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“She knows,” said Brady.
I nodded.
Brady said, “We’re going to get Cindy back.”
I looked at my knees and said, “I know.”
If anyone could bring Cindy home, it was Conklin, Brady, and me.
CHAPTER 69
BRADY AND I sat outside the screened-in interview cage in the maximum-security wing. Burke was seated inside, handcuffs and shackles linked to a chain around his waist. Prisoners had a choice of uniform; denim and chambray, or a one-piece orange jumpsuit. Burke wore blue, the words “San Quentin State Prison” stitched over the breast pocket and stenciled down the left leg of the pants.
“My dress blues,” he said.
He had shaved his head since we’d seen him three days ago. I saw the lines and angles of his features knowing that this wasn’t quite the face he’d been assigned at birth. The cosmetic work he’d had done more than once had allowed him to slide unrecognized past CCTV cameras in stores, on the street, at highway toll booth cameras and cash machines. He’d legally changed his name to Jake Winslow, giving him another layer of invisibility.
Claire had seen signs of plastic surgery around Blackout’s eyes. I wondered if, like Burke, Blackout had changed his face to thwart criminal databases and facial rec.
Both Blackout and Burke loved control over life and death. In our previous meeting with Burke, he’d said that he’d give anything to be Blackout for a day.Dream on, buddy.
Burke ran his twinkling eyes up and down my body, pausing at my Kevlar vest and SFPD windbreaker. I didn’t wait for an invitation to speak and got right to it.
“Mr. Burke—”
“We’re old friends, right? Call me Evan and I’ll call you Lindsay.”
That psychopathic serial-killer charm again.
“Evan. The warden says you get visitors. Gene Harris. Who is he?”
“He’s some kind of ad guy. He wanted to take my picture as I remember. Run a clickbait thing online. I refused.”
“Because?”
“Because it cheapens the value ofYou Never Knew Me. It’s a bestseller, you know.”
“How about Marvin Bender?” I said, referring to the pharmaceutical salesman known around the bullpen as the baked-potato man. “Do you know him?”
“No. Yes. Wait. I think I got some fan mail from him, asking for advice on a true-crime book he’s trying to write.”
“Did you write back?”
“Hell, no. I despise mail. The kind I get. And thanks for having my laptop removed.”
Brady said, “We have no authority here, Burke.”
“Tremendous coincidence, Lieutenant. You were here. End of day, there’s been a security breach and my laptop with no Wi-Fi capability was carted out of my cell.”
Brady said, “I know nothing about it.”
“Moving past your lies, Brady. Jackson, isn’t it? Jack. You want to find Cindy. I know she’s been kidnapped. I may have lost my computer, but I still have my TV and radio, so I’ve been following the news. I might help you under certain conditions. Bulletproof conditions.”
Brady said, “Keep in mind we cannot commute your sentence. We cannot give you freedom of any kind. We’re cops, Burke. SFPD cops.”
“How about dinner? Can you get me out of here for a real fine meal? With security, of course. Do that, and I’ll take you to view Cindy.”
I asked, “You know where she is?” I heard my voice. It was shrill.
