Orchid Beach hb-1

by Stuart Woods

  “Can I check back with you to see if you find my Colt thirty-two?”

  “Sam, you’re pressing your luck.”

  He held up his hands in front of him. “Yes, ma’am, I get the picture. We’ll be on our way just as soon as we can get our stuff in the van.”

  “That’s the idea,” Holly said. “Good luck.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.”

  Holly walked back to the car, where Daisy was looking anxiously out the window. “I’m back,” she said to the dog. “No need to worry. We’ll go home and get you some dinner.”

  The mention of dinner got a favorable reaction.

  When Holly got back to her trailer, there was a car in her parking spot. Daisy made a low noise in her throat. Holly drew her gun.

  CHAPTER

  17

  T he car was a Toyota Camry, late eighties, before the new design came along. She was impressed by its condition—no dents or rust, clean, polished. Daisy was still making the noise; she preceded Holly around the corner of the trailer.

  “Easy there,” Jackson Oxenhandler was saying, holding out his hands toward the dog, as if to fend her off.

  “Daisy, stop,” Holly said. Daisy stopped, but she continued to growl.

  “I’m not a burglar,” the lawyer said to the dog. “Look,” he said, holding up a large paper bag, “I brought dinner.”

  “Daisy, he’s all right. Good dog,” Holly said. Daisy stopped growling, walked over to Oxenhandler and sniffed the bag.

  “Good dog,” Oxenhandler said. He offered her the back of his hand to sniff. “Doesn’t smell as good as the bag, does it?”

  “Who invited you to dinner?” Holly asked.

  “Nobody. I’m inviting you.” He held up the bag again. “You like barbecue?”

  Holly’s stomach woke up and growled, as if on cue. “I like good barbecue,” she said.

  “This is the best,” Oxenhandler said, pointing at the bag. “Pit-roasted, hand-basted, from an extremely attractive pig.”

  “How come you’re so anxious to go out with me?” she asked.

  “Because I find you overwhelmingly attractive,” he replied.

  “That’s hard to argue with, I guess.”

  He held up the bag again. “It’s really good barbecue.”

  Holly’s mouth watered. “I accept,” she said, then smiled.

  “That took a long time,” he said.

  “What?”

  “That smile. First one I’ve seen on you.”

  “First one I’ve worn since I came to this town,” she said. “You want a beer?”

  “Sure.”

  She motioned him off her doorstep, unlocked the trailer door and motioned Daisy inside. “Daisy, bring the gentleman a beer,” she said. Daisy disappeared and came back half a minute later with a Heineken in her jaws, surrendering it to Oxenhandler.

  “That,” he said, “is a very valuable dog.”

  “I’d like a beer, too, Daisy,” Holly said, and the dog brought her one.

  “Did she close the refrigerator door?” he asked.

  “You bet.” Holly reached inside the trailer, got an opener and cracked both bottles. She dragged up a couple of folding chairs and they sat and watched the Indian River.

  “Hope this isn’t too much of a shock,” he said. “I mean, I hope I’m not being too persistent.”

  “I like persistence in a man,” she replied. Involuntarily, she thought of Colonel James Bruno, then dismissed him from her mind. “Up to a point.”

  “Point taken. You hungry yet?”

  “Let’s finish our beer.”

  “Good idea. I hear you’re an army brat.”

  “Brat, filly and…older filly. Grew up in it, joined it, stayed twenty years.”

  “You don’t look old enough to have done anything for twenty years.”

  “I’m thirty-eight and a half, if you’re fishing. How old are you?”

  “Forty-one.”

  “How long you been practicing law?”

  “Six years.”

  She frowned. “You have trouble getting out of law school?”

  “I had trouble getting in,” he replied. “Once in, I did okay.”

  “What did you do before?”

  “I was a cop in Miami.”

  “What kind of cop?”

  “Street, uniformed. I wasn’t suited to it.”

  “How long did it take you to figure that out?”

  “Oh, about eight years. They finally made it clear to me.”

  “Who did?”

  “All the other cops, especially my superiors.”

  “What were your shortcomings as a police officer?”

  “Do I have to?”

  “Yes.”

  “I was too sensitive. I tended to feel for the people I arrested. I tended not to feel for most of the cops I knew.”

  “How so?”

  “Too many of them were unnecessarily violent, on the take. I saw them hurt people, lie to their superiors, perjure themselves in court.”

  “What percentage of all cops were like that?”

  “I don’t know, maybe fifteen, twenty percent of the ones I knew. Trouble was, those were the ones I seemed to get partnered with or put to work for.”

  “So you left and went to law school?”

  “First I testified against my partner; after that it was easy to leave.”

  “I’ll bet. What did your partner do?”

  “He beat a man to death with a baton.”

  “And you saw it happen?”

  “I was driving. He told me to stop alongside a guy walking along the street. I stopped. My partner got out and started hitting the guy in the head. By the time I got there, the guy’s brains were on the sidewalk. I asked my partner why he’d done it, and he said the guy hadn’t paid off. He’d apparently been taking a cut of the guy’s drug sales.”

  “What did you do? Immediately, I mean.”

  “I arrested him, cuffed him, threw him in the back of the patrol car, took him down to the station and booked him. A crowd gathered at the booking desk—a crowd of cops. The shift was changing.”

  “What did they do?”

  “They locked me up.”

  “On what charge?”

  “Murder, of course; my partner fingered me for the killing.”

  “Jesus.”

  “Yeah, it wasn’t much fun.”

  “And how did you get out of that mess?”

  “Fortunately, a lawyer—a public defender—saw them lock me up and called Internal Affairs. I’ve had a soft spot for public defenders ever since. IA got there before somebody killed me. Fortunately, also, there was a witness to the event on the street—a teenaged Cuban girl. She backed me up, and eventually, after nearly a year on administrative leave, I testified, and my partner got a life sentence.”

  “What kind of life sentence?”

  “The kind that makes parole possible after ten years.”

  “And how long ago was this?”

  “Twelve years ago. He’s out.”

  “Any idea where he is?”

  “He’s in Miami, working for a security company run by an ex-cop. Cops take care of their own, you know.”

  “They didn’t take care of you.”

  “I wasn’t one of their own, and they knew it.”

  They were quiet for a little while.

  “I’m hungry,” Holly said. “You want another beer?”

  “Yeah, thanks.”

  She gave him some dishes and napkins, then got them both another beer.

  “How come you left the army after twenty? Why didn’t you stay for the whole thirty?”

  “I decided my career was pretty much at an end.”

  “How come?”

  “I accused my commanding officer of attempted rape and sexual harrassment. He was acquitted at the court-martial.”

  “He really tried to rape you?”

  “He tried real hard. It all started with his asking me out. When I wouldn’t go, the…re
marks began, and that degenerated into grabbing. I asked him to stop; he wouldn’t. Finally, one day, he grabbed me and I hit him. I hit pretty good. That’s when he started tearing my clothes off.”

  “You fought him off?”

  “I got a knee into his crotch, and he seemed to lose interest.”

  “So you turned him in?”

  “Not until I found out he’d been giving a young lieutenant in the outfit a hard time. I figured, with the two of us to testify, we’d have a case. I was wrong.”

  “He got off scot-free.”

  “He did.”

  “Looks like you and I are sort of black sheep, doesn’t it?” he said.

  “You could say that.” They plunged into the barbecue. It was sensational. “This is sensational barbecue,” she said. “Best I’ve ever had.”

  “I know a guy,” he replied.

  “So tell me about law school.”

  “I applied at a dozen places, all out of state. They all liked my academic record—I had a degree from Florida State—but they didn’t like the idea of a thirty-two-year-old first-year law student. I finally got into the University of Georgia Law School, after I hinted that I might sue for age discrimination if I didn’t get in.”

  “How’d you do?”

  “Third in my class; edited the law review.”

  “So how come you’re not practicing corporate law in some glass tower somewhere?”

  He smiled sadly. “I like criminals. I mean, I understand them, somehow—what makes them do what they do. It makes it easier to defend them. You know, I don’t think I’ve ever defended an innocent man until today. And, of course, ol’ Sam possessed an unlicensed weapon and some drugs, so I guess he wasn’t innocent, after all.”

  “I just said good-bye to Sam,” she said. “Right before I got home.”

  “He’s going somewhere?”

  “At my suggestion. We don’t need him around here.”

  “I can see it’s going to be tough to make a living in Orchid with you around.”

  She laughed. The phone rang. She got up and went into the trailer. “Hello?”

  “Ms…. Chief Barker?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s Dr. Green, at the hospital.”

  “Yes, Dr. Green?” She had the awful feeling that Chet Marley was dead.

  “Chester Marley is awake,” he said.

  “I’m on my way,” she replied, then hung up.

  CHAPTER

  18

  H olly started to change out of her uniform. “I’ve got to go to the hospital,” she called through the open door. “Can you give me a lift to the airport? My car’s there.”

  “Sure, glad to. Something to do with Chet Marley?”

  She came out of the trailer, buttoning her blouse. “Sort of.”

  “Okay,” he said. They got into his car and drove off. Daisy sat in the backseat.

  Holly was quiet, wondering what was going to happen next. Probably, Chet wouldn’t be able to talk. Never mind, at least she could let him know she was on the job.

  “I hope Chet hasn’t died?” Oxenhandler said.

  “No.”

  “Why are you being so closemouthed about his condition?”

  “Somebody tried to kill him,” she said. “They could try again.”

  “They? There was more than one?”

  “Didn’t Sam Sweeney tell you that?”

  “No, he didn’t. He told me he knew nothing about it. Did he tell you different?”

  “He said he heard the shot but didn’t see anything. He thought there were two people.”

  Oxenhandler drove along quietly for a while. “Something stinks in your police department,” he said.

  “How long have you thought that?”

  “A while. Chet said something to me once.”

  “I didn’t even know you knew him. What did he say?”

  “It’s a small town; everybody knows everybody. I had a few beers with him once, about three weeks ago. We were talking about the town. I said it was a nice town. He said it was going to be nicer before he was through being a cop. I asked how it could be any nicer, and he said it could have a better police department, and he was working on that.”

  “He was,” Holly said. “That’s what got him shot.”

  “You know who did it?”

  “No, but I’m going to find out.”

  “Good,” he said. He drove to the main entrance to the hospital and stopped.

  “I’ve got to pick up my car at the airport,” she said.

  “You go on in and see Chet. I’ll stay here with Daisy, and we’ll pick up your car later.”

  “Okay. Daisy, stay here with Jackson and be a good girl.” She got out of the car and ran up the steps to the hospital, then took the elevator to the surgical floor and went to intensive care. Dr. Green was waiting for her. “How is he?” she asked.

  “Come take a look,” the doctor said. He led her into the ward. Chet Marley’s bed had been cranked into a sitting position, and he was taking soup from a nurse. He turned and looked her way.

  “Holly!” he said, and he sounded weak.

  “Hey, Chet,” she said, taking his hand. “How you feeling?”

  “Kind of tired. Am I in the base hospital?”

  “No, Chet, you’re back in Orchid Beach.”

  Chet thought about that for a moment. “You got here kind of quick, didn’t you?” he asked.

  “No, some time has passed since we last met. You’ve been hurt.”

  He put his hand to the bandage on his head. “What happened?”

  “Somebody shot you.”

  “Who?”

  “I was hoping you could tell me.”

  Chet shook his head. “Last thing I remember, you and Ham and I were having dinner. I hired you, didn’t I?”

  “That’s right, Chet, and I came to work a few days ago. You were hurt before we could talk.”

  He pushed the soup away. “Boy, I’m tired,” he said. “None of this makes any sense.”

  Dr. Green spoke up. “We’d better let him get some sleep. You can talk more tomorrow.”

  “Yeah,” Chet said, closing his eyes. The nurse lowered the bed, and he seemed to drift off.

  Holly left the ward with the doctor. “Is he going to be all right?”

  “Except for his memory loss, he seems to be recovering.”

  “Is he going to get any of his memory back?”

  “Hard to say. He seems perfectly aware of everything up until a few weeks ago, but as you saw, he remembers nothing about the shooting. That could come back to him, if the relevant brain tissue hasn’t been destroyed, but I can’t promise you it will. Come back tomorrow morning, and let’s see how he’s doing then.”

  “All right. Thank you for calling me, Doctor, and let’s keep this quiet.”

  “Of course. I’ll see that contact with him is limited. The nurses already know they’re not supposed to talk about him.”

  “See you tomorrow,” Holly said, shaking his hand. She took the elevator downstairs and walked out to the car. Daisy was in the front seat now, her head in Jackson’s lap.

  “I see you two are getting along,” Holly said. “Backseat, Daisy.” Daisy jumped into the backseat.

  “We did fine,” Jackson replied. “She’s very nice when she’s not threatening to tear my throat out. I hope she doesn’t sleep with you.”

  “She does,” Holly lied.

  “Oh. How’s Chet?”

  “Can you keep your mouth shut?”

  “It’s one of the things lawyers do best. If we talked, the world would tremble.” He started the car and headed for the airport.

  “He’s awake and talking.”

  “That’s great! Who shot him?”

  “He doesn’t remember that part—nothing, in fact, since our last meeting, when he hired me.”

  “That’s bad news,” Jackson said. “Is his memory going to improve?”

  “Nobody knows. I’ll come back to see him tomorrow and
see how he’s doing.”

  “Do you really think they might try again?”

  “If they thought he could identify them, they’d have to.”

  “Has it ever occurred to you,” Jackson said, “that they might find it convenient for you to be dead?”

  “Yes,” she said. “Somebody had a go at me very recently.” She told him about the incident with the gas bottle and the parachute flare. “But I can take care of myself,” she said finally.

  “I hope you won’t mind if I help,” he said.

  “And how would you do that?”

  “I’ll just keep an eye on you, mostly in the evenings.”

  She was surprised at how much the offer pleased her. “I think I could get used to that,” she said.

  “Who do you suspect in the department?” he asked, changing the subject.

  “I don’t know who to suspect. When you told me about the gun in the van, I thought I had Hurd Wallace cold, but it turns out that his ex-wife’s place was burgled three months ago. She reported the gun stolen at that time. The most plausible scenario I have right now is that your client bought the gun from whoever stole it.”

  “You know that’s not the case,” he said.

  “How do I know that?”

  “Because whoever shot Chet killed Hank Doherty. Sammy didn’t even know who Doherty was, let alone have a motive for killing him.”

  “Why do you think the same people killed Hank?”

  “I hear things. I heard he was killed with the chief’s shotgun.”

  “You heard right.”

  “Well, we know Chet didn’t kill him, don’t we?”

  “That’s what I think.”

  “So Sam Sweeney is out of it.”

  “Yes, he is. Frankly, I was afraid somebody might kill him, once he was identified as a suspect. That’s why I ran him out of town; it would be easy to hang it on a dead guy.”

  “Good move.”

  “I wonder where Sam’s Colt thirty-two is?” she said.

  “In a killer’s pocket, probably.” He drove up to the airport terminal and stopped. “I’ll follow you home,” he said.

  “Don’t bother, I’ll be all right.”

  “Are you armed?”

  “No.”

  “I’ll follow you.” He bent down and kissed her.

  She kissed him back, and she liked it. “Whatever you say, counselor,” she whispered.