21st Birthday (Women's Murder Club)

by James Patterson

I said, “I’ll check out the casino.”

  Alvarez approached the front desk, where an elderly woman was counting out cash, filing the large bills under the drawer.

  I kept my eyes hidden with my fake hair and my phone as I traversed the rows of slots, looking for the man in gray, the girl with the curls.

  I heard my name and turned.

  Alvarez said, “He checked in under the name ‘William Marsh,’ identifying his companion as his wife.”

  “Room number?”

  “I’ll go you one better, Boxer. I’ve got the key.”

  CHAPTER 94

  THE “KEY” WAS Christopher Johns, one of the desk managers at the Golden Eagle.

  Johns was in his thirties and had worked with Alvarez as an unofficial CI for the fun of it, and a little cash.

  “Detective, don’t get me fired over this.”

  “For doing what?” she said.

  “He’s in room B16.”

  She tucked a bill into his hand.

  As we peeled off, Alvarez said, “B16 is basement level. Probably costing Burke about twenty-nine dollars a night.”

  As we headed down a long alley of slots, Alvarez dug her phone out of her bag and made a call.

  “Chief Belinky,” she said. “Sergeant Boxer and I need two squad cars at the Golden Eagle. Code 2. God willing, we’ll need transportation to the station house for our person of interest. Yes, that’s the one. Thanks, chief.”

  Picturing Berney still at the Bellagio’s baccarat table, I pulled up his contact on my phone and used a maps app to share our location. I hung up and said to Alvarez, “Let’s go wreck Burke’s party.”

  We continued down the slot machine alley, alive with flash and din, whoops and curses, bells ringing and coins clattering into the trays. There was more whoop-de-doo on the margins: to our right, a darkly lit bar; left, a brightly lit, deep-fried all-night buffet; and down a little farther, a party room spilling over with wedding guests, dozens of youngsters dancing to something like music that I’d never heard before.

  The open service elevator at the very end of the lobby was the size of a boxcar. Adrenaline gave me a small jolt to the heart as I pressed “B” and the car took us down one floor to the basement. What were we walking into? Would we sleep in our beds tonight?

  I stood for a second, getting my bearings.

  Opposite the elevator doors was the hotel’s laundry room, dryers churning with full loads. There were sixteen guest rooms on this level, eight on each side of the corridor. An emergency exit was at the far end. Between the last of the guest rooms and the emergency exit was a vending machine alcove to the left and the subterranean kitchen to the right, workers calling out orders and sending food up to the buffet. Dance music vibrated against the ceiling and walls.

  Alvarez whispered, “You think that girl would really come here with him willingly?”

  “He dumped a lot of chips into her bag.”

  The room marked B16 was adjacent to the exit. We sidestepped a room service cart and approached Burke’s door.

  I trusted Alvarez and we knew the drill.

  She took a position to the left. I knocked and stepped to the opposite side.

  I called out, “Front desk, Mr. Marsh. Smoke was reported in the room next door. Need to check on yours, real quick.”

  I was expecting him to either ignore me or shout out “Get lost.” Instead, a girl’s high-pitched scream raised goose bumps along the backs of my arms.

  “Hellllllllp!” she screamed. “Help meeeeeee!”

  CHAPTER 95

  I TOOK A BREATH and kicked the door open.

  It only took one kick, and along with the door, half the doorframe separated from the wall. The only light in the room came from the hallway. I felt along the wall and found the bathroom on our right, just inside the wrecked entrance.

  I touched the light switch and flipped on the one dull forty-watt bulb over the sink. Gunshots cracked and a bullet ripped into the open door.

  Alvarez hit the floor and I used the bathroom wall as a shield.

  I called out, “Evan Burke, this is the SFPD. Toss your gun toward me. Do it now or SWAT is going to take you out on my command!”

  Alvarez was on her phone.

  “The Eagle. Basement level. Shots fired at police officers. Be advised, two female plainclothes detectives on the scene.”

  The girl was crying out, “Help me, please. He’s crazy. Help meeeee.” And then her voice was muffled. He’d put a hand over her mouth.

  I wanted to help her, but the darkness cloaked everything and the weak bathroom and hallway light backlit me. The girl’s situation was putting the good guys in the line of fire. Alvarez and I weren’t wearing vests. My options were limited and more shooting was imminent.

  Burke yelled in pain. “Damn you, bitch.”

  I figured the girl had bitten him and had gotten free of Burke’s hand over her mouth. But he still had her in his grip. She screamed loud and long.

  Burke shouted, “Shut up, shut up, shut up!”

  He sounded like he was reaching the end of the line.

  “Burke. Let her go. Toss the gun toward me and stand up. Hands in the air. Do that and we all walk out of here. You will not live through ‘Or else.’”

  “That you, Sergeant Boxer? I almost didn’t recognize you.”

  Where in this gloomy hole was he?

  The room was a bear trap and I couldn’t shut out the distracting sounds; the screaming, the washers and dryers and clanking from the kitchen. Any minute now, hotel workers would venture innocently into harm’s way.

  Finally, as my eyes began to adjust to the darkness, I saw him.

  Burke was across the room, sitting on the floor, his back braced against the back wall, his knees folded up against the side of the mattress. The girl appeared to be topless, sitting between his legs.

  He said, “Sergeant, you two ladies drop your guns or I’ll kill her.”

  “We’ve done this before, Burke. You know I’m not going to put down my weapon.”

  I heard chatter in the hallway and shouts in Spanish. As I’d feared, the hallway was filling with hotel workers.

  Alvarez shouted to them, “Vamanos! Get away from the door!”

  The tableau froze.

  And then it all happened too fast.

  The girl let loose with a long whooping scream of pure wordless fear.

  Gunshots cracked and the girl’s voice stopped in mid breath. I couldn’t see blood spray, but the air smelled of it. The dim light put a glint on Burke’s gun that was aimed at me.

  We’re trained to shoot to kill; a double tap to center mass. But I couldn’t get a bead on Burke’s chest, so my double tap hit the shoulder of his shooting arm.

  Damn it. At the same time, the hallway was filling with civilians, screaming, running, until the first runner hit the exit door lock bar, setting off an alarm.

  I could just make out Burke trying to grip his gun with both hands. But he couldn’t aim.

  Alvarez and I moved in. She disarmed Burke while I pulled the girl off the floor and got her onto the bed. She was bleeding profusely from the back of her head. I begged her to hang on, please. Her eyelids fluttered in the gloom. I said, “Help is coming,” but I knew she wasn’t going to make it.

  By then, Alvarez had Burke’s good hand on the wall and he was yelping when I called Chief Belinky.

  “What’s happening, Sergeant?”

  “Suspect fired on us, chief. He put a slug through his date’s head. We’ve disabled him. We need an ambulance and the ME. Also, patrolmen are needed on the basement level to tape off a perimeter. Alvarez and I are in plain clothes and are holding down the scene.”

  CHAPTER 96

  EVAN BURKE YOWLED as Inspector Sonia Alvarez wrenched his arms behind his back and cuffed him.

  She arrested him for murder and read him his rights. He grunted, “Yes, I understand, damn you,” as I switched on the overhead lights.

  The blond girl stared up, seeing noth
ing. Blood was everywhere; on her, on the bed, on Burke, who was pressed up against the wall, grimacing out of the side of his face that I could see.

  I got my phone out and punched in Brady’s number. He picked up. The wireless reception was two bars, but I told him everything in twenty-five words or less.

  “I’ll call you back once Burke is in lockup.”

  Burke’s actions tonight put terrible pictures in my mind along with doubt. Was Yuki trying the wrong Burke for the triple homicide? I couldn’t shake the feeling, but I had a live killer right in front of me and work to do.

  Turning back to Burke, I said, “Alvarez and I watched you kill your companion. We’ll make statements and testify to that. You want any help from us, this would be the time to talk.”

  He made a laugh-like sound.

  I said, “You’re looking at murder one for this. Feds get next bite at you. The DA in San Francisco might intercede on your behalf for a confession to the murder of Tara and Lorrie Burke, Melissa Fogarty, and anyone else you’d care to name.”

  “You’re a riot, lady. Those hits belong to Lucas. I know Luke better than anyone and I’m telling you, sarge, he’s a killer.”

  “Like you.”

  “He’s worse. He’s been killing since he was a little shit. Baby birds, puppies, cutting them, stabbing them, putting a hole in the chest every second until they died. Don’t waste any sympathy on him, Boxer, is it? Lindsay. He’s a savage. A monster. What kind of man kills his own child?”

  Two officers were at the doorway. I gave them the short version. “He killed his date. He’s under arrest. We called for an ambulance. Keep eyes on him at all times.”

  Cops were taping off the hallway when forensics arrived.

  “Time’s running out,” I said to Burke.

  “You look cute in a dress.”

  I ignored what he said and asked, “What’s your date’s name?”

  “Candy? Tammy? Sugar?”

  I snapped a shot of Burke, sent that to Berney as the room filled with paramedics and CSU. Before Jane Doe was wrapped in a sheet and carried out on a stretcher, Alvarez took a close-up of her face, the bullet hole through her forehead.

  I kept thinking of her as a girl because she looked so young. Was she twenty? A teen wearing big-girl clothes? How had she hooked up with Evan Burke?

  Someone who actually loved her was going to be devastated. I felt bad, myself. She’d fought hard, screamed for help, and I hadn’t been able to save her.

  The EMTs uncuffed Burke, lifted him onto a stretcher, and flex-tied his wrists to the rails. Before they could carry him out, Burke called me.

  “Sergeant.”

  Was he going to talk?

  “I’m here.”

  “You shoot like a girl,” he said. “Lucky me.” He laughed and flipped me the bird.

  An EMT wrapped another flex tie around Burke’s upper right arm and fastened it to the stretcher rail, pulling it tight. Burke was cursing as he was carried out through the emergency exit.

  I called Clapper.

  “We got him, chief.”

  “Good work, Boxer. You two okay?”

  “Perfect. Burke needs surgery. We’ll have a talk with him in the morning.”

  It was close to 11:00 p.m.

  I said, “We should be in the squad room by noon.”

  Out in the hallway, Alvarez and I high-fived each other, and then … hell. We hugged.

  She said, “Oh, man.”

  I said, “That goes for me, too.”

  We were both traumatized by how close we’d come to dying in this place. I ripped off the wig and stocking cap and shook out my hair. Then, we followed the paramedics out the emergency exit, leaving the Golden Eagle’s dungeon behind. Forever.

  The patrolmen opened the squad car doors for us, and then drove us to the Bellagio.

  CHAPTER 97

  YUKI NOTICED THAT, this morning, defense counsel was wearing a baby-blue shirt with his fine gray suit.

  His five-o’clock shadow at 9:00 a.m. made him look vulnerable, sympathetic, as though he’d been up all night working out of concern for his innocent client.

  Newt Gardner even sounded caring when he said, “Good morning, Inspector Conklin.”

  Yuki found it a credible act, but an act it was.

  Conklin was Gardner’s target. Conklin’s stated belief, under oath, was that Lucas Burke had lied about the time he had left San Francisco for Sacramento. Conklin had also testified that Lucas Burke was the shadow figure who’d slit Melissa Fogarty’s throat in the school parking lot.

  Gardner couldn’t let Conklin’s testimony stand, and that worried Yuki. Conklin was strong, but he was facing Newt Gardner, who was determined to win.

  “Inspector, Mr. Burke told you that he was at a resort with his ex-wife in Carmel at about eight o’clock on Friday, isn’t that right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did Ms. Conroy corroborate that time?”

  “Yes, we have his word and her corroboration. But I no longer believe that the timeline —”

  “Thanks, you answered the question.”

  Conklin said, “As I was saying, I no longer believe Mr. Burke’s stated timeline because the murder weapon puts Melissa Fogarty’s killing squarely on Mr. Burke.”

  A juror gasped, then clapped her hand over her mouth. The judge gave the juror a hard gray-eyed stare, then said, “Mr. Gardner, please continue.”

  “So to your mind, this murder weapon nullifies Mr. Burke’s stated whereabouts at eight o’clock the night of Ms. Fogarty’s murder.”

  “I believe the evidence, sir.”

  At that, Lucas Burke rose from his seat at the counsel table and bellowed, “I didn’t do it. I never killed anyone. It was my father. It had to be. My father is the most evil man that ever lived. He set me up!”

  The judge pounded his gavel until the emotions in the room abated.

  Yuki calculated that took at least three minutes. She held her breath as the judge asked Gardner if he had anything else for the witness.

  Gardner said, “I reserve the right to question Inspector Conklin again after the prosecution introduces their so-called evidence.”

  Yuki shot to her feet. “Objection to defense counsel’s characterization of the evidence. Move to strike.”

  Judge John Passarelli sighed deeply. “Sustained. Mrs. Clemons,” she said to the court reporter, “Strike ‘so-called.’ Jurors will ignore that characterization, and now let’s move on. Yes, Mr. Gardner, you may recall this witness at a later time.”

  Yuki understood that Gardner was both baiting her and attempting to raise reasonable doubt in the jurors’ minds. Had it worked? Had Burke’s plaintive bleating moved someone in the box?

  Yuki, herself, had felt moved, but she also had evidence. And, God willing, the evidence would convict Lucas Burke.

  CHAPTER 98

  YUKI SAID, “The People call Crime Lab Director, Dr. Eugene Hallows.”

  The doors swung open and Gene Hallows entered the courtroom. He was fiftyish, tall, stooped and he looked off balance as he walked to the witness stand. Still only six months into the top job as head of the crime lab, the pressure was on him to step into Clapper’s shoes both in the lab and in court.

  Yuki approached him and smiled.

  “Dr. Hallows, or shall I say Director Hallows, what is your background in forensic science?”

  Hallows haltingly listed the key points in his résumé; his two PhDs in criminology from UC Irvine, his years with the crime lab in Chicago, his five years as deputy director under Chief Charles Clapper, and his recent promotion to director of Forensics. Now, he supervised two hundred investigators and scientists at the crime lab at Hunters Point.

  Yuki asked, “Have you had a hands-on role in the Burke case?”

  “Yes. From the discovery of the Burke baby through now.”

  Yuki took him through the elements of the investigation, under-scoring the recovery of the razor used to kill Melissa Fogarty.

 
; Yuki went to her table and Gaines handed her a brown eight-by-eleven envelope sealed with red CSU tape.

  “Director Hallows, did you seal this envelope?” She handed it to him.

  “Yes. That’s my signature.”

  “Will you open it for us now?”

  Hallows ripped open the flap, then tipped the envelope so that a small weighted plastic bag slid into his hand.

  He handed it to Yuki, who held it up. Even through the plastic, the razor, with its carbon-steel blade and chrome handle, glinted in the light. This was it. This was the proof she’d needed, finally in her hand.

  She said to Hallows, “Is this the straight razor used to kill Melissa Fogarty?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Could you tell the court how you can be sure of that?”

  He said, “Ms. Fogarty’s blood is on the blade and in the hinge, and Lucas Burke’s fingerprints are on the handle.”

  A buzz rose up in the room as Yuki entered the blade into evidence. She then handed the closed plastic envelope to the jury foreperson. While the jurors passed the sealed glassine envelope among themselves, Yuki brought two photos over to her expert witness.

  “Director Hallows, let me show you two photographs. Can you describe them?”

  “Photo one is an enlargement from the video of Melissa Fogarty’s murder. It’s the face of the assailant in the school parking lot. Number 2 is the photo of the defendant, Lucas Burke, taken when he was arrested five months ago. Because the facial details of number 1 are hard to discern without a trained eye, even with facial recognition software, we contacted a highly respected forensic photographic analyst, Dr. Werner Stutz. We asked Dr. Stutz to compare photo 1, with photo 2.”

  Yuki taped both enlarged photos on the whiteboard under their respective labels.

  “Director, can you explain the similarities and differences between the two photographs?”

  “Surely. What we’re looking at is the result of a process of measuring and comparing facial features that’s been in use for over two thousand years. However, Dr. Stutz’s digital instruments are more precise than those used in antiquity.”