21st Birthday (Women's Murder Club) Read online

  NEWT GARDNER SAT with Lucas Burke in the seventh-floor client-attorney conference room, killing time until the jurors came in with their verdict.

  The room was a cage the size of a cell, furnished with a small table and four straight chairs. Gardner sat across from Luke and put his hand on his client’s arm. Luke was depressed, down and deep in the darkest part of himself, and Gardner hadn’t been able to help him out of the hole. He’d told Luke that he’d been right to testify. He’d said that his delivery had been very moving. “Tell me I’m wrong, but I thought my closer was almost as good as yours,” Gardner joked.

  Luke couldn’t crack a smile.

  Gardner placed a shopping bag on the table.

  “This’s for you. Open it,” he said.

  Luke did so with no enthusiasm and took out a new shirt and a silk tie in reds and yellows, which Gardner thought would warm up his client’s sallow complexion.

  “Thanks. Put this on my tab, will you, Newt?”

  “It’s a gift. And I have something else for you.”

  Luke had asked him to find out where Misty was buried, and Newt had learned that she was in the Fogarty family plot in a cemetery in Grand Rapids, Michigan. Gardner contacted a friend who lived in the suburbs and asked him to go and take a picture of Misty’s headstone.

  Gardner took a photo from his briefcase and passed it to Luke, saying, “I hope this is what you want.”

  Luke stared at the photo of Melissa’s headstone. It read “Beloved Daughter.”

  “She’s home,” said Luke. “In the family plot. She loved her father. Thanks, Newt. This is good.”

  “It’s yours,” Gardner said. “But don’t get morbid. I fully expect the jury to find in your favor.”

  “It looks peaceful,” Luke said. “Like being in your own bed, forever.”

  Gardner said, “May I remind you that you’re only in your forties.”

  “Tara and Lorrie are in Kathleen’s plot in Colman?”

  “That’s right. Will you please make an effort to look like the innocent man you are, a man who has been put through hell, for having had a spat with his wife.”

  Luke nodded. “How long before the jury comes in?”

  “One never knows, but it’s only been an hour.”

  “Thanks again, Newt. You’ve been great. I need to lie down.”

  After Luke had been escorted back to his cell, Gardner had a hallway meeting with the head guard, Sergeant Holmes.

  Newt said, “Keep a watch on him, Larry.”

  “Will do.”

  “He’s despondent.”

  “Gotcha.”

  “Here’s my card,” he said. “Call anytime.”

  Gardner believed in Lucas and that belief never wavered. He went to the elevator and pressed down.

  CHAPTER 108

  DA LES PARISI CALLED Yuki two hours after she and Nick Gaines had left the courtroom to tell them that the jury was back.

  Yuki’s stomach churned and fluttered as she strode up the corridor from the DA’s suite to the courtroom where Gaines was already waiting at the counsel table.

  Often a jury’s quick return signaled a guilty verdict. But it wasn’t always true. There was every chance that Lucas Burke’s bawling that his father had set him up had worked on a juror or two. Yuki was thinking about other killers who looked pitiable when testifying when she heard her name. She turned to see Lindsay.

  “Hey.”

  “Hey, you.”

  They linked arms and Yuki said, “It’s standing room only in there, Linds, but please find a place. I want you there when the verdict is read.”

  Lindsay said, “Of course. I came looking for you. Dinner tonight, okay?”

  “Okay. Either way.”

  Yuki watched as Lindsay squeezed in next to Cindy in the back row. The courtroom settled down.

  Judge Passarelli banged his gavel until the room quieted.

  He said to the jury, “Have you arrived at a verdict?”

  The forewoman stood, said “We have, Your Honor.” She handed a slip of paper to the bailiff, a bored-looking man who lumbered over to the forewoman, then back to the judge.

  The judge took the slip, turned it around and read it without expression, then handed it back to the bailiff, who walked it back to the foreperson.

  The judge said, “Madam Foreperson, will you please read the verdict?”

  Nick pushed his tablet over to Yuki. He’d drawn a question mark with rays coming off it.

  Yuki scanned the faces of the jurors.

  How had they decided? She couldn’t read a one of them.

  CHAPTER 109

  CLAIRE, CINDY, AND I had picked up Yuki in the lobby of the Hall and bundled her into Cindy’s Hyundai sedan for a chauffeured ride to the Women’s Murder Club HQ.

  Yuki sat in the front seat beside Cindy, turning to face me and Claire, lavishing us with her rapid-paced hardly stopping to breathe chatter that was both joyful and contagious.

  I was elated for Yuki — hey, I was proud of the whole task force, especially Alvarez, still amazed we’d come back from the Las Vegas shoot-out without a scratch.

  Yuki was saying that Red Dog had told her to relax while waiting for the verdict, but it had been impossible. “Every time I thought of floating on the calm sea, I pictured sharks swimming toward me and I just panicked. So, thanks so much, all of you guys, for, well, everything.”

  At five o’clock we were comfortable in our cozy red banquette in Susie’s back room. Lorraine came over, her auburn hair in a pony, ballpoint pen tucked over her ear. She went straight to Yuki, and asked, “Did you win?”

  Yuki nodded. “You know when I knew it?”

  Four women asked, “When?” in unison.

  Yuki said, “When the foreperson, that angel, read the verdict out loud. ‘We find the defendant, Lucas Burke, guilty on count one —’”

  Cindy chimed in, “Gardner polled the jury, and it was unanimous. They’d all voted guilty, guilty, guilty.”

  I couldn’t remember Lorraine having ever touched any of us, but now she swept Yuki up from her seat and squished her in a hug, then said, “A pitcher of Margaritas on me, Yuki. Coming right up.”

  “Thank you, Lorraine. You know I need my tequila infusion.”

  “Beer for meeee,” I shouted after her. “And chips.”

  “And menus,” called Claire.

  She looked rested, smiling and wearing pink, fully recovered from the surgery that had kept her out of work for months. Cindy had her laptop out on the table and had filed her story in the interlude between ordering and the arrival of food and drink.

  Hours had passed since I’d shared a pizza with Joe and Julie at the airport. I was starving.

  Margaritas, hot sauce, chips, and menus arrived along with a pitcher of beer alongside a frosted mug.

  I filled my mug, lifted it, saying, “To Yuki, ace prosecutor.”

  “To you, Lindsay,” she said, “and your task force for nailing Luke, that black-hearted killer. And to you, Claire, for standing your ground against Newt Gardner. And to you, Cindy, for sending Kathleen Wyatt to Lindsay in the first place and for covering the investigation and the trial of Lucas Burke and for being on the record with all of it.”

  Of course, we laughed. And we ordered too much food, and that balanced out the margaritas so that Yuki didn’t sing and dance. When we were on the key lime pie course, I called Brady to come over and drive Yuki home.

  Took him about ten minutes before he came through the door of the Caribbean café.

  I said, “Brady, sit. Have a drink.”

  He said to Lorraine, “Dr Pepper and the check for alla this, please.”

  Minutes later Brady lifted his glass and said, “A more formidable murder club doesn’t exist, anywhere.” He drank the soda down, and when he was done he said, “I’m gonna take this little sweetie home now. Love all y’all.”

  The Women’s Murder Club answered in unison, “Night, you guys. Good night.”

  CHAPTER 1
10

  CLAIRE ORDERED AN UBER, I walked Cindy to her car, then caught a cab that was letting out a passenger just outside.

  When my cab dropped me off on Lake Street, I felt buzzed, satisfied, and happy to be alive.

  My husband, little girl, and best dog were all waiting for me when I blew through the front door. I was home, and even a hotel with a two-hundred-foot fountain playing show tunes and slot machines that could pay out a million dollars in quarters couldn’t touch it.

  Joe said no one had called, not Chief Belinky, nor Alvarez, nor any of the brass at the SFPD. A miracle. I read to my little Bugster until she told me, “You read like you’re singing, Mom.”

  “Do I?”

  “Uh-huh. I like it.”

  “I’ll keep reading,” I said, but Julie Bugs had fallen asleep in my lap.

  I tucked her into bed, took a leisurely hot shower, changed into fresh PJs, and threw myself into bed.

  It was past ten when I realized that I’d never turned my cell phone back on after leaving Susie’s.

  I got out of bed, grabbed my phone out of my bag, and that fast, Joe took it out of my hand. I protested that I had to check my calls, but he said, “You need to chill, Linds, and I’m the enforcer.”

  I knew he was right, but when my eyes flew open at 4 a.m., that nagging feeling was right there with me as if lit with neon lights.

  What had Evan Burke wanted to tell me about his murders?

  What did that son of a bitch want me to know?

  I sneaked out of bed, found my phone plugged into the charger in the foyer, and checked my messages. Belinky had called me while I’d been with the gang at Susie’s.

  I played his message.

  “Sergeant. Chief Belinky. Burke lawyered up. Call me.”

  CHAPTER 111

  IT WAS ALMOST NOON when I reached Chief Alex Belinky from my desk in the bullpen.

  I lowered my head so no one would interrupt me and gave my full attention to the LVPD chief as he said, “Sergeant, the rules of engagement regarding Evan Burke have changed. His lawyer is criminal defense attorney Randall Lanning.”

  I tapped Lanning’s name into my laptop with one finger. There were about forty Google pages of Lannings in Las Vegas listings but I couldn’t open them fast enough to read with comprehension and listen to Belinky at the same time.

  Belinky said, “Lanning will depose you and Alvarez. The prosecutor is going to do the same and you’ll both be called as witnesses against Burke at his trial.”

  “Inevitable, I guess.”

  “Burke is being arraigned on Monday —”

  “Can I talk to him after the arraignment?”

  “Doubtful. Lanning rightly told Burke not to talk to anyone but him. He is going to try to get Burke leniency. Lanning’s good, but between you and me, he’s got a rough job ahead of him.”

  “I’m trying not to scream, chief. If Burke hadn’t had that coughing fit, if I hadn’t been tossed out of the ICU, he would have talked to me. Maybe closed a couple of cases for us. He was saying, ‘I’ve killed a lot of people.’”

  “No names, right?” said Belinky. “My take on Burke is that he would have tried to work some kind of deal with you and then he would have reneged or angled for an even better deal. He’s so twisted he could be making it all up.”

  “Can’t dispute you on that.”

  “Our DA is Joseph Masci.”

  “I almost recognize that name.”

  “His father was Ray Masci.”

  “Mobster’s best friend?”

  “Very good. Ray was a lawyer for the mob back in the day. He defended all the big names in drugs, real estate fraud, money laundering, as well as your everyday murder of gangsters buried in construction sites or out in the desert.

  “Like his father, Joe is tough, but he’s a reformer. He could teach criminal law at his alma mater, but instead of a chair at Harvard, Joe is trying to rehabilitate the family name and the town. He’s going to stay close to the Burke case, I’m guessing. And there’s a fair chance he’ll try the case himself.”

  CHAPTER 112

  ATTORNEY RANDALL LANNING had wheeled his client into the crowded arraignment court that morning, finding it hard to grab a seat where he sat next to Evan Burke as they waited for their number to come up.

  He knew the judge, Sarah Valencourt, and knew that like him she had a sense of urgency. An aisle seat became vacant and Klein angled the bulky old wheelchair over to it and sat down.

  At just after ten, his docket number was called and Lanning rolled Evan Burke’s chair up to the bench. Burke hadn’t said much to Lanning this morning. He seemed deep in thought, which was somewhat expected. Lanning had prepared him for the two possibilities.

  Either a huge bail amount and zero chance of scratching up the required 10 percent for the bondsman, or he’d be denied bail altogether, which Lanning thought more likely.

  A dozen rows in front of them, the judge sat high on her bench. She polished off some paperwork, then looked down and around, apparently for Evan Burke, the man who had created a big stir in the media.

  Judge Valencourt addressed Burke, but he was in his head, far away, and his attorney called his name, bumped the wheelchair with his knee.

  Burke snapped to and answered the judge’s question.

  “Not guilty, Your Honor. This is a farce. A setup. The police know damned well that I didn’t shoot that girl on purpose. My door was kicked in —”

  “ADA Winters?”

  Lanning had gone against Tiffany Mintner before. She was smart and one of Masci’s favorite ADAs.

  She said, “Your Honor, Mr. Burke is a danger to the community. He is charged with the murder of an unarmed woman, and shooting at police officers. We intend to present those law-enforcement officers as witnesses at trial. Mr. Burke is also a flight risk and has evaded arrest in Nevada, California, and Oregon. Shall I go on?”

  “I think that’s enough, counselor.”

  “Mr. Lanning?”

  “My client was shot by the police without warning. The victim’s death was an accidental shooting. Mr. Burke has a home just outside Las Vegas and I recommend house arrest and police guard if necessary.”

  “Ms. Mintner? Bail?”

  “No way, Your Honor. The best option for both the population and the defendant himself would be to remand him to the court and hold him for trial.”

  “So, be it. Bail is denied. The defendant is remanded.”

  As Evan Burke was rolled out of the courtroom, he said to his attorney, “I want to make a deal.”

  “What kind of deal?”

  “I have a lot to offer in exchange for a guilty plea that would bypass a trial.”

  Lanning wheeled the chair up to the elevator. The doors slid open and two people got out. Lanning held the door, and when Burke and his equipment were inside he pressed the down button.

  Lanning said, “Take some time to think about it, Evan. We should discuss what you have as leverage.”

  “Mr. Lanning. Randall. I might as well be in hell. Chained to the bed. Bedpans and needles.”

  “It’s a hospital, for Christ’s sake. You’re sick.”

  “It’s a hospital in hell.”

  He coughed all the way out to the street, and once he’d been transferred into the ambulance an EMT gave him oxygen. Still angry, Burke pounded on the ambulance window with his good hand until a sedative kicked in and he had to stop.

  Lanning was going to have to find a way to manage his client or Evan Burke would be dead in the water.

  CHAPTER 113

  I’D OVERSLEPT FOR ONCE and the squad room was fairly quiet when I got there.

  I wanted to talk with Conklin, Alvarez, Brady, but they were all out on a new case, a hostage situation involving a tender age child.

  A new idea sparked.

  Finding the last cardboard tray in the break room, I stuck three coffee containers into the holes, poured the java, and capped the cups. I then, gathered up some fixings and took the ele
vator up to the sixth floor. I stared up at the lights behind the numbers and used the time to gather myself for what I hoped would be a useful meeting with Lucas Burke.

  Sergeant Bubbleen Waters was behind the duty desk. I handed her a coffee.

  “Oooh. Irish cream. Thanks, Lindsay.”

  I smiled. From our very first shared shift at the station, we’d liked each other instantly.

  “I’m not above bribing a pal,” I said. “Think I could have a few minutes with Lucas Burke?”

  “Cheer him up, will ya? I can give you the cage until a lawyer wants it.”

  Five minutes later, Burke and I were in the attorney-lawyer meeting room. I tried to gauge his mood. He didn’t look like the same man I’d met at Sunset Park Prep so many months ago. I offered him fresh-brewed black coffee with an array of packets and little cream cups.

  He drank it black and kept drinking until he had made it clear that I was going to have to speak first.

  “I saw your father a couple days ago.”

  “Spare me. I’m going to be sentenced to life in prison and will do my best to forget I ever knew him. I’m going to invent a fictional family and he’s not in it. Or maybe just bash my head against the cinder blocks. One clean hit should do it.”

  I moved past that image.

  I said, “You know what happened with him? He was in a basement hotel room with a girl who was screaming for help. I kicked in the door and he shot his date through the back of her head.”

  “Interesting,” he said, but he wasn’t interested at all.

  “I put a couple of shots in your father’s shoulder.”

  “That was the best you could do?”

  “Under the circumstances.”

  “So why tell me?”

  He had gulped down the coffee. Getting some pleasure, I guess. I pushed mine over to him.

  I said, “This has a lot of sugar. I drink it sweet.”

  “Fine. I’ll take it. Did he tell you why he killed my wife, child, and girlfriend?”