Yuki asked, “How did you determine that the killer was Mr. Burke from watching this video?”
“As I said, it was dark. The man in the parking lot was wearing dark clothes and a hat. That big tree, right there, is growing on the adjacent property, leaning over the fence, throwing shadows over everything. But on the eighth viewing of this video, a member of our task force pointed out an odd movement on the part of the assailant.”
Yuki asked, “Can you demonstrate that movement?”
“Like this,” Conklin said, brushing at his forelock of hair, moving it a little off his forehead.
He said, “I couldn’t quite make out if he was touching his hat or brushing leaves away, but when it was suggested that this individual may have been flicking something over the fence and that it was perhaps the murder weapon, we asked for those particular frames to be enlarged. Our facial rec couldn’t match the man in the lot to Mr. Burke because the video quality sucked. Sorry. So CSU brought in a forensic photographic analyst to examine and compare this enlargement with Mr. Burke’s photo. There was a 90 percent match even with the crappy quality of the video.
Yuki said, “Mr. Gaines, could you back up the video to the point where the man in the frame makes a motion with his hand?”
Nick did it and Yuki said, “Pause it right there. Thanks.”
Conklin said, “See, the fence divides the school parking lot and an overgrown, largely vacant lot behind an old gas station. Weeds are four feet tall and old car parts hidden by weeds are a hazard. Well, it isn’t school property. We didn’t have a warrant for that field of weeds. We searched every inch of the school parking lot, took the Subaru down to the tires at the crime lab, but it didn’t occur to anyone to search the lot earlier.”
“And why was that?”
“Because we had a new body.”
Yuki said, “Please tell the court about that.”
“Sure,” Conklin said. “It was a Sunday, and at Chief Clapper’s request we were working through the weekend. Tara Burke’s car and body rose up in the ocean around China Beach, and we were all over that.”
“Was the weedy vacant lot eventually searched?”
“Yes. Not until a couple of months later, but the murder weapon was waiting for us, four feet deep in weeds about an arm’s length from the base of the tree.”
Yuki showed him an array of photos taken during the search of the field: ten men in white hazmat suits, and last, the photo of a gloved hand holding up a razor.
Yuki asked, “Is this the murder weapon?”
“Yes, a hundred percent.”
Yuki looked at the faces of the jury. She had every bit of their attention. The picture of the razor was entered into evidence and then shown to the jury. Yuki also entered Rich Conklin’s report on the meetings with Lucas Burke and his ex-wife.
She thanked Rich and told Gardner that the witness was his. Yuki would bet her IRA that Gardner wasn’t going to ask Conklin how the razor could be linked to his client.
Lucas Burke was innocent until proven guilty.
Yuki had every intention of doing just that.
Chapter 91
Our meal at Lago was wrapping up.
The dessert plates had been cleared and our waiter brought Berney the check.
I said, “Let us expense this, Berney.”
He declined the offer and read the tab carefully, almost as if he was decoding a message. For all I knew, he may have been.
His plan, as I understood it, was to leave Burke’s capture to Alvarez and me. He’d help us transport the SOB to San Francisco for questioning. After thanking us for our assistance, he’d fly Burke to Quantico, all softened up and ready to admit to innumerable crimes he was suspected of committing.
Alvarez looked very comfortable on her old turf. I was uneasy. The plan was mostly “make it up as you go.” Alvarez and I didn’t have much history together, and Berney and I had none.
I wished he’d said there were a few dozen undercover FBI agents disguised as porters and housekeepers ready to grab the presumed killer, chopper him back to the Hall, and leave him with us for a few night interrogations that would result either in a bulletproof confession or believable deniability.
Berney glanced at his phone while reaching for his wallet. The mild, satisfied look on his face was gone.
Joe asked what was wrong and Berney said, “My signal from Burke’s GPS is down.”
So, Berney was in the dark with the rest of us.
Was Burke’s signal down temporarily?
Or had he deliberately pulled off the road, turned off the engine, and let his GPS signal go dark.
He could be right here.
Right now.
Berney said, “You all have my number. Emergency calls only. Thanks.”
He put a stack of bills on top of the check, and as quickly as he’d arrived he was gone.
Joe said, “I should be going. Got a message for the Bugster?”
A Neil Diamond classic was playing, “Cracklin’ Rosie.” I walked Joe to the escalator, and asked him to bring Julie a few bars of the song if he could sing it.
“I can sing it, Blondie, but I’m not sure how to explain, ‘Cracklin’ Rose, you’re a store-bought woman.’”
I laughed. “Can you hum it?”
“May-bee. How do you feel?”
“Mixed. I want to
