady.

Chapter 41

Lucas Burke wobbled, bumped into the walls of the corridor leading to Interview 2.

I put a steadying hand on his back and he shook me off. My mind split again. I suspected Burke of these horrific murders, yet his grief and rage felt absolutely real.

But if he killed these women—and his own baby—I would devote myself to nailing Lucas Burke, for as long as it took. Right now, I was glad to be partnered with Jackson Brady. He would sort out Burke and get to the truth.

Interview 2 was the larger of the two interrogation rooms, with a water cooler and a small fridge as well as a dinged-up metal table and four matching chairs. The camera in the corner of the ceiling started rolling once we opened the door. I was sure that Clapper had been notified, and that either Parisi or an ADA was standing with him in the observation room.

Brady closed the door behind us and we took seats at the table facing Burke, who could see his own tortured expression in the mirror.

I was ready. We all were.

“Who did this to Misty?”

Brady said, “Where’ve you been, Mr. Burke? Let’s start with the last time we saw you, driving north on Dublin Street two days ago at about noon. Don’t leave anything out.”

I took notes as Burke described speeding away from his house, not hiding his fury that in addition to the blow he’d taken over the death of his child and the insult of being locked up as a material witness, he’d been forced to leave his house so the cops could rummage through his belongings.

“Find anything incriminating?” he shouted across the table. “Find any evidence?”

“Where did you go after you left your house?” I said calmly.

“Alex, my ex, called me when she heard about Lorrie. We’re still friends.”

He told us that Conroy lived in Sacramento, so he drove up there. He spent the night. She suggested they get away from everything, go to a resort in Carmel-by-the-Sea.

It was a few hours’ drive. They stayed in a suite with a balcony overlooking the pool. They drank a lot, slept by the pool, and Burke checked his phone all day and night hoping that Tara would call.

“I thought she would call, and I would answer the phone and hear her crying,” said Burke. “I knew I could calm her down and get her to tell me where she was. Arrange somehow to get to her. And then, I would demand to know what the hell happened to Lorrie.”

He covered his face with his hands. Tears fell but Brady wasn’t moved. He pushed, jabbed, prodded, and alternated his questions and demands.

“Burke, you have very limited options. This girl that was murdered? Fogarty? She was your girlfriend, isn’t that right? Boxer? Jump in.”

“It was common knowledge,” I said, “and she told me all about your relationship. Where you met. What you said. We have a note. You promising to marry her. She was expecting to see you the same day we released you.”

“I didn’t make a plan to see her.”

“She was disappointed, heartsick, worried about you. She wanted to comfort you.”

“Stop. Please, stop. What you’re doing is criminal.”

“She died a horrible death,” I said.

“I loved Misty. Someone is killing people I love! Don’t you see that? I wish I were dead, too.”

Brady didn’t care what Burke said. “Just the facts, man. Tara’s mother calls Sergeant Boxer a half dozen times a day. She hasn’t heard from Tara. Where is she? You went to Carmel while your baby was dead and your wife was missing? What kind of husband does that? I need your check-in times. Will anyone at the resort remember you? Where did y’all eat? I need all your credit card receipts. All of them. We need a cheek swab. Why? Because you want to get off the suspect list. Yours is the only name on it.

“Open your wallet and take out any receipts or reservation confirmations,” Brady continued. “Give me your phone now. Don’t give me reasons to arrest you for murder.”

Burke said, “Alex paid for the