Patterson, James - Womans Murder Club 4 - 4th of July

“You lie.”

“I don’t lie,” I said, laughing off the kid’s moon-eyed attention.

He stretched a muscular arm toward me and with a cursory “Do you mind?” snatched up my guitar.

Help yourself, buddy.

The kid put the Seagull in his lap, strummed some chords, then belted out a few lines of a country sob song of the “My baby’s left me all alone” variety. He put so much ham into it, I could only laugh at his performance.

Keith took a mock bow, then handed the guitar back to me.

“So what’s your specialty?” he asked.

“Acoustic rock. The blues. I’m working on a song right now. Fooling around with some pieces and parts.”

“Here’s an idea. Why don’t we talk about it over dinner? I know this fish place in Moss Beach,” he said.

“Thanks, Keith. That’s a nice idea, but I’m already taken.” I reached up and clutched the Kokopelli Joe had given me.

“I don’t mind telling you that you’re breaking my heart.”

“Awww. You’ll survive.”

“No, it’s true. I’m smitten. Beautiful, a mechanic in her spare time. What more could a guy ask for?”

“Come on, Keith,” I said patting his arm. “Show me around my new car.”

I stepped down from the porch with Keith behind me. I ran my hand over the Bonneville’s fender, opened the driver’s door, and settled in. The car had a good roomy, comfy feel, and the dash was full of whizbang dials and gizmos, just as I remembered.

“It’s a good choice, Lindsay,” Keith said, leaning on the roof of the car. “I wouldn’t sell you a junker. My backup toolbox is in the trunk, but call if you have any problems.”

“Will do.”

He flashed a sheepish smile, took off his cap, shook out his sandy hair, repositioned his cap, and said, “Well, take care, okay?”

I waved as he drove away. Then I put the key into my new baby’s ignition and turned it.

The engine didn’t start. It didn’t even cough, buzz, or whine.

It was dead as a flat frog in the middle of the road.

Womans Murder Club 4 - 4th of July

Chapter 43

I MADE A SHOPPING list of the parts I’d need, and then spent the rest of the day bringing up the Bonneville’s shine with a tube of compound I found in Keith’s tool kit. I was supremely happy buffing dull brown into a high bronze gleam.

I was still admiring my work when the evening paper came sailing out the window of a passing car. I backpedaled quickly and plucked it out of the air, earning a “Nice catch!” from the paper guy.

I snapped open the thin local Gazette, and the bold black headline grabbed me:

LOCAL DOCTOR’S WIFE STABBED TO DEATH AT HOME

DOCTOR MISSING

I stood rooted to the lawn and read:

Lorelei O’Malley, wife of Dr. Ben O’Malley, was found slain in her home on Ocean Colony Road this afternoon, apparently the victim of a burglary gone wrong. The victim’s stepdaughter, Caitlin, 15, found her stepmother’s body in the bedroom closet when she returned home from school. Dr. O’Malley, a respected general practitioner and longtime member of the community, is missing.

This afternoon, Chief Peter Stark asked the crowd outside the police station to be calm but vigilant.

“There appear to be similarities in the recent homicides,” said Stark. “But I can’t comment because it would jeopardize the overall investigation. What I can do is give you my word, this police force will not rest until the murderer is caught.”

In answer to questions from reporters, Chief Stark said, “Dr. O’Malley was last seen at around noon. He was on his way out to lunch but did not return to his office or call in. He’s not a suspect at this time.”

I rolled up the paper and stared blankly at the pretty pastel and shingled houses on Sea View Avenue. My instincts were screaming. I was a cop without a case, a cop without a job. I didn’t want to read about homicides. I wanted firsthand information.

I put away the tools I’d been using to polish the car, then I went inside and had the phone company set up a conference call.

I was suddenly lonely for the girls.

Womans Murder Club 4 - 4th of July

Chapter 44

THE OPERATOR CONNECTED ME with Claire first, and her mellow voice warmed me.

“Hi, doll. Sleeping in? Getting some color in your cheeks?”

“I’m trying, Butterfly, but my brain is like a hamster on a wheel.”

“Don’t waste this downtime, Lindsay, please. God, what I wouldn’t do for some time off.”

Cindy joined the conference call, her youthful voice ringing with the usual excitement. “It’s not the same without you, Linds. Sucks.”

“I wish you guys were here,” I told my friends. “It’s all blue sky and yellow sand. And hey, Joe came and spent the night.”

Cindy had some news about her second date with the hockey player, prompting whistles, and I came back with the story of Keith, the sandy-haired gas station guy.

“He’s in his twenties, I think, Brad Pitt type. He actually put the moves on me.”

Claire said, “You two really make me feel like the boring old married woman.”

“I want to be as bored as you are with Edmund,” said Cindy. “That’s for sure.”

The laughing and teasing made me feel as if we were gathered around a dimly lit table at Susie’s.

And, as we always did at Susie’s, we talked shop.

“So, what about these murders I’ve been hearing about?” Claire asked.

“Aw, jeez. The town is freaking out. A young couple was killed a few weeks ago—and a woman was murdered about a mile from here this morning.”

“It was on the wire,” Cindy said. “A bloody scene.”

“Yeah. It’s starting to look like a killer on a spree, and you know it’s irking me that I can’t do anything. I want to comb the crime scene. I hate not being in the loop.”

“Well, you’ll be interested in this little tidbit,” Claire said. “I got this off the medical examiners’ list serve. That couple who were murdered in Crescent Heights a few weeks ago? They were whipped.”

I think I blanked out for a moment as my mind flew to John Doe #24.

He’d been slashed and whipped.

“They were whipped? Claire, you’re sure about that?”

“Absolutely sure. Back and buttocks.”

Just then, a beep came over the line and the name on the caller ID was like the past slamming into the present. I said, “Hold on, guys,” and I pressed the flash button.

“Lindsay, it’s Yuki Castellano. Got time to talk?”

It was good that I was still on the phone with Claire and Cindy. I needed some time to shift gears into talking to my lawyer about the shooting on Larkin Street. Yuki said she’d call back in the morning, and I got on the line with the girls again, but my mind was scrambling.

For the past few days, I’d gotten away from everything—except the upcoming trial of my life.

Womans Murder Club 4 - 4th of July

Chapter 45

THE WATCHER WALKED ALONG the path through the dune grass under a slender crescent moon. He was wearing a wool cap and black sweats, and had his microcamera with the 103 zoom in hand.

He used it to watch a couple making out at the end of the beach, then he turned the lens toward the houses a hundred yards away on the outer loop of Sea View Avenue.

He narrowed his focus to one particular house: a blue Cape Cod with a lot of windows and a double set of sliders leading out to the deck. He could see Lieutenant Lindsay Boxer walking around in the living room.

Her hair was pinned up off her neck, and she was wearing a thin white T-shirt. Twirling a chain around her neck as she talked on the phone. He could see the outline of her breasts under that shirt.