Stuart Woods Holly Barker Collection

by Stuart Woods

  “Go ahead,” Jimmy said.

  Holly looked at the man. “Did you ever make a silencer for Carlos Alvarez?”

  The man looked at Jimmy, then at the floor.

  “This is completely off the record,” Jimmy said. “A meeting that never happened.”

  “I’ll never be asked to testify?”

  Holly shook her head. “Carlos is dead; you can’t hurt him.”

  The man looked at her again. “I made something for a Winchester twenty-two rifle,” he said.

  “He does good work,” Jimmy chimed in.

  “My work is as good for accuracy as for noise,” the little man said. “I do rifling; they’re perfectly machined.”

  “He’s right,” Jimmy said. “I’ve seen his work.”

  “How long ago?”

  “A month, maybe; I didn’t count.”

  “Thanks,” Holly said. “I appreciate your help.”

  “That it?” he asked Jimmy, and Jimmy nodded. The man got up and opened the door, then closed it again.

  “Something else?” Jimmy asked.

  “I made something for a forty-millimeter Heckler and Koch, too.”

  “Same time?” Holly asked.

  “Same time. Next time I saw Carlos, he said he was real happy with my work.”

  “Thanks again,” Holly said, and the man left the room and closed the door behind him.

  “That what you wanted?” Jimmy asked.

  “That was it,” Holly said. “One more thing.”

  “Shoot.”

  “I noticed that when I checked in, your lady took the serial numbers of my weapons.”

  “We always do. Keeps people from bringing illegal pieces in here, and we throw out anybody who brings in something with the number filed off.”

  “Then you’ll have the serial numbers of Carlos’s rifle and two pistols?”

  Jimmy went to a card file, flipped through it, and extracted three cards. He lined them up on a copying machine and pressed the button. “There you are,” he said, handing her the copy. “In Carlos’s own handwriting, with his signature.”

  “That’s great, Jimmy. I can’t thank you enough.” She didn’t get up.

  “Something else?”

  “I think Carlos made a connection here. Does the name Pellegrino mean anything to you?”

  “There’s a restaurant in Miami by that name; my wife and I have had dinner there a couple of times, on special occasions.”

  “You remember the headwaiter, Pio, the guy who seats everybody? He’s tall, slim, very slick-looking.”

  “Sure. He owns the place, doesn’t he?”

  “With his father, apparently. Has he ever been in here, maybe talked to Carlos?”

  “No, I’d remember; he’s never been in here.”

  “Then there’s a connection between Carlos and Pellegrino, and it may be somebody who comes in here, who’s seen Carlos shoot and who recommended him to somebody outside, maybe Pellegrino, or maybe a third party who sent him to Pellegrino.”

  “Hard to know who that could be,” Jimmy said.

  “You have any customer you suspect might be connected?”

  “You mean mob-connected?”

  “Right.”

  Jimmy thought about it. “I can’t even think of anybody with an Italian name, offhand.”

  “Doesn’t have to be Italian. When you visited Pellegrino’s restaurant, did you see anybody you knew among the customers?”

  Jimmy’s eyebrows went up. “Yeah, now you mention it. There’s a guy named Trini Rodriguez, he’s a regular here. In fact, he’s part of the group that Carlos shoots with.”

  “This is Carlos’s regular night; is Rodriguez here?”

  “Hang on.” Jimmy left the room and came back a moment later. “Trini is shooting in position fourteen,” he said.

  “I want to get a good look at him,” Holly said. “Can you put me next to him?”

  “Yeah, thirteen is open. Come on.”

  Holly followed Jimmy back into the range, and he showed her to position thirteen. Holly put her weapons on the shelf in front of her, then stepped back so she could see around the partition between the positions. His back was to her and he was shooting a 9mm.

  She fiddled with the Beretta a little, waiting for him to recall his target.

  “Nice group,” she said.

  He turned and regarded her for a long moment. About Carlos’s size, well built, well dressed, slick haircut. “Thanks,” he said, then went back to his shooting.

  Holly fired both pistols again, then went to a cleaning station, field-stripped both pistols, and cleaned them carefully, taking as much time as she could.

  Eventually, Rodriguez walked over and began cleaning his weapon.

  “You shoot here regularly?” Holly asked.

  Rodriguez looked up at her coolly and nodded.

  “Seems like a nice place.”

  “It is,” he said. “Jimmy’s okay.”

  She nodded, then packed away her two weapons and walked away. On the way out, she gave Jimmy a wink, and he winked back.

  Connection, she thought—Carlos, Trini, Pellegrino. But who did Pellegrino connect with?

  32

  Holly was having dinner on the Delano’s terrace when she looked up and found Harry Crisp standing a few feet away, staring at her.

  “Why, Harry, what brings you to South Beach? I thought the FBI worked in grubbier surroundings.”

  “Evening, Holly. Mind if I sit down?”

  “Please do. Would you like some dinner?”

  “Thanks, I’ve already eaten.”

  “Drink?”

  “Well, why not? I’m off duty.” He flagged down a waiter and ordered a mai tai. “And don’t put a little umbrella in it,” he said to the waiter.

  “I guess you tracked me down through Ham,” Holly said.

  “Yep.”

  “What’s so urgent?”

  “I want to know what you’re doing down here, Holly.”

  “Sorry, Harry. I’m tired of the FBI’s one-way information highway.”

  “What do you want?”

  “Full disclosure.”

  “About what?”

  “About every aspect of this case.”

  “Which case?”

  “Harry, this isn’t getting us anywhere. You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

  “Yeah, okay.”

  “Okay, full disclosure?”

  The waiter came back with Harry’s mai tai; there was a little umbrella in it. “No tip for him,” Harry said as the waiter walked away. He tossed the umbrella onto the table. “So, tell me what you’re doing down here.”

  “Harry, I don’t believe I received a confirmation of our new arrangement, the one about full disclosure.”

  “All right, all right, full disclosure.”

  “That means an answer to any question I ask?”

  “Any relevant question.”

  “Harry, if I ask a question, it’s relevant. Now, if you’re ready to deal on equal terms, two-way information highway, say so; if not, please go away and leave me to enjoy this very good dinner.”

  “All right, two-way information highway.”

  “I’m going to hold you to that, Harry.”

  “Now tell me what you’re doing here.”

  “I’m solving the murder of Carlos Alvarez.”

  “Who?”

  “Come on, Harry, Grant must have told you about this.”

  “Not much.”

  That was good, Holly thought. Grant was being close-mouthed.

  “He’s the guy who broke into my house repeatedly and tapped my phones. He turned up dead in the Indian River.”

  “And you’ve solved it?”

  “Not yet, but I’m on the way. Oh, by the way, Carlos also killed your two Miami property developers and tried to kill Ed Shine.”

  “What?”

  “No kidding.”

  “Why do you think so?”

  “Carlos was spotted at a M
iami shooting range by somebody who was connected connected. He was a crack shot. He bought or was supplied with a Winchester twenty-two rifle, went to the range to sight it in, and had a silencer made for the rifle and his own forty-caliber Heckler and Koch semiautomatic. Isn’t that what your Cuban developer was shot with?”

  “Yes. We recovered a slug from the inside of the guy’s car door. The nice Mercedes upholstery kept it from being deformed too much, so we can probably get a match, if we ever find the gun.”

  “My people are going to start searching the Indian River around the North Bridge for the gun tomorrow morning. I think Carlos was shot there with his own gun, and my guess is the shooter tossed it, along with Carlos.”

  “Send it to me when you get it, and I’ll run the ballistics.”

  “You send me the bullet and I’ll run the ballistics.”

  “I have a better lab than the state.”

  “Maybe, but this is a murder that occurred in my jurisdiction. If I send you the gun, I want a receipt stating that it will be returned when the ballistics have been run.”

  “Okay.”

  “Something else. After Carlos was spotted at the range, I think he was hired by a guy named Pio Pellegrino, who runs a restaurant.”

  “Pellegrino’s? I’ve eaten there. Good place, if you can get a table.”

  “I’d like you to run a check on Pio’s background, his father’s, too, see if they’re connected, and if so, to whom.”

  Harry was taking notes now. “What’s his father’s name?”

  “I don’t know. Try the phone book.”

  “I’ll see that it’s run down.”

  “Harry, if Pellegrino isn’t running this thing, then he’s connected to whoever is, so don’t start walking all over this with your big FBI feet, okay? Don’t bring him in for questioning, and if you have him watched, for God’s sake don’t park an FBI van outside his door. Be subtle, Harry.”

  “We’re always subtle,” Harry replied.

  “Like the green SUV with the two agents inside that was parked at the Santa Maria church? Like the female agent you had following me when I was shopping for shoes? Please.”

  “I’ll take special steps,” Harry said through clenched teeth.

  “What’s Grant Early working on, Harry?”

  “That’s not relevant.”

  “So what happened to the two-way information highway, Harry?”

  “It’s not relevant.”

  “I should have known you’d do this. I spill everything I’ve got, saving you many man-hours of legwork, and you stonewall me.”

  “Holly, I mean it, Grant’s case is not relevant to your investigation; it’s a whole separate thing.”

  Holly sighed. “Harry, if I find out it isn’t, I’m going to come over to your house and shoot you in your sleep.”

  “It’s a federal crime to threaten an FBI agent, Holly.”

  “So, arrest me.”

  Harry smirked at her. “Not yet.”

  “Not while I’m doing your work for you, huh?”

  “You’re not doing my work for me; this stuff is just frosting on the cake.”

  “I want to hear about the Pellegrinos by lunchtime tomorrow,” Holly said, sliding her card across the table. “My cellphone number is on the card.”

  Harry pocketed the card. “I’ll be in touch,” he said, getting up and tossing a five-dollar bill onto the table.

  “The drink’s on me, Harry,” Holly said.

  “Gee, thanks,” Harry replied, picking up the note. “Talk to you tomorrow.” He walked away.

  Holly went back to her dinner, now cold. “You’d bloody well better talk to me tomorrow,” she said aloud to herself.

  33

  Holly got an early start for home the following morning. Once she was on I-95, she called Hurd Wallace.

  “Good morning.”

  “Morning, Holly.”

  “Hurd, I’d like you to get ahold of our divers and do a search of the waters under and around the North Bridge.”

  “What are we looking for?”

  “A Heckler and Koch forty-caliber pistol with a silencer.”

  “The weapon used on Carlos?”

  “I think so. He owned such a gun, and it’s missing.”

  “Okay.”

  “Which side of the road was the van parked on?”

  “The south side.”

  “Then search the south side of the bridge first, to a distance that you could throw a semiautomatic pistol. Start at the center of the river and work outward.”

  “I’m on it. When will you be back?”

  “I’m on the way now; see you later this morning.”

  “Right.” Hurd hung up.

  Holly continued up I-95. An hour later, her phone rang.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, it’s Harry.”

  “Good morning.”

  “We’ve run a check on Pio and his old man, whose name is Ignacio.”

  “Isn’t Ignacio a Spanish name?”

  “Who knows? Anyway, they’ve both got a clean sheet, federal and state.”

  “That doesn’t add up,” Holly said. “How far back did you go?”

  “When they’ve got a clean sheet, it’s from childhood.”

  “Harry, do a background check on both of them; this needs more than just a records check. Find out how long they’ve been in business, how long they’ve lived where they live, all that stuff.”

  “This is looking like a dead end to me, Holly.”

  “I don’t think it is, Harry. I mean, I think the trail is meant to end with Pellegrino, if somebody investigates, but I don’t think that’s where the trail ends.”

  “All right, I’ll put a couple of men on it.”

  “Thanks. My people are on the search for the forty-caliber. I’ll call you if they find something.”

  “See you later.”

  Holly had lunch at her desk and worked on administrative matters for most of the afternoon. A little after four, Hurd Wallace walked into her office, bearing two plastic-wrapped packages. He held them up for her to see.

  “You found the forty-caliber.”

  “With the silencer attached. You pegged where it would be. And there’s this,” Hurd said, setting the larger of the two packages on her desk.

  “What is it?”

  “Open it.”

  Holly put on latex gloves, then unwrapped the plastic cover. Inside was a leather rifle case. Handling it carefully, she unzipped the sodden case, revealing a Winchester .22 rifle with a scope attached. In another zippered pocket was an eight-inch-long silencer. “Bingo,” she said. “Dust them, then collect a specimen bullet and a shell casing from both of them. When you’re finished with them, send a patrolman down to the Miami FBI office with them; deliver to Harry Crisp personally. Also, run ownership checks on both weapons. I know the pistol belonged to Carlos Alvarez; it’ll be interesting to see if we can trace an owner for the rifle.”

  “Will do,” Hurd said. He took the weapons away.

  Holly called Harry Crisp.

  “Hello?”

  “Harry, I’ve had a fruitful day. What about you?”

  “Did you find the pistol?”

  “You first.”

  “Okay, neither of the Pellegrinos existed six years ago. I’m going to have them picked up and printed.”

  “Harry, don’t do that. Have them photographed and see if you can get a match from your records. You have an optical matching system in Washington, don’t you?”

  “Yeah, I guess that’s a better idea. Now what have you got?”

  “A forty-caliber Heckler and Koch and silencer and a twenty-two Winchester rifle with a scope and a silencer.”

  “Great.”

  “They’ll be messengered down to you tonight.”

  “Don’t do that, just overnight them directly to Washington.” He gave her the address and a case number. “I’ll send the bullet and shell casings we have, and they’ll have everything tomorrow morning. W
e should have the report by the close of business tomorrow.”

  “That’s good.”

  “Question: who was the connection between Carlos Alvarez and Pio Pellegrino?”

  “Oh, I forgot to give you that. I think it was a guy named Trini Rodriguez; you should run a check on him, too. He was seen in the restaurant on one occasion, and he was one of a group of guys, including Carlos, who met weekly at the firing range.”

  “You think the range is dirty?”

  “No, the owner is ex-army, and he was very helpful. He’s straight.”

  “Okay, if you say so. My check on Carlos turned up a clean sheet, too,” Holly said.

  “Yeah, he was straight, until he got involved in this.”

  “What turned him, money?”

  “Yeah, and a lot of it. He bought his girl an expensive diamond ring, for one thing. I think he thought he’d do these jobs, then get out clean. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have used his own pistol in one of the murders. He thought nobody could ever connect him to any of his victims, and he was probably right, except he didn’t count on getting blown away by the people who hired him.”

  “They never do, do they?” Harry said.

  “Get back to me, Harry.” She hung up as Hurd walked into her office.

  “The rifle had no prints on it,” he said. “I guess they were washed away by being underwater for a few days. But we picked up a pretty good thumbprint on the magazine of the pistol, and it isn’t Carlos’s print. I think the only reason we got it was because the magazine had some oil on it. We’re running it now.”

  “That’s great, Hurd. When you’re done with the weapons, send them to the FBI lab in Washington; here’s the address.” She handed him the paper. “I think we might be getting somewhere.”

  “I’m glad,” Hurd said. “Holly, I think this is going to be my last day on the job.”

  “So soon?” Holly asked. “I’d hoped you’d stay on for at least a couple more weeks, for a smooth transition.”

  “It’s done; I’ve broken up my duties and reassigned them. Here’s a list.” He put a file on her desk. “Everybody’s briefed; I’m now superfluous.”

  Holly stood up. “Thank you, Hurd, for always doing a superb job. I’m going to miss you.” She shook his hand.

  “I’ll miss you, too, Holly,” he said.

  For a moment, Holly thought she saw a flash of emotion on Hurd’s usually impassive face.