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

“I’ll be there.”

Womans Murder Club 4 - 4th of July

Chapter 119

OUR KNEES ALMOST TOUCHED under the small table at the back of the restaurant near the restrooms. We had salads and coffee in front of us, but Rebecca wasn’t eating. And she wasn’t yet ready to talk.

She pulled on the little gold cross hanging from a chain around her neck, sliding it back and forth.

I thought I understood her conflict. She wanted to be the one to tell the real information, but at the same time, she didn’t want to blow the whistle where her friends could hear it.

“I don’t know anything, understand?” Rebecca said at last. “And I certainly don’t know anything about the murders. But Ben was under some kind of shadow lately.”

“Can you elaborate, Rebecca?”

“Well, he was unusually moody. Snapped at a couple of his patients, which, let me tell you, was rare. When I asked him what was going on, he denied that he was having problems.”

“You knew Lorelei?”

“Sure. They met at church, and frankly I was surprised Ben married her. I think he was lonely and she looked up to him.” Rebecca sighed. “Lorelei was pretty simple. She was a childlike woman who liked to shop. No one hated her.”

“Interesting observation,” I said. And that was all the encouragement Rebecca needed to say what she’d wanted to say all along.

She looked as though she were standing on the edge of a diving board and the pool was far, far below.

She took a breath and dove.

“Did you know about the first Mrs. O’Malley?” she asked me. “Did you know that Sandra O’Malley killed herself? Hanged herself in her own garage?”

Womans Murder Club 4 - 4th of July

Chapter 120

I FELT THAT PECULIAR crawly feeling at my hairline that often presaged a breakthrough.

“Yes,” I said, “I read that Sandra O’Malley committed suicide. What do you know about it?”

“It was so unexpected,” Rebecca said. “No one knew . . . I didn’t know she was so depressed.”

“So why do you think she took her own life?”

Rebecca forked her Caesar salad around on her plate, finally putting the utensil down without eating a bite.

“I never found out,” she said. “Ben wasn’t talking, but if I had to guess, I’d say that he was abusing her.”

“Abusing her how?”

“Humiliating her. Treating her like she was nothing. When I heard him talk to her, I’d cringe.” She made the gesture now, pulling her shoulders up, lowering her chin.

“Did she complain about it?”

“No. Sandra wouldn’t have done that. She was so compliant, so nice. She didn’t even squawk when he started having an affair.”

The wheels inside my head were sure turning, but they weren’t getting traction yet. Rebecca pursed her lips with distaste.

“He’d been seeing this same woman for years, was still seeing her after he married Lorelei, I’m sure of it. She was calling the office up to the day he died.”

“Rebecca,” I said patiently, although I couldn’t stand the suspense for another second. “Rebecca. What was the other woman’s name?”

Rebecca leaned back in her chair as a couple of men scraped past us on the way to the bathroom. When the bathroom door closed, she leaned forward and whispered.

“Emily Harris,” she said.

I knew that name. I pictured her bright lipsticky mouth. Her pink patterned dress.

“Is she with Pacific Homes Real Estate?”

“That’s the one.”

Womans Murder Club 4 - 4th of July

Chapter 121

EMILY HARRIS WAS SEATED at her desk when I entered the long narrow office with a row of desks along one wall. Her pretty mouth stretched into an automatic smile, which broadened when she recognized me.

“Oh, hello,” she said. “Didn’t I meet you and your husband a couple of weeks ago at the Ocean Colony Road house? You have a beautiful dog.”

“That’s right,” I told her. “I’m Lieutenant Boxer. I’m with the SFPD.” And then I showed her my badge.

The woman’s face stiffened instantly. “I’ve already talked to the police.”

“That’s great. So I’m sure you won’t mind doing it again.”

I pulled out the chair beside her desk and sat right down.

“I understand that you and Dr. O’Malley were close friends,” I said to her.

“I’m not ashamed of what you’re insinuating. The man was miserable at home, but I wasn’t a threat to his marriage and I damned well had nothing to do with his murder.”

As I watched, Ms. Harris squared all the pads, pens, and papers on her desk. Tidying up. Getting everything straight and true. What was running through this neatnik’s mind right now? What did she know about the O’Malleys?

“And you’re the listing broker for his house?”

“That’s not a reason to murder someone, for God’s sake. Are you crazy? I’m one of the top brokers in this area.”

“Take it easy, Ms. Harris. I wasn’t implying that you murdered anyone. I’m just trying to get a handle on the victims because I’m working another unsolved homicide.”

“Okay. I’m still a little raw, you know.”

“Sure. I understand. Have you actually sold the house?”

“Not yet, but I have an offer pending.”

“Good. How about showing the house to me, Ms. Harris? I have a couple of questions that I hope you can answer. Maybe you can help solve Ben O’Malley’s murder.”

Womans Murder Club 4 - 4th of July

Chapter 122

PACIFIC HOMES FLYERS WERE fanned out on a table in the foyer, and the flowers had been changed since Joe and I had taken our self-guided tour of this pretty house on Ocean Colony Road.

“Mind coming upstairs with me?” I asked the Realtor.

Ms. Harris shrugged, tossed the keys down next to the lilies, and started up the stairs ahead of me.

When we got to the entrance of the master bedroom, she hung back.

“I don’t like to go into this room,” she said, casting her gaze around the pale green bedroom with its brand-new green carpet.

I could imagine the murder scene almost as well as she could. Only three weeks before, the body of Lorelei O’Malley had lain gutted about ten feet from where we stood.

Emily Harris swallowed hard, then joined me reluctantly in front of the walk-in closet. I showed her the faint painted-over outline of the peephole in the door and the still-visible crescent where Joe’s thumbnail had left its impression in the wood filler.

“What do you make of this?” I asked her.

Emily’s voice thinned and became scratchy. “This kills me, that’s what I make of it,” she said. “It’s obvious, isn’t it? He was videotaping sex with Lorelei. He told me he wasn’t sleeping with her anymore, but I guess he lied.”

Then her face crumpled and she started to cry softly into a bouquet of pale blue tissues she pulled from her handbag.

“Oh, God, oh, God,” she sobbed. After a while she blew her nose, cleared her throat, and said, “My relationship with Ben has no bearing on his murder. Can we get out of here now?”

Not if I could stop her. Whatever I might learn from Emily Harris, there was no better time than now, no better place than right here.

“Ms. Harris.”

“Jesus Christ. Call me Emily. I’m telling you all this personal stuff.”

“Emily. I really need to know your side of the story.”

“Fine. You know about Sandra?”

I nodded my assent, and as if I had pulled the plug, she spilled.

“Don’t you think I worried that she killed herself because Ben was seeing me?” She dabbed at her swollen eyes, and more tears came.

“Ben said Sandra was a head case, which is why he didn’t leave her. But after she killed herself, I stopped seeing him for a year.