Trust Me (4 page)

"You cut her."

24

"In self-defense."

David had the fleeting desire to feel his hands around Burke's neck, to choke the truth out of him if there was no other way. But he knew it was the anger and frustration that goaded him. He had to watch those negative emotions, remain in control. "The evidence doesn't support your story."

"It doesn't support hers, either. If I put a knife to her throat, where is it?"

At the challenge in Burke's voice, David tightened his grip on the phone. He'd get this little son of a bitch if it was the last thing he did. "That's what I'd like to know."

"There was never any knife." Burke stared at the fingers of his left hand as he drummed them on the table. "We were making out, feeling each other up, when she suddenly freaked out and stabbed me with her sewing scissors. Then we started fighting over them."

More lies. Skye's injuries weren't consistent with the kind of puncture wounds she would've obtained had he used her scissors against her. There'd been a knife.

"All I did wrong was go home with her," he said. "And I've been through more than enough to pay for that. What man has never been tempted to stray?"

"Why'd you pick her?" David asked.

"She wanted me to pick her."

"You're dreaming again."

Burke shrugged. "You weren't there that night. You didn't see the way she smiled at me, the way she went for my zipper."

David arranged his features in a calm mask. Burke was on a fishing trip, trying to provoke him and, as much as David's heart pounded at the images Burke created, he refused to give him the upper hand. "You're quite a ladies' man, Oliver."

"A guy knows when a woman's coming on to him, especially when she wants him that bad."

"Didn't you ever think about your wife, your daughter, when you were planning your attacks on innocent women?"

"I didn't attack anyone. But if I was the type, I can't imagine I'd be thinking of my wife. What do you imagine when you look at a nude woman in Playboy?" He'd asked as if he sincerely wanted to know, but it was a rhetorical question he answered himself. "You dream of getting it on with someone like that, don't you? And let's be honest, Skye's as hot as any centerfold."

When David didn't respond, Oliver finally seemed to grow self-25

conscious. "Don't you agree?"

"Quit trying to play me."

Burke leaned forward, eyes gleaming. "I saw how you looked at her in that courtroom."

David twisted his mouth into a cocky smirk. He could act as well as this asshole. "That's the best you can do?"

With a sniff, Burke lost the smile and moved the phone to his other ear. "I know you want her. Any man would want to ride her."

"Like you wanted to?"

"Sure," he said flippantly. "Why else would I have gone home with her?"

"She doesn't remember ever seeing you before you broke in."

"She remembers."

"No, she doesn't. If anything, she tossed you a polite, vacant smile and continued on her way." That type of interaction happened between total strangers all the time. It had no meaning. Except to Oliver.

"That's what she says now."

"Where was it?" David persisted. "The grocery store? The movies?

Driving along on the highway? Or did you see her while you were out biking? Is that how you picked your victims?"

Burke slowly rocked back. "I've tried to be nice to you, but it doesn't make any difference. You still badger me regardless."

"You and I are not friends," David pointed out. "We will never be friends. Just answer the question."

"I already did. In court." He'd claimed he found her pulled over on the side of the road, lost and in need of directions. He'd said she invited him to her house.

Which was total bullshit, of course.

"Why not repeat the lies now?" David said. "Afraid you'll get tangled up in them?"

"Maybe if you didn't get a hard-on every time you think of Skye, you'd be able to see that I got the worst of the encounter. I lost a lot of blood that night. I lost my dental practice, my house and most of my belongings.

My family was publicly humiliated. And I've spent the last three years living in a four-by-ten cage, sleeping on a steel bed with a two-inch mattress.

When I get to go outside, I spend my time ambling around a crowded cement yard between a cinder-block wall and a scaffold filled with guards holding rifles. And you know what I do? I count the holes made by the bullets that've been fired into the yard while trying to avoid any altercation that'll start the bullets raining down again." He folded his arms. "It's not safe 26

in here."

David laughed. "That's a bit dramatic even for you. They use rubber bullets."

"They didn't used to. Anyway, have you ever been shot with a rubber bullet?"

"You look healthy enough to me."

"It's not safe," he repeated. "Why else would I ask my wife not to visit?"

The sudden mention of Jane took David by surprise. Oliver had never wanted to talk about his wife before. Why was she on his mind today?

"Hasn't she been coming?"

"I haven't seen her since the first three months." He studied his nails, which were neatly clipped, as always. "I don't want her here if they're going to hassle her."

David decided to play along, let him talk. "Why would they hassle her?"

He pursed his lips. "You know the rules. She can't wear any denim-colored clothing so she won't get mistaken for an inmate. No shorts that show more than two inches of her thigh, no shirts that reveal her figure--no underwire bra, for Pete's sake. What woman doesn't wear an underwire bra these days? Jane's busty--like Skye."

Like Skye ? The allusion bothered David, but he fought the impulse to clench his teeth.

"She needs the extra lift it gives her," Oliver continued. "But she doesn't want to explain that to a dirty old prison guard."

"Your wife can't make a few minor clothing adjustments?" David asked.

Staring morosely at his feet, Burke didn't answer.

David rested his elbows on the narrow ledge in front of him. "Or is there more to the story?"

"Being together but not being able to be together is more painful than not seeing her," he said after a long pause. "You want to touch but you can't.

Not really." His chest rose as he took a deep breath. "Anyway, they subjected her to a degrading search every time she came. And they purposely frightened her by warning her that if she was taken hostage while she was here they wouldn't bargain for her release." He propped the phone against one shoulder and threaded his thin, milk-white fingers around one knee. "Of course, after that, a woman wouldn't want to come back. How do you think that would make the mother of a young child feel, to hear she could be taken hostage by one of the animals in this place and no one would 27

care?"

He consistently separated himself from regular criminals, which confirmed what David had known all along-- he saw a skewed version of reality, one so tainted by his own perspective he couldn't recognize the truth.

"Any other policy would put visitors in even more danger."

Growing restless, Burke shifted in his seat. "But if something were to happen to her, who'd take care of our daughter?"

"Jane's waiting for you, then? You're still together?"

A small furrow formed in his wide forehead, and it occurred to David that he looked every bit as unlikely a killer as Scott Peterson. "Of course. I told you, she doesn't come because it's too hard. And too embarrassing. She's never even known a convict before. And now her husband's in prison?"

"There's only one person to blame for that."

A muscle twitched in Burke's cheek. "It's not who you think."

"You brought this on yourself."

"I don't want to talk about the past." Burke cleared his throat. "My wife knows Skye's a liar. Jane believes in me."

It was all David could do not to shake his head at the tremendous denial that kind of faith would require. Didn't Jane Burke realize how dangerous living with someone like Oliver could be? Didn't she want to do all she could to protect their daughter from future heartache if not physical harm?

"You'd be crazy to abuse that trust," he muttered.

"I'm not going to abuse it." He sounded so resolute that David almost believed him. It was that harmless-looking face, that "I'm no different from you" attitude. It convinced practically everyone he was harmless. But David was finished with The Oliver Burke Show. This interview wasn't getting him anywhere.

Bringing an abrupt end to the meeting, he told Oliver he'd be watching him and hung up. But Oliver got him to grab the phone again by tapping on the glass.

"How is Skye, by the way?" he asked, as if truly concerned. "Has she recovered?"

"She's fine. Completely over it," David replied, but he knew it was a lie. If she was over it, she'd quit chasing ghosts, quit running herself ragged trying to help every victim in Sacramento.

"Good. And how does she like her new home?"

David's nerves tingled with heightened alert. Skye had only relocated a year ago. "What gives you the idea she moved?"

"I can't imagine she'd stay where she was."

28

That was no answer. Some people did stay, for whatever reason.

"Skye has nothing to do with you. If you're as smart as you think you are, you'll leave her entirely alone."

"It's not as if she's been keeping a low profile," he said, raising an indignant hand to his unimpressive chest. "I've seen her on talk shows, advocating tougher sentences for 'monsters' like me. She's been in the papers, too. As a matter of fact, there was an article just a few weeks ago about that organization of hers. What's the name of it? The Last Stand?" He chuckled. "Give me a break. She doesn't know what a real monster can do.

But that's like her, isn't it? To go charging after a cause?"

David's muscles bunched at the affectionate way he spoke of the woman he'd terrorized. "You don't even know her."

"What do you mean? I know her better than anyone else. Including you," he said. Then he hung up and knocked on the door to be taken away.

David didn't respond when the corrections officer opened a door on his own side of the room. He was too busy trying to process Oliver Burke's final words, the way he'd said Skye's name.

"Detective Willis?" the corrections officer prompted.

Blinking, David set the handset in its base and walked on leaden feet toward the exit.

29

The Last Stand was located on Watt Avenue in a flat-roofed white building constructed in the early seventies, when architecture--at least in Skye's opinion--had hit an all-time low. Made of cinder block and painted white, with red lava rocks on the roof, it wasn't pretentious, but it was conveniently located, only ten minutes from downtown toward the eastern suburbs, with excellent freeway access to both Interstate 80 and Highway 50. It was also on the ground floor. And the rent was affordable. They leased three thousand square feet for only $2,000 a month. They each had a private office. There was a small kitchen in back, two meeting rooms and a large classroom, in which they offered self-defense courses or gathered with the professionals they sometimes hired to assist their clients-- bodyguards, private investigators, attorneys, psychologists. As Skye found the right key to let herself in--the door was always locked because they accepted only prearranged appointments--she noticed a new flyer taped to the inside of the glass door. Missing: Sean Brady Regan, D.O.B. March 2, 1964; Last seen: New Year's Day. Below the words was a picture of a pleasant-looking man Skye had met at the office three weeks earlier. And underneath that was a single typed sentence. Last known whereabouts: Del Paso Heights, Sacramento, California.

Sheridan must've spotted her standing there, stunned, because she came from inside to open the door. "I'm sorry. I didn't want to tell you when you called this morning. I knew it'd upset you and...and you'd already suffered a shock."

Skye didn't answer. She pointed to the flyer. "When did you get this?"

"The police dropped it off this morning."

"She did it," Skye said simply. "His wife killed him."

"Why? For the insurance money?"

"No, Sean didn't have any life insurance. It was one of the first things I asked him. But he told me he was afraid of her. He thought she was seeing another man and wanted a divorce but didn't want the custody battle that would go with it."

Sheridan tucked her long dark hair behind one ear. She wasn't wearing 30

any makeup, but with her bone structure, wide periwinkle-blue eyes fringed by thick black lashes, and flawless skin, she turned heads everywhere she went, especially male heads. "We can't do it all, Skye. It's nearly the weekend. Let the police handle this one."

Skye gaped at her. "How can you say that? According to the flyer, it's been seven days. We need to get Jonathan Stivers on this right away. He's good. He can find practically anyone."

"He's also expensive, and we're running low on funds." Sheridan reached out to touch her arm. "We've got to be careful, Skye, reserve our assets so we can keep our doors open."

The fact Sheridan would say such a thing meant they were already in trouble. But Skye couldn't deal with that yet. She was too busy thinking about Sean. Thanks to his wife, the mechanic-turned-jewelry salesman who'd come to her for help could be rotting in a gully somewhere.

"I told him to leave her, to get away." Skye drew a deep breath, attempting to regroup. Again.

"He wouldn't?"

"He refused to abandon his kids. And he doubted his own fears. He said his family laughed at him when he told them he thought Tasha was dangerous."

Sheridan gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "The police are doing what they can, Skye."

But it never seemed to be enough. David was the most dedicated cop she knew and even he hadn't been able to put Burke away forever. There were other problems-- people falling through the cracks, the system breaking down. That was why she, Sheridan and Jasmine spent almost every minute of every day helping one victim after another. For some, they provided a private investigator to assist prosecutors. For others, it was a better attorney, a place to stay, medical help, even physical therapy and counseling. They tried to fill in wherever necessary. But that required a lot of resources, and although they took home just enough to cover their own basic needs, there was never enough money to do it all.