Stuart Woods Holly Barker Collection

by Stuart Woods

  “Two minutes to go,” Ham said.

  Across the courtroom, somebody’s portable radio barked something.

  Hurd Wallace leveled his gaze at the cop. “Turn that thing off.”

  But the officer instead began speaking into the microphone clipped to his shirt, then he turned and walked toward an unpopulated corner of the courtroom.

  Dammit, Holly thought, I’m not going to have this day ruined by some teenager in a stolen car.

  Hurd walked across the room and stood next to the officer, cocking an ear toward the radio. He listened for a moment, then walked back to where Holly stood.

  Holly put up her hands, as if to ward him off. “Not today, Hurd,” she said.

  He leaned close to her. “It’s Jackson,” he said quietly. “He’s been hurt; he’s on the way to the hospital.”

  Holly jerked her head back as if she had been slapped. “How bad?”

  “Bad, but he’s alive. Come on, I’ll drive you.”

  Holly started for the door, and Hurd turned to the crowd, motioning for Ham Barker to follow him. “Sorry, folks, the wedding is postponed. Everybody back on duty. Jenkins, get your crime-scene team and get over to the Southern Trust Bank on Ocean Boulevard, and be quick about it. I’ll join you as soon as I can.”

  Holly sat rigidly in the front seat of Hurd’s unmarked patrol car, willing Hurd to go faster.

  “Any details?” Ham asked from the rear seat. Daisy sat quietly in the back, as if she knew something was wrong.

  “There was a robbery at Southern Trust,” Hurd said. “Apparently, Jackson got in the way.”

  Holly turned and looked at him. “Gunshot?”

  Hurd nodded. “We’ll know more in a couple of minutes.” He whipped the car into the emergency entrance of the hospital. Everybody got out and ran inside.

  A doctor stood just inside the doorway, wearing a white coat, its right sleeve smeared with blood. “This way, Chief,” he said, ushering her toward an examination room. Just outside the door, he stopped her. “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but he died three or four minutes ago. There was nothing we could do to save him.”

  Holly turned to face the doctor. “Nothing you could do?”

  “It was a shotgun blast to the chest; massive damage.”

  Holly sucked in a big breath and put a hand on the door for balance. “I want to see him,” she said.

  “All right,” the doctor replied. He opened the door.

  Holly stepped into the room. An examination table was before her, and the body, draped with a sheet.

  The doctor walked to the head of the table and took hold of a corner of the sheet, waiting for Holly.

  Holly stepped forward, and her toe caught on something. She looked down to see a yellow knit shirt, covered in blood, at her feet. What? she thought. Jackson wasn’t wearing a yellow shirt; it’s the wrong man! She rushed to the head of the table.

  The doctor pulled back the sheet, revealing only the head.

  Holly felt as if someone had struck her in the chest. The tanned face was without color, the mouth slightly open, the eyes closed. It was not the wrong man. She reached out to pull the sheet back farther.

  The doctor put his hand on hers. “You don’t want to do that,” he said kindly.

  Holly placed her hand on Jackson’s cool cheek and began to sob.

  Six

  HOLLY GOT INTO HURD’S CAR AND SLAMMED the door. Ham got into the backseat. “Take me to the station,” she said.

  Hurd turned and looked at her, his usually placid visage showing astonishment. “Holly, you ought to go home and rest.”

  Ham, who was sitting in the rear seat with Daisy, spoke up. “God, you’re not thinking of going to work, are you?”

  “What else am I supposed to do, Ham? Go home and bounce off the walls? Make keening noises and curse God? Right now, work is all I’ve got, and there’s work to be done.”

  Hurd recovered himself, started the car and drove off toward the station.

  Holly sat mute, collecting her thoughts. She couldn’t think about Jackson on a slab in the hospital morgue; plenty of time for that later. She had an investigation to organize, witnesses to question, bank robbers—no, murderers—to catch.

  First things first. She fished her cell phone out of her purse and dialed a number she knew by heart.

  “FBI,” a man’s voice said.

  “Harry Crisp,” she replied.

  “Mr. Crisp’s office,” a secretary said.

  “This is Chief Holly Barker of the Orchid Beach Police Department,” Holly said. “I need him.”

  “One moment, Chief.”

  “Holly, how are you?” Harry said cheerfully.

  The year before, she had worked a huge case with him on her home turf, and they had become friends.

  “What’s up?”

  “First of all, I have to report to you that the Southern Trust Bank in Orchid Beach was robbed less than an hour ago. Bank robbery is a federal crime, so consider yourself duly notified.”

  “All right,” Harry said. “I’ll get people on it right now. Is there something else, Holly? You sound funny.”

  “A bystander was killed,” she said.

  “Duly noted; I’ll let the crime-scene team know.”

  “My team will work with them,” she said.

  “That’s not necessary, Holly.”

  “Yes, it is. The bystander who was murdered was my fiancé.”

  “Jackson? Oh, my God, Holly, I’m so sorry.”

  “Be advised right now,” she said, “my department will work the homicide. I’m happy to have your people’s advice, but—”

  “Holly, the homicide is ours, too, since it was part of the bank robbery.”

  “Harry, I’m asking you, don’t fight me on this.”

  He was silent for a moment. “All right, it’ll be this way: officially, it’s according to the book. Unofficially, and I mean unofficially, your people work side by side with mine, on both the robbery and the homicide. All statements to the public come from this office. The U.S. Attorney gets the call on the prosecutions. You’ll have to rely on my word and my judgment about the way we handle the evidence. That’s the best I can do.”

  “All right,” she said tightly. “But I want your word that no information, no evidence will be withheld from me. I get the reports simultaneously with you.”

  “I can arrange that. Are you all right, Holly?”

  “I’m . . .” She had almost said “fine,” but that would be dishonest. “I’m managing,” she said.

  “I know you will. I’ll give my personal attention to the case from this moment forward. If there’s anything you need from me, you have only to ask.”

  “Thank you, Harry,” she said. “I’ll expect your people.”

  “They’ll be there inside of three hours.”

  “Bye.” She punched off. “Hurd, take me to the back door; I don’t want to be seen at the station in this dress.”

  “Sure.”

  They drove the rest of the way in silence, then Hurd dropped her off.

  Holly walked through the back door of the station, followed by Daisy, and down the rear hallway to her office, closing the door behind her. She locked the door and got out of the dress, then went to a closet for a uniform. Shortly, she was dressed for business in khaki shirt and slacks. “Stay, Daisy,” she said to the dog. She took a deep breath and opened the door that led into the squad room.

  There was more than the usual hubbub; witnesses were lined up on benches down one wall, and somebody was bringing them coffee and sandwiches. Holly was pleased that her people had been thoughtful.

  Then they noticed her, and the room grew quiet. “Carry on,” she said to them. “Do it right.” She walked over to Hurd’s office, rapped on the door and opened it. Hurd was behind his desk. Across from him sat a blond man in his early forties, wearing what Holly recognized as a Hawaiian shirt belonging to Hurd. Both men stood up.

  “Please sit down,” Holly said.


  “Chief,” Hurd said, “this is Mr. Barrington. He was in the bank when the robbery took place.”

  The man held out his hand. “How do you do?”

  Holly took his hand. He seemed very quiet and self-possessed for someone who had just witnessed a bank robbery and a murder. Suddenly, she realized why he was wearing Hurd’s shirt.

  “Mr. Barrington,” she said, “you were wearing a yellow knit shirt this morning?”

  “Yes.”

  “Thank you for trying to help him. I’m very grateful to you.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” he said.

  “I’m going to join you for this one,” she said to Hurd, and pulled up a chair.

  “Good, we were just getting started,” Hurd replied. “Mr. Barrington was just about to tell me what happened.”

  “Please go ahead,” Holly said.

  “I went into the bank to pick up a cashier’s check. I’m buying an airplane from Piper, over in Vero Beach. Mr. Oxenhandler—that was his name?”

  “Yes, Jackson Oxenhandler.”

  “He came in and was in line behind me; we chatted a little, discovered that we were both lawyers. We talked a little about airplanes; the line was held up by someone depositing a lot of checks and cash.”

  “Go on.”

  “Four men came into the bank; they were wearing identical blue coveralls, yellow construction hard hats and masks, the kind you wear when you’re sanding floors or dealing with a lot of dust. All four were carrying shotguns.”

  “Descriptions?” Holly asked. She nodded at Hurd, who got out a notebook.

  “Three were around six feet—within an inch or so—one was shorter, around five-nine. The bigger men were middle-age beefy, though the coveralls probably made them look heavier than they were. The shorter one was much thinner. Two of the bigger men had gray hair showing around the edges of the hard hats; one had darker hair, nearly black. The smaller man had sandy hair and eyebrows. He was wearing brown oxford shoes; the other three were wearing sneakers, one pair of New Balance, two of Nike. All four men were wearing wedding bands, and one of the larger men wore what looked like a college ring.

  “The shotguns looked like Remingtons, standard police riot guns. I think all four men were wearing shoulder holsters, too, under the coveralls.”

  “Did any of them speak?”

  “One of them, I’m not sure which, told the people to behave, and they wouldn’t get hurt. Any other talk was between themselves and quiet. They went immediately to the area where the desks were, and the shorter man indicated that a bank officer was to accompany them to the vault.”

  “Do you know which officer?”

  “One in the second row of desks. I don’t know his name, but the robber seemed to know who he wanted.”

  “Go on.”

  “Two of the four men guarded us, while one went with the shorter man and the bank officer to the vault. They were in there maybe a minute, and came back with a four-wheeled hand trolley containing a pile of canvas bags, maybe a dozen. As they passed close to where we stood, the taller of the two men bumped into Mr. Oxenhandler, and there was an exchange of words.”

  “What sort of exchange?”

  “Truculent, on the part of the robber. Mr. Oxenhandler replied in a manner that showed no fear. The exchange escalated a little, then, to my astonishment, the taller robber shot Mr. Oxenhandler, who fell backward at my feet. I immediately took off my shirt and applied it to Mr. Oxenhandler’s chest, to try to control the bleeding.”

  “Why were you astonished at what happened?” Holly asked.

  “Up to that moment, the whole operation had been quick and professional. The sudden display of anger on the part of the robber seemed out of character with the team, though, of course, the mask may have prevented me from seeing it coming, since I couldn’t see any facial expressions.”

  “After he shot Jackson, what happened?”

  “The shorter man came and shoved him toward the door. He said something, but I wasn’t able to understand him, because of the mask. The four men left the building, and a moment later, I saw a white van—a Ford, I think—leave the parking lot and drive west, toward the mainland. I shouted toward the desks for someone to call nine-one-one and ask for an ambulance, and I stayed with Mr. Oxenhandler until the EMTs put him into the ambulance.”

  “Did he have anything to say?”

  Barrington looked her in the eye. “He said, ‘Holly’s going to be very upset about this.’ I asked him to relax and be quiet, but he wanted to talk.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He told me he was on the way to his wedding. He didn’t seem to be in a lot of pain, but certainly in shock. He said I should tell Holly that he was sorry he ruined everything, but that she should see Fred, that he had everything in hand and under control. Who’s Fred?”

  “His law partner,” Holly replied. “Anything else?”

  “No, the EMTs arrived about that time and got him into the ambulance. If it’s any consolation, they got there fast and did their work well, did everything they could do. Mr. Oxenhandler didn’t want for the proper medical attention.”

  “Thank you for telling me that, Mr. Barrington. That was an excellent report; tell me, are you a police officer?”

  “Used to be. I had fourteen years with the NYPD, finished up as a detective, second grade, at the Nineteenth Precinct, working homicides, mostly.”

  “You seem young to have retired.”

  “Medical disability; I took a bullet in a knee.”

  Holly nodded. “Thank you, Mr. Barrington; you’ve been a very big help.”

  “Please call me Stone.”

  “Stone it is.”

  “There’s something else.”

  “What?”

  “There was something familiar about the robbery.”

  Seven

  HOLLY’S PULSE QUICKENED. “FAMILIAR? HOW so?”

  Stone wrinkled his brow. “It was six or eight years ago, when I was still on the force. My partner at the time, Dino Bacchetti, and I had lunch with an old acquaintance of his who was with the New York State Police. There was a bank in some little town in the Hudson River Valley that had two or three local industries that had the same payday for their workers each week. It was hit by a group who worked with almost military precision, wearing identical outfits and masks. That’s about all I remember about it.”

  Holly turned to Hurd. “You know about this payday thing? Was the bank especially cash-rich today?”

  Hurd stood up. “I’ll find out.” He left the room.

  Holly turned back to Stone. “Can you remember anything else about this robbery in New York?”

  Stone shook his head. “Not really; it was a long time ago, but when I saw these people this morning, I remembered that much.”

  “Could you have a word with your state cop friend and see if he has any other details?”

  “I don’t even remember his name, but Dino will; I’ll call him tonight. He’s out of the office today.”

  “I’d appreciate that.” She gave him her card and wrote her home number on the back. “You said you were buying an airplane from Piper?”

  “That’s right, a Malibu Mirage.”

  “Big single, six places, pressurized, right?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Jackson loved that airplane. I think he might have gone for one in a year or two.”

  “I’m on the step-up program for the new Meridian, which has a single turboprop engine.”

  “When will you get that?”

  “Another year. I’m pretty far down the delivery schedule.”

  Hurd returned. “I talked to the bank. Three of the big citrus growers had today as payday. The bank ordered extra cash for the workers who come in to cash their checks.”

  “Inside job,” Stone said.

  “Sounds that way,” Holly agreed. “Hurd, I want you to set up interviews with every single employee of that branch; start with the people on the floor
today. Figure out exactly how many of them knew about the big cash order, who’s new on the job, and we’ll go from there.”

  Hurd nodded and jotted something in his notebook.

  “And I need somebody to run me over to the bank; Jackson’s car is still there.”

  “If you’re finished with me here,” Stone said, “I’ll give you a ride. I’ve got to get back to Piper and give them a whole lot of money.”

  “Thanks,” she said. “Scratch that, Hurd; I’ll go with Stone.”

  Hurd nodded and left the office.

  “I think we’re done here, if you’re ready,” she said.

  “My rent-a-car is out back.”

  Holly went to her office and got Daisy. She introduced her to Stone.

  “Beautiful dog,” Stone said, scratching her behind the ears.

  “She’s my best friend,” Holly said.

  They walked out to the parking lot and got into his car. Stone drove slowly, following her directions.

  “You said you practice law?”

  “That’s right. I have an independent practice, and I’m of counsel to a big firm, Woodman and Weld.”

  “I’ve heard of them,” she said. “Jackson loved his small practice. He just had one partner, and he liked being in charge of himself.”

  “I can understand that,” Stone said. “I enjoy the independence, too.”

  “How much longer are you here?”

  “Just a couple of days. I take delivery of the airplane this afternoon, then I have to get some dual instruction time in before my insurance company will let me fly it back to New York.”

  “I can imagine,” she said.

  They drove along in silence for a couple of minutes. “Holly,” Stone said at last, “forgive me for mentioning this, but you seem to be operating pretty well for someone who has just suffered a great personal loss.”

  “It’s something I learned when I was in the army,” she said.

  “You were in the army?”

  “Twenty years. I was an MP; finished up commanding an MP company. I learned to concentrate on the task at hand and forget about everything else. I’m in that mode now, but tonight, I’ll probably come apart.”

  Stone nodded. At the bank, he pulled into the parking lot.