21st Birthday (Women's Murder Club #21)(31)

He covered his face with his hands. Tears fell but Brady wasn’t moved. He pushed, jabbed, prodded, and alternated his questions and demands.

“Burke, you have very limited options. This girl that was murdered? Fogarty? She was your girlfriend, isn’t that right? Boxer? Jump in.”

“It was common knowledge,” I said, “and she told me all about your relationship. Where you met. What you said. We have a note. You promising to marry her. She was expecting to see you the same day we released you.”

“I didn’t make a plan to see her.”

“She was disappointed, heartsick, worried about you. She wanted to comfort you.”

“Stop. Please, stop. What you’re doing is criminal.”

“She died a horrible death,” I said.

“I loved Misty. Someone is killing people I love! Don’t you see that? I wish I were dead, too.”

Brady didn’t care what Burke said. “Just the facts, man. Tara’s mother calls Sergeant Boxer a half dozen times a day. She hasn’t heard from Tara. Where is she? You went to Carmel while your baby was dead and your wife was missing? What kind of husband does that? I need your checkin times. Will anyone at the resort remember you? Where did y’all eat? I need all your credit card receipts. All of them. We need a cheek swab. Why? Because you want to get off the suspect list. Yours is the only name on it.

“Open your wallet and take out any receipts or reservation confirmations,” Brady continued. “Give me your phone now. Don’t give me reasons to arrest you for murder.”

Burke said, “Alex paid for the hotel. I paid for the gas. We split the meals.”

He laid out his cards, handed his phone to Brady. Brady opened the phone’s photo folder and held it so I could see it, too. He scrolled, stopping at the pictures of Tara, Tara and Lorrie, both together with Burke.

“And the folder where you hide photos of Misty?” I asked.

He showed us that, too.

Brady said, “I’m keeping all of this for now.” He pushed a pad and pen over to Burke. “Write down your movements since Thursday afternoon. That’s what we call a statement.”

Burke snorted in disbelief.

“Don’t try to leave the room, Mr. Burke. I have officers outside the door who will take you down and then we’ll arrest you. Boxer, I need you.”

I got up and followed him out of the room.





CHAPTER 42





LIEUTENANT JACKSON BRADY and I entered the small observation room situated between the interview rooms and with windows on each.

Clapper, Yuki, and Homicide inspectors Michaels and Wang had been watching the interrogations of both Burke and Conroy.

I edged over to Yuki and asked her, “Thoughts?”

“Conroy is smooth,” she said. “Unruffled by the interrogation and she gave similar or identical answers to the questions you and Brady asked Burke within a normal margin for error.”

I nodded and stood with her and watched as Conroy responded to Chi’s questions in an even tone of voice. The word “buttery” came to mind.

As a detective, Chi is like ground-penetrating radar. He can see things that the rest of us miss, while Cappy has a knack for blending in with his surroundings. Like a snow fox. Or a water snake. His pointed questions sound innocuous and the subjects answer willingly. He has a gift.

Chi asked, “What was your room number?”

“Three seventeen. No. Three nineteen.” Same as what Burke had told us.

“Who paid?”

“I did. Lucas needed a break.”

Cappy said, “Not best of circumstances for a holiday, though, was it?”

“No,” said Conroy, getting out her phone to show pictures of Burke with Conroy. Beachy pictures. Selfies by the pool. Views of the ocean. Burke wasn’t smiling in any of them. “Luke was grief-stricken about LuLu.”

“LuLu?”

“Lorrie’s nickname.”

I stood at Brady’s shoulder as he texted Chi, telling him to keep going and when he ran out of questions to hand Conroy off to ADA Castellano.

Chi asked Conroy, “What did Lucas tell you about Tara?”

Conroy said with some feeling that Burke was still convinced that Tara was alive. “He told me that Tara was either guilt-ridden and in hiding or with some guy.”

I was no longer convinced we would find Tara Wyatt Burke alive.

“I’m going in,” I said to Brady.

He nodded and I knocked on the door, then opened it.

“Chi, Cappy, Ms. Conroy. I have a couple of questions.”

Chi and Cappy invited me in.

I turned to Conroy. “These are a little personal, but they won’t go beyond this room,” I lied.

“Sure. What do you want to know?”

“Was Lucas ever abusive during your marriage?”

“You mean did he beat me?”

“Anything that comes to you when I say ‘abusive.’”

“Huh. Well. To be honest. He had a temper. That’s why I divorced him three years ago. But I swear — do you have a Bible? Okay, well, on my word — the worst he’d do was, he would yell. Grab my arm once in a while, twist it. He could say mean things. He scared me. We were both pretty young when we married. I didn’t understand it. My father was a gentle soul. Luke was rough. But he never broke a bone or threatened me with a weapon, if that’s where you’re going. He was from a neighborhood where there was fighting. Now, he says please and thank you and never lifts a hand in anger. He’s matured.”