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

hotel. I paid for the gas. We split the meals.”

He laid out his cards, handed his phone to Brady. Brady opened the phone’s photo folder and held it so I could see it, too. He scrolled, stopping at the pictures of Tara, Tara and Lorrie, both together with Burke.

“And the folder where you hide photos of Misty?” I asked.

He showed us that, too.

Brady said, “I’m keeping all of this for now.” He pushed a pad and pen over to Burke. “Write down your movements since Thursday afternoon. That’s what we call a statement.”

Burke snorted in disbelief.

“Don’t try to leave the room, Mr. Burke. I have officers outside the door who will take you down and then we’ll arrest you. Boxer, I need you.”

I got up and followed him out of the room.

Chapter 42

Lieutenant Jackson Brady and I entered the small observation room situated between the interview rooms and with windows on each.

Clapper, Yuki, and Homicide inspectors Michaels and Wang had been watching the interrogations of both Burke and Conroy.

I edged over to Yuki and asked her, “Thoughts?”

“Conroy is smooth,” she said. “Unruffled by the interrogation and she gave similar or identical answers to the questions you and Brady asked Burke within a normal margin for error.”

I nodded and stood with her and watched as Conroy responded to Chi’s questions in an even tone of voice. The word “buttery” came to mind.

As a detective, Chi is like ground-penetrating radar. He can see things that the rest of us miss, while Cappy has a knack for blending in with his surroundings. Like a snow fox. Or a water snake. His pointed questions sound innocuous and the subjects answer willingly. He has a gift.

Chi asked, “What was your room number?”

“Three seventeen. No. Three nineteen.” Same as what Burke had told us.

“Who paid?”

“I did. Lucas needed a break.”

Cappy said, “Not best of circumstances for a holiday, though, was it?”

“No,” said Conroy, getting out her phone to show pictures of Burke with Conroy. Beachy pictures. Selfies by the pool. Views of the ocean. Burke wasn’t smiling in any of them. “Luke was grief-stricken about LuLu.”

“LuLu?”

“Lorrie’s nickname.”

I stood at Brady’s shoulder as he texted Chi, telling him 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 Franks’s life. Such as it was. She was an isolate. A painter. Had two friends,