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 110
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 pj’s, 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 Lanning 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
