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4th of July (Women's Murder Club) Kindle Edition
In a deadly late-night showdown, San Francisco police lieutenant Lindsay Boxer fires her weapon and sets off a dramatic chain of events that leaves a police force disgraced, a family destroyed, and Lindsay herself at the mercy of twelve jurors. During a break in the trial, she retreats to a picturesque town that is reeling from a string of grisly murders-crimes that bear a link to a haunting, unsolved case from her rookie years.
Now, with her friends in the Women's Murder Club, Lindsay must battle for her life on two fronts: in a trial rushing to a climax, and against an unknown adversary willing to do anything to hide the truth about the homicides-including kill again?
- LanguageEnglish
- PublisherLittle, Brown and Company
- Publication dateMay 1, 2005
- File size1798 KB
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About the Author
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
4th of July
By James PattersonLittle Brown and Company
Copyright © 2005 James PattersonAll right reserved.
ISBN: 9780316058858
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...
Excerpted from 4th of Julyby James Patterson 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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Product details
- ASIN : B000FCK44A
- Publisher : Little, Brown and Company; 1st edition (May 1, 2005)
- Publication date : May 1, 2005
- Language : English
- File size : 1798 KB
- Text-to-Speech : Enabled
- Screen Reader : Supported
- Enhanced typesetting : Enabled
- X-Ray : Enabled
- Word Wise : Enabled
- Sticky notes : On Kindle Scribe
- Print length : 448 pages
- Page numbers source ISBN : 0316058858
- Best Sellers Rank: #21,994 in Kindle Store (See Top 100 in Kindle Store)
- #178 in Legal Thrillers (Kindle Store)
- #583 in Serial Killer Thrillers
- #660 in Women Sleuths (Books)
- Customer Reviews:
About the author
James Patterson is the most popular storyteller of our time. He is the creator of unforgettable characters and series, including Alex Cross, the Women’s Murder Club, Jane Smith, and Maximum Ride, and of breathtaking true stories about the Kennedys, John Lennon, and Tiger Woods, as well as our military heroes, police officers, and ER nurses. Patterson has coauthored #1 bestselling novels with Bill Clinton and Dolly Parton, and collaborated most recently with Michael Crichton on the blockbuster “Eruption.” He has told the story of his own life in “James Patterson by James Patterson” and received an Edgar Award, ten Emmy Awards, the Literarian Award from the National Book Foundation, and the National Humanities Medal.
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WARNING: This book contains a spoiler if you have not read THIRD DEGREE, the previous installment in this series. If you plan to read that book, do not read this book first. Also, skip the remainder of this paragraph, which comments upon the shocking conclusion to that story. One major difference from the first three entries in this series is that ADA Jill Bernhardt was brutally murdered near the conclusion of that story. Thus, when the remaining three members meet at the neighborhood cafe Susie's, there is a void as Jill's memory still intrudes upon their thoughts. Furthermore, by the conclusion the author verifies the reader's suspicion that this novel has been used as a bridge to reconstitute the Club.
One of the obvious differences from the earlier books in the series is that Patterson partners with a new co-author, Maxine Paetro. Judging from the differences in style and tone and the injection of more humor, it appears that while Patterson undoubtedly sketched the plot since he owns the franchise, it is highly likely that Mrs. Paetro wrote the majority of the story. Hopefully, Patterson will continue to utilize her skills in future episodes. The second and most important difference is that this is definitely a book about SFPD Lt. Lindsay Boxer with other club members playing only periperal roles with the exception of a few important contributions from Chief Medical Examiner Claire Washburn. The third difference is that most of the action takes place while Lindsay is recuperating in the town of Half Moon Bay and her actions are totally outside the scope of her official duties. Last, the gruesome detailed violence which came to dominate some of the later novels in the Alex Cross series (especially those involving the Mastermind) is more prevalent; while it is integral to the plot in this case I nevertheless did not enjoy it and reduced my rating by half a star because of this factor.
The story begins with the body of a young man found electrocuted in a bathtub in a seedy hotel in the Tenderloin District of SF. Lindsay is called to the scene and ominously notes the words NOBODY CARES which have been spray painted on the door. Despite the fact that this murder is similar to another recent homicide, the invisible nature of the victims means that the cases have received only cursory media attention. However, Lindsay is very trouble by the fact that they bear a remarkable similarity to a still unsolved case which she investigated when she first joined the police force. A young male was found murdered in his hotel room and the same phrase was painted on the wall; the fact that she has never even been able to identify the victim still distresses her. Soon she and her former partner Warren Jacobi engage in a near fatal car chase in pursuit of some suspects, the subsequent showdown has potentially disastrous consequences for everyone concerned when a brief firefight erupts as the two police officers attempt to rescue the two teenagers trapped in their wrecked automobile.
While Jacobi recovers in the hospital, Lindsay flees SF to hide from the press while awaiting the trial which will determine the course of her career. However, the peaceful community in which she is staying (accompanied by her border collie Martha while babysitting for Penelope, her sister's Vietnamese potbellied pig) is increasingly terrified by several apparently random but very grisly murders. Lindsay decides to unofficially investigate, an action which both alienates the local police chief and soon puts her life in danger. Meanwhile, the reader is quite effectively treated to brief glimpses into the mind of the anonymous killer(s) in a way which increases the suspense without revealing any helpful information.
The action moves quickly to a climax, and the final outcome is quite ingenious if quite improbable. The title of my review refers to the three parallel and interlated storylines. First, what will happen to Lindsay and will these events lead to the Women's Murder Club being reconstituted by the end of the story. One new candidate soon emerges, but the outcome is not clear until the conclusion. Second, as the dead bodies pile up we soon wonder how many members will join the Victims' Club (my term, but the author can use it in the next book if she wants) before the murderers are caught. Third, it soon becomes clear there is a methodical Murderers' Club with a very specific agenda operating in Half Moon Bay. An essential element of the clever plot is that we only know them by their very descriptive nicknames for themselves.
This is an excellent beach read, or in my case just the right type of story for a busy airport and a few hour plane flight. As usual in the recent formulaic Patterson mystery/detective books, the lack of character development combined with the rush to conclusion after the case has been solved and the consequent loose ends left dangling (less than usual) kept it from receiving a higher rating
Tucker Andersen
But - the ending has left questions about other portions of the story. Mainly about if other characters committed crimes that they said that they did.
Maybe my questions are due to my own confusion, or perhaps to be answered later?
Both writers have their way with some of the laws and at times I get a little laugh from how this fine book is written. It is not possible for every writer to know fully how California criminal and civil laws are written, but it make this a fine read. Not recommended for young readers. Sex and violence. DP., Castro Valley, CA.