4th of July (Women's Murder Club Series #4)

by James Patterson, Maxine Paetro Narrated by Carolyn McCormick

Overview

A young girl is killed in crossfire after a routine arrest goes terribly wrong, and Lt. Lindsay Boxer has to defend herself against a charge of police brutality. In a landmark trial that transfixes the nation, Lindsay fights to save her career and her sanity.


While awaiting trial, Lindsay escapes to the beautiful town of Half Moon Bay, but the peaceful community there is reeling from a string of unspeakable murders. Working with her friends in the Women's Murder Club, Lindsay finds a link between these killings and a case she worked on years before-an unsolved murder that has haunted her ever since. As summer comes into full swing, Lindsay battles for her life on two fronts: before a judge and jury as her trial comes to a climax, and facing unknown adversaries who will do anything to keep her from the truth about the killings--including killing again. It all comes to a head before the big annual 4th of July celebration on the waterfront at Half Moon Bay.

Editorial Reviews

The Women's Murder Club reconvenes under the worst circumstances. After a routine arrest goes terribly awry, a young woman is caught in the crossfire and killed. Lieutenant Lindsay Boxer must defend herself against charges of police brutality in a case that has made coast-to-coast headlines. In this high-anxiety atmosphere, Boxer and her Women's Murder Club buddies are also searching frantically for clues to a series of Half Moon Bay murders.

Publishers Weekly

Mega-bestseller Patterson teams up with journalist/novelist Paetro for a rousing fourth installment of the Women's Murder Club series. This time, bright, tough SFPD Lt. Lindsay Boxer is battling police brutality charges while chasing down a clan of murderers. When a botched police arrest of two gun-toting minors expands from a shaky preliminary hearing to what promises to be a nerve-rattling jury trial of Lindsay, she flees the pre-trial media frenzy for the serene haven of sister Cat's house in Half Moon Bay. But instead of finding relaxation and romance with her Homeland Security beau, Lindsay becomes embroiled in the ruthless crimes of a troika of killers who've been slashing and flogging victims all over town. With surprisingly little aid from the Murder Club, Lindsay performs her detective handiwork (and steps on the toes of Half Moon's police chief). As more bodies surface, sketchy suspects like a smitten grease monkey and a slimy porn star emerge, then the murderous threesome set their sights on Lindsay. Back in San Francisco, Lindsay is acquitted; she then rushes back to Half Moon Bay to apprehend the elusive villains and put to rest her unresolved first homicide case as well. Heroic super-sleuthing, a steadily gripping plot line and 146 snappy chapters add up to suspense fiction euphoria for Patterson's legion of fans. (One-day laydown May 2) Copyright 2005 Reed Business Information.

Library Journal

Home in Half Moon Bay while facing a charge of police brutality, Lt. Lindsay Boxer joins up with her Women's Murder Club friends to investigate a spate of killings. Copyright 2005 Reed Business Information.

AudioFile

The Women’s Murder Club cranks into full form. Carolyn McCormick drives this fast-paced, high-powered novel right off the printed page into real experience. A whining, pleading injured teen driving with only a learner’s permit is so skillfully presented that danger is ignored; a spinal-cord-injured witness whose sobs are interrupted by the sucking of ventilator-initiated breathing is believable even while demonstrating courtroom theatrics.”

Booklist

Patterson’s characteristic brutal murders and elusive killers are present, keeping the stakes high…Even though the Women’s Murder Club itself is consigned to the background, Lindsay’s trial and the murders keep the pages turning.”

OCT/NOV 05 - AudioFile

Lieutenant Lindsay Boxer is involved in a shooting that causes her to be charged with police brutality. Relieved of duty while awaiting trial, Lindsay travels to Half Moon Bay, only to find this community experiencing a rash of murders. With Yuki Castellano fighting for Lindsay in the courtroom and the murders in Half Moon Bay escalating, the Women’s Murder Club cranks into full form. Carolyn McCormick drives this fast-paced, high-powered novel right off the printed page into real experience. A whining, pleading injured teen driving with only a learner’s permit is so skillfully presented that danger is ignored; a spinal-cord-injured witness whose sobs are interrupted by the sucking of ventilator-initiated breathing is believable even while demonstrating courtroom theatrics. K.A.T. © AudioFile 2005, Portland, Maine

Product Details

BN ID:	2940173800121
Publisher:	Hachette Audio
Publication date:	05/02/2005
Series:	Women's Murder Club Series
Edition description:	Unabridged
Sales rank:	1,220,062

Read an Excerpt

4th of July

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By James Patterson Maxine Paetro

Little, Brown

Copyright © 2005 James Patterson
All right reserved.
ISBN: 0-316-71060-1

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Chapter One

IT WAS JUST BEFORE 4:00 a.m. on a weekday. My mind was racing even before Jacobi nosed our car up in front of the Lorenzo, a grungy rent-by-the-hour "tourist hotel" on a block in San Francisco's Tenderloin District that's so forbidding even the sun won't cross the street.

Three black-and-whites were at the curb, and Conklin, the first officer at the scene, was taping off the area. So was another officer, Les Arou.

"What have we got?" I asked Conklin and Arou.

"White male, Lieutenant. Late teens, bug-eyed and done to a turn," Conklin told me. "Room twenty-one. No signs of forced entry. Vic's in the bathtub, just like the last one."

The stink of piss and vomit washed over us as Jacobi and I entered the hotel. No bellhops in this place. No elevators or room service, either. Night people faded back into the shadows, except for one gray-skinned young prostitute who pulled Jacobi aside.

"Give me twenty dollars," I heard her say. "I got a license plate."

Jacobi peeled off a ten in exchange for a slip of paper, then turned to the desk clerk and asked him about the victim: Did he have a roommate, a credit card, a habit?

I stepped around a junkie in the stairwell and climbed to the second floor. The door to room 21 was open, and a rookie was standing guard at the doorway.

"Evening, Lieutenant Boxer."

"It's morning, Keresty."

"Yes, ma'am," he said, logging me in, turning his clipboard to collect my signature.

It was darker inside the twelve-by-twelve-foot room than it was in the hallway. The fuse had blown, and thin curtains hung like wraiths in front of the streetlit windows. I was working the puzzle, trying to figure out what was evidence, what was not, trying not to step on anything. There was too damned much of everything and too little light.

I flicked my flashlight beam over the crack vials on the floor, the mattress stained with old blood, the rank piles of garbage and clothing everywhere. There was a kitchenette of sorts in the corner, the hot plate still warm, drug paraphernalia in the sink.

The air in the bathroom was thick, almost soupy. I swept my light along the extension cord that snaked from the socket by the sink, past the clogged toilet bowl to the bathtub.

My guts clenched as I caught the dead boy in my beam. He was naked, a skinny blond with a hairless chest, half sitting up in the tub, eyes bulging, foam at his lips and nostrils. The electric cord ended at an old-fashioned two-slice toaster that glinted up through the bathwater.

"Shit," I said as Jacobi entered the bathroom. "Here we go again."

"He's toast, all right," said Jacobi.

As commanding officer of the Homicide detail, I wasn't supposed to do hands-on detective work anymore. But at times like this, I just couldn't stay away.

Another kid had been electrocuted, but why? Was he a random victim of violence or was it personal? In my mind's eye, I saw the boy flailing in pain as the juice shot through him and shut his heart down.

The standing water on the cracked tile floor was creeping up the legs of my trousers. I lifted a foot and toed the bathroom door closed, knowing full well what I was going to see. The door whined with the nasal squeal of hinges that had probably never been oiled.

Two words were spray-painted on the door. For the second time in a couple of weeks, I wondered what the hell they meant.

"NOBODY CARES."

(Continues...)

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Excerpted from 4th of July by James Patterson Maxine Paetro Copyright © 2005 by James Patterson. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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