Keri Locke 02-A Trace of Muder

by Blake Pierce

  Kendra Burlingame, thirty-eight, had once been a Hollywood publicist. But after marrying Jeremy, she’d created and put all her energy into a non-profit called All Smiles, which raised money for the children’s surgeries and coordinated all of their pre- and post-op care.

  They’d been married for seven years. Neither had an arrest record. There was no known history of marital discord, nor of drug or alcohol abuse. On paper at least, they were the perfect couple. Keri was immediately suspicious.

  After several wrong turns, she finally pulled up to the house at the end of Tower Road at 1:41, eleven minutes late.

  To call it a house was an understatement. It was more of a compound on a property that seemed to cover several acres. From her vantage point, she could see the entire city of Los Angeles splayed out below her.

  Keri took a moment to do something rare for her—put on extra makeup. Removing the sling had helped her appearance, but the yellowish bruise near her eye was still noticeable. So she dabbed it with some concealer until it was almost invisible.

  Satisfied, she pushed the buzzer next to the security gate. As she waited for a response, she noticed Detective Frank Brody’s maroon and white Cadillac parked in the roundabout.

  A female voice came over the gate intercom.

  “Detective Locke?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m Lupe Veracruz, the Burlingames’ housekeeper. Please enter and park next to your partner. I’ll meet you and take you to him and Dr. Burlingame.”

  The gate opened and Keri eased in, parking next to Frank’s immaculately maintained vehicle. The Caddy was his baby. He was proud of its outdated color scheme, its poor gas mileage, and its whale-like size. He called it a classic. To Keri, the car, like its owner, was a dinosaur.

  As she opened her car door, a petite, pleasant-looking Hispanic woman in her late forties came out to meet her. Keri got out of the car quickly, not wanting to let the woman see her struggle to navigate around her injured right shoulder. From this point on, Keri considered herself on enemy territory and at a potential crime scene. She didn’t want to betray any sense of weakness to Burlingame or anyone in his orbit.

  “This way, Detective,” Lupe said, getting straight to business as she turned on her heel and led Keri along a cobblestone path, surrounded by immaculately manicured flowers. Keri tried to keep up while stepping carefully. With the injuries to her eye, shoulder, and ribs, she still felt uncertain on uneven ground.

  They passed a huge pool with two diving boards and a lap lane. Next to it was a large pit, with a massive pile of dirt beside it. A Bobcat excavator sat idle nearby. Lupe saw her curiosity.

  “The Burlingames are having a hot tub put in. But the Moroccan tile they ordered is on hold so the whole project is delayed.”

  “I’m having the same problem,” Keri said. Lupe didn’t laugh.

  After several minutes, they reached a side entrance to the main house, which led into a large, airy kitchen. Keri could hear male voices nearby. Lupe directed her around the corner to what looked to be the breakfast room. Detective Brody was standing, facing in her direction, speaking to a man with his back to her.

  The man seemed to sense her arrival and turned around before Lupe had the chance to announce her. Keri, in full investigative mode, focused on his eyes as he took her in. They were brown and warm, with just a hint of redness around the rims. He either had bad allergies or he’d been crying recently. He forced an awkward smile to his face, seemingly trapped between the expected responsibility to be a good host and the anxiety of the situation.

  He was a nice-looking man, not quite attractive but with an open, friendly face that gave him an eager, boyish quality. Despite his sport coat, Keri could tell he was in good shape. He wasn’t overtly muscular but had the lean wiry frame of an endurance athlete, maybe a marathoner or a triathlete. He was of average height, maybe five foot ten, and about 170 pounds. His short-cropped brown hair had the first, tiniest hints of gray.

  “Detective Locke, thank you for coming,” he said, walking forward and extending his hand. “I’ve just been speaking to your colleague.”

  “Keri,” Frank Brody said, nodding curtly. “We haven’t gotten into any details yet. I wanted to wait until you arrived.”

  It was subtle dig about her lateness masked by what seemed like professional courtesy. Keri, pretending not to notice, kept her focus on the doctor.

  “Nice to meet you, Dr. Burlingame. I’m sorry it’s under such difficult circumstances. If you don’t mind, why don’t we get started right away? In a missing persons case, every minute is crucial.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Keri saw Brody scowl, clearly annoyed that she had taken over. She didn’t really give a shit.

  “Of course,” Burlingame said. “Where should we begin?”

  “You gave us a rough outline of the timeline over the phone. But I’d like you to walk us through it in more detail if you could. Why don’t you start with the last time you saw your wife?”

  Okay, it was yesterday morning and we were in the bedroom—”

  Keri jumped in.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt, but can you take us there? I’d like to be in the room as you describe the events that occurred there.”

  “Yes, of course. Should Lupe come as well?”

  “We’ll speak to her separately,” Keri said. Jeremy Burlingame nodded and led the way up the stairs to the bedroom. Keri continued to watch him closely. Her interruption a moment earlier was only in part for the reason she gave.

  She also wanted to gauge how a well-regarded, powerful doctor reacted to being repeatedly ordered around by a female. At least so far, it didn’t seem to faze him. He appeared willing to do or say whatever she asked of him if it would help.

  As they walked she peppered him with additional questions.

  “Under normal circumstances, where would your wife be right now?”

  “Here in the house, I imagine, preparing for tonight’s fundraiser.”

  “What fundraiser is that?” Keri asked, feigning ignorance.

  “We have a foundation that funds reconstructive surgery, mostly for children with facial irregularities, but sometimes for adults recovering from burns or accidents. Kendra runs the foundation and holds two major galas a year. One was scheduled for tonight at the Peninsula Hotel.”

  “Is her car here at the house?” Brody asked as they started up a long flight of stairs.

  “I honestly don’t know. I can’t believe it didn’t occur to me to check. Let me ask Lupe.”

  He took out his cell phone and used what appeared to be a walkie-talkie function.

  “Lupe, do you know if Kendra’s car is in the garage?” The response was almost immediate.

  “No, Dr. Burlingame. I checked when you called earlier. It’s not there. Also, I noticed one of her small travel bags was missing from her closet when I was hanging some clothes.”

  Burlingame looked perplexed.

  “That’s odd,” he said.

  “What is?” Keri asked.

  “I just don’t see why she would have had reason to take a travel bag anywhere. She has a duffel that she uses when she goes to the gym and she uses a garment bag if she plans to change into a gown at a gala location. She only uses the travel bags as carry-ons when we’re actually traveling.”

  After climbing the flight of stairs and going down a long hallway, they reached the master bedroom. Brody, winded from the long trip, put his hands on his hips, stuck his chest out, and breathed in heavily.

  Keri took the room in. It was enormous, bigger than her entire houseboat all by itself. The four-poster king bed was made. A willowy, sheer canopy surrounded it, making it look like a square cloud. The large balcony, with its door wide open, faced west, offering a view of the Pacific Ocean.

  A massive flat-screen TV, easily seventy-five inches, hung on one wall. The other walls were tastefully decorated with paintings and photos of the happy couple. Keri walked over to look at one.

  They
seemed to be on vacation, somewhere warm with an ocean in the background. Jeremy wore an untucked, wrinkle-free button-down pink shirt with fitted plaid shorts. He had on sunglasses and his smile was slightly goofy and forced, that of a man uncomfortable having his picture taken.

  Kendra Burlingame wore a turquoise sundress with stacked, block-heeled cage sandals that looped around her ankles. Her tanned skin popped against the dress. Her black hair was tied in a loose ponytail and her sunglasses rested on her head. She wore a broad smile, as if she’d just been laughing and had only barely managed to contain it. She was as tall as her husband, with long legs and aquamarine eyes that matched the water behind her. She was leaning into him and his arm was casually wrapped around her trim waist. She was stunningly beautiful.

  “So the last time you saw your wife was when?” she asked. Her back was to Burlingame but she could see his reflection in the glass frame.

  “In here,” he said, his worried face hiding nothing from what she could tell. “It was yesterday morning. I had to leave early to go to San Diego to supervise a complicated procedure. She was still in bed when I kissed her goodbye. It was probably around six forty-five.”

  “Was she awake when you left?” Brody asked.

  “Yes. She had the TV on. She was watching the local news to see what the weather would be like for tonight’s gala.”

  “And that’s the last time you saw her, yesterday morning?” Keri asked again.

  “Yes, Detective,” he said, sounding slightly annoyed for the first time. “I’ve answered that question several times now. May I ask you a question?”

  “Of course.”

  “I know we have to go through everything methodically here. But in the meantime, can you please have your people check the GPS in Kendra’s phone and car? Maybe that will help locate her.”

  Keri had been waiting for him to ask this question. Of course, Hillman had ordered the techs back at the station to begin that process the moment they got the case. But she’d been holding that detail back for this very moment. She wanted to gauge his response to her answer.

  “It’s a good idea, Dr. Burlingame,” she said, “which is why we’ve already done it.”

  “And what did you find?” Burlingame asked hopefully.

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing? How could there be nothing?”

  “It would appear that in both the phone and the car, the GPS has been turned off.”

  Keri, on full alert, watched closely for Burlingame’s reaction.

  He stared at her, stunned.

  “Turned off? How is that possible?”

  “It’s only possible if it was done intentionally, by someone who didn’t want either the phone or the car to be found.”

  “Does that mean it was a kidnapper who didn’t want her found?”

  “That’s possible,” Brody answered. “Or it could be that she didn’t want to be found.”

  Burlingame’s expression went from stunned to disbelieving.

  “Are you suggesting that my wife left on her own and tried to hide where she was going?”

  “It wouldn’t be the first time,” Brody said.

  “No. That doesn’t make any sense. Kendra isn’t the kind of person to do that. Besides, she had no reason to. Our marriage is good. We love each other. She loves her work for the foundation. She loves those kids. She wouldn’t just up and abandon all of that. I would know if there was something wrong. I would know.”

  To Keri’s ear, he sounded almost pleading, like a man trying to convince himself. He looked utterly lost.

  “Are you sure about that, Doctor?” she asked him. “Sometimes we keep secrets, even from the ones we love. Is there someone else she might have confided in, other than you?”

  Burlingame seemed not to hear her. He sat down on the end of the bed, shaking his head slowly, as if that might somehow drive the doubt from his mind.

  “Dr. Burlingame?” Keri asked again softly.

  “Um, yeah,” he said, rousing himself. “Her best friend is Becky Sampson. They’ve known each other since college. They went to a high school reunion together a couple of weeks ago and Kendra seemed a little rattled after she came back but wouldn’t say why. She lives off Robertson. Maybe Kendra mentioned something to her.”

  “All right, we’ll get in touch with her,” Keri assured him. “In the meantime, we’re going to have a crime scene unit come in and do a thorough rundown of your house. We’ll follow up on the last known location of your wife’s car and phone before the GPS was disabled. Are you hearing me, Dr. Burlingame?”

  The man appeared to have gone into a numbed stupor, staring straight ahead. At the sound of his name, he blinked and seemed to return to the moment.

  “Yes, crime scene unit, GPS check. I understand.”

  “We’ll also need to verify everything about your whereabouts yesterday, including your time in San Diego,” Keri said. “We’ll need to contact everyone you dealt with down there.”

  “We just have to do our due diligence,” Brody added, in a clunky attempt to be diplomatic.

  “I understand. I’m sure the husband is usually the main suspect when a woman disappears. It makes sense. I’ll make a list of everyone I interacted with and give you their numbers. Do you need that now?”

  “The sooner the better,” Keri said. “I don’t mean to be harsh but you’re right, Doctor—the husband is typically a prime suspect. And the sooner we can eliminate you as one, the quicker we can move on to other theories. We’re going to have some officers come out and secure the entire area. In the interim, I’d appreciate it if you and Lupe could join us in the courtyard where Detective Brody and I parked. We’ll wait there until backup can arrive and CSU can begin processing the scene.”

  Burlingame nodded and shuffled out of the room. Then, suddenly, his head popped up and he asked a question.

  “How long does she have, Detective Locke, assuming she was taken? I know there’s a ticking clock on these things. How much time do you realistically think she has?”

  Keri looked at him hard. There was no guile in his expression. He seemed to genuinely be clinging to something rational and factual to hold on to. It was a good question and one she needed to answer for herself.

  She did some quick mental math. The numbers she came up with weren’t good. But she couldn’t be that blunt with a potential victim’s husband. So she softened it a bit without lying.

  “Look, Doctor. I’m not going to lie to you. Every second counts. But we still have a couple of days before the evidence trail starts to grow cold. And we’re going to pour major resources into finding your wife. There’s still hope.”

  But internally, the calculation was much less encouraging. Usually, seventy-two hours was the outer limit. So assuming she was taken sometime yesterday morning, they had a little less than forty-eight hours to find her. And that was being optimistic.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Keri walked down the Cedars-Sinai Medical Center hallway as quickly as her aching body would allow. Becky Sampson’s house was only blocks away from the hospital so Keri didn’t feel too guilty about making a quick pit stop to check on Ray.

  But as she approached his room, she could feel the recent, familiar nervousness start to churn in her gut. How were they going to make things normal between them again, when there was this silent secret they shared but couldn’t acknowledge? As she reached his room, Keri resolved on what she hoped would be a temporary solution. She’d fake it.

  The door was open and she could see that Ray was asleep. There was no one else in the room. The latest labor contract with the city stipulated that hospitalized officers got private rooms whenever available, so he had it pretty sweet. The room had a view of the Hollywood Hills and a big-screen TV, which was on but muted. Some old movie with Sylvester Stallone competing in an arm-wrestling competition filled the screen.

  No wonder he fell asleep.

  Keri walked over and studied her sleeping partner. Lying in bed, with a floral hospit
al gown loose about his body, Ray Sands looked much more frail than usual. Normally his six-foot-four, 230-pound African-American frame was intimidating, as was his completely bald head. He’d more than earned his sometime nickname of “Big.”

  With his eyes closed, his right glass eye, the one he’d lost in a boxing match years ago, wasn’t noticeable. No one would guess that the forty-year-old man now lying in a hospital bed with an untouched bowl of red Jell-O next to him had once been Ray “The Sandman” Sands, an Olympic bronze medalist and professional heavyweight contender once considered a frontrunner to win the title. Of course, that was before an underrated southpaw with a brutal left hook had destroyed his eye and ended his career at age twenty-eight with one punch.

  After flailing about for a while, Ray found policing and worked his way up to become one of the most highly regarded Missing Persons investigators in the department. And with Brody’s imminent retirement, he was in line to take over his position in Robbery-Homicide.

  Keri glanced out at the distant hills, wondering what their status would be in six months, when they were no longer partners or even in the same unit. She pushed the thought away, unwilling to imagine life without the one steadying influence in her life since Evie was taken.

  Suddenly she sensed she was being watched. She glanced down and saw that Ray was awake, quietly staring at her.

  “How’s it going, Smurfette?” he asked playfully. They loved teasing each other about their dramatic size difference.

  “Okay, how are you feeling today, Shrek?”

  “A little tired, to be honest. I had a big workout a while ago. I walked all the way down the hallway and back. Look out, LeBron James, I’m on your heels.”

  “Did they give you a timetable for when they’re letting you out?” she asked.

  “They said maybe end of the week, if things keep progressing. Then it will be two weeks of bed rest at home. If that goes well, I’ll be allowed to assume desk duty on a limited basis. Assuming I haven’t shot myself from boredom before then.”

  Keri sat quietly for a moment, mulling over how to continue. Part of her wanted to tell Ray to take it slow, not to push too hard to get back to work. Of course, saying that would be hypocritical, as that was exactly what she’d done. And she knew he’d call her on it.