21st Birthday (Women's Murder Club #21)(7)

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’ checkin 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.”