4th of July (Women's Murder Club 4)
Lorelei O’Malley, wife of Dr. Ben O’Malley, was found slain in her home on Ocean Colony Road this afternoon, apparently the victim of a burglary gone wrong. The victim’s stepdaughter, Caitlin, 15, found her stepmother’s body in the bedroom closet when she returned home from school. Dr. O’Malley, a respected general practitioner and longtime member of the community, is missing.
This afternoon, Chief Peter Stark asked the crowd outside the police station to be calm but vigilant.
“There appear to be similarities in the recent homicides,” said Stark. “But I can’t comment because it would jeopardize the overall investigation. What I can do is give you my word, this police force will not rest until the murderer is caught.”
In answer to questions from reporters, Chief Stark said, “Dr. O’Malley was last seen at around noon. He was on his way out to lunch but did not return to his office or call in. He’s not a suspect at this time.”
I rolled up the paper and stared blankly at the pretty pastel and shingled houses on Sea View Avenue. My instincts were screaming. I was a cop without a case, a cop without a job. I didn’t want to read about homicides. I wanted firsthand information.
I put away the tools I’d been using to polish the car, then I went inside and had the phone company set up a conference call.
I was suddenly lonely for the girls.
Chapter 44
THE OPERATOR CONNECTED ME with Claire first, and her mellow voice warmed me.
“Hi, doll. Sleeping in? Getting some color in your cheeks?”
“I’m trying, Butterfly, but my brain is like a hamster on a wheel.”
“Don’t waste this downtime, Lindsay, please. God, what I wouldn’t do for some time off.”
Cindy joined the conference call, her youthful voice ringing with the usual excitement. “It’s not the same without you, Linds. Sucks.”
“I wish you guys were here,” I told my friends. “It’s all blue sky and yellow sand. And hey, Joe came and spent the night.”
Cindy had some news about her second date with the hockey player, prompting whistles, and I came back with the story of Keith, the sandy-haired gas station guy.
“He’s in his twenties, I think, Brad Pitt type. He actually put the moves on me.”
Claire said, “You two really make me feel like the boring old married woman.”
“I want to be as bored as you are with Edmund,” said Cindy. “That’s for sure.”
The laughing and teasing made me feel as if we were gathered around a dimly lit table at Susie’s.
And, as we always did at Susie’s, we talked shop.
“So, what about these murders I’ve been hearing about?” Claire asked.
“Aw, jeez. The town is freaking out. A young couple was killed a few weeks ago—and a woman was murdered about a mile from here this morning.”
“It was on the wire,” Cindy said. “A bloody scene.”
“Yeah. It’s starting to look like a killer on a spree, and you know it’s irking me that I can’t do anything. I want to comb the crime scene. I hate not being in the loop.”
“Well, you’ll be interested in this little tidbit,” Claire said. “I got this off the medical examiners’ list serve. That couple who were murdered in Crescent Heights a few weeks ago? They were whipped.”
I think I blanked out for a moment as my mind flew to John Doe #24.
He’d been slashed and whipped.
“They were whipped? Claire, you’re sure about that?”
“Absolutely sure. Back and buttocks.”
Just then, a beep came over the line and the name on the caller ID was like the past slamming into the present. I said, “Hold on, guys,” and I pressed the flash button.