21st Birthday Page 3

  I parked in the lot at Sunset Park Prep. The ten-acre campus had grounds like clipped green velvet. The main building was imposing, built of white stone in the early twentieth century. Athletic fields and smaller buildings stretched out beyond it.

  I’d just flashed my badge at the visitors’ check-in when the bell rang and students exited classrooms, chattering as they walked the broad corridor to their next class.

  I stopped a group of young ladies and asked where I could find Mr. Lucas Burke’s office.

  One said, “You just passed it.”

  I reversed course, saw “Mr. Burke” on a nameplate to the left of an office door. I knocked and heard “Come innnn.”

  Burke looked up when I entered his office.

  He was a good-looking fortyish man sitting behind a desk heaped with neat stacks of paper. His hair was a thick and wavy auburn, and he wore tortoiseshell glasses, a blazer over a blue shirt, a rep tie, and a wedding band on his ring finger.

  I showed him the badge clipped to my inside jacket pocket and introduced myself. We shook hands and he offered me a chair. I took it and started talking.

  “You know that Kathleen Wyatt filed a report against you,” I said, in a neutral tone. I didn’t want to anger or alarm him. I wanted to come off as a friendly neighborhood cop, checking out a complaint.

  Burke took off his glasses, swiped his face with his hand, and sighed at the same time. “Sergeant, you’ve met Kathleen?”

  “Yes. She’s distraught. Very.”

  “I’ve already made a statement to Missing Persons about this,” said Burke. He picked up a business card from his desk and read the name, “Lieutenant Tom Murry. You should check with him, but since you’re here, I’ll repeat myself. Kathleen Wyatt is—how shall I say this? Eccentric. Paranoid. Off her rocker. She calls me at all hours and I’m afraid to turn off the phone in case Tara tries to reach me.”

  “She still hasn’t called?”

  “No, we haven’t spoken since I called her yesterday morning, but I’m not having a panic attack. Tara, like her mother, is high-strung. We had a fight. I don’t even remember what it was about.”

  “Really?”

  “Okay. If you must know, she ran through our credit line on frivolous purchases. I bought her a Volvo when Lorrie was born, and that wasn’t enough. Underwear and makeup and some stupid gadget to calm her mind. She bought a chair. From England! Never even saw the chair. Four thousand dollars plus shipping. I work my butt off and she gets high on online shopping sprees, so I took her credit card and ran it through my shredder.”

  Burke did look annoyed. Highly. I could see his point. Then again, he was providing motive. He might be innocent or could be a killer. My instincts weren’t making a call.

  He said, “Sergeant, I can tell you everything I know right now. I last saw Tara yesterday morning at about seven thirty when we had our fight. Shouting and name calling only. I walked out and was on time for my eight o’clock class. An hour or so later, Kathleen began calling my cell every ten minutes.

  I was looking for tells as I sat across from him. He wasn’t sweating or avoiding my gaze. There was a framed photo on his desk. I moved it toward me. Tara and Lorrie at her first birthday, about four months ago. Visible on the inside of Tara’s wrist was a small heart-shaped tattoo lettered “LuLu.”

  He said, “Help yourself. Anything else you need to know about my personal life?”

  “You’re not my concern, Mr. Burke. There’s a statewide Amber Alert out for your daughter. Help us out, will you? You must have some thoughts about where Tara and Lorrie might be.”

  Burke waved away the implied question.

  He said, “You know Tara never even locked the doors on our house, right? And she’s done this before. This time, she emptied our safe, but she won’t get far on a few twenties. The baby’s diaper bag is gone. Here’s an idea. Why don’t I file charges against her? How about kidnapping, for starters?”

  “Good idea. Come with me to the station,” I said. “You can make a statement, file your complaint. And we can have a longer talk. Mr. Burke, let’s get Tara and Lorrie home.”

  He scoffed and then he laughed and said, “Tara’s just pissed off at me. She’s a doting mother. Nothing will happen to Lorrie.”

  A young woman appeared in the doorway. She had a long blond braid and blue-painted fingernails that matched her school uniform.

  “Mr. Burke, when should I come back?”

  “Give me ten minutes, Misty.”

  She said okay and left.

  “Another thing,” Burke went on. “Sergeant, here’s something you should know. Tara’s doctor prescribed antidepressants. They’re still in the medicine chest and the bottle is full.”

  “She’s gone off her meds?”

  “Yes. And in my opinion, that’s why she’s telling stories to her friends, spending like crazy, running away from home, and do you want to know what worries me?”

  He was ranting, and I wasn’t going to stop him. I actually found him believable, but I wished I’d had this on tape.

  “Tell me,” I said.

  “What worries me is that Tara is unhinged, Kathleen is unhinged, and if this is genetic, I worry Lorrie will be, too. Okay? Give me your card and I’ll call you when I hear from my wife.”

  Chapter 10

  Five minutes later, I was back in my car and still deeply disturbed about the missing wife and child.

  Kathleen Wyatt had gotten to me, and I believed in my heart that Tara and Lorrie were in danger. I couldn’t walk away, despite Clapper’s direct order, until they were safe.

  Lucas Burke hadn’t raised my hackles. I didn’t feel that he had killed Tara and Lorrie, but he hadn’t seemed very worried, either. Where were they? Had Tara run off, as her husband insisted? Or had something happened to them, as Kathleen feared?

  I thought about Tara and Lorrie Burke. I swear I heard them calling out to me. If they weren’t home by morning, I wanted to get this damned case from Missing Persons and work it. Get search warrants. Interview Burke’s coworkers, students, neighbors, and friends.

  My tension turned physical. My neck and shoulders were cramping. It felt like the restraints Clapper had put on me were tightening.

  I got back to the squad room at just after five and found a note from Conklin weighted down by my stapler.

  I’m with the search team. Call you later. R.

  I gulped Tylenol dry and called Richie. He picked up.

  “Where are you?” he asked.

  “At my desk. How’s it going?”

  “I’ve got that feeling like when you’ve put something down in your house and can’t find it. But you know it’s there. It’s gotta be there.”

  We talked more. I told him about my interview with Burke, warming myself up for an unpleasant meeting with Clapper, and told Rich I’d report back. I took the stairs up to the fifth floor, headed for the corner office facing Bryant.

  I knocked. And then, I wriggled the doorknob. Stupid. What if Clapper opened the door in my face and said, “What do you want, Boxer?” But his door was locked.

  At around 6 p.m. I drove to the edge of the Financial District, parked on Jackson Street, and walked toward Susie’s Café, where I was looking forward to seeing my three best friends. Cindy had named our gang of four “the Women’s Murder Club” and it had stuck.

  We’d claimed Susie’s Café as our clubhouse. Cindy, Claire, Yuki, and I loved the place for the “don’t worry, be happy” crowd at the bar, the steel band and occasional limbo contest, the tasty Caribbean food, and that everyone knew our names.

  We try to meet here every couple of weeks for the laughter and camaraderie, and we also pool our mental resources and apply them to cases that refuse to crack.

  Tonight, we were getting together because three weeks had passed since we’d last seen Claire.

  A chill breeze blew down the empty street. I buttoned my jacket but I still felt cold.

  Then I saw the lights coming from the café wi
ndows. If anything could warm me, it was Susie’s Café and a huddle with my best friends.

  Maybe one of us would have a bright idea.

  Chapter 11

  As I closed in on Susie’s front door, a small crowd streamed out to the street. A gent held the door for me and, as always, the roar of laughter and the aroma of curry washed over me.

  I stood for a moment inside the entrance, mapping out my path, then edged between the standing-room-only patrons banked at the bar and the clump of customers waiting for tables. I exchanged hellos with Susie and crossed to a corridor at the rear of the main room. This narrow passageway led past the kitchen, then emptied into the quieter, smaller, and cozier back room. No music, no bar back there, just Jamaican street art on the walls and a dozen tables and booths, including the one we thought of as ours.

  Claire was at the far end of the banquette, the seat next to the window. Yuki sat across from her and both smiled hugely as I came up to the table. I slid in next to Claire and high-fived Yuki over the table.

  “Cindy’s on the way,” she said.

  I grabbed Claire’s hand.

  She had been diagnosed with lung cancer and had undergone surgery that cost her half a lung. The surgery was successful, but there’d been no promises as to her life expectancy. That scared the hell out of me and everyone else who knew and loved Claire. Still on leave from her post as the city’s chief medical examiner, she was seeing her own doctor every three months for checkups until further notice.

  Sitting next to her, I noticed how thin she’d become. She’d wanted to drop a couple of dress sizes for years, but cancer was no one’s idea of how to lose the weight.

  Yuki had just come from her office at the DA and was wearing a sharp black jacket and pants, hair falling to just below her chin with a blond streak in front. She looked good, but sleep-deprived.

  She leaned in and said, “Dr. Terk told Claire that she’s doing better than expected. That is to say, she’s doing great.”

  Claire cracked a grin. “No secrets, right? I’m cleared to go back to work, although I had to swear on my daughter’s pet bunny I would not pull all-nighters.”

  We all started laughing. Claire’s daughter Rosie’s rabbit was a big-eyed flop-eared thing named Hoppy who sleeps with Rosie on her pillow. Then Claire asked about the new commander of the Southern Station and the laughter stopped.

  “Clapper’s kind of a brilliant choice, isn’t he?”

  Yuki, who was married to Brady, said, “Hmmmm.”

  Claire said, “Not so enthusiastic, Yuki-san. What is it?”

  “Uh. Well, Brady is moody. Bad moody. Didn’t sleep last night. That’s odd for him. He likes Clapper a lot. It’s more like he’d almost decided he didn’t want the promotion to chief, but you know, he’s pissed that the mayor made the decision for him. Feels to him like a slight. Or a vote of no confidence.”

  Before I could say that I’d already gotten a big fat demerit from Clapper, our favorite waitress, Lorraine, came to our table. Her red hair was pulled up in a knot; she had pencil and pad in hand.

  She asked, “Is Cindy coming?”

  Yuki said, “Any minute.”

  On cue, Cindy blew into the back room.

  She wore denim all the way and her curls were tight from the damp wind. Her big blue eyes were shining, and after she slid in next to Yuki, she said, “Sorry for making you wait. I was stuck behind an oil truck.”

  Lorraine greeted her and recited the specials.

  Claire asked for steak, black beans, and rice. Yuki ordered a crab salad, and Cindy said, “Conch, deep fried.”

  “We’re out of conch,” said Lorraine.

  “Chicken feet dredged in spicy flour.”

  “So, by that you mean blackened snapper and fries.”

  “Exactly!” said Cindy. “And a salad.”

  “Me, too,” I said.

  “Yuki. You need a margarita?”

  “Just beer,” said our dear friend who had no tolerance for tequila at all.

  “So that’s beer all around,” Lorraine said.

  “Hear, hear,” I said.

  Beer came. We lifted our frosty mugs and toasted as one.

  “To Claire.”

  “To us,” said Claire.

  We clinked mugs.

  Lorraine brought plates of food lined up and balanced on both of her forearms, and when dinner was on the table she asked if we needed anything else. We all said we were good. After taking long slugs of brew, Cindy leaned forward and said dramatically, “Well, girlfriends. I’ve got news.”

  Chapter 12

  “Let me put a drum roll under that,” Cindy said. “I’ve got Burke news. But first, I’ve gotta eat something.”

  We booed and hissed and Claire said, “You’re gonna pay for that.”

  Cindy laughed, saying, “Seriously, I’m starving.”

  As she doused her fries with hot sauce, I said, “I guess I’ll spill my own Burke news. I went to Sunset Park Prep today and had a chat with Lucas Burke.”

  “Linds,” said Cindy. “You trying to scoop me?”

  “I needed to get a fix on him,” I said. “Your friend Kathleen got to me. She hooked me good.” I told my friends about my impromptu meeting with Burke, how he claimed that he’d had a fight with Tara Monday morning and that she’d taken off with the baby in retaliation.

  “Oh, and he said she’s off her meds. He offered to come down and file charges against her for kidnapping the baby, but when I took him up on it he said, no, she’d be home soon. He said he destroyed her credit card.”

  “Could you have arrested him on suspicion?” Claire asked.

  “I have nothing on him. And Clapper would probably suspend me from duty. Missing Persons is on the case. So that’s what I’ve got. Cindy? You’re up.”

  Cindy put down her fork, dabbed her lips with her napkin, and gave us all a little smirk.

  “This is off the record. Hear me?”

  All of us were guilty of swearing Cindy to the same promise, so we laughed, raised our right hands, and agreed. Then, using topic sentences, complete paragraphs, and an occasional subhead, Cindy told us what she knew.

  “Misty Lee Fogarty is a senior at Sunset Park Prep,” she said. “She’s eighteen, taking English Lit from Lucas Burke and also sleeping with him. He told her that he’s leaving his wife for her.”

  Claire said, “I guess when you’re eighteen, you’ve never heard that before.”

  “Who told you this leaving-the-wife story?” Yuki asked.

  “Friend of Misty. And then I spoke to Misty, myself. On the record.”

  “Long blond hair in a braid?” I thought of the girl who’d come to the door when I was in Burke’s office.

  “That’s her,” said Cindy. “And Misty says, yah, Lucas put it in writing.”

  I asked, “And you believed her?”

  Cindy reached for her bag and pulled out a note hand-printed on a pink index card. She flashed it so we could see the writing and then, read it out loud.

  “Dear Misty, I’m in love with you. I promise that I will be free and we will be able to get married by the end of the school year.

  “Love, Luke.”

  I said, “Is it dated?”

  “Nope.”

  “Well, take a picture of that, will you, Cindy, and send it to me. Off the record.” I winked. “I want to compare it with his signature on his DMV file.”

  She growled playfully, took the picture and sent it to me. I wondered if she would show it to Rich later, how my partner would react to my cutting him out.

  Then I asked our so-called girl reporter, “So what do you think, Cindy? That Lucas killed his wife to be with Misty?”

  “What do you think?” she asked me.

  “I think it’s lechery,” Yuki said with conviction. “It’s not evidence of anything criminal. But it could be a match to a fuse if Tara got wind of it. Or what if Lucas flat out told her? If he even needed to—Tara is only twenty years old.”

  “
If I’m Tara,” I said, “that’s grounds to clear out the safe, grab the baby, and just take off.”

  Cindy said, “And doesn’t tell her mother? I’ll tell you what I think. Lucas Burke needs a good cop-beating under hot lights.”

  Claire said, “Too many old cop movies, Cindy.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Okay. Here’s my plan. We’re running Tara and Lorrie’s photos in the paper and online tonight. Tyler’s putting up a twenty-five-thousand-dollar reward for information leading to finding them. I’m just letting you know, Linds. There may be a lot of phone traffic tomorrow.”

  “It’s okay,” I said. “Whatever it takes.”

  “Is there anything you can do to turn up the heat?”

  I sighed, shook my head no, thinking again of Clapper telling me to stay out of it.

  Then I thought of the report I needed to write. “Can you send me the photos?”

  Cindy picked up her phone and then it got so quiet at the table we could hear every conversation in the room. Quarterly meeting in the booth behind us. First date in the booth in front. Drunken laughter at the table to the left.

  I have a young child at home and so does Claire, so we asked for the check and broke up dinner early, no excuses required. We all hugged and said good night.

  I thought about the Burke family during the entire drive home.

  Chapter 13

  Joe was in his big chair with Julie in his lap, lying against his chest. Our aging border collie, Martha, was at his feet.

  I said, “Don’t get up.”

  Sweet Martha got up anyway and then Julie squirmed to her feet and I hugged them both on the way to my husband. I leaned down and kissed him and he pulled me down into his now empty lap.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “Nothing. I’ll tell you later.”

  Julie held up a greeting card with a hand-drawn rainbow and a dog that looked a little like Martha on the front.