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

it, adding, “Tara Burke has not been seen or heard from since Monday morning when her husband left for work. If anyone has seen Tara Burke or knows of her whereabouts, please contact this paper and the SFPD hotline.

“All calls will be kept confidential.”

Phone numbers appeared on a black screen and then faded out.

Tyler said to Cindy and Samuels, “Well done, both of you. Cindy, write it up and we’ll get it on the front page. Samuels, I want to see two or three compelling images to accompany the story. I’ll choose one. Upload the video to our YouTube channel and have promo send it to the network affiliates.”

“Can and will do,” said Samuels. “Give me ten minutes.”

He left in a hurry.

“So what do you think happened?” Henry Tyler asked Cindy. “Did the mother do this? Or was it the father? Or some random maniac who didn’t even know them?”

Cindy had a strong feeling that the death of Lorrie Burke was going to be a big story, whoever had killed her. She remembered awful crimes that appeared to be like this one, unjustified killings of small children by one parent who’d snapped. Or worse, had made plans to kill the child or children because of mental illness, psychopathy, desire to send the child to God, where the precious one would be safe from earthly harm. Or just because being a parent was too damned much trouble.

“God willing,” she replied to Tyler, “whoever did this will be caught, tried, and locked up in a cell the size of a walnut shell for life.”

Chapter 21

I have a clear view from my desk of everything in the bullpen, including Brady’s office and the front entrance.

Brady and Clapper stood together just outside the doorway, speaking too softly for me to hear.

Something had happened. I was sure of it.

I heard Clapper say, “You’ll take care of it?”

After Brady nodded, the chief headed upstairs to what I still thought of as Jacobi’s office. Brady came through the gate, stopped at Brenda’s desk, picked up Wednesday-morning messages and mail, then came over to me.

“Got a minute?” he asked.

I nodded and directed his attention to the TV on the wall overhead. “You’re on the tube.”

Brady sat down in Conklin’s chair, swiveled it, and tilted it back so he could see the TV on the wall overhead. He punched up the sound, watched himself telling the media gaggle that he had no information for them at this time.

“I look awful,” he said.

He did. There were sweat stains under his arms, sleep in the corners of his eyes, and his hair was mussed, not throwing off its customary platinum sheen. But mostly, he looked depressed. Brady picked up the remote, muted the sound, and asked me where Conklin was.

“Burke had to clean himself up. Conklin’s getting him a clean T-shirt.”

Brady picked up Conklin’s desk phone and called Brenda.

“Brenda, when you see Conklin, call me,” Brady said.

To me he said, “Come on back to the executive suite.”

“Sure.”

I followed Brady along the center aisle of the empty bullpen to the lieutenant’s glass-walled bread box of an office at the bullpen’s rear corner with its dingy view of the elevated freeway. This office used to be mine, but I’d been glad to give it up and everything that came with it. I’ve never regretted that decision.

Brady opened a desk drawer and slid a pile of yellow legal pads off the desktop into the drawer. He inserted a flash drive into his computer, no doubt photos of the crime scene, then folded his hands on his desk.

What had I done now? We had Burke in custody. Claire was doing her workup on the victim. Parisi was getting warrants so we could search Burke’s house and car and grab his computer while we were at it. I’d started writing up our reports, and I’d spoken with Lieutenant Murry, who had expanded his search area and was still looking for Tara Burke, alive or dead.

Conklin and I were on track so far.

“Something wrong, lieu?”

“Cookie?” he said. He offered me an open tin of sugar cookies, all different shapes. I picked a squiggly one with a jelly button in the center.

Brady picked one with sprinkles.

He shoved the whole thing into his mouth and washed it down with cold coffee. After he swallowed, he said, “I’m setting up a task force in the interest of finding Tara Burke. You and me, Boxer, we’re partners again, at least for a while until we solve this case. Or maybe longer.”

“What? I mean, whatever you say, Brady, but what about Conklin?”

I like and trust Brady, and we’d been partners for a short while years ago. But at that time, I was the senior partner. Now, Brady outranked me and would have the first and last word. I reported to him and he wasn’t asking for my opinion. But I didn’t like the way this new arrangement felt. A dark thought occurred to me.

Was this Clapper’s idea of keeping me on a leash?

Brady said, “We’re adding a new person to Homicide. Name is Sonia Alvarez and she’s coming here from Las Vegas PD. Clapper knows her, thinks highly of her, introduced her to Conklin by conference call, let them know they’re going to be partners.”

“Yikes.”

“It’s too soon to say how it will work out,” Brady said. “So back to what I was saying. Task force. You and me, Conklin and Alvarez, and Missing Persons. If Murry’s team doesn’t turn up Tara Burke and fast, you and I will be point men for every other cop in the department. Any questions?”

“Does Conklin know?”

“I’m gonna tell him. You and I will interview Burke. Conklin will observe, and as soon as Alvarez gets here, we’ll start breaking her in.”

It felt like I was supposed to salute.

But I kept my wits about me and went back to my desk to wait for Conklin. I had just a few minutes to digest this sour news and get back to work.

Tara Burke was still missing and suspect