had to be missing her by now and would make a call soon. Or a witness would step forward who’d seen her likeness in the Chronicle or on our Web site.
Once we had a name, we’d have a chance to solve her murder. We could all stop thinking of her as Caddy Girl.
A half hour later I was back at home. I slugged down a cold beer and ate a Swiss and Hellmann’s on sourdough in front of the TV while catching up on the news of the world on CNN, CNBC, and FOX. Then I stripped down, turned on the shower, and waggled my hand in the water to test the temperature.
That’s when the phone rang.
Figures. Now what — another murder? Better yet, a break in the case?
The caller ID flashed his name.
“Hey,” I said, feigning nonchalance, heart going boom, da-boom, da-boom.
“God, you’re gorgeous.”
“I don’t have a picture phone, Joe.”
“I know what you look like, Lindsay.”
I laughed.
“That’s a very naked laugh,” said my fella. He wasn’t clairvoyant. He could hear the shower running. I turned off the water, put my robe on.
“You’re amazingly perceptive,” I said. By now, I was picturing him naked, too.
“Listen, naked lady, rumor has it I’m going to be in your town this weekend. The whole weekend.”
“Good, ’cause I miss you,” I said, my voice dropping down a few notches, getting a little throaty. “We’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”
We flirted until my skin was damp and my breath was short. When we hung up a few minutes later, we had a plan for our upcoming good time.
I dropped my robe, stepped into the shower, and, as the hot spray beat on my skin, began to belt out a pretty good rendition of “My Guy,” loving the vibrato in my voice coming back at me in my little tiled sound studio.
Whooo! Let’s hear it for Lindsay Boxer, pop star.
For the first time in a whole lot of days, I put the job out of my mind.
I felt great, at least for the moment.
I felt gorgeous.
And very soon, I was going to be with my love.
Womans Murder Club 5 - The 5th Horseman
Chapter 27
CHIEF TRACCHIO WAS obviously surprised to see me when I knocked on the partially open door to his office. There was a lot of dark wood paneling in there and a big photo mural of the Golden Gate Bridge that took up the whole wall facing his desk.
“Boxer,” the chief said now. Then he actually smiled. “Come in.”
I’d thought about my speech all night, rehearsed it in my mind all morning, had the first line all teed up and ready to go.
“Chief, I have a problem.”
“Drag up a chair, Boxer. Let’s hear it.”
I did as he said, but as I looked into his face, I forgot the careful phrasing, the curlicues and fripperies, and blurted out the whole deal at once.
“I don’t like being a boss, boss. I want to go back to investigation full time.”
His smile was gone, long gone. “What are you saying, Lieutenant? I don’t get you.”
“I wake up in the morning feeling wrong, Chief. I don’t like supervising a lot of other people. I don’t like being Lieutenant Inside,” I explained. “I like being on the street, and you know that’s where my abilities lie, Tony. You know I’m right.”
For a second or two I wasn’t sure Tracchio had even heard me — his face was that stony. Was he thinking of all the killers I’d helped put away? I sure hoped so. Then he slapped the desk with such force, I inadvertently pushed my chair back a couple of inches.
He exploded verbally, spit actually flying in my direction.
“I don’t know what you’ve been smoking, Boxer, but you’ve got the job. You — no! Don’t say anything! You know how many men got bumped when you were promoted? You know how many guys in the squad still resent you? You were promoted because you’re a leader, Boxer. You’re squad commander. Do your job. End of conversation.”
“Chief—”
“What? Make it quick. I’m busy.”
“I’m better on the ground. I close cases, and my record bears that out. I’m spinning my
Once we had a name, we’d have a chance to solve her murder. We could all stop thinking of her as Caddy Girl.
A half hour later I was back at home. I slugged down a cold beer and ate a Swiss and Hellmann’s on sourdough in front of the TV while catching up on the news of the world on CNN, CNBC, and FOX. Then I stripped down, turned on the shower, and waggled my hand in the water to test the temperature.
That’s when the phone rang.
Figures. Now what — another murder? Better yet, a break in the case?
The caller ID flashed his name.
“Hey,” I said, feigning nonchalance, heart going boom, da-boom, da-boom.
“God, you’re gorgeous.”
“I don’t have a picture phone, Joe.”
“I know what you look like, Lindsay.”
I laughed.
“That’s a very naked laugh,” said my fella. He wasn’t clairvoyant. He could hear the shower running. I turned off the water, put my robe on.
“You’re amazingly perceptive,” I said. By now, I was picturing him naked, too.
“Listen, naked lady, rumor has it I’m going to be in your town this weekend. The whole weekend.”
“Good, ’cause I miss you,” I said, my voice dropping down a few notches, getting a little throaty. “We’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”
We flirted until my skin was damp and my breath was short. When we hung up a few minutes later, we had a plan for our upcoming good time.
I dropped my robe, stepped into the shower, and, as the hot spray beat on my skin, began to belt out a pretty good rendition of “My Guy,” loving the vibrato in my voice coming back at me in my little tiled sound studio.
Whooo! Let’s hear it for Lindsay Boxer, pop star.
For the first time in a whole lot of days, I put the job out of my mind.
I felt great, at least for the moment.
I felt gorgeous.
And very soon, I was going to be with my love.
Womans Murder Club 5 - The 5th Horseman
Chapter 27
CHIEF TRACCHIO WAS obviously surprised to see me when I knocked on the partially open door to his office. There was a lot of dark wood paneling in there and a big photo mural of the Golden Gate Bridge that took up the whole wall facing his desk.
“Boxer,” the chief said now. Then he actually smiled. “Come in.”
I’d thought about my speech all night, rehearsed it in my mind all morning, had the first line all teed up and ready to go.
“Chief, I have a problem.”
“Drag up a chair, Boxer. Let’s hear it.”
I did as he said, but as I looked into his face, I forgot the careful phrasing, the curlicues and fripperies, and blurted out the whole deal at once.
“I don’t like being a boss, boss. I want to go back to investigation full time.”
His smile was gone, long gone. “What are you saying, Lieutenant? I don’t get you.”
“I wake up in the morning feeling wrong, Chief. I don’t like supervising a lot of other people. I don’t like being Lieutenant Inside,” I explained. “I like being on the street, and you know that’s where my abilities lie, Tony. You know I’m right.”
For a second or two I wasn’t sure Tracchio had even heard me — his face was that stony. Was he thinking of all the killers I’d helped put away? I sure hoped so. Then he slapped the desk with such force, I inadvertently pushed my chair back a couple of inches.
He exploded verbally, spit actually flying in my direction.
“I don’t know what you’ve been smoking, Boxer, but you’ve got the job. You — no! Don’t say anything! You know how many men got bumped when you were promoted? You know how many guys in the squad still resent you? You were promoted because you’re a leader, Boxer. You’re squad commander. Do your job. End of conversation.”
“Chief—”
“What? Make it quick. I’m busy.”
“I’m better on the ground. I close cases, and my record bears that out. I’m spinning my
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