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

“Hey to you, Yorkie. You back already?”

“No, no. This is my colleague, Sergeant Lindsay Boxer, SFPD. Boxer, this is Dr. Marco Ganz. Marco, we’d like to talk to our subject for a minute. William Marsh.”

“He’s out of surgery. Sleeping it off down the hall.”

“Just need a couple of minutes, doctor,” I said. “He killed someone last night, a girlfriend or a pickup. We need him to give us her name.”

“Come with me.”

We followed the doctor down the corridor to a room where cops stood on either side of the door. Dr. Ganz opened it. Burke was alone in the room, lying in the narrow hospital bed, IV in his arm. Monitors beeped out his vital signs.

Ganz said, “Mr. Marsh, you have guests for a couple of minutes. I’ll be outside.”

Burke had kicked off his blanket. He wore an open-backed hospital gown, white patterned with blue dots, matching socks, and his right arm was in a sling crossing his chest.

“How sweet,” he said. “I appreciate the visit. Especially from you, Sergeant Boxer. You’re worried about me.”

“Anyone you want me to call for you?” I asked without inflection.

He didn’t answer.

I said, “Okay, then. We’re taking the next flight home. Anything you’d like to offer our DA? For instance, a confession to the murders of Tara and Lorrie Burke, and Melissa Fogarty. Make it convincing and I think he’ll ask a favor for you with the Las Vegas DA.”

“Well, that’s an offer I can’t refuse.”

Sarcasm. Burke was cogent and awake, but his voice was slow. That would be from the Demerol dripping into his veins.

“Here’s something for your DA, sergeant, dear. You’re going to like it. I’ve been sleeping with Luke’s child bride. For years. Luke didn’t know. I even went to the wedding.”

Was he making this up?

Burke smiled. I felt him padding around inside my head.

He said, “Lorrie was my daughter. Even you can trust me on this. I wouldn’t kill that little girl. What do I think happened? I think Tara told Lucas the whole story, about Lorrie being my baby and all. And Luke lost it. My son has a murderous temper.”

Damn it. He was lying, wasn’t he? So why did I believe him? Had Lucas really killed his own loved ones as charged? Or had Evan Burke?

I could argue both sides — and I didn’t like it.

Alvarez swiped at her cell phone and showed Burke the face of Jane Doe with a bullet hole through her forehead.

“What’s her name? Her parents might like to know where she is.”

“I … don’t … know …”

Burke had stopped fighting the drugs.

“Why’d you shoot her,” I said into his face. “Why’d you have to do that?” His eyes opened.

“She wouldn’t stop screaming.”

“You shot her for screaming? She was fucking terrified.”

“Okay, sarge. How’s this?” There was a long pause, but I waited him out. He said, “I was tired of running. I wanted to stop …”

His mouth went slack. And then his eyes closed.

Dr. Ganz came into the recovery room.

“Get everything you need? Don’t forget I told you he was sedated.”

“Yes, you did.” I said.

Ganz opened his arms and Alvarez went in for a hug.

I said, “Thanks, doctor,” and left the building. I got into the cruiser and Alvarez was right behind me.

“Yorkie?” I said.

“That’s what he calls me.” She used her fingers to lift her bangs and rake them out of her eyes. “He says that I’m like a terrier. Once I get my teeth into something …”

I laughed, and then said to the guys up front, “Our flight boards in twenty minutes.”

“Copy that, sergeant.”

Alvarez and I buckled in and the car squealed out onto South Maryland Parkway. She said, “What do you think of Burke’s version of the crimes?”

“I wish I knew. He gives Lucas a believable motive for murder. His dad was sleeping with his wife. Lorrie wasn’t his daughter. People have killed for less. But Evan Burke killed that poor girl in front of our eyes — for no good reason. He might have talked his way through the exit door with his gun and a living hostage. He’s a monster, but he’s a smart guy. I don’t understand the lapse of judgment. Oh, yeah. He wants to stop running.

“Honest to God, Sonia, we can’t believe anything that psychopath says.”

CHAPTER 100

UNITED FLIGHT 5274 was thirty thousand feet over Nevada.

I was looking out the window, thinking about Evan and Lucas Burke.

I no longer knew if Lucas had killed his wife and child and poor sweet Misty. Was Evan telling the truth when he said, “Those hits belong to Lucas.” He’d said it with such conviction. But had I believed that Lucas was capable of murder because I’d wanted to? Because I’d seen the dead baby? Because I’d spent time with Kathleen? Shared a cup of tea with Misty, telling her to break up with Luke?

I couldn’t work it out. Had we indicted the wrong Burke? I pictured father and son facing off and tried to choose the real monster — and then, without warning, I was crying into my hands.

I fumbled for my purse under the seat and couldn’t reach it. My tears were coming harder, turning into sobs.

Alvarez was dozing in the seat next to me. There was a paper napkin in the seat pocket in front of her. I grabbed it, pressed it to my eyes, and when the sobs abated, I blew my nose, jostling Alvarez awake.

“What?”

“Sorry. Go back to sleep.”

She took a look at me and said, “Lindsay. What’s wrong?”

I tried waving her off again, but she persisted.

Finally, I said, “I think I get it now.”

“Get what?”

“Why Burke really shot his girlfriend in front of us.”

“Tell me. Don’t hold back.”

A flight attendant rolled the cart to our row, offering snacks and beverages. I chose the breakfast burrito and a mini bottle of chardonnay.

Alvarez said, “Make that two.”

After we’d been served, I lowered the window shade and unscrewed the top from my bottle