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

cell phone and showed Burke the face of Jane Doe with a bullet hole through her forehead.

“What’s her name? Her parents might like to know where she is.”

“I…don’t…know…”

Burke had stopped fighting the drugs.

“Why’d you shoot her?” I said into his face. “Why’d you have to do that?” His eyes opened.

“She wouldn’t stop screaming.”

“You shot her for screaming? She was fucking terrified.”

“Okay, sarge. How’s this?” There was a long pause, but I waited him out. He said, “I was tired of running. I wanted to stop…”

His mouth went slack. And then his eyes closed.

Dr. Ganz came into the recovery room.

“Get everything you need? Don’t forget I told you he was sedated.”

“Yes, you did,” I said.

Ganz opened his arms and Alvarez went in for a hug.

I said, “Thanks, doctor,” and left the building. I got into the cruiser and Alvarez was right behind me.

“Yorkie?” I said.

“That’s what he calls me.” She used her fingers to lift her bangs and rake them out of her eyes. “He says that I’m like a terrier. Once I get my teeth into something…”

I laughed, and then said to the guys up front, “Our flight boards in twenty minutes.”

“Copy that, sergeant.”

Alvarez and I buckled in and the car squealed out onto South Maryland Parkway. She said, “What do you think of Burke’s version of the crimes?”

“I wish I knew. He gives Lucas a believable motive for murder. His dad was sleeping with his wife. Lorrie wasn’t his daughter. People have killed for less. But Evan Burke killed that poor girl in front of our eyes—for no good reason. He might have talked his way through the exit door with his gun and a living hostage. He’s a monster, but he’s a smart guy. I don’t understand the lapse of judgment. Oh, yeah. He wants to stop running.

“Honest to God, Sonia, we can’t believe anything that psychopath says.”

Chapter 100

United Flight 5274 was thirty thousand feet over Nevada.

I was looking out the window, thinking about Evan and Lucas Burke.

I no longer knew if Lucas had killed his wife and child and poor sweet Misty. Was Evan telling the truth when he said, “Those hits belong to Lucas.” He’d said it with such conviction. But had I believed that Lucas was capable of murder because I’d wanted to? Because I’d seen the dead baby? Because I’d spent time with Kathleen? Shared a cup of tea with Misty, telling her to break up with Luke?

I couldn’t work it out. Had we indicted the wrong Burke? I pictured father and son facing off and tried to choose the real monster—and then, without warning, I was crying into my hands.

I fumbled for my purse under the seat and couldn’t reach it. My tears were coming harder, turning into sobs.

Alvarez was dozing in the seat next to me. There was a paper napkin in the seat pocket in front of her. I grabbed it, pressed it to my eyes, and when the sobs abated, I blew my nose, jostling Alvarez awake.

“What?”

“Sorry. Go back to sleep.”

She took a look at me and said, “Lindsay. What’s wrong?”

I tried waving her off again, but she persisted.

Finally, I said, “I think I get it now.”

“Get what?”

“Why Burke really shot his girlfriend in front of us.”

“Tell me. Don’t hold back.”

A flight attendant rolled the cart to our row, offering snacks and beverages. I chose the breakfast burrito and a mini bottle of chardonnay.

Alvarez said, “Make that two.”

After we’d been served, I lowered the window shade and unscrewed the top from my bottle of wine. Alvarez was still waiting for me to finish my theory on why Burke shot Jane Doe.

She shook my arm and said, “Speak.”

“Okay. My theory goes like this. Burke saw Berney at the Bellagio. He rightly assumes that Berney is there for him. When we crashed his party at the Eagle, he put it all on red. Better to risk a murder charge in Vegas than in federal court.”

“Mmm. Nevada has a death penalty,” Alvarez said.

“Okay, say he gets a great defense lawyer, a local pit bull who’s looking for a showcase trial. Burke could cook up a convincing story about the Jane Doe shooting and maybe win over the jury. If so, he’d get light time or no time. You heard him, Sonia. He can say anything, spin anything, with feeling.

I went on with my hypothesis.

“So, Burke says, ‘The room was totally dark.’”

“It was,” said Alvarez. “And noisy.”

“Right. There’s pounding music from the wedding dancers overhead, pots clanking and shouting in the kitchen. And of course, Burke says he and Jane Doe were doing some heavy breathing when his door was kicked in.”

Alvarez said, “He could say she never yelled for help.”

“They’re having a good time, right? As Burke’s lawyer tells it, his client didn’t hear us knock. He didn’t hear us say ‘Police.’ He was otherwise engaged. Then, the door is kicked in and Burke sees silhouettes with guns. What’s he supposed to think?”

Alvarez said, “That we aren’t room service. That he’s a target because of his winnings. He grabs his piece and fires.”

“Right, and now the girl in his lap is screaming. He tries to push her head down as he aims around her, toward the doorframe—”

“—but she pulls away or otherwise moves her head. Oh, noooo.”

“You got it,” I said. “She catches a round with her skull. Now, it’s an accident. Manslaughter, not murder, and we cannot prove otherwise.”

Alvarez said, “His lawyer calls it bad freaking luck.”

“Burke’s a gambler,” I said. “Win some. Lose some. This could be the best bet of his life.”

Chapter 101

Newt Gardner moved with the confidence and deliberation of a jungle cat as he approached the stand to cross-examine Yuki’s star witness.

Gardner said, “Director Hallows, I just have a few questions for you. Regarding the razor that you say was used to kill Ms. Fogarty.

“Assuming the blood on the blade was Ms. Fogarty’s—”

“It was.”

“—and you assert that the fingerprints on the handle belong to Mr. Lucas Burke. Did I get that right?”

“Yes, that’s correct.”

“How long can