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

Then I knew.

It was in my handbag in the living room, and the closest phone was there, too. How could I be so vulnerable? Was I going to die trapped in this room? My heart pounded so hard it hurt.

I lifted my head just inches off the floor and by the faint green light of the VCR clock, I took inventory.

I focused on every surface and object in the room, looking for something, anything, I could use to protect myself.

The place was littered with big stuffed animals and a dozen dolls, but there wasn’t a single baseball bat or hockey stick, nothing I could use in a fight. I couldn’t even throw the TV, because it was bolted to the wall.

I pulled myself across the hardwood floor on my forearms, reached up, and locked the bedroom door.

Just then, another fusillade of shots rang out—automatic gunfire raking the front of the house, again striking the living room and the spare room at the end of the hall. Then the true intent of the assault finally sunk in.

I could have been—should have been—sleeping in that bedroom.

Inching forward on my stomach, I clasped the leg of a wooden chair, pushed at it, angled the chair onto its rear legs, and wedged its back under the doorknob. Then I picked up its twin and swung it against the dresser.

With a length of chair leg in my hand, I crouched with my back to the wall.

It was just pathetic. Forget the dog under the bed, my only line of defense was a chair leg.

If anyone came through the door aiming to kill me, I was dead.

Womans Murder Club 4 - 4th of July

Chapter 110

AS I LISTENED FOR the sound of feet on the floorboards outside the bedroom, I imagined the door being kicked open and me swinging at the intruder with my stick, hoping to God that I could somehow knock his brains out.

But as the VCR clock blinked away the minutes and the silence grew longer, my adrenaline ebbed.

And I started to get mad.

I stood, listened at the door, and when I heard nothing, I opened it and worked my way down the long hallway, using doorways and walls as barricades.

When I got to the living room, I grabbed my bag from where it leaned against the sofa.

I reached in and closed my hand around my gun.

Thank you, God.

As I called 911, I peeked through slits in the window blinds. The street looked empty, but I thought I saw something glinting on the front lawn. What was it?

I told the dispatcher my name, rank, and shield number, and that shots had been fired at 265 Sea View.

“Anyone hurt?”

“No, I’m fine, but call Chief Stark on this.”

“It’s already been called in, Lieutenant. The cavalry is on the way.”

Womans Murder Club 4 - 4th of July

Chapter 111

I HEARD SIRENS AND saw flashing lights approaching Sea View. As the first cruiser arrived, I opened the front door, and Martha bolted past me. She ran over to a snakelike object that was lying in the moonlight.

She gave it a sniff.

“Martha, what have you found? What is it, girl?”

I was hunkered down beside Martha when Chief Peter Stark got out of his squad car. He walked over with his flashlight and knelt down next to me.

“You okay?”

“Yep. I’m good.”

“Is that what I think it is?” he asked.

Together, we looked at a man’s belt. It was about thirty-six inches long and a half-inch wide, narrow brown leather with a squared dull silver buckle. It was such an ordinary belt; probably half the people in the state had one like it in their closet somewhere.

But this particular belt seemed to have some brownish-red stains on the metalwork.

“Wouldn’t it be grand,” I said, refusing to dwell on the terror of the last few minutes—how those shots had surely been meant for me—“wouldn’t it be something,” I said to Chief Stark, “if this belt was evidence?”

Womans Murder Club 4 - 4th of July

Chapter 112

THREE SQUAD CARS HAD pulled up to the curb. Radios sputtered and crackled, and all along Sea View, lights went on in houses, and people came out onto their doorsteps wearing PJs and robes, T-shirts and shorts, hair standing up, fear overriding the lines in their sleep-creased faces.

Cat’s front yard was lit by headlights, and as the cops exited their cars, they conferred with the chief and spread out. A couple of uniforms started collecting shell casings, and a pair of detectives began to canvass the neighbors.

I took Stark into the house, and together we examined the shattered windows, the splintered furniture, and the bullet-pocked headboard in “my” bedroom.

“Any thoughts on who did this?” Stark asked me.

“None,” I said. “My car’s in the driveway where anyone can see it, but I didn’t let anyone know I’d be in town.”

“And why are you here, Lieutenant?”

I was considering the best way to answer that when I heard Allison and Carolee calling out my name. A young cop with ruddy, protruding ears came to the threshold and told Stark that I had visitors.

“They can’t come in here,” Stark said. “Jesus Christ, is someone roping off the street?”

The uniformed cop’s face colored completely as he shook his head no.

“Why the hell not? Number one: Stabilize the scene. Get on it.”

I followed the patrolman as far as the front doorstep, where Carolee and Allison grabbed me in a much-needed two-tier hug.

“One of my kids monitors the police band,” Carolee said. “I got over here as soon as I heard. Oh, my God, Lindsay. Your arms.”

I glanced down. Broken glass had made a few cuts in my forearms, and blood had streaked down and stained my shirt.

It looked a lot worse than it was.

“I’m fine,” I told Carolee. “Just a few scratches. I’m sure.”

“You don’t plan to stay here, do you, Lindsay? Because that’s crazy,” Carolee said, her face showing how mad she was and how scared. “I’ve got plenty of room for you at the house.”

“Good idea,” Stark said, coming up behind me. “Go with your nice friend. I’ve got calls in to the CSU techs, and they’re going to be prying slugs out of your walls and combing the place for the rest of the night.”

“That’s fine. I’ll be okay here,” I told him. “This is my sister’s house. I’m not going to leave.”

“All right. But don’t forget that this is our case, Lieutenant. You’re still out of your jurisdiction. Don’t go all cowgirl on us, okay?”

“Go all cowgirl? Who do you think you’re talking to?”

“Look. I’m sorry, but someone just tried to kill you.”

“Thanks. I got that.”

The chief patted down his hair out of habit. “I’ll keep a patrol car posted in the driveway tonight. Maybe longer.”

As I said good-night to Carolee and Allison, the chief went to his car and returned with a paper bag. He was using a ballpoint pen to lift the belt into the bag as I wrapped my dignity tightly around myself and closed the front door.

I went to bed, but of course I couldn’t sleep. Cops were coming and going through the house, slamming doors and laughing, and besides, my mind was spinning.

I stroked Martha’s head absently as she shivered beside me. Someone had shot up this house and left a calling card.

Was it a warning to stay away from Half Moon Bay?

Or had the shooter really tried to kill me?

What would happen when I turned up alive?

Womans Murder Club 4 - 4th of July

Chapter 113

A SUNBEAM SLIPPED THROUGH the window at an unaccustomed angle and pried my eyes open. I saw blue wallpaper, a picture of my mother over the dresser—and it all came together.

I was in Cat’s bed—because at 2:00 a.m. bullets had thudded through the house, plugging the headboard in the spare room inches above where my head would have been.