Джеймс Паттерсон - 21st Birthday

Four detectives from Northern Station interviewed the growing crowd of surfers and beachcombers and early-morning nudists in the parking lot, towels around their waists. The detectives would be asking people for any information they might have about anyone or anything out of the ordinary.

Good luck with that .

The baby could have been dumped into the water anywhere along South Bay.

Lieutenant Tom Murry came over to me and unofficially passed the baton from Missing Persons to Homicide.

He said, “Freakin’ tragedy. I’ve sent my preliminary report to the chief and copied Brady. We’ll keep searching for the child’s mother.”

I mumbled something like “Monstrous. Keep in touch” — and just then Brady pulled into the lot next to an unmarked police vehicle. Probably Clapper’s ride. I saw him crossing the beach below, walking toward Hallows and the CSIs.

Richie and I headed out, crossing the asphalt and walking down a path to the primary scene.

Claire was hunkered down near the body but not touching her. Her techs stood by their vehicle, each holding something; a sheet, a body bag; two of the techs had a stretcher.

Claire was waiting for us to view the body in situ and then she’d take the deceased to the morgue.

Rich headed for the tape and I stood watching the little girl’s red hair moving with the action of the surf.

Claire stood up. Of all days to return to a job she loved, her first case was a young child. The grief I felt for a baby I had never known was mirrored in Claire’s face.

I reached for Claire and we went into each other’s arms.

There would be no happy ending for this dead child. All we could hope for were answers to how, why, and who had ended her precious life.

CHAPTER 17

I STOOD WITH CONKLIN and Hallows outside the barrier tape, only yards from the shoreline where the little girl was in danger of being reclaimed by the tide.

A clean white sheet had been laid out above the waterline, and as I watched the almost living surf bathe the little girl, Clapper broke away from the crowd of CSIs and waded into the water and lifted the child’s body out of the ocean.

He walked a dozen yards up the sand and gently placed the little girl on the clean white sheet. If there was any doubt in my mind that this was the same Lorrie Burke I’d seen in the photo Kathleen Wyatt had shown us, it was gone.

Clapper stepped back to let the CSIs take more photos.

He glanced at me and said, “Boxer. You’ve got your case.”

When I didn’t answer, he said, “Brady’s here, on his way down.”

I looked up and saw Brady making his way along the path to the beach. A few yards away from where I stood, Bunny Ellis, Claire’s lab assistant, folded the sheet around the child, left side, right side, tucked up over her feet, then turned down over her face.

Hallows unzipped the size small body bag and laid it down next to the sheet. Claire picked up the shrouded body, laid it inside the body bag, and Hallows zipped it, then carried the dead girl’s body to the rear doors of the ME’s van.

These were solemn moments. No one spoke. Even the people watching from the parking lot up on the bluff were quiet — and then a scream shattered the silence, a woman crying out, “ L-orrrrr — eeee! ”

I looked up toward the parking lot, flicking my gaze over the bystanders. Then I saw her.

Kathleen Wyatt was wearing a blue sweatshirt, a black watch cap, leggings. Even from where I stood a hundred yards away, I could see the anguish on her face.

I started running across the beach, taking the upward path to the parking lot, and Kathleen started running to me. Kathleen was only a few yards away from me. I called her. I meant to comfort her, to let her know that I would tell her everything I learned, as soon as I could. But I didn’t get the chance. The doors to the ME’s van had closed, and it started up the service road used by the park employee vehicles.

Kathleen evaded me and ran in front of the van. The van squealed to a stop and Wyatt went to the rear and banged on the doors, calling her granddaughter’s name.

I pulled her away from the van. Much stronger than Kathleen, I was able to hold her and signal the driver to go.

“I can’t leave her alone!” Kathleen wailed. “I have to stay with her!”

“Kathleen, Kathleen,” I said, spinning her around so that she was facing me. She looked so stunned, I wasn’t sure that she was actually seeing me.

“Kathleen, the medical examiner is one of my best friends. Dr. Washburn is a great woman. She has three kids including a young daughter. Lorrie will be in the best of hands. If we’re going to find out who did this to her, we have to know everything we can about her death.”

The word “death” was too much. I understood that she couldn’t yet absorb the truth.

I said, “Kathleen, I’m the lead investigator on Lorrie’s case. I’m going to find out what happened, and I hope to God that we can find Tara alive.”

As I held on to the sobbing woman, I wondered, where the hell was Tara Burke? I knew little about her. According to her husband, Tara was off her meds, crazed, and had run away with the baby before. According to her mother, Tara had married a bad man. He was unfaithful, and brutal to her and to the child. That he had a girlfriend had been validated, as had his temper, seen in small explosions with strangers. Had Tara actually killed her child? Or had Lucas killed his daughter — and maybe his wife as well?

I was still holding Kathleen, and had cued up the words “I’m going to let you go now. Don’t run.” But I was stopped by the sound of a racing car motor. I looked up the bluff and saw a silver Audi skid to a halt on the side of the road. A man got out of the driver’s side and began gesticulating to the uniformed cop blocking his way.

I couldn’t make out the words, but I knew him.

Lucas Burke.

CHAPTER 18

THE SIGHT OF LORRIE BURKE lying dead at the water’s edge had infuriated me.

Someone had maliciously killed that helpless little girl, and I was outraged — but I couldn’t show it. When I saw Lucas Burke, our number one and only suspect, arguing with a cop in the parking lot, I wanted to throw him down and arrest him.

But I couldn’t and didn’t.

I kept my grip on Kathleen’s biceps as I looked around for my partner, Conklin. Then I saw him far down the beach, conferring with Clapper and Hallows, the three facing the ocean. Clapper was making circular hand motions, no doubt describing the tidal patterns.

Lucas spotted me and called down from the parking area.

Still holding Kathleen by the arm, I turned to look at him. He’d made a megaphone with his hands.

“ Sergeant! Is it Lorrie? No one will tell me! This is insane!”

I shouted back, “Hang on! I’m coming up.”

Kathleen and I were alone on that footpath. I didn’t want to bring her into proximity to her son-in-law and maybe set off a confrontation. Turning to face her, I said, “Kathleen. Wait for me here. I’ll be right back.”

I had a plan.

I’d get a couple of uniforms to drive her home, and two more would take Lucas to the Hall and hold him until Conklin and I could settle him in the box with a cup of coffee and sweat him until he gave up everything.

My big idea fell apart instantly.

Kathleen jerked away from me and ran up the footpath to the parking lot. She was fast, even at a forty-five-degree uphill sprint on sand. She ducked under the tape, raging, screaming accusations at Lucas. She reached him before I could catch up.

The lot was still filled with sightseers who backed away from Kathleen as she closed in on her son-in-law, cursing him for killing her granddaughter. There was zero proof of this, but it didn’t matter to her. She had all the evidence she needed inside her grieving heart.