by Stuart Woods
“What the hell are you doing?” he demanded, trying to get to his feet.
Holly dug her gun out of her bag. “This part is my job. You stay behind me!” She started across the dunes toward the house, with Jackson running behind her. As she hit the back porch she threw down her bag and struggled with the glass sliding doors.
Jackson reached the porch and came up with his key. “Hang on,” he yelled, unlocking the door. “Now go!”
Holly slid open the door and stepped into the house, pistol out in front of her in both hands, finger on the trigger guard. A tinny voice was screaming, over and over, “Unauthorized entry in progress! Vacate the premises at once! The police are on the way!”
Jackson stepped inside and disarmed the alarm with the keypad beside the door. The voice and siren went silent.
Holly listened for sounds of someone inside the house. Nothing. The front door stood open, and she heard the truck start up and its tires spit gravel. “Come on!” she yelled. “Get your shotgun!” She ran out of the house and down the stairs. The rear of the truck was just disappearing behind some foliage, and she kept running. As she reached the driveway, she caught one more glimpse of it way ahead as it turned right and headed toward Orchid.
Jackson caught up to her and stopped, the shotgun in his hands. “Did you get the plate number?”
“No, all I saw was a big ‘Ford’ stamped into the tailgate. It was a Florida plate, though.” She turned and ran for the house. By the time Jackson got there, she was on the phone, dialing 911.
“Orchid Beach Police, what is your emergency?” the operator asked.
“This is Chief Barker. I interrupted a burglary in progress south of town. The suspect is a white male in a white Ford pickup truck, Florida plates, I didn’t get the number, heading north on A1A near the south end of town. Intercept and detain; approach with caution, he may be armed.”
“Got it, Chief.”
“Call me on my cell phone with any sightings.”
“Roger.”
Holly hung up. “We may get him yet.”
“Let’s pursue him,” Jackson said. “He hasn’t got that much of a start.”
“He’s a mile away by now, maybe two, and my car doesn’t have a siren or a light; let’s let the patrol cars handle it.” She went out onto the porch and picked up her bag, still panting from her run. She took deep breaths and let her adrenaline production get back to normal.
When she came back inside, Jackson was sitting on the couch, getting his breath. The phone rang. “Hello,” he said. “Yes, the code is three-six-six-nine. The burglar has gone and the police are already here. Thanks.” He hung up. “That was the alarm company. They might have been a little quicker to call.”
“What do you think the guy was looking for?” Holly asked.
“I don’t know. Let me have a look around.” Jackson checked his home office. “He’s been through my desk, and there’s a file drawer open.”
“Anything missing?”
Jackson went through the files, then checked his desk drawers. “Nothing,” he said.
“I guess we interrupted him before he could get any further.”
“Maybe so.”
“Have you ever had a burglary out here?” she asked.
“I had an attempt more than a year ago. The alarm went off, and by the time the cops got here whoever set it off was gone. They figured the alarm scared him off.”
“How come you’ve got a strobe light on top of your house, connected to the burglar alarm?”
“Just an idea I had,” he said. “After the alarm went off that time, I thought, suppose I’m walking on the beach and the alarm goes off? I might not hear it over the surf, so I installed the light.”
“Good idea,” she said. “It worked.”
“Even if not in the manner I imagined.”
Holly’s cell phone rang, and she dug it out of her bag. “Chief Barker.”
“Chief, it’s Jimmy Weathers. I’m duty officer today. No sign of your white pickup anywhere on A1A, south or north. We’re checking side streets now.”
“Good, Jimmy, keep it up and call me when you know something.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Holly hung up. “Maybe he was looking for you,” she said.
Jackson sat bolt upright. “Shit, the airplane! Come on!” He sprinted out of the house and across the dunes, with Holly close behind. The airplane was where they had left it, but the incoming tide was over its wheels. Jackson ran to it, opened the luggage compartment and got out a T-shaped bar. “Come help me,” he yelled.
Holly ran to him as he reached under the water and attached the bar to the nosewheel. Holly grabbed one side of the T and pulled with all her strength. For a moment, nothing happened; then, with the two of them pulling like oxen, the airplane began to move. They towed it well free of the surf.
“We’ve got to fly it out of here now,” Jackson said, “or pretty soon, all we’ll have left to roll on is soft, dry sand.” He hopped into the airplane. Holly got into the other seat, and Jackson got the engine started. “No time for a runup,” Jackson said, shoving the throttle forward. The airplane started to roll, slowly at first, then faster. Soon they were back in the air. They got their headsets on.
“Let’s look for the pickup,” Holly said.
“Why didn’t I think of that?”
“Fly right up A1A. It won’t be on the highway, but you can look out your side, and I’ll look out mine.”
“Right.”
Holly looked out over the passing subdivisions. “Can you make this thing fly slower?” she asked.
“Okay.” Jackson lowered the flaps and reduced power. “Okay, that’s seventy-five knots. I don’t want to go any slower. The controls are mushy enough as it is.”
“Well, don’t stall it,” Holly said. “Hey, I’ve got a white pickup over here.” She pointed. “No, I’ve got two.”
“I’ve got one over here, too, parked in front of a house.”
“Here’s another one. I’m beginning to get the feeling there are an awful lot of white pickups around here.”
“Your father drives one,” Jackson said.
“Oh, the hell with it, this isn’t doing any good. Let’s go back to the airport.”
“Right,” Jackson said. He went back to cruise power and retracted the flaps. “Here,” he said, taking his hands off the yoke. “You fly it.”
Holly grabbed the yoke on her side. “Are you nuts? I’ve never flown an airplane.”
“It’s not quantum physics, just keep her straight and level.”
Holly held on to the yoke tightly.
“Take your hands off for a second,” he said.
Holly removed her hands; the airplane continued to fly straight and level.
“See? You don’t need to strangle the yoke. You can fly her with a couple of fingers.” He reached over and adjusted something on the panel in front of Holly. “That’s your compass,” he said. “Now turn left to two hundred seventy degrees. Just turn the yoke.”
Holly turned left, overshot 270, then corrected.
“We’re already at traffic pattern altitude, which is a thousand feet AGL. See the field? Twelve o’clock and five miles?”
Holly looked out over the nose of the airplane. “Yes! I see the runway!”
“Very good. You see we’re approaching the runway at a forty-five-degree angle?”
“Yes.”
“When we’re one mile out, you’ll turn parallel to the runway; that’s called the downwind leg. I’ll announce our presence to the tower.” He called the tower and got clearance to land. “Okay, start your turn now. Just keep parallel to the runway.”
Holly made the turn.
“Now we’re going to put in a notch of flaps and reduce power,” Jackson said, performing the tasks. “When we get to the end of the runway, let the airplane descend to seven hundred and fifty feet.”
Holly did as she was told.
Jackson added another notch of flaps. �
��Now make a ninety-degree turn toward the runway, and descend to five hundred feet.” He reduced power further. When she had reached five hundred feet, he said, “Now turn for the runway, and you’re on final approach. Just point at the runway numbers.” He kept his hand on the throttle.
Holly watched the numbers come closer.
“Use the rudder pedals to help you stay on the center line. Now, start pulling back on the yoke. That’s called flaring. Further, further.” He helped her a little. “Get the nose up. Don’t want the nosewheel to touch first.”
Holly pulled back on the yoke, steering desperately with her feet to keep on the center line. The main wheels touched down with a little squeak.
“Now ease the yoke forward.”
She did so, and the nosewheel touched down.
“Excellent landing. Now steer with your feet. Use your toes for brakes, and make the first right turn and follow the yellow line to the flying club.”
Holly taxied to the club and parked the airplane where Jackson indicated. “Did I really land the thing all by myself?”
“All by yourself. Fun, huh?”
“A lot of fun. I want to learn how to do this.”
“Doris will be so pleased. Either she or her boyfriend, Fred, will be delighted to sign you up as a student.”
They got out of the airplane, tied it down and went inside.
Doris looked up. “I had a phone call about you,” she said.
“Who was it?”
“Wouldn’t give a name. I hung up on him.”
“Good girl. Don’t worry, I don’t think they’ll be reporting me to the FAA.”
The phone in Holly’s bag rang, and she dug it out. “Chief Barker.”
“It’s Jimmy, Chief. We’ve stopped three white Ford pickups, none of them with a single male occupant.”
“Did you take names and license numbers?”
“Sure did.”
“I’ll check them tomorrow,” she said. “I think you can cancel the alert now.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She hung up. “Nothing,” she said.
“We better get back to the house,” Jackson said. “It’s unlocked.”
“You know,” Holly said as they got into the car, “there may be something to what you said about flying as a seduction tool.”
“Yeah,” Jackson replied, “I think I can feel it working.”
“You, too? Let’s get home. Daisy can stay with Ham tonight.”
CHAPTER
34
T he middle of the following week, Holly had her job interview with the city council. She was ushered into the meeting room and reintroduced to all the councilmen, which was unnecessary, since she had long since learned their names.
John Westover did the initial talking. “I don’t believe you’ve met Ted Michaels, our city manager,” he said, indicating a chubby man in his middle thirties sitting at the end of the table.
Holly shook his hand. “Good to meet you, Ted.”
“Sorry I haven’t been in to introduce myself, but I’ve been on vacation,” Michaels said.
“Ted doesn’t have a vote in these proceedings, but we respect his opinion, and we’re glad to have it,” Westover said. “Now, Holly, we’ve received a number of applications, and we’ve interviewed three other people for the job of chief, including Hurd Wallace and two out-of-towners. You will be our final interviewee before we make a decision on who to hire. Hurd Wallace has told us that, if he is hired as chief, he will retain you as deputy chief. Should we give him the job, would you stay on in that capacity?”
This was a question Holly had not been expecting. “John, I don’t think I can give you an answer to that question. I’ve never discussed that possibility with Hurd, and, of course, I’ve never worked for him. I suppose I’ll just have to cross that bridge if I come to it.”
“Fair enough,” Westover said. “Now let me present the other side of the coin: if we hire you as chief, will you retain Hurd Wallace as your deputy?”
This one Holly had been expecting. “John, since I’ve been on the job, Hurd has conducted himself properly and has shown himself to be a competent police officer. I haven’t decided if I would need a deputy chief—Chet Marley operated without one for years—but if I decide that I do, Hurd would certainly be a prominent candidate for the job.”
“Would you agree that, since you are new in Orchid Beach, it might be very useful to have a deputy who knew the town well, as opposed to an outsider?”
“I think that any chief of police would be well advised to promote from within whenever someone within is well qualified.”
“I seem to be having trouble getting a commitment from you on this, Holly.”
“If I am named chief, I expect to have the authority to hire and fire all the personnel under my command, within budget constraints. Chet Marley had that authority, and I don’t think I would accept the job under conditions that were less favorable than those in Chet’s contract, except that I would not expect to begin the job at Chet’s most recent salary.”
Charlie Peterson interrupted. “Hurd made more or less the same statement in his interview, I believe.”
“Yes,” Westover muttered. “Tell me, do you anticipate that you would make any changes in the department, if you were hired?”
“Very few,” Holly said. “I have noticed that there are only five women including me among thirty-six officers, and I think the balance might be somewhat redressed, given female applicants with the proper qualifications.”
“Are you suggesting using affirmative action guidelines?” Frank Hessian asked.
“No. In a field of applicants I would hire the best person. If I had two equally qualified candidates and one was female, I would tend to hire the female, for purposes of balance.”
Everybody thought about that for a minute, and no one objected.
“Anyone else have any questions?” Westover asked.
“Under what circumstances would you fire an officer?” Howard Goldman asked.
“For cause,” Holly said, “to include criminal activity, brutality with suspects or members of the public, consorting with criminals, a pattern of spousal abuse, abuse of authority, and, of course, incompetence. There might well be other reasons.”
“Would you have any hesitation to arrest one of your own officers who had committed a crime?”
“None whatever. I believe that police officers have a special obligation to behave within the law.”
“Good,” Goldman said.
Frank Hessian spoke up. “Would you oppose unionization of your department?”
“I would do everything I could, within my budget, to make a union unnecessary. If officers are decently paid and well treated, and ours are, I don’t think the question will arise. In general, I would prefer to deal with individuals instead of a union, particularly in a department of our size.”
There was a brief silence, then Irma Taggert spoke up. “Do you think the personal behavior of a police officer should be above reproach?”
A little warning bell rang inside Holly’s head. “That goes without saying,” Holly replied. Taggert was about to continue, but Holly interrupted her. “Of course, there is a very wide range of opinion as to what constitutes behavior worthy of reproach. Generally speaking, I would adhere to the same standard that I would require of the officers under my command, as I mentioned earlier, in answer to Howard’s question.”
Irma Taggert pressed on. “Do you feel that it is proper for a female police officer to publicly consort with a man?”
Holly frowned. “Is there a dictionary available?”
Ted Michaels went to a bookcase, found a dictionary and handed it to Holly.
Holly looked up the word. “‘Consort: Keep company; associate; harmonize.’” She looked up at Taggert. “Yes, I do think it is proper.”
“That’s not exactly what I had in mind,” Taggert said.
“What, exactly, did you have in mind, Irma? And please be direct.” Holly
smiled a little.
“I mean that it has come to our…my attention that you, an unmarried woman, are living with a man.”
“I live with a dog named Daisy,” Holly said.
“All right, sleeping at his house from time to time.”
Charlie Peterson spoke up. “Now wait a minute, Irma…”
Holly held up a hand. “It’s all right, Charlie. Irma, I will tell you that I am a grown woman, and I conduct myself by my own ideas of proper behavior, ideas formed in a happy home with good parents and in the Baptist Church, with which I do not always agree. Unless you wish to make a formal charge of misconduct, that is all I have to say on that subject.”
Taggert was about to reply, but Charlie Peterson would not be stopped this time. “Irma, your comments are improper and irrelevant to these proceedings,” he said. “Unless you have relevant questions to ask, it’s time for you to be quiet.”
Taggert clamped her jaw shut and turned red.
John Westover spoke up again. “Holly, are you aware that there is a city ordinance against landing an aircraft on our beaches?”
“I am aware of that, John. I think you may be referring to such a landing last Sunday afternoon.”
“I am.”
“The landing took place about a mile outside the city limits.”
“Oh,” Westover said, glaring at Irma Taggert.
“I was flying just off the beach at low altitude with a friend at the controls when I observed what appeared to be a burglary in progress. We landed on the beach and investigated, rousting the burglar, who fled in a white truck. I called in a bulletin on the truck, then we took off from the beach and searched further for the vehicle from the air. As it turned out, there were too many white trucks in town for the search to be successful.”
“I understand,” Westover said. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to criticize.”
“Thank you, John. I should tell you that I was sufficiently impressed with the aerial search experience to think that, at some time in the future, it might be a good idea to investigate the possibility of having a police aircraft, if the need exists, and if such a program could be cost effective.”
“Interesting idea,” Charlie Peterson said. “I have a question, Holly. What do you think of Orchid Beach and your department so far?”
