Orchid Beach hb-1

by Stuart Woods

  “I grew up in Delano.”

  “Your folks still there?”

  “Both dead, Mom eight years ago, Dad six. He didn’t take much interest in living after she went.”

  “My mom’s gone, too, but Ham had the army to keep him going.”

  “Dad was a lawyer, but he didn’t love it enough for it to keep him going. A month after she died, he closed the office, and after that, he hardly left the house. Not even golf could keep him interested, and he had always been an enthusiastic golfer.”

  “My dad, too. Just loves it. Barney Noble told me to bring him out to Palmetto Gardens to play sometime. Oh, I forgot to tell you, they knew each other in the army—they served in the same outfit in Vietnam.”

  “Connections, connections,” Jackson said absently. “I belong to the Dunes Club; tell your dad I’ll take him there when he visits.” He looked at her. “You said you play?”

  “Yeah, but it’s been almost a year.”

  “You got clubs?”

  “Yeah. Ham gave them to me for Christmas last year, I think hoping to get me out on the course more, but I was always working.”

  “You want to play this afternoon?”

  “Sure, why not? You know, this is the first day I haven’t worked since I got here.”

  “You got a handle on the job yet?”

  “Pretty much. Chet had the department superbly organized. What I have to do mostly is not screw it up. What I haven’t got a handle on is these shootings.”

  “You sound discouraged.”

  “I’m at a dead end. The department has done the job it was supposed to, but we just don’t have anything to go on.”

  “You have no idea why somebody might want to kill Chet and Hank?”

  She looked at him closely. “This doesn’t go any further.”

  “Right.”

  “When Chet hired me he intimated that he had a serious problem that he would brief me on when I arrived in town. Wouldn’t say more than that. Then, the evening I arrived, we talked on the phone, and he told me that he was meeting somebody, and he’d have a lot to tell me the following morning, when I reported for work.”

  “He didn’t give you any idea what it was about?”

  She shook her head. “Not much. Part of the problem was that there was somebody in the department who was working both sides of the street. He said he had an idea, but he didn’t tell me.”

  “You have any idea now?”

  “No, not really. It could be anybody.”

  “Have you told anybody on the force—anybody at all in Orchid—about this?”

  “No.”

  “Good.”

  “I’m afraid I’ll tell the wrong person. I’ve been all through Chet’s office, looking for some notes or something, but there was nothing.” She looked at Jackson. “I wonder if he could have left something with his lawyer, just in case.”

  “He didn’t do that,” Jackson replied.

  “How do you know?”

  “Because I’m his lawyer.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me that before?”

  “It didn’t come up. Mind you, all I’ve ever done for him was to close the sale of his house a couple of years ago, and draw up his will.”

  “When did he make the will?”

  “He signed it about ten days before he was shot.”

  “You think he thought his life was in danger?”

  “He didn’t give any indication of that, but who knows? It was pretty simple and straightforward. He left everything…” Jackson stopped. “I’m sorry. That, of course, is a client-attorney confidence.”

  “Did Chet have any family you know of? I haven’t been able to discover any.”

  “No.”

  “I see. You’d have thought that if Chet was worried enough to make a will, he’d have told somebody else what was going on, or at least, left some evidence with somebody.”

  “Maybe he did,” Jackson said.

  “You got any ideas?”

  “It could only have been Hank Doherty.”

  “Of course. That has to be the motive for Hank’s murder.”

  “Did you go through Hank’s place?”

  “With a fine-toothed comb. I went through his desk and his safe myself. The safe was open.”

  “So, somebody shoots Chet, then thinks, holy shit, he might have told Hank Doherty something, so he goes over there and kills Hank.”

  “And finds whatever Chet gave him, which is why I didn’t find it.”

  “And you’re sure it couldn’t still be there?”

  “Don’t see how it could be. The house has been cleaned out. Hank’s daughter took some memorabilia, and his housemaid took the rest. Her church sold some of it at a tag sale the following weekend.”

  “So everything is now scattered.”

  “Irretrievably, I would think.”

  “Did you search Chet’s house?”

  Holly stopped walking. “No. It wasn’t a crime scene, so it just didn’t occur to me. Boy, am I stupid!”

  “I’ve got a key.”

  “Then let’s get over there,” she said, starting for the house.

  “Hang on,” he said, catching her wrist. “I don’t know that I’d go out there in broad daylight. You never know who’s watching. Let’s wait until tonight.”

  “Okay, I guess it can wait until then.”

  “Besides, you and I have a golf date.”

  Holly did some stretching, then took a couple of practice swings and addressed the ball. She tried to relax and make an easy swing. There was the sound of a metal driver striking the ball, and she looked up to see it going high and straight down the fairway.

  “Very nice,” Jackson said. “That’s a good two hundred and ten yards.” He stepped up to the ball, went through his routine and swung mightily.

  “That’s a good two hundred and fifty yards,” Holly said. “Trouble is, it’s in the trees. Take a mulligan.”

  Jackson made a grumbling sound.

  “And don’t hit it so hard this time.”

  He swung again; this time his slice was gentler. The ball landed ten yards beyond Holly’s but to the right of the fairway. They got into the cart and started driving.

  For seventeen holes, they remained more or less even, trading the lead hole by hole. They were tied going into the eighteenth, and they both had good drives, but Holly’s second shot went into a bunker, while Jackson made the green in two. It took Holly two strokes to get out of the sand, and she three-putted, for a double bogey. Jackson parred the hole.

  Jackson totted up their scores. “You had a ninety-one, I had an eighty-nine.”

  Holly thought she had never seen a man so relieved, but she couldn’t resist puncturing his balloon. “What’s your handicap?” she asked.

  “Twelve.”

  “Mine’s fifteen. You owe me three strokes.”

  His face fell. “It’s rude to beat your host, you know.”

  “I know, and I’m so sorry.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  “I know. I lied.”

  They both burst out laughing.

  “Come on,” he said. “Let’s get some dinner, then we’ll go out to Chet’s house.”

  CHAPTER

  26

  T hey drove north on A1A from the center of the town and turned onto the North Bridge, one of two serving the barrier island. Daisy sat in the rear seat, calmly looking out the window. Before they reached the mainland, Jackson turned off at an exit.

  “It’s on Egret Island,” he said, pointing ahead. “It’s a beautiful place, the sort of property that would have made a very expensive development, but it was bought up in the late thirties by people who built fairly modest houses on fairly small lots. Some of them have been renovated and enlarged, and it’s getting to the point where waterfront property is rare enough that people are buying two houses, tearing them down and building a large one.”

  They were driving down a fairly ordinary middle-class residential road, with two
or three larger, more expensive houses among them, brightly lit in the darkness.

  “Chet’s place is right down at the tip of the island,” Jackson said. “By the way, a couple of your officers, Hurd Wallace and Bob Hurst, live out here—or at least, Wallace’s ex-wife does. She got the place in the divorce.”

  The road narrowed, and the houses on either side disappeared. Holly saw a FOR SALE sign offering thirty acres.

  “As you can see, the land along here has never been built on. A local guy put together several small parcels some years back, and I think he hopes to get a lot of money for it from some developer who wants to put in a gated subdivision. He wanted Chet’s property, too, but the old lady who owned it took a liking to Chet, and he got a real deal. And, until a subdivision gets built, he has a lot of seclusion out here.”

  The road was ending up ahead, and Jackson turned left into a driveway marked by a mailbox. “The house is just around this bend,” he said, following the road and passing through an open gate. They emerged into a clearing, and a small frame house ahead was illuminated by their headlights. When Jackson switched off the lights, it was very dark outside. He reached into the glove compartment and took out a flashlight. “Come on,” he said.

  They left the car and walked up a flagstone path to the house, with Daisy going on ahead. “This must be very pretty in the daytime,” Holly said.

  “It is. Chet could fish off a little dock right behind the house.”

  Holly stopped him. “Let’s walk around the house before we go in. Can I have the flashlight?” He handed it over, and Holly began a very slow walk around the place, playing the flashlight carefully over each window. She paused for a long time at the back door, then continued her walk. “There,” she said finally, pointing the light at the middle of a window. She pushed a bush aside and got close to it.

  “What?” Jackson asked.

  Holly pointed at the spot where the two sashes met. “This window has been jimmied,” she said, “and the intruder split a little piece off the wood right here. He pushed some sort of thin blade between the sashes and pushed the lock open.” She pointed at some smudges on the glass, rubbed a finger over them, then rubbed her fingers together. “Talcum powder,” she said. “He used rubber gloves. Some brands have talcum on them to make them easier to put on.”

  They continued to the front door, and Jackson opened it with his key and flipped a switch. Two lamps came on. They were standing in a good-sized living room. A desk in a corner helped create a small office area. There was a sofa and a pair of chairs in front of the fireplace, and another corner held a round dining table and six chairs.

  “I expect that’s where poker got played,” Holly said. The room was extremely neat and tidy. “I’d half expected the place to be trashed,” she said. “Looks like our intruder was very neat.”

  “Or his cleaning lady came in behind them,” Jackson said. “Chet shared one with Hank Doherty.”

  “I met her,” Holly said, “and I’ve got her number in my notebook, I think.” She dug her notebook out of her bag and found the number. “Let’s phone her before we start looking.” She sat down at Marley’s desk, picked up the phone and dialed the number.

  “Shouldn’t you be careful about obscuring fingerprints?” Jackson asked.

  “There won’t be any fingerprints; he was wearing rubber gloves, remember?”

  “Right.”

  “Hello, is this Mary White?”

  “Yes,” the woman replied.

  “This is Deputy Chief Holly Barker. We met out at Hank Doherty’s house a while back.”

  “That’s right, I remember.”

  “Ms. White, I understand that you worked for Chief Marley as well as Mr. Doherty, is that right?”

  “That’s right. I’m still going out to his place once a week to dust, while he’s in the hospital.”

  “That’s good. Do you remember when Chief Marley and Mr. Doherty were shot?”

  “Sure, I do.”

  “After that night, when was the first time you went to Chief Marley’s house?”

  “Let’s see, it would have been two days later.”

  “Did you let yourself in with your own key?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Did you notice anything unusual about the place that day? Had anything been disturbed?”

  “Well…it was just a little messier than it usually was. Chief Marley is a very neat man. I mean, it wasn’t real messy, just a little bit. Things that were stacked up on his desk were a little bit messed up, but I straightened them. And there were two beer cans on the big table in the living room, half full. First time I ever found a beer can in the house. The chief would clean up after himself and his poker friends after they were there.”

  “I see. Ms. White, I’m out at the chief’s house right now. Do you know if he had some special place in the house to hide valuables? A safe, or a lockbox, maybe a hidden place?”

  “No, I don’t believe he did, except for that little box next to his desk. It’s one of those safe things that’s supposed to be fireproof, you know?”

  Holly looked around and saw the box on the floor, against the wall. “I see it,” she said. “Is that the only place you can think of?”

  “Well, I don’t think the chief had much in the way of valuables, except for his guns and fishing stuff and the TV. I guess those were the only things somebody might want to take.”

  “Thank you, Ms. White,” she said. “You’ve been a big help.”

  “Glad to do it,” the woman said, then hung up.

  “Fire safe,” Holly said, picking up the box and placing it on the desk. She reached to open it, and the hinged lid came off in her hands. “And somebody’s used a crowbar on it.” She removed the contents and spread them out on the desk. “Insurance policies, warranties on some electronics, checkbook, just ordinary stuff.”

  “No notes or other papers?” Jackson asked, rifling through the files.

  “Nope, not that I can see.” Holly opened the checkbook and went quickly through the ledger. “Nothing unusual here, just the regular bills he paid, and a few checks made out to cash.” She picked up the files and papers and returned them to the box, then she started going through the desk drawers. They were very neat and contained nothing out of the ordinary. “Okay, let’s go through the whole house, every room, every closet and cupboard. Look for another lockbox or a loose board—any place he might hide something.”

  “Shall we split up?” Jackson said. “I’ll take the bedroom, you take the kitchen.”

  “Okay, but let’s both go through the living room, first.” The two of them searched the room carefully, looking under furniture, under the rugs, behind everything. Holly checked the gun and fishing racks, but found nothing. Jackson went into the bedroom, and Holly took the kitchen. She went through every cupboard, checking every can for a false top and emptying cereal boxes. She searched the refrigerator and freezer, opening packages wrapped in foil and checking frozen food packages for signs of being opened.

  Jackson came in from the bedroom. “Nothing in there, how you doing here?”

  “Zip,” Holly said.

  “Looks like if there was something here or at Hank Doherty’s, whoever was looking must have found it.”

  “His notebook,” Holly said.

  “What about it?”

  “There isn’t one. Every cop is trained to keep a notebook; you never know when you might have to testify in court about the details of some incident. There’s no notebook here, and there was no notebook in the personal effects the hospital gave me.”

  “So the shooters took it.”

  “Yeah. I reckon that after they shot Chet, they took his notebook from his pocket and the shotgun from his car; then they went to Hank Doherty’s house, killed him and searched the place. It was fairly neat when I got there. Then they came here and turned over Chet’s place, taking some care to keep it neat. They’d have had the whole night to do it. Any panic they felt would have passed, so the
y took their time, even had a beer.”

  “And left no traces, no prints.”

  “Real pros,” Holly said.

  “No mistakes?”

  “Not so far. And if they don’t make one soon, we’re never going to clear these crimes.”

  “You ready to go home?” he asked.

  “Whose home?”

  “Mine. I’m not letting you go until Monday.”

  Holly glanced at her watch. “Let me try Ham again first. By the time we get home it will be past his bedtime.” She called from the phone on the desk, using her credit card. This time the phone rang only once; there followed an electronic shriek and a recorded message. “This number has been permanently disconnected at the request of the customer. There is no forwarding number.”

  “I must have dialed wrong,” she said. She made the call again and got the same message. “I don’t understand,” she said, hanging up.

  “Maybe your dad moved,” Jackson said.

  “Without telling me? And without leaving a forwarding phone number? That would be very unlike him.”

  “Is there somewhere else he might be?”

  “Not that I can think of.”

  “A woman? Maybe he’s got a new girlfriend, and he moved in with her.”

  “That’s possible, I suppose. Well, I can call him at his base office on Monday and find out what’s going on.”

  “Good idea. Let’s get out of here.”

  They locked up and got back into Jackson’s car.

  “I need to stop by my trailer to pick up a few things,” Holly said. “I hadn’t planned to make a weekend of it.”

  “Sure,” Jackson said.

  It was after midnight now, and with no traffic they made good time to Riverview Park. As they got out of the car, Daisy jumped out in a hurry, nearly knocking Holly down.

  “Daisy?” she called. “What’s wrong?”

  Daisy had her nose to the ground, running along the path to the trailer. Now her hackles were up, and she was standing at the door, sniffing, staring at it as if she could see through it, a low growl coming from her throat.

  Holly put a finger to her lips and raised a hand for Jackson to stand still. She dug the Beretta out of her bag and walked quickly up the path, her keys in her left hand, the pistol at shoulder height. She put an ear to the trailer door and listened. Then the door swung open.