2nd Chance (Women's Murder Club 2)

I closed my eyes, thinking of the misplaced attention about to come my way. Then, through the haze, it hit me. What I had discovered before I blacked out.

My fingers gripped Claire’s arm. “Frank Coombs didn’t have a tattoo.”

She shook her head and blinked back. “So…?”

It hurt to talk, so the words came out in a whisper. “The first murder, Claire. Estelle Chipman… She was killed by a man with a tattoo. You said it.”

“I could’ve been wrong.”

“You’re never wrong.” I flashed my eyes.

She eased back on her stool, her brow creased. “I’m doing the autopsy on Frankie-boy Monday morning. There could be a highly pigmented section of skin, or a discoloration somewhere.”

I managed a smile. “Autopsy…? My professional opinion is that he was shot.”

“Thanks.” Claire grinned. “But someone’s got to take the bullets out of him and match them up. There’ll be an inquiry.”

“Yeah.” I blew out a gust of air and dropped my head back on the pillow. The whole incident, seeing the cop coming up to me, realizing it was Coombs, the flash of his gun, all came back to me as broken fragments.

Claire stood up, brushed her suit skirt. “You ought to get some rest. Doctor said they might release you tomorrow. I’ll check back in the A.M.” She leaned down and gave me a kiss. Then she made her way to the door.

“Hey, Claire…”

She turned back. I wanted to say how much I loved her, how grateful I was to have such a friend. But I just smiled and said, “Keep your eyes peeled for that tattoo.”

Chapter 103

I SPENT THE REMAINDER of the day trying to rest. Unfortunately, a steady stream of brass and press paraded through my room. It was credit by association, sound bite time. Everyone wanted to have their picture taken with the wounded hero cop.

The mayor stopped by, accompanied by his press liaison and Chief Tracchio. They held an impromptu press conference at the hospital, praising me, citing the great work done by the city’s homicide detail, the same unit they had almost pulled off the case.

After the commotion finally died down, Cindy and Jill dropped in. Jill brought a single rose in a glass vase and placed it on my bedside table. “You won’t be in here long enough to warrant more.” She grinned.

Cindy handed me a wrapped videotape. I opened it. Zena, the Warrior Woman. She winked. “I hear she does her own stunts, too.”

I pulled myself up and lifted my stiff arms around them in a hug. “Don’t squeeze back,” I warned with a smile.

“They giving you any good pills?” Jill asked.

“Yeah. Percocets. You should try this sometime. Definitely worth the risk.”

For a moment, we all just sat there without talking.

“You did it, Lindsay,” Cindy said. “You may be fucking crazy, but no one can say you’re not a helluva cop.”

“Thanks.”

“Don’t think this getting-shot thing lets you out of my exclusive. I’ll give you some time to recover. How’s six?”

“Right.” I chuckled. “Bring me back a chicken enchilada from Susie’s.”

“Doctor said we could only come in for a minute,” said Jill. “We’ll call you later.” They both smiled and backed toward the door.

“You know where to find me, ladies.”

Around five, Jacobi and Cappy stuck their heads in.

“We were wondering where you were,” Jacobi muttered, deadpan. “You didn’t show up for the afternoon meeting.”