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

Lanning wheeled his client out of the room, Burke said, “I think he’s going to talk to Parisi. You heard him. But I have insurance in the form of a letter in my hospital room. It’s for you to give to Cindy Thomas.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes. Head crime reporter and she’s up to speed on the whole deal. This is urgent, Randy. Do not open it. Send it by courier to Cindy Thomas so she gets it before I leave the hospital.”

Lanning agreed, then added, “That’s the last thing I’m doing for you, Evan. Find yourself another lawyer.”

Chapter 115

Rich Conklin and I went to MacBain’s to have a quick lunch, and as luck would have it, we found a spot two tables away from the jukebox.

There was just enough background doo-wop to camouflage what we were saying, but we could still hear each other. Conklin told me that the little boy hostage had been saved, turned over to Child Protective Services, and that his father had been arrested.

“Dirtbag starved the little kid, beat him, said that when he learned to behave he was going to send him to summer camp. When a neighbor called the cops, he put a .38 to little Duane’s head.”

“Did you get in a punch?”

“If only.”

Brady came through the doorway, looked around, saw me and Conklin. He came over and pulled up a stool.

“Hi, boss,” said Conklin. “The kid is okay.”

“Good work. Burke is dead.”

I said, “What? Which one?”

“Ours. Lucas.”

“Brady, that can’t be true. I had coffee with him two hours ago.”

“That’ll mess with your mind for a while, Boxer. Tell me about that.”

Brady lifted his hand to call Sydney over to the table. “I don’t know what to order. I’m not even hungry. Syd, I need something to fill my belly when it’s upset.”

“Milkshake,” suggested Conklin.

“I’m lactose intolerant. What kind of soup do you have?”

While Syd and Brady talked about soup, I put my bacon and cheese sandwich aside. A few minutes ago, I’d been dreaming of it.

Conklin was still working on his fries, but it was half-hearted and he gave it up. When Syd asked if we were finished, we said yes and she took the plates, left the beer.

I said, “Brady, what the hell happened to Burke?”

“His attorney.”

“Newt Gardner killed him?”

“Sorry, I’m still trying to get my arms around it. Gardner bought him a jacket and tie for court. According to Sergeant Waters, he was fine after you left, and they took their eyes off him for a half second. He’d hid the tie under his jumpsuit. Made a slipknot—this is us putting it together after the fact. He gets into the top tier of his bed. Closes his eyes, right? When no one is around, he knots the free end of the tie to the bed frame and drops the fuck over.”

I said, “I can’t—he broke his neck?”

Brady nodded. “Body’s with Claire by now. She’ll let us know for sure if it was suicide.”

I was shaking my head, going over my conversation with Burke.

Brady said, “What made you go up to see him?”

“Boss, I was looking for resolution.”

“What did he say?” Rich asked.

“He said he didn’t do it. He wasn’t trying to convince me. He was dead inside.”

Brady said, “Boxer. The guy was depressed and for very good reason, none of it having anything to do with you.”

“He asked why I’d only shot Evan in the arm.”

“Rich,” Brady said, reaching into his jacket. “Why I’m here. This just came for Cindy with a rush on it.”

Syd came back with a bowl of chicken noodle soup for Brady, and he handed Conklin the envelope marked “Rush. Urgent.”

Conklin looked at the envelope, picked up his phone, tapped a contact.

“Cin? It’s me. This will take two seconds. Can you meet us at MacBain’s? Me, Brady, Lindsay. Yeah. Love you, too.”

He disconnected the line.

“She’s ten minutes out. On the way.”

I said, “I’ll bet she makes it in eight.”

Conklin said, “I don’t like this. What does Evan Burke want with Cindy?”

Chapter 116

When Cindy arrived at MacBain’s, Syd set us up at a larger table away from the jukebox.

Cindy accepted the envelope from Brady, but barely looked at it.

“What’s going on?”

Brady said, “Cindy, that’s from Evan Burke. Apparently, he’s a fan. And I have some news, off the record.”

She said, “Can we please drop the cross-my-heart crap and just tell me. There are enough law enforcement out front of the Hall that someone will leak.”

Brady said, “Lucas Burke took his life. End of sentence.”

“He’s dead? You’re saying that Luke is dead?”

Brady said, “I do believe this is the first time I scooped you. Am I right?”

Cindy, open-mouthed, nodded.

“His body is at the ME’s office. Maybe you can get something out of Claire. Okay. I have to go back, see Clapper. Try to put out some fires.”

Brady paid for his soup.

“Cindy. According to Burke’s lawyer, Evan wants to meet with you. He’s at Sunrise Med in Vegas, maybe still in the ICU. Boxer and Conklin can go with you. As your friend, I do not want you to see this dude alone.”

And then Brady was gone.

Cindy said, “I can’t believe Lucas is dead. I mean I’ve been watching him for months. I hoped to interview him. I turn my back and he kills himself?”

I said, “I saw him this morning, Cindy. He was depressed, but he’s been depressed since the day I met him.”

“I gotta write the end of his story.” Cindy stuffed the unopened letter into her bag. “I’ll be at the ME’s office.”

“Hang on, Cindy,” Rich said. “Read the letter.”

“I’m gonna have a panic attack.”

“Hon. Read the letter with your buddy and your lover right here. Then go see Claire.”

“Fine.”

Cindy picked up a bread knife and opened the envelope. She read, “Att: Cindy Thomas.” She looked up and said, “This was written on copy paper with a felt-tip pen, dated today.”

She skimmed the letter, sipped some water. Said, “What the hell is this? I’ve never met Evan Burke.”

I said, “Is that a key taped beneath his