21st Birthday by Patterson, James (mystery books to read txt) 📗

devote myself to nailing Lucas Burke, for as long as it took. Right now, I was glad to be partnered with Jackson Brady. He would sort out Burke and get to the truth.

Interview 2 was the larger of the two interrogation rooms, with a water cooler and a small fridge as well as a dinged-up metal table and four matching chairs. The camera in the corner of the ceiling started rolling once we opened the door. I was sure that Clapper had been notified, and that either Parisi or an ADA was standing with him in the observation room.

Brady closed the door behind us and we took seats at the table facing Burke, who could see his own tortured expression in the mirror.

I was ready. We all were.

“Who did this to Misty?”

Brady said, “Where’ve you been, Mr. Burke? Let’s start with the last time we saw you, driving north on Dublin Street two days ago at about noon. Don’t leave anything out.”

I took notes as Burke described speeding away from his house, not hiding his fury that in addition to the blow he’d taken over the death of his child and the insult of being locked up as a material witness, he’d been forced to leave his house so the cops could rummage through his belongings.

“Find anything incriminating?” he shouted across the table. “Find any evidence?”

“Where did you go after you left your house?” I said calmly.

“Alex, my ex, called me when she heard about Lorrie. We’re still friends.”

He told us that Conroy lived in Sacramento, so he drove up there. He spent the night. She suggested they get away from everything, go to a resort in Carmel-by-the-Sea.

It was a few hours’ drive. They stayed in a suite with a balcony overlooking the pool. They drank a lot, slept by the pool, and Burke checked his phone all day and night hoping that Tara would call.

“I thought she would call, and I would answer the phone and hear her crying,” said Burke. “I knew I could calm her down and get her to tell me where she was. Arrange somehow to get to her. And then, I would demand to know what the hell happened to Lorrie.”

He covered his face with his hands. Tears fell but Brady wasn’t moved. He pushed, jabbed, prodded, and alternated his questions and demands.

“Burke, you have very limited options. This girl that was murdered? Fogarty? She was your girlfriend, isn’t that right? Boxer? Jump in.”

“It was common knowledge,” I said, “and she told me all about your relationship. Where you met. What you said. We have a note. You promising to marry her. She was expecting to see you the same day we released you.”

“I didn’t make a plan to see her.”

“She was disappointed, heartsick, worried about you. She wanted to comfort you.”

“Stop. Please, stop. What you’re doing is criminal.”

“She died a horrible death,” I said.

“I loved Misty. Someone is killing people I love! Don’t you see that? I wish I were dead, too.”

Brady didn’t care what Burke said. “Just the facts, man. Tara’s mother calls Sergeant Boxer a half dozen times a day. She hasn’t heard from Tara. Where is she? You went to Carmel while your baby was dead and your wife was missing? What kind of husband does that? I need your check-in times. Will anyone at the resort remember you? Where did y’all eat? I need all your credit card receipts. All of them. We need a cheek swab. Why? Because you want to get off the suspect list. Yours is the only name on it.

“Open your wallet and take out any receipts or reservation confirmations,” Brady continued. “Give me your phone now. Don’t give me reasons to arrest you for murder.”

Burke said, “Alex paid for the 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