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

Alvarez said, “I did some research on this sick on-and-off parental disconnect,” she said. “In France and Switzerland in particular, they refer to hardly home dads as ‘eclipse fathers.’

If that was true of Evan, then Lucas longed for his attention. And then his mother and sister disappeared. Their bodies were never found. Maybe Luke knew. Maybe he had a bad feeling he didn’t bring out into the sunshine. Or. Maybe he did the killings to get his father’s love.”

I asked if anyone else had a theory. No one did. If dozens of Homicide divisions hadn’t landed him, how could we do it in this dreary room with the clock ticking toward the afternoon court session?

I went outside to the noise of Bryant Street and called Joe.

“Can you reach out to Berney? Please. Couldn’t be a more important time than now.”

CHAPTER 82

JOE PHONED ME BACK before I reached the squad room.

“I reached Berney,” he said. “He’s tracking Evan Burke toward Nevada. Burke’s haunted Vegas in the past.”

And then Joe said, “Berney added the kicker: Tell Lindsay to meet me at the Bellagio Hotel this evening.”

“That’s all he said?”

“He’s a man of few words. Sometimes no words. Linds, I suggest you bring backup.”

I was pretty sure the bosses were going to spike this request, but hell. I had to try. Clapper was making a rare visit to the squad room and was meeting with Brady. I rapped on the glass and barged in. Both men looked up at me, said nothing until I finished my short, sharp presentation.

“Yuki needs to depose Evan Burke. A confidential contact of Joe’s is tailing Burke and has advised me to go to Vegas ASAP. If you agree, I want to bring Alvarez. She knows Vegas, knows cops and security at the casinos. I’m going to need clearance from LVPD.”

Brady said, “Fine with me. Chief?”

Clapper said, “Good choice of Alvarez.”

He snatched up Brady’s phone and called LVPD’s Chief Alexander Belinky, saying that Alvarez and I were “dogging a witness” and that we had a subpoena.

“We do?” I said, after he hung up.

“You will.”

An hour and a half later, Alvarez and I were at SFO in Terminal 3.

Our flight was scheduled to depart in forty-five minutes. Alvarez brought Cinnabons and coffee to our seating area, where I was FaceTiming with Joe and Julie.

I showed Julie the herd of metallic sculptures hanging from the ceiling above our seats. They were shiny bronze lights reflecting our surroundings from twenty feet up, showing curvy views of the concourse, the moving crowds of people, and storefronts. Mood music was playing and the temperature was optimal.

I tried to sound like I was having fun, but of course I was faking it. I said good-bye to my family and said I’d call from Vegas.

Then I called Richie.

“You okay?” Rich asked.

“I’m having flashbacks.”

The last time we’d been inside Terminal 3, there’d been a ticking time bomb somewhere inside the airport. Shots were fired by cop impersonators and a foot chase took us up through the airport layer cake to the Loop trains. There’d been a shoot-out with fatalities. And we could have easily joined the departed. I could still see it as clearly as if I were wearing a virtual reality headset.

I wasn’t ready to share my posttraumatic flashbacks with Alvarez, so I sipped coffee and watched the escalators and the airport shops. Even with one leg in the past, I was anxious about the immediate future. We were going after Evan Burke and our spirit guide was the mysterious spook called Berney.

Joe admitted that Berney had been vague.

“It’s how he is,” Joe had said. “I trust him.”

I had no basis to trust or mistrust the man. I had no doubt that Joe had great experience with Berney, but to me he was a question mark, and Evan Burke was in my own experience armed and very dangerous.

Alvarez brought me into the present.

“Boxer,” she said.

“Hmm?”

“Our flight’s been called.”

We headed to the gate, with no information about our mission beyond “Tell Lindsay to meet me at the Bellagio.”

CHAPTER 83

THE FLIGHT TO VEGAS was short and smooth and our Uber was waiting outside McCarran’s main terminal when we exited the airport at two o’clock.

We quickly reached the Bellagio; we passed the design wonder of the Bellagio’s fountain, which was synced to over thirty different songs. Alvarez and I checked into the hotel, and the desk clerk handed me two envelopes; one was white, marked “Business Center.” My name had been typed on a label. The other was a Bellagio hotel envelope, my name printed in blue ballpoint ink.

I waited until Alvarez and I were ensconced in our two-bedroom suite — thanks to Clapper’s decision to put us up at the same location as Joe’s CI. We had a dazzling panoramic view of the neon city. But this was a business trip. I tore open the end of the larger envelope and slid out the contents. There were two stiff papers, each folded in thirds.

Document one was a faxed subpoena for Evan Burke’s appearance signed by the trial judge and DA Leonard Parisi. Document two was an extradition order to be forwarded to the Nevada supreme court if needed.

Alvarez said, “Clapper is tremendous, isn’t he?”

I agreed and peeled open the flap of the smaller envelope. Inside was a page torn from a notepad. It said, “Meet me at Lago at eight. B.”

I showed it to my roommate.

“Lago is here in the hotel.”

I said, “Sonia, can I go to dinner like this?”

I was wearing my usual: slacks, man-tailored shirt, blue blazer, holstered Glock, flat-soled shoes. She nodded, shrugged, then said, “You’re fine, but I’m going down to the lobby boutiques to get a dress from the sale rack. Otherwise, we’re going to look like a couple of cops. You’re a size ten?”

“Ten to twelve,” I said.

“Let me see