I snapped out of my trance – I was free.
Man, don’t I wish. (Fifty-one days to go.) But wait, that’s what the Fourth of July is all about! Freedom! Sigh.
Lindsay drops the gun case into the water below the bridge, then attempts to flag down a passing motorist so she can get some help. She’s naked, so most people just honk and stare. “What did (they) think? That I was a prostitute?”
I held my ground out there on that highway in my panties, my hand in the stop position, every part of me prickling from the fear of being flattened by a driver with his head up his ass…
Every part of you? Interesting. What do you mean by “stop position?” I’m sorry, it’s just that you’ve been naked for four chapters! It’s so distracting.
When she finally gets a car to stop, she tells the googly-eyed teenager driving it that she’s a cop and that she needs to use his phone. And the newspaper on the front seat, so she can cover her chest, of course. Then she gets the police dispatch on the phone:
“Lindsay! Oh God. Are you all right? What do you need? Where are you?”
I knew the dispatcher, May Hess, self-described Queen of the Bat Phone. “I’m on the bridge–“
“With that naked suicide?”
Ha ha! Everyone’s talking about you! The Queen sends a helicopter to try and round up the guy in the motorboat who was heading to pick up the gun case in the water. Lindsay watches over the rail as the boat tries to escape, genuinely believing that the actual killer is in the boat. Why would he create such an elaborate ruse toward getting this ransom and embarrassing the police department, only to get cornered in a boat in the middle of San Francisco Bay?
The Lipstick Killer bailed out of the boat and ran in slow motion through hip-deep water. And then a coast guard vessel closed in on him.
A bullhorn blared, telling the killer to hit the ground and keep his hands in full sight. Squad cars tore down the beach and surrounded him.
Game over, psycho.
Well, since there’s 151 pages and 51 chapters left, I’m guessing that the game’s not over, dummy.