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

DA Masci was fully up to speed on Evan Burke’s claim that he was an unindicted serial psycho. Masci knew the names of Burke’s family members, both alive and dead, and that he had been on the FBI’s most wanted list. Which was why Burke had changed his name, his address, and his face.

It was because of Evan Burke that Masci had spent that morning on the phone with a highly-placed FBI special agent, J. Edward Bernstein, aka Berney, who said he’d be happy to take Evan Burke off the D.A.’s hands.

“And why, exactly, would you implicate yourself in a triple homicide?” Masci asked Burke now.

“I’d do it to save my son, my innocent son, Lucas, whom I hate.”

Lanning started scribbling frantically on his legal pad as Burke continued to speak. This was the first he was hearing of his client’s conflicting objectives.

“And that’s barely the beginning. I’d confess to killing the girl at the Eagle as well as over a hundred murders in three states including Nevada with proof of death.

“I’d ask for a few comforts in exchange.”

“Hypothetically, what comforts?”

“The death penalty is off the table. I get a private cell with TV and access to books and videos. Visitation rights for select people. Conjugal rights and a cell phone for good behavior.”

“Chocolates on your pillow?”

Burke grinned. “Nah. But thanks for the offer.”

“Anything else?”

“A time of day when the bathroom and shower are all mine.”

Masci leaned back in his chair and gazed over Burke’s head.

“And you would provide written proof of your kills?”

“Of course.”

“Not interested,” said Masci.

“What?” Burke said. “I said a hundred bodies plus the three in San Francisco. I’ll give you those three now to show good faith.”

“You killed your grandchild, daughter-in-law, and your son’s girlfriend?”

“Yes. Yes. I’ll say all of that. How and when and where now, and a hundred more I’ll hold in reserve.”

Lanning said loudly, “Evan, stop talking. Stop.”

Masci took out a sheet of letterhead and wrote for a moment. Then handed it to Burke.

“Please read that out loud.”

“I, Evan Edward Burke, do swear in the presence of my attorney and Joseph Masci, DA of Las Vegas County in the state of Nevada, and hereby confess to killing Tara Burke, Lorrie Burke, and Melissa Fogarty. My son, Lucas Burke, is innocent of these crimes. And at the bottom, Signed and Witnessed.”

Masci pressed a button on his desk and his assistant came in. Randall Lanning squeezed and shook Burke’s bad shoulder to make sure he was getting his attention.

“Yowwww.”

Lanning turned his back to Masci and said, “Evan, no. I said, do not do this.”

Evan shook off his lawyer and said in a whisper, “I know what I’m doing.”

Randall Lanning said, not whispering, “You don’t want to sign that without a guarantee that you will not get the death penalty. I can draw it up, right on that paper —”

Burke said, “I said, ‘In good faith.’ I’m trusting DA Masci, and I’ll give up the info about recent San Francisco murders —”

Masci said, “George, please bring this over to Mr. Burke and witness his signature. Then, have the tape of this meeting transcribed. Thank you.”

When the signed document was back in his hand, Masci said, “Mr. Burke, I’ll turn your confession over to the San Francisco DA and maybe he’ll give your son a break. As I said a moment ago, I’m not interested in making any kind of deal with you. I like our case against you. Keep your secrets. We can only kill you once. Thanks for coming.”

He stood, walked toward the open door, said, “Morris, I’ll see you in court. I can hardly wait.”

And then Joe Masci left the building.

As Randall 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