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

a good part of the last ten years undercover here.”

Up ahead, the traffic light turned red. The glowing orange taxi zoomed through. Horns honked, but there was no sound of crunching metal. Cars between us and Burke’s cab were at a standstill.

I spoke to the driver through the partition, “The orange cab? Did you see him drop off passengers at the Eagle?”

The driver said, “Looks like he stopped at the curb and, yeah. There he goes taking a turn at the next street over.”

I would have asked him to run the light, but it was impossible. We were hemmed in by traffic on four sides.

The driver turned to face me. “Want to get out here?”

I calculated time and distance, found a twenty plus tip in my handbag, stuffed it into the Lucite cash drawer.

“Let’s go,” I said to Alvarez.

She was already half out of the cab.

I followed her, wiggled around the lane of cars, reaching the sidewalk, and hit my stride with the Golden Eagle still a long block away.

Every second counted. If we lost Burke, we might not see him again.

Liveried bouncers opened the front doors for us. Sonia had Burke’s forty-year-old army enlistment photo now updated with facial-aging software. She showed it to the bouncer, whose name tag read “Reynolds” and asked him, “Jamie. Is he here?”

“He had a girl with him.” Jamie Reynolds made a twirling motion with a finger near his head, indicating “curls” or “crazy.”

“Bet they’ll be in the casino.”

We entered the air-cooled darkness and into a lobby straight out of the 1940s. There was an eagle motif in the mile of carpet and gold striped wallpaper throughout. The casino was to the right, the front desk just ahead. I swept both spaces with my own eagle eyes but did not see the young woman with golden ringlets. And I didn’t see Evan Burke.

I said, “I’ll check out the casino.”

Alvarez approached the front desk, where an elderly woman was counting out cash, filing the large bills under the drawer.

I kept my eyes hidden with my fake hair and my phone as I traversed the rows of slots, looking for the man in gray, the girl with the curls.

I heard my name and turned.

Alvarez said, “He checked in under the name ‘William Marsh,’ identifying his companion as his wife.”

“Room number?”

“I’ll go you one better, Boxer. I’ve got the key.”

Chapter 94

The “key” was Christopher Johns, one of the desk managers at the Golden Eagle.

Johns was in his thirties and had worked with Alvarez as an unofficial CI for the fun of it, and a little cash.

“Detective, don’t get me fired over this.”

“For doing what?” she said.

“He’s in room B16.”

She tucked a bill into his hand.

As we peeled off, Alvarez said, “B16 is basement level. Probably costing Burke about twenty-nine dollars a night.”

As we headed down a long alley of slots, Alvarez dug her phone out of her bag and made a call.

“Chief Belinky,” she said. “Sergeant Boxer and I need two squad cars at the Golden Eagle. Code 2. God willing, we’ll need transportation to the station house for our person of interest. Yes, that’s the one. Thanks, chief.”

Picturing Berney still at the Bellagio’s baccarat table, I pulled up his contact on my phone and used a maps app to share our location. I hung up and said to Alvarez, “Let’s go wreck Burke’s party.”

We continued down the slot machine alley, alive with flash and din, whoops and curses, bells ringing and coins clattering into the trays. There was more whoop-de-doo on the margins: to our right, a darkly lit bar; left, a brightly lit, deep-fried all-night buffet; and down a little farther, a party room spilling over with wedding guests, dozens of youngsters dancing to something like music that I’d never heard before.

The open service elevator at the very end of the lobby was the size of a boxcar. Adrenaline gave me a small jolt to the heart as I pressed “B” and the car took us down one floor to the basement. What were we walking into? Would we sleep in our beds tonight?

I stood for a second, getting my bearings.

Opposite the elevator doors was the hotel’s laundry room, dryers churning with full loads. There were sixteen guest rooms on this level, eight on each side of the corridor. An emergency exit was at the far end. Between the last of the guest rooms and the emergency exit was a vending machine alcove to the left and the subterranean kitchen to the right, workers calling out orders and sending food up to the buffet. Dance music vibrated against the ceiling and walls.

Alvarez whispered, “You think that girl would really come here with him willingly?”

“He dumped a lot of chips into her bag.”

The room marked B16 was adjacent to the exit. We sidestepped a room service cart and approached Burke’s door.

I trusted Alvarez and we knew the drill.

She took a position to the left. I knocked and stepped to the opposite side.

I called out, “Front desk, Mr. Marsh. Smoke was reported in the room next door. Need to check on yours, real quick.”

I was expecting him to either ignore me or shout out “Get lost.” Instead, a girl’s high-pitched scream raised goose bumps along the backs of my arms.

“Hellllllllp!” she screamed. “Help meeeeeee!”

Chapter 95

I took a breath and kicked the door open.

It only took one kick, and along with the door, half the doorframe separated from the wall. The only light in the room came from the hallway. I felt along the wall and found the bathroom on our right, just inside the wrecked entrance.

I touched the light switch and flipped on the one dull forty-watt bulb over the sink. Gunshots cracked and a bullet ripped into the open door.

Alvarez hit the floor and I used the bathroom wall as a shield.

I called out, “Evan Burke, this is the SFPD. Toss your gun toward me. Do it now or SWAT is going to take you out on my command!”

Alvarez was on her phone.

“The Eagle.