21st Birthday, James Patterson [best mystery novels of all time TXT] 📗

stunned, I wasn’t sure that she was actually seeing me.

“Kathleen, the medical examiner is one of my best friends. Dr. Washburn is a great woman. She has three kids including a young daughter. Lorrie will be in the best of hands. If we’re going to find out who did this to her, we have to know everything we can about her death.”

The word “death” was too much. I understood that she couldn’t yet absorb the truth.

I said, “Kathleen, I’m the lead investigator on Lorrie’s case. I’m going to find out what happened, and I hope to God that we can find Tara alive.”

As I held on to the sobbing woman, I wondered, where the hell was Tara Burke? I knew little about her. According to her husband, Tara was off her meds, crazed, and had run away with the baby before. According to her mother, Tara had married a bad man. He was unfaithful, and brutal to her and to the child. That he had a girlfriend had been validated, as had his temper, seen in small explosions with strangers. Had Tara actually killed her child? Or had Lucas killed his daughter—and maybe his wife as well?

I was still holding Kathleen, and had cued up the words “I’m going to let you go now. Don’t run.” But I was stopped by the sound of a racing car motor. I looked up the bluff and saw a silver Audi skid to a halt on the side of the road. A man got out of the driver’s side and began gesticulating to the uniformed cop blocking his way.

I couldn’t make out the words, but I knew him.

Lucas Burke.

Chapter 18

The sight of Lorrie Burke lying dead at the water’s edge had infuriated me.

Someone had maliciously killed that helpless little girl, and I was outraged—but I couldn’t show it. When I saw Lucas Burke, our number one and only suspect, arguing with a cop in the parking lot, I wanted to throw him down and arrest him.

But I couldn’t and didn’t.

I kept my grip on Kathleen’s biceps as I looked around for my partner, Conklin. Then I saw him far down the beach, conferring with Clapper and Hallows, the three facing the ocean. Clapper was making circular hand motions, no doubt describing the tidal patterns.

Lucas spotted me and called down from the parking area.

Still holding Kathleen by the arm, I turned to look at him. He’d made a megaphone with his hands.

“Sergeant! Is it Lorrie? No one will tell me! This is insane!”

I shouted back, “Hang on! I’m coming up.”

Kathleen and I were alone on that footpath. I didn’t want to bring her into proximity to her son-in-law and maybe set off a confrontation. Turning to face her, I said, “Kathleen. Wait for me here. I’ll be right back.”

I had a plan.

I’d get a couple of uniforms to drive her home, and two more would take Lucas to the Hall and hold him until Conklin and I could settle him in the box with a cup of coffee and sweat him until he gave up everything.

My big idea fell apart instantly.

Kathleen jerked away from me and ran up the footpath to the parking lot. She was fast, even at a forty-five-degree uphill sprint on sand. She ducked under the tape, raging, screaming accusations at Lucas. She reached him before I could catch up.

The lot was still filled with sightseers who backed away from Kathleen as she closed in on her son-in-law, cursing him for killing her granddaughter. There was zero proof of this, but it didn’t matter to her. She had all the evidence she needed inside her grieving heart.

Lucas yelled back, telling her she was crazy, that he had nothing to do with this fucking tragedy. To get the hell away from him or she would be sorry.

I was still a car’s length away from her when she kneed her son-in-law hard in the groin.

He howled, grabbed himself while yowling in pain. But Kathleen wasn’t finished. She pulled back her arm and socked him hard in the face.

There was so much ambient sound coming from the lot—talking, shouting, sirens—I didn’t hear the impact of her fist connecting with Burke’s nose. But I saw it.

Burke cupped his face with his hands and screamed “Get away from me, you maniac!” even as Kathleen pulled her fist back, teeing up to punch him again.

I yelled, “Hey, hey,” got between them, and at the same time a pair of uniforms pulled Kathleen away. This time it took both strong cops to hold her.

I said to the closest officer, “Drive Ms. Wyatt to her home and sit on her until further notice.”

Chapter 19

The two uniforms muscled Kathleen Wyatt toward the rear seat of a cruiser, but she was manic, struggling and even biting, until the larger of the two cops said firmly, “Ms. Wyatt. Stop this crap right now or I’m going to cuff you. You’re not going to like that.”

Those were the magic words. Kathleen sagged and allowed herself to be folded into the back of the car.

Lucas Burke, the “injured party,” was pacing, head down, blowing his nose onto the asphalt, blood and tears dripping onto his shirt. I put my hand on his shoulder so that he would look at me.

I said, “I’m sorry, Mr. Burke. The victim is a child who matches Lorrie’s description.”

He groaned and covered his face with both hands.

“This can’t be true,” he said. He sobbed that he didn’t believe it, that Tara would never let anything happen to Lorrie.

“There’s nothing you can do here, Lucas. Come with me. I can answer some of your questions and you can help us, too.” I looked at him appraisingly. “Is your nose broken? Do you want to go to the emergency room?”

“No. No.”

I suggested taking his car back to the Hall. I would drive. He would sit in the passenger seat.

But again, my brilliant plan fell apart.

The show was over. The tourists were getting into their vehicles. A cop was directing