We’d been inexcusably stupid, and now we were all going to die. Mercifully, darkness closed over me and I shut my eyes.
Womans Murder Club 4 - 4th of July
Part Two
Unscheduled Vacation Time
Womans Murder Club 4 - 4th of July
Chapter 9
A MAN SAT QUIETLY in a nondescript gray car on Ocean Colony Road in the nicest section of Half Moon Bay, California. He wasn’t the kind of man people would notice, even though he was out of place here. Even though he had no legitimate business surveilling the people who lived in the white colonial house with the pricey cars in the driveway.
The Watcher held a camera that was no bigger than a book of matches up to his eye. It was a wonderful device with a gig of memory and a 10x zoom.
He zoomed in and pressed the shutter, capturing the family moving behind the kitchen window, downing their wholesome multigrain cereal, having morning chitchat in their breakfast nook.
At 8:06 on the dot, Caitlin O’Malley opened the front door. She was wearing a school uniform, a purple knapsack, and two watches, one on each wrist. Her long auburn hair positively shone.
The Watcher took Caitlin’s picture as the teenager got into the passenger side of the black Lexus SUV in the driveway and soon he heard the faint sounds of rock FM.
Placing his camera on the dash, the Watcher took his blue notebook and a fine-tip pen from the center console and made notes in a careful, nearly calligraphic hand.
It was essential to get it all down. The Truth demanded it.
At 8:09 the front door opened again. Dr. Ben O’Malley was wearing a lightweight gray wool suit and a red bow tie that cinched the collar of his starched white shirt. He turned to his wife, Lorelei, pecked her on the lips, and then strode down the front path.
Everyone was right on time.
The tiny camera captured the images. Zzzzt. Zzzzt. Zzzzzt.
The doctor carried a bag of trash to the blue recycling bin at the curb. He sniffed the air and looked up and down the street, sweeping his eyes across the gray car and its occupant without pausing. Then he joined his daughter in the SUV. Moments later, Dr. O’Malley backed out onto Ocean Colony Road and headed north toward Cabrillo Highway.
The Watcher completed his notes, then returned the notebook, the pen, and the camera to the console.
He had seen them now: the girl in her freshly pressed uniform and clean white kneesocks, lots of spirit showing in her pretty face. This so touched the Watcher that tears gathered in his eyes. She was so real, so different from her father, the doctor, in his bland everyday-citizen’s disguise.
But there was one thing he did like about Dr. Ben O’Malley. He liked his surgical precision. The Watcher was counting on that.
He just hated to be surprised.
Womans Murder Club 4 - 4th of July
Chapter 10
A VOICE IN MY head yelled, “Hey! Sara!”
I came awake with a jolt and reached for my gun, only to find that I couldn’t move at all. A dark face loomed over me, lit from behind with a hazy white glow.
“The Sugar Plum Fairy,” I blurted.
“I’ve been called worse.” She laughed. It was Claire. I was on her table, and that meant I was a goner for sure.
“Claire? Can you hear me?”
“Loud and clear, baby.” She hugged me gently, wrapping me in a mother’s embrace. “Welcome back.”
“Where am I?”
“San Francisco General. Recovery room.”
The fog was lifting. I remembered the dark chill of Larkin Street. Those kids. Jacobi was down!
“Jacobi,” I said, reaching out to Claire with my eyes. “Jacobi didn’t make it.”
“He’s in the ICU, honey. He’s fighting hard.” Claire smiled at me. “Look who’s here, Lindsay. Just turn your head.”
It took tremendous effort, but I rolled my heavy head to the right, and his handsome face came into view. He hadn’t shaved and his eyelids were weighted with fatigue and worry, but just seeing Joe Molinari made my heart sing like a flippin’ canary.
“Joe. You’re supposed to be in DC.”
“I’m right here, sweetie. I came as soon as I heard.”
When he kissed me, I felt his tears on my cheeks. I tried to tell him that I felt all broken inside.
“Joe, she’s dead. Oh, God, it was a horrible screw-up.”
“Honey, the way I hear it, you had no other choice.”
Joe’s rough cheek brushed mine.
“My pager number is right by the phone. Lindsay? Do you hear me? I’ll be back in the morning,” he said.
“What, Joe? What did you say?”
“Try to get some sleep, Lindsay.”
“Sure, Joe. I will. . . .”
Womans Murder Club 4 - 4th of July
Chapter 11
A NURSE NAMED HEATHER Grace, a saint if ever there was one, had secured a wheelchair for me. I sat in the wheelchair beside Jacobi’s bed as the late-afternoon light poured through the window in the ICU and pooled on the blue linoleum floor. Two bullets had tunneled through his torso. One had collapsed a lung, the other had punctured a kidney, and the kick he’d taken to the head had broken his nose and turned his face a brilliant shade of eggplant.
This was my third visit in as many days, and though I’d done my best to cheer him, Jacobi’s mood remained unrelentingly dark. I was watching him sleep when his swollen eyes flickered open to slits.
“Hey, Warren.”
“Hey, Slick.”
“How’re you feeling?”
“Like the world’s biggest horse’s ass.” He coughed painfully, and I winced in sympathy.
“Take it easy, bud.”
“It sucks, Boxer.”
“I know.”
“I can’t stop thinking about it. Dreaming about it.” He paused, touched the bandages over his nose. “That kid popping me while I stood there holding my dick.”
“Um. I think it was your cell phone, Jacobi.”
He didn’t laugh. That was bad.
“No excuse for it.”
“Our hearts were in the right place.”
“Hearts? Shit. Next time, less heart, more brains.”
He was right, of course. I was taking it all in, nodding, adding a few strokes in my own mind. Like, would I ever feel right with a gun in my hand again? Would I hesitate when I shouldn’t? Shoot before thinking? I poured Jacobi a glass of water. Stuck in a striped straw.
“I blew it. I should’ve cuffed that kid —”
“Don’t even start, Boxer. It’s we shoulda—and you probably saved my life.”
There was a flash of movement in the doorway. Chief Anthony Tracchio’s hair was slicked across his head, his off-duty clothes were plain and neat, and he was gripping a box of candy. He looked like a teenager coming to pick up his first date. Well, not really.
“Jacobi. Boxer. Glad I caught you two together. How ya doing, okay?” Tracchio wasn’t a bad guy, and he’d been good to me; still, ours was no love affair. He bounced a bit on his toes, then approached Jacobi’s bed.
“I’ve got news.”
He had our full attention.
“The Cabot kids left prints at the Lorenzo.” A light danced around in his eyes. “And Sam Cabot confessed.”
“Holy shit. Is this true?” Jacobi wheezed.
“On my mother’s head. The kid told a nurse that he and his sis were playing a game with those runaways. They called it ‘a bullet or a bath.’”
“The nurse will testify?” I asked.
“Yes, indeed. Swore to me herself.”
“‘A bullet or a bath.’ Those little fuckers.” Jacobi snorted. “A game.”