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

As for me, by bringing in the killer, I’d gotten back into my own good graces.

I was still “a damned good cop.”

But even as I basked in the moment, I had to fight down a disturbing thought. It was like the little boy who was waving his sparkler and pulling on his father’s sleeve and demanding attention.

It was a thought like that.

What if the “one-man crime wave” didn’t stop?

Womans Murder Club 4 - 4th of July

Chapter 133

THAT NIGHT, FIREWORKS EXPLODED with incessant booms and rapid-fire cracks over Pillar Point and bloomed in the sky. I put a pillow over my head, but it didn’t block the noise worth a damn.

My hero dog was squashed way under the bed, her back against the wall.

“It’s nothing, Boo. It’ll be over soon. Chin up.”

I fell asleep only to be jolted out of it by the metallic rattle of a key in the lock.

Martha heard it, too, and streaked out of the bedroom toward the front door, barking sharply.

Someone was coming through the door.

It all happened so fast.

I wrapped my hand around my gun, lowered myself from the bed to the rag carpet, and, with my pulse hammering, I crept toward the front room.

I was touching the walls, counting the doorways between my room and the living room, my heart in my throat, when I saw the shadowy figure coming into the house.

I went into a crouch, clasped my piece with both hands in front of me, and yelled out, “Put your fucking hands where I can see them. Do it now.”

There was a shrill scream.

Moonlight pouring in from the open doorway lit my sister’s terrified face. The small child she was carrying in her arms screamed along with her.

I almost screamed myself.

I stood up, took my finger off the trigger, and let my gun hand fall to my side.

“Cat, it’s me. I’m so sorry. That’ll do, Martha! That’ll do.”

“Lindsay?” Cat came toward me, adjusting Meredith in her arms. “Is that gun loaded?”

Brigid, only six, trailed behind my sister. She pressed a floppy stuffed animal over her face and broke into a piercing wail.

My hands were shaking, and the blood was pounding in my ears.

Oh, my God. I could have shot my sister.

Womans Murder Club 4 - 4th of July

Chapter 134

I PUT THE GUN down on a table and grabbed Cat and Meredith into one fierce hug.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m so sorry.”

“I called and called,” Cat said into the crook of my shoulder. Then she pulled away from me.

“Don’t arrest me, okay?”

I picked Brigid up and wrapped her in a hug, kissed her damp cheek, held her dear head with my hand. “Martha and I didn’t mean to scare you, honey.”

“Are you staying with us, Aunt Lindsay?”

“Just for the night, sweetie.”

Cat turned on a light and looked around at the spackled bullet holes in the wall.

“You didn’t pick up,” Cat said. “And the answering machine said it was full.”

“It was full of reporters,” I told her, my heart still galloping. “Please forgive me for scaring the crap out of you.”

Cat reached out with her free arm, hooked my head toward her face, and kissed my check.

“You’re a damned scary cop, you know?”

I walked with Cat and the girls to their room, where we calmed ourselves as well as the sniffling children. We got them into their pajamas and tucked into their beds.

“I’ve been listening to the news,” Cat said as she closed the door to the girls’ room behind us. “Is it true? You caught the guy and it turns out to be Keith? I know Keith. I liked him.”

“Yeah. I liked him, too.”

“And what’s that car in the driveway? It looks like Uncle Dougie’s car.”

“I know. It’s a present for you.”

“Come on. Really?”

“A house gift, Cat. I want you to have it.”

I hugged my sister again really hard. I wanted to say, “Everything’s fine now. We got the bastard.” But instead I said, “We’ll go for a test drive tomorrow.”

I said good-night, and as my sister turned the taps for a bath, I took Martha down the hall and opened the bedroom door. I switched on the light and froze in the doorway.

Actually, I almost screamed again.

Womans Murder Club 4 - 4th of July

Chapter 135

CAROLEE’S LITTLE GIRL, ALLISON, was sitting on my bed. That was alarming enough—but how she looked alarmed me more. Ali was barefoot, wearing a thin eyelet nightgown, and she was crying her heart out.

I put down my gun and went to her, dropped to my knees, and grabbed her little shoulders.

“Ali? Ali, what’s wrong? What’s wrong?”

The eight-year-old threw her body against me and wound her arms tightly around my neck. She was shaking, her body heaving with sobs. I hugged her and peppered her with questions, not even giving her time to answer.

“Are you hurt? How did you get here, Ali? What on earth is wrong?”

Allison said, “The door was open, so I came in.”

At that, new tears sprang from some mysterious wound that I couldn’t fathom.

“Talk to me, Ali,” I said, setting her away from me, checking her out, looking for injuries. Her feet were cut and filthy. Cat’s house was a mile from the school and across the highway. Allison had walked here.

I tried again to get answers, but by now, Ali was incoherent. She clung to me, gulping air and choking out tears, making absolutely no sense.

I pulled on a pair of jeans over my blue silk pajamas and stepped into my running shoes. I slipped my Glock into my shoulder holster and covered up with my denim jacket.

I wrapped Ali in my hooded sweatshirt and lifted her into my arms. Leaving Martha behind in the bedroom, I went with Ali to the front door.

“Honey,” I said to the hysterical child, “I’m taking you home.”

Womans Murder Club 4 - 4th of July

Chapter 136

CAT’S FORESTER WAS RIGHT behind the Explorer, blocking it in. The keys to the Bonneville were in the ignition, and the big gold boat was facing the road.

So I buckled Ali into the backseat, got behind the wheel, and turned the key. The engine vrooomed smoothly to life. At Highway 1, I signaled to go north under a crackling, rocket-streaked sky, toward the schoolhouse. Shockingly, Allison shouted, “NO!”

I looked into the rearview mirror and saw her pale face, utterly wide-eyed. She pointed with her finger south.

“You want me to go that way?”

“Lindsay, pleeease. Hurry.”

Ali’s fear and urgency were electrifying. All I could do was trust the little girl, so I took the car south until Ali whispered from the backseat, “Turn here” at a lonely intersection.

The rat-a-tat bangs of the Fourth of July pyrotechnics overhead pumped adrenaline into my already overloaded system. There had been too much shooting recently, and I was experiencing each bang as an exploded round.

I accelerated the Bonneville up the winding dirt track that was Cliff Road, skidding around the corners like a big rig on grass. I heard Keith’s chiding voice in my mind: “You can’t do this, Lindsay. This is a luxury car.”

I drove through a starless tunnel of eucalyptus trees that finally opened into a wide mountain view. In front of and to the left of us was a round stucco house clinging to the side of the hill.

I looked again into the rearview mirror. “What now, Ali? How much farther?”

Allison pointed to the round tower of a house. Then she clapped her hands over her eyes. Her voice was barely audible.

“We’re here.”

Womans Murder Club 4 - 4th of July

Chapter 137

I PULLED THE CAR just off the road and looked up at the house—a three-story column of glass panes and stucco. Two thin bands of light moved sporadically on the lower floor.