21st Birthday (Women's Murder Club)

by James Patterson

  At Yuki’s questioning, Claire described the slash across the girl’s throat. detailing the “serial killer gibberish” of the gashes in her upper chest.

  Yuki entered the morgue photos with close-ups of the injuries into evidence and then passed them to the jurors.

  Yuki thanked the witness and turned her over to defense counsel.

  Newt Gardner had had no questions for the law-enforcement witnesses, but he wanted to cross-examine Claire. Gardner stood, and this time he spoke from his position at the counsel table.

  “Dr. Washburn, is it your professional conclusion that that all three of these victims were killed by the same person?”

  “I see a pattern in the manner of death of the two adult women.”

  “Please just answer the question, doctor. Can you tell us if the victims were all killed by the same person?”

  “Not definitively, but the evidence points to one killer.”

  “How so?”

  “Tara and Melissa both died from similar slashes across their throats.”

  “So, if I understand you correctly, you have no evidence leading to Lorrie Burke’s killer.”

  “No scientific evidence.”

  “So, that’s a ‘no.’ During your postmortem examinations of Tara Burke and Melissa Fogarty, did you obtain evidence that they were killed by my client?”

  “As I said, Mr. Gardner, Mrs. Burke’s throat was slashed. She was in the ocean for days. What we could tell from that water-logged fatal wound was that it was inflicted with a sharp blade. Same type of wound Melissa Fogarty suffered.”

  “Same or similar?”

  “Due to the condition of Mrs. Burke’s body, I can only say ‘similar.’”

  “So you can’t even be sure that the throats were slashed by the same weapon or the same individual, can you?”

  When Claire didn’t answer, Gardener said, “You found nothing in or on any of the deceased that would lead you to believe that my client killed them, isn’t that right?”

  Claire didn’t speak.

  “Yes or no, Dr. Washburn?”

  “I have no direct evidence that your client killed those people, correct.”

  “I have no further questions for the witness.”

  Yuki stood and said, “Redirect, Your Honor.”

  She walked over to Claire.

  “The shallow gashes on Melissa Fogarty’s chest that you called ‘serial killer gibberish’ could be the killer’s signature, his way of marking the victim, is that right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Were there any similar gashes on Tara Burke’s body?”

  “The condition of the soft tissue indicated random blade-induced injuries of the chest with force. So, I see a pattern there, the killer’s signature on both women.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Washburn. You may stand down.”

  CHAPTER 85

  YUKI HAD PREPARED Kathleen Wyatt for what would be an ordeal for anyone, and grueling for Kathleen.

  Together they had talked across Kathleen’s kitchen table. Yuki had played the role of defense counsel and questioned Kathleen, gotten a little rough to show her what Gardner could do. As Kathleen teared up, Yuki had gripped her hand and said, “He may try to discredit you, but he has to be careful not to make the jury see him as a villain. Just tell the jury what you know. Answer Gardner’s questions and don’t go off script or call Lucas names. It’s okay to be mad or sad, just —”

  “Don’t go crazy.”

  “Because?”

  “Because if I go off, it’ll hurt my credibility.”

  “Exactly right. I’ll object if he leads or badgers you or misstates what you say. If you feel overwhelmed, tell the judge you need to take a break.”

  They’d had that conversation two days ago.

  Now, Yuki called her witness.

  A security guard opened one of the courtroom’s rear doors and Kathleen came through and headed up the aisle.

  She was wearing a slim gray pantsuit and had put some gel in her unruly hair. Nick held the gate open for her and she approached the witness box. It seemed to Yuki that Kathleen was moving very steadily and she wondered if she had taken something to calm her nerves. It would be good if she wasn’t manic, but things could go wrong if she came across as sedated.

  The forty-six-year-old woman reached the base of the witness stand, put her hand on the Bible, and swore to tell the whole truth.

  Yuki approached her and said, “Good morning, Ms. Wyatt. Was Tara your only child?”

  “Yes, and a very good girl she was.”

  “Are you married?”

  “My husband died of cancer about five years ago.”

  “Very sorry, Kathleen. Are you employed?”

  “I teach yoga three days a week at a gym on Hyde and I do mailings for the SPCA.”

  “Thank you. And now I want to take you through the recent events as regards your late daughter and granddaughter.”

  Kathleen said, “Okay. Yes.”

  “Good. Now thinking back over the last year of Tara’s life, did you have occasion to call the police?”

  “Yes, several times. Three or four.”

  “Why did you call them?”

  “Once because Tara called me, screaming that Lucas was trying to kill her. Another time, I was washing my hands when she got out of the shower. I saw bruising on her shoulder and thigh. This big,” she said, putting out her hands, holding them five or six inches apart. “Another time, I saw bruises on Lorrie’s arm. Looked like fingerprints.”

  Yuki pivoted toward the bar so that she could see Lucas, who as before, was hunched over the table, looking like a balled-up paper bag. His eyes appeared to be focused between his folded hands.

  “Did the police come when you called them?”

  “Yes. But each time, Tara said I was overreacting, and made up some story. Luke hadn’t been trying to kill her, he’d caught her as she was stumbling down the stairs. Another time she fell off her bike. And about the baby, that was, let me remember. Oh. Tara told the police that Lorrie had put her arm through the bars of her crib and struggled.”

  “Did you have any private talks with Tara about abuse?”

  “She denied it. Sometimes her eyes were bloodshot from crying, but still she denied it. She said Lucas was a good husband and showed me the new red Volvo he had bought her after Lorrie was born.”

  “Kathleen, did you tell anyone else about your suspicion that Tara was being abused?”

  “Yes. I told friends, and the second Tara went missing, I posted a message on Cindy Thomas’s crime blog at the Chronicle.”

  “And how did that work out?”

  “The paper deleted my post, telling me that it was an unproven accusation and using real names was libel.”

  “When you wrote to the paper, what result were you hoping for?”

  “I hoped that the police would arrest Lucas and find Tara and Lorrie.”

  “After your post was taken down, did you go to the San Francisco Chronicle to see Cindy Thomas?”

  “Yes. I couldn’t reach Tara, even though we always checked in on each other for about ten minutes. I called her every fifteen minutes and she still didn’t pick up or call me.”

  “That was highly unusual?”

  “It was the only time since she got married that we didn’t speak. More than three years.”

  “Can you tell the jury what happened when you went to the Chronicle?”

  “Cindy Thomas said she couldn’t publish my post accusing Luke since it was only my word against his. So, she called the police for me.”

  “What happened then?”

  “I spoke to police Sergeant Boxer.”

  Yuki asked “And Tara? Did you hear from her?”

  “No. Two days later, I learned that Lorrie, my angel, my dear little grandchild, was dead.”

  Silence in the courtroom became sighs and murmurs. The judge slammed his gavel once and silence returned.

  “I think it was four days later, Tara’s car
floated up in the ocean. She was in it. Dead. Her neck had been slashed. Her death was pronounced a murder.”

  “Kathleen, do you see the man you accused sitting in this courtroom?”

  “Him,” she said, pointing her finger at Lucas Burke. “My son-in-law, Lucas Burke, my daughter’s husband, or should I say widower, my deceased granddaughter’s horrible, evil father.”

  Yuki said, “Thank you for your testimony, Kathleen. Mr. Gardner, your witness.”

  CHAPTER 86

  KATHLEEN CLASPED HER HANDS on her lap as Newt Gardener stepped up to the lectern.

  Gardner ran a palm over his shaven head, his handsome face looking thoughtful when he said, “Ms. Wyatt, we’re all very sorry about the loss of your daughter and your granddaughter. Terrible tragedies.”

  “Thank you and yes, they are.”

  She lifted her eyes to look at Lucas Burke but he stayed focused on the counsel table.

  Gardner said, “You said just now that you contacted the police three or four times to report that Mr. Burke had abused your daughter.”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “Was he ever arrested?”

  “No. Tara did not press charges. She told them that she had hurt herself.”

  “Did Tara ever complain to you about abuse?”

  “She didn’t have to. I saw the bruises. Her eyes were red from crying.”

  “So, that would be ‘no.’ No, she didn’t tell you that Lucas abused her.”

  “She made excuses for him.”

  Gardner said, “I see. Some people take pictures of their injuries from spousal abuse and they tell their friends.”

  Yuki said, “Objection, Your Honor. Leading the witness.”

  “Let me rephrase,” said Gardner. “Is there any proof of this abuse?”

  “Is her murder proof, Mr. Gardner? What about Lorrie’s death? Is that proof?”

  “It’s proof they were murdered, Ms. Wyatt. Not that Lucas Burke murdered them. Thank you. I have nothing further. Again, sorry for your loss.”

  Kathleen shouted after Gardner, “A mother knows things. I know he put the baby in the closet if she was crying —”

  Gardner said, “I’m done with this witness, Your Honor.”

  “Lucas. Look at me, you,” Kathleen shouted across the room to Burke. “You killed them. Tell me why. Why did you do it?”

  The judge signaled to the court officers, who were already on their way to the witness box.

  “I don’t need an escort, Your Honor,” Kathleen said to the judge. She was on her feet, walking past Burke when the guards each took one of her elbows and steered her toward the doors.

  “You’re not getting away with this,” Kathleen shouted over her shoulder as she was marched to the door.

  Yuki couldn’t tell how the jury felt about Kathleen’s outburst. Would they see her as a maniac, or as a woman inside the same room with the man who had chopped out her heart and left her bleeding at the side of the road?

  CHAPTER 87

  I WORE A NYLON stocking cap to flatten my hair, and Sonia Alvarez pulled a brown, chin-length wig over my scalp.

  “Owwwww,” I said. “Take it easy.”

  “Sor-ry. Now, we’re done. What do you think?”

  “Who is that girl in the mirror there?”

  “That’s the idea, right?”

  The doorbell on the suite rang.

  I went to the door and looked through the peephole. I was thinking maybe it was Berney, but it was Joe.

  I opened the door, saying “My God, Joe. What’s wrong?”

  He said, “Hell of a greeting, uh, Blondie.”

  “Is everything okay? What are you doing here?” I searched his face as I let him into the suite. I didn’t see tragedy in his eyes. Didn’t see that something had happened to Julie. He smiled.

  “Figured I’d have dinner with you and Berney. I’m flying home later.”

  Alvarez said, “Hello, Joe? I’m Sonia Alvarez. I’ve been partnering with Conklin,” she said. “Vegas is my native land.”

  Joe shook her hand, both saying “Nice to meet you.” And to me he said, “I brought you a change of clothes, and Julie sent you a toy and a book.”

  I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Nothing was wrong. Joe was wonderful and my kiddo had sent me a toy.

  “Your friend is meeting us at eight,” Alvarez said.

  “My friend’s not expecting you,” Joe said to her. “I’ll give him a heads-up.”

  “We’ve got time to kill. Anyone feel like having a late lunch? I recommend Lago, here in the hotel.”

  Soon we were seated at a table at Lago, an elegant “small plate” restaurant with a cinematic view of the lake beyond the iconic Bellagio fountain. Someone in accounting was going to have a stroke when they saw our expenses.

  Joe and Sonia were getting along like college friends at their twenty-fifth reunion, only it was more that they’d both worked undercover. I divided my attention between watching my phone for a text from Berney and munching bread. Which was delicious.

  Joe was the foody at the table, and he was going over the menu as our proxy when the chair next to me was pulled out and Joe introduced Alvarez to “my old friend who goes by the name Berney.”

  Berney reached across the table, shook hands with Alvarez. The waiter came over and Berney ordered Scotch on the rocks. He looked cheerful.

  “The eagle has landed,” he said.

  “Evan Burke?” Alvarez asked.

  “I meant me. Just kidding. Burke is close by and I am tracking him via GPS.” Berney took his cell phone out of his jacket pocket and waggled it. “I can feed information to you. But you cannot mention me or the agency. That’s the deal. If you burn me, I can’t help you now or ever. My career will be over.”

  Alvarez and I crossed our hearts, exchanged numbers with Berney, and then chose Joe’s recommendations: a yummy, hot sea-food salad for me, a mini Margherita pizza for Alvarez. Joe went for the shrimp-stuffed squid, and Berney was all in for grilled lamb chops. Joe and I shared a few bites, and when the plates were cleared I ordered a platter of mixed sweets for the table.

  And coffee, of course.

  Berney said, “So, here’s how it goes. I’m the cheese in the trap and the spring is set. After you’re done with him, we’re going to take him off your hands.”

  Until that moment, I’d been stuck between fear of Evan Burke and excitement. It would be tremendous to bring him in. Quicksilver, the Ghost of Catalina, an unexposed criminal who’d aimed his AK at Conklin and me from his narrow front porch — and then vanished.

  The fear had burned off, leaving only the thrill of cuffing the bastard and interrogating him back at the Hall.

  I had a subpoena in my pocket and many questions to ask the man in the moon.

  CHAPTER 88

  CINDY WAS IN HER SEAT in the back row of the courtroom, flipping to a clean page in her notebook when Kathleen Wyatt freaked out.

  Guards had half dragged, half pulled her out of the courtroom. It was awful. Cindy was about to go after her, comfort her, get her a ride home, but at that moment Yuki called her next witness: Inspector Richard Conklin.

  Cindy sat back down. Richie put his hand on her shoulder as he entered the room. She touched his fingers. He winked at her and proceeded up the aisle to the witness stand.

  After he’d been sworn in and seated, Yuki asked preliminary questions meant to establish his role both within the SFPD and the task force assigned to this series of murders. Rich testified that he had been a witness to every step of the investigation.

  In answer to Yuki’s questions, Rich gave a timeline of the multiple cases that he characterized as having a connection to the defendant.

  Cindy knew all of this by heart. She and Rich had talked, but she, too, had been present at the crime scene on Baker Beach, watching from the parking lot as Chief Clapper lifted the baby out of the receding surf. She hadn’t been inside Burke’s house, but she’d been parked across the street beyond the tape with
her cameraman. She easily visualized the scene from Rich’s description of where Burke had gotten into his car and accelerated into the distance as CSU and Homicide went through the little house on Dublin Street.

  Yuki asked, “Did you find anything of note inside the Burke house?”

  “We found what appeared to be feces, loosely wrapped in a baby blanket on the floor of an upstairs closet. And we located the receiver for the security camera. We watched video of both Lucas Burke and Tara Burke, who was holding Lorrie, leave the house, separately. We viewed the video after we had obtained search warrants for the house and everything inside, including electronics.”

  “Can you tell the court what was on the video?”

  “A whole lot of not much until the morning in question, when the Burkes left the house I made a general observation that they were having a disagreement, but nothing that would indicate imminent homicide.”

  Yuki said, “Your Honor, we’d like to enter this video into evidence and show it to the jury.”

  Gardner stood, shouting, “Objection, Your Honor. Showing this video is purely intended to traumatize my client. It has nothing to do with any alleged crime. Prosecution simply wants to bring the dead to life in order to get the jurors’ sympathies.”

  “Ms. Castellano?”

  “The video is clearly relevant. The jury needs to judge for themselves the last known sighting of two victims.”

  “Overruled, Mr. Gardner,” said Judge Passarelli. “I’d like to see it myself.”

  CHAPTER 89

  YUKI ASKED THE GUARDS to shut off the lights, and Nick Gaines lined up the laptop and hit the Play button on the video file.

  The video rolled against the whiteboard.

  It was as Conklin had described it; Lucas Burke leaving the house like a thunderbolt. Face dark, getting into his silver sports car, speeding up the street.

  As Gardner had said, the sight of Tara Burke in her denim dress, the straps of her various bags crossing her chest, the baby on her hip, one small fist gripping a hank of her mother’s hair, was enough to humanize them for the jurors. Those images could shatter a heart made of marble.