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

to keep going and when he ran out of questions to hand Conroy off to ADA Castellano.

Chi asked Conroy, “What did Lucas tell you about Tara?”

Conroy said with some feeling that Burke was still convinced that Tara was alive. “He told me that Tara was either guilt-ridden and in hiding or with some guy.”

I was no longer convinced we would find Tara Wyatt Burke alive.

“I’m going in,” I said to Brady.

He nodded and I knocked on the door, then opened it.

“Chi, Cappy, Ms. Conroy. I have a couple of questions.”

Chi and Cappy invited me in.

I turned to Conroy. “These are a little personal, but they won’t go beyond this room,” I lied.

“Sure. What do you want to know?”

“Was Lucas ever abusive during your marriage?”

“You mean did he beat me?”

“Anything that comes to you when I say ‘abusive.’”

“Huh. Well. To be honest. He had a temper. That’s why I divorced him three years ago. But I swear — do you have a Bible? Okay, well, on my word — the worst he’d do was, he would yell. Grab my arm once in a while, twist it. He could say mean things. He scared me. We were both pretty young when we married. I didn’t understand it. My father was a gentle soul. Luke was rough. But he never broke a bone or threatened me with a weapon, if that’s where you’re going. He was from a neighborhood where there was fighting. Now, he says please and thank you and never lifts a hand in anger. He’s matured.”

I thought otherwise, but said, “Did you ever meet Tara?”

“No. But I sent them a wedding present and a baby present, too. And no, I never met LuLu, either.”

“What did you get for Lorrie?”

“A bouncer. From their wish list online.”

“And, normally, how often are you in contact with your ex-husband?”

“I’d say every few weeks. We email when there’s big news. Good news. Disappointments. But apart from these past two days, I last saw him in person at the funeral of a mutual friend, maybe two years ago.”

I asked if we had her contact info and she said she’d given it to Sergeant Chi.

I said, “Thanks for your time.”

Cappy followed me out. “Take it for what it’s worth,” he said. “She said there weren’t no dirty dancing on their trip. Burke just talked, drank, cried, passed out.”

Brady and Yuki were waiting for me in the hallway.

The boss asked, “What did y’all think?”

“She’s an innocent bystander,” I said.

Yuki said, “I’m with Lindsay. I’ll get their receipts checked out, but their stories were consistent enough. Then we’ll see if we’re arresting Burke — or kicking him.”

Belief and doubt were still trading punches in my mind.

We needed a confession. A witness. Tangible evidence.

I stopped to get coffee, and once back at my desk I saw CSI director Hallows in Brady’s office. The two men were in deep conversation. When Brady saw me, he waved me in.

He said, “Hallows has the surveillance footage from Sunset Park Prep’s parking lot from Fogarty’s murder. He thinks he’s got something.”

CHAPTER 43

AROUND MIDAFTERNOON, our task force gathered at the far end of our floor in a vacant corner office that used to belong to Lieutenant Ted Swanson before he went to prison.

Brady and I tacked pictures up on the cork board — Tara and Lucas Burke, plus morgue photos of Lorrie Burke, Wendy Franks, and Melissa Fogarty.

Hallows set up his laptop on the table, the team assembled around, and Brady stood at the head.

Brady said, “I don’t know if Lucas Burke is the doer, if he hired a hitter, is deeply unlucky, or if he’s so psychotic and freaking smart he leaves no trace.

“But this much we do know.” Brady read from his phone. “From Captain Geoffrey Brevoort, Marin PD. Quote, ‘We’ve tossed Wendy Frank’s life. Such as it was. She was an isolate. A painter. Had two friends, neither of whom had ever heard of Lucas Burke. According to the friends, Wendy liked girls and was still getting over a breakup. She took her Sea Ray out in the harbor alone, and only saw her friends occasionally.’”

I said, “Burke said he never heard of her either.”

“Okay,” said Brady. “Pin a red flag on it, anyway. Conklin, you’re up.”

Conklin checked his notes. “By the time Alvarez and I got to the scene, Fogarty’s body was in the ME van, but we spent hours with her SUV. She bled out in the driver’s seat. The only sign of a struggle was she’d kicked off her shoes and left some fingernail marks in the dash. Her handbag was in the passenger side foot well with her wallet intact, and the keys were in the ignition.”

Alvarez stood up. “Misty’s phone was far back under the driver’s seat. I went through her messages from the last few days, and particularly from last night. Around seven. Melissa texts to a burner phone, ‘I have to see you.’ Gets a return text. ‘Be there at eight, don’t be late.’ Why was she texting Burke on a burner? To keep their plans a secret? Or was she being tricked by someone — not Burke — who lured her in?”

Alvarez sat down.

I said, “I viewed Fogarty’s body pre-autopsy. As Dr. Washburn said, her throat was slashed from behind, ear to ear. What puzzles me are the seemingly random gashes on her upper breasts, same as with Franks. I don’t see a pattern in these nonfatal wounds. It’s like he’s doodling, or drawing out the contact with the victim.”

I picked up the pointer and aimed it at the morgue shots tacked on the board, running laser circles around the gashes; ten on Franks, seven on Fogarty.

“Clue anyone?”

“He’s trying to throw us off with bullshit,” said Cappy.

“I’ll take another run through ViCAP.”

Yuki stood up and said, “I got a warrant to go through Burke’s financials. This is a three-day job, but I sucked in some volunteers in my office with free