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

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 eats. We processed the last three months of Burke’s credit-card statements, including his gas and supermarket cards, and found no red flags. He banks at SunTrust and B of A. No big transfers of money occurred, just car payments and mortgage and day-to-day expenses. He may have another bank or cash on hand, but his personal finances look clean.”

Chi stood, shot his cuffs, lined up index cards on the table; his talking points. Then, he recapped the interview with Alex Conroy.

“Conroy’s stated whereabouts have been confirmed with receipts and video and selfies and corroboration from two hotel desk managers. I sent photos. They verified that Conroy and Burke checked out per their statements. We can’t find any holes in her story. I’m not going to lie. If Burke’s a killer, he’s neat. Too neat. This worries the hell outta me.”

Clapper walked in and said to Chi, “What in particular worries you?”

“That Burke is either a high-genius psycho or that someone else, a different high-genius psycho, is manipulating this case.”

“If you had to pick A or B?” said Clapper.

“I’d flip a coin,” said Chi.

Clapper sighed and leaned up against the wall.

Brady said, “Boxer. Flip the coin.”

I folded my hands on the table and boiled down my impressions of Burke today; his appearance, attitude, fury over Fogarty’s death, and his willingness to cooperate.

“He says he’s being framed. If he’s acting, he’s unbelievable. Outraged. Crying and spitting mad. And we don’t have one damned fingerprint. He’s not in custody, but Red Dog is sitting on him—”

Yuki laughed and several people couldn’t help but join in. Parisi weighs three hundred pounds.

But the laughter faded fast under Clapper’s cold eyes.

I picked up where I’d left off.

“Say Burke did it. What’s his motive? Why kill his own child? How does Wendy Franks fit in? Why bury people in his own backyard? Where’s Tara? Is she behind all of this? How? Why? When I flip the coin, it comes up tails. Burke’s being framed.”

Clapper said, “My coin comes up tails, too. As my father used to say, ‘With one arse, you can’t be at two weddings.’ If Burke was in Carmel, he didn’t kill Fogarty. But I’m betting that Fogarty’s killer, that evil shit, is on video.

“Hallows, over to you.”

Chapter 44

Brady cut the lights and closed the blinds.

Gene Hallows said, “Here we go, pards, this is Sunset Park Prep’s parking lot last night before the incident.”

As expected, the quality of the video was poor; it was grainy, badly lit, and due to the long, dark distance from the camera to the closest of the buildings, unfocused.

Two cars were parked within the grid of painted yellow lines on the asphalt, the license plates barely legible. Chain-link fencing surrounded the lot. The school’s field house stood in the middle distance, one large tree just outside the fence on the lot’s east side.

Hallows said, “I watched seven hours of this video on fast forward. The camera is mounted on a light pole with a ninety-degree angle centered on the footpath that leads from the south end of the lot to the field house. By four o’ clock, school had let out and apart from those two cars, the lot was deserted. No one got into or out of those cars. I made a clip that runs from just before Misty arrives four hours later, at five to eight, until ten minutes after.

“You’ll note when Misty arrives, she had an electronic gizmo that opens the school lot’s gate.

“I did find another camera aimed at the gate, but it’s broken and has been for a long time.

“Now, all registered drivers at Sunset Park Prep have an electronic key to that gate behind the camera. Mostly, the key holders are teachers, but also some members of the senior class. Most people park as close as possible to the footpath entrance to the campus. The exception to that is Misty Fogarty. She parks barely within camera range on the east side, under this tree.”

I said,