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“Hunh. So you like me in red?”
He grinned and said, “Wear this more often.”
She laughed, “Okay,” as Rich released her and Elaine Petrocelli, owner of Book Passage, came toward them. Elaine shook Cindy’s hand with both of hers, saying, “Cindy, so good to finally meet you. Tell me what I can get for you.”
“I’m just happy to be here,” Cindy said and found that, in that moment, she felt it.
Elaine frequently hosted book events and was a friend to authors. Cindy understood that giving a talk at one of Elaine’s gatherings was good for her in all ways.Get out of your shell, Cindy. Now,she told herself.
Cindy tried to take a panoramic look around, but it was impossible to see the whole store from the doorway. It was designed in a maze of long bookshelves and the aisles were jammed bumper-to-bumper with a crowd of shoppers and browsers. The ceilings were high and the tall plate glass windows on the long side of the store let in the afternoon light.
Elaine escorted Cindy to a rear corner of the store where rows of folding chairs had been set up at the foot of the podium. Behind and to the left of the podium was an easel displaying her book cover, a black-and-white shot of a Burke crime scene in downtown San Francisco, enlarged and printed on foam board. And to the right, a table piled high with fresh new books with her name as lead author.
Across that corner of the room, standing by the wall of windows, were Cindy’s best friends: Lindsay Boxer, Yuki Castellano, and Claire Washburn, all members in good standing of the Women’s Murder Club. All three crime-solving experts in their own realms—Claire as the city’s chief medical examiner, Yuki as a top prosecutor, and Lindsay as a homicide detective who partnered with Cindy’s boyfriend, Rich—were laughing and talking together and hadn’t seen her come into the store.
Cindy turned back to Elaine, who was saying, “I was only going to read a chapter, Cindy, but I couldn’t sleep. I finished the whole book by three a.m. My God. What a story.”
Tears came into Cindy’s eyes brought on by equal parts of humility, gratitude, and a feeling like freedom. That EvanBurke was losing his grip on her just a little. In fact, she never had to talk to or see him again.
Chairs filled and the room hushed as Elaine tapped the podium’s microphone, saying, “Everyone, please welcome Cindy Thomas and prepare to be blown away.”
Cindy took her place at the mic. Richie sat in the front row with Yuki, while Lindsay and Claire sat behind them. Cindy smiled as Lindsay gave her a thumbs-up and grinned, then kept it going, nodding to strangers who’d come to hear about her book.
Cindy said, “Hello, hello, can you hear me?” into the mic and when the people in the back said she was coming across loud and clear, Cindy, uplifted by the strong sound of her amplified voice, launched into her speech.
CHAPTER 3
GRIPPING THE EDGES of the podium, making eye contact with her audience, Cindy began, “Writing this book has been the most harrowing experience of my life.
“I wasn’t expecting Evan Burke’s proposal,” she said, “but I was prepared. I had already been writing about the Lucas Burke case for theChronicle.When the body of his infant daughter—Evan Burke’s granddaughter—washed up on Baker Beach, I was there. I interviewed a schoolgirl who days later was murdered in her car. Many months after that, I was present when the police discovered the murder weapon.
“I didn’t know then who was committing these crimes, but I was reporting on them. Later, Evan Burke was shot by police and arrested in Las Vegas. We knew he was the killer. At his invitation, I flew there to meet him, hoping he’d tell me something no one else knew, details that we could publish in theChronicle.I was looking for a quote, but Burke proposed something else. And he gave me this.”
Cindy tugged on a red cord she wore around her neck,tucked inside her blouse, and after pulling it free, she held up a key looped into the end.
“Burke lived in a shack in the desert outside Las Vegas, about four hundred square feet all told. He kept a trunk under his bed and this is the key to that trunk. Two dear friends who are with the SFPD were with me when we unlocked the trunk, but I was not prepared for what we found.
“Burke had been documenting his kills from his first, over thirty years before. He’d filled several scrapbooks with souvenirs and photos. He had drawn maps to where he’d hidden his victims’ remains. And along with the scrapbooks, he had a dozen journals detailing his kills. Often he described the women he was about to kill, what they said, how they died, and bits of poetry along with his victims’ last words.”
Cindy paused, put her hand on the book and looked out at the silent audience. Many in the group looked frightened, as if Evan Burke might just stand up and replace her at the microphone.
She said, “Evan Burke will die in prison. His career as a killer is over. But, along with his trophies and voluminous notes, Evan Burke gave me, gaveallof us, a priceless gift.
“Ninety-five percent of Burke’s victims didn’t know him, received no warning, and didn’t survive their first encounter. His gift is one our parents gave us as children and is reiterated, no,provenin this book.
“It’s simply this: Beware of strangers.
“Take that to heart. It comes from one of the most successful serial killers in America.
“Are there any questions?”
CHAPTER 4
APPLAUSE ROLLED FROM the front to the back of the store. Some people stood to reinforce their approval and appreciation and at the same time, a forest of hands shot up. Cindy smiled and, stepping on her own ovation, called out, “The woman in blue on the aisle. What would you like to know?”
“Hi, Cindy. How did the work process go? Were you in the same room with Burke during the interviews or sitting outside his cell?”
“We were in an attorney-client room about as big as a small walk-in closet. It was barred. Burke was shackled and there were guards only feet away. What was I thinking?Silence of the Lambs.”
