by Stuart Woods
“I think Orchid Beach is an extraordinarily good place to live and work, and I think that the department I have joined is extremely well organized and trained. My father has retired from the army and has come to live here, and that gives me a family again, which I had begun to miss. I want very much to continue in the chief’s job, and I hope for your favorable action on my application.”
“Thank you, Holly,” John Westover said. “I think that concludes the interview. We expect to make an early decision, and we’ll be in touch.”
“Thank you, John. Thank you all.” Holly stood up and left. Alone in the hallway, she stopped and leaned against a wall for support. Her heart was thumping, and she had begun to perspire.
CHAPTER
35
H olly was sitting at her desk half an hour later when she looked up and saw John Westover and Charlie Peterson enter the squad room and walk toward her office. They’d made a decision, she thought. The two men stopped a dozen feet from her door, talked for a minute, then separated. John Westover went down the hall toward Hurd Wallace’s office, and Charlie Peterson headed for her door. Uh-oh, she said to herself, the chairman of the council is going to see Hurd, and Charlie is going to break the news to me. This doesn’t look good. She waved Peterson into her office.
Peterson took a chair. “Well, Holly,” he said, “we’ve spent the last hour rehashing all the applicants, reviewing qualifications and discussing the interviews. As John said, it came down to you or Hurd Wallace. John is in Hurd’s office, now, to tell him of our decision.”
Holly took a deep breath and said nothing. In the moment that passed, she decided to resign from the department rather than work for Wallace, and she realized that she had not given a thought to what she would do afterwards. Maybe she’d go to law school.
“The discussion was…vigorous,” Charlie said. “Ted Michaels weighed in at some length with his opinion, and it was clear that we were divided. Frank Hessian was the swing vote, and I think what bore the most weight with him was the opinion that Chet Marley had, in effect, expressed when he hired you.”
Holly let out the breath in a whoosh.
“The job is yours, and on your terms. There’s a twenty percent salary hike, and you’ll have the same insurance and retirement benefits that Chet Marley had. In essence, we’ll present his contract to you for signing, with only the salary changed.”
“Thank you, Charlie,” Holly breathed, trying to quiet her heart. “I’m grateful to all of you. It’s a great vote of confidence.”
“It was not a unanimous vote of confidence, I’m afraid. I think you probably guessed that Irma Taggert was going to vote against you, and after considerable hemming and hawing, John Westover voted for Hurd, too, though he said he was very impressed with you. John and I thought it would be best that he tell Hurd of our decision.”
“I understand,” Holly said.
“One more thing,” Peterson said. “While your contract gives you the authority to hire and fire, we voted unanimously that the offer of the contract be made conditional on your accepting Hurd Wallace as deputy chief, on terms identical to your present contract, and with immediate effect.”
“Is John telling Hurd that right now?”
“Yes.”
“I would have preferred to tell him myself, but I accept the condition,” Holly said.
“I’m glad. We all feel that Hurd is a good man, even if he is a little, well, hard to read at times.”
“We’ve gotten along well so far, and I’m sure we’ll continue to,” Holly said.
Peterson stood up. “Congratulations. We’ll have a contract for you to sign before the day is out.” They shook hands, and Peterson left.
Holly saw John Westover leave with him, and she got up and went to Hurd Wallace’s office and sat down. It was important that she start on the right foot with him.
Wallace looked at her with his usual lack of expression.
Holly wondered if he had been born missing some facial muscles. “I expect John Westover has told you of the council’s decisions,” she said.
“Yes, he has,” Wallace said tonelessly.
“I want you to know that I’m happy to have you as deputy chief; you’ve worked hard, and you deserve the job.”
“But apparently not the chief’s job,” Wallace said.
“That was their decision. Can you live with that?”
“Yes, I can.”
Holly stood up, took off her deputy chief’s badge, removed the smaller badge from her ID wallet and placed them on his desk. She held out her hand. “I look forward to working with you, Hurd.”
Wallace stood up and shook her hand. “Thank you,” he said. “I’m sure we’ll continue to work well together.”
Holly went to Jane Grey’s office. “Jane, will you type up a notice for the squad room bulletin board that the council has appointed me chief of police and Hurd Wallace deputy chief?”
Jane broke into a broad smile, came around her desk and hugged Holly. “Congratulations,” she said. “They did the right thing. Shall I send out a press release?”
“I think that should probably come from John Westover.”
“You’re right. I’ll remind his secretary when I see her in the cafeteria at lunchtime.”
“No, don’t press it, please.”
“As you wish.”
Holly went back to her office, opened her desk drawer, took out Chet Marley’s chief’s badge and pinned it to her uniform, then pinned his smaller badge in her ID wallet. She called Jackson Oxenhandler.
“Hello?”
“Suppose I buy you and Ham a celebratory dinner at the Ocean Grill in Vero Beach tonight?”
“You got the job?”
“I did.”
“What about Hurd Wallace?”
“I’ll tell you everything tonight.”
“See you then.”
She hung up and called her father. She was looking forward to giving him the news.
Holly was working at her desk when one of her female officers knocked on her door. “Come in, Sara,” she said, “and sit down.”
Sara Rodriguez, who was small and dark, perched on the edge of the chair across from Holly. “Congratulations on getting the job as chief,” she said.
“Thank you, Sara. What can I do for you?”
“Chief, you know the picture you posted on the bulletin board?”
“Yes.”
“I saw the guy this afternoon.”
“Where?”
Sara got up and went to the large map of Orchid Beach on Holly’s wall. She pointed at a street. “I was driving down this road on patrol, and I turned in right here so that I could turn around. It’s the trade entrance to Palmetto Gardens, where deliveries get made and the construction vehicles go in.”
“I see. And where was this man?”
“He was in the guardhouse there, wearing a uniform. He tried to chat me up.”
“You’re sure it was the same man as in the photograph?”
“Yes, ma’am. There could only be one face like that.”
“Thank you, Sara. Good job. And keep this to yourself, will you?”
“Yes, ma’am.” The young woman got up and left.
Holly went to the bulletin board and took down Cracker Mosely’s photograph, then she had an idea. She went into Jane Grey’s office. “Jane, there’s something I’d like you to do.”
“Just name it, Chief.”
“I’d like you to find out—if you don’t already know—what state agency licenses private security services. Then I’d like you to call them and request a list of all the licensed security guards with Orchid Beach addresses.”
“No problem.”
“One other thing. Ask them if they license these people to carry firearms, and if they don’t, who does? I want a list of everybody who lives at Palmetto Gardens who’s licensed to carry a weapon, and who’s licensed to carry a concealed weapon, if that requires a special license.”
“I’ll get r
ight on it,” Jane said.
Holly was getting ready to leave for the day when Jane came into her office and handed her three sheets of paper. “Here’s everything you asked for,” she said, then left.
Holly spread out the papers and looked at them. “Good God,” she said aloud.
CHAPTER
36
T hey were shown to a table overlooking the ocean and ordered drinks. Holly contained her news for the moment. When the drinks came, Jackson and Ham raised their glasses.
“To the new chief of police of the Orchid Beach Police Department,” Jackson said.
“Hear, hear,” Ham echoed, grinning.
“Thank you, gentlemen. I suppose this calls for a speech.”
“No, it doesn’t,” Ham said. He squeezed her hand. “I’m sure proud of you, though.”
“Me, too,” Jackson said. “Tell us how the interview went.”
“It was pretty straightforward until the subject came around to you,” Holly said.
“Me?”
“Irma Taggert evidently has a pretty good network of spies around town. She’d nailed you and me as living together, which I denied, and she knew about our landing on the beach on Sunday.”
Jackson whistled. “I’ve underestimated our Irma,” he said. “I’ll try not to do that again.”
“Who’s Irma Taggert?” Ham asked.
“A prune who sits on the city council,” Jackson replied. “How did you handle her, Holly?”
“I pretty much told her it was none of her business, then Charlie Peterson weighed in and shut her up. She put John Westover up to asking about the airplane and bringing up a city ordinance about not landing on beaches. I told him we were outside the city limits and why we landed. He actually apologized for raising the question and gave Irma a look that fried her makeup.”
“Wish I’d been there to see that,” Jackson said.
“Charlie came down and told me I had the job by a three-to-two vote, and that they were making Hurd Wallace deputy chief. That’s okay. I can live with that.”
“So you’re home free, then?”
“I’m not going to be home free while Irma Taggert and John Westover are on the council. Why don’t you run against one of them next election?”
“Now there’s a thought,” Jackson said. “I couldn’t beat John, but I bet I could beat Irma.”
“You’re prettier, too,” Holly said.
“I’m afraid I can’t disagree with you.”
“Listen, I have more news. Cracker Mosely has been spotted in Orchid. Guess where?”
“Under a rock?”
“More or less. He’s a security guard at Palmetto Gardens.”
“I don’t know that I’m all that surprised,” Jackson said. “After all, he worked for Craig and Noble in Miami. He must have come north with Barney.”
“There’s more,” she said, taking the papers from her purse. “Just on a whim, I asked Jane Grey to get me a list of all the state-licensed security guards in Orchid. There are thirty-seven, and nearly half of them work at Palmetto Gardens. I also asked her to get me a list of everybody licensed to carry a weapon in Orchid. There are nearly three hundred people, and one hundred and two of them work at Palmetto Gardens.” She handed him the lists.
“Jesus,” Jackson said, “they’ve practically got a private army there, haven’t they?” He was looking at the lists. “Uh-oh,” he said.
“What?”
“This list of the security guards at Palmetto Gardens—sixteen of them, counting Barney.”
“What about them?”
He tapped his finger down the list. “I know four of them besides Cracker and Barney. They were all kicked off the Miami police force because of felony convictions, three of them in the same racial beating. All four of them did time.”
“That means their police records have been doctored, like Cracker’s, or they wouldn’t have been licensed by the state.”
“And those are just the ones I know,” Barney said, checking off their names. “God knows how many of them I don’t know. Wait a minute, I recognize another name: Eduardo Flores. He was on the Tampa force and was convicted of assaulting a series of motorists he’d stopped for traffic violations. It was a famous case six or seven years ago.”
“So that’s half Barney’s security force who are convicted felons.”
“And all of them convicted of violent crimes.”
“I’d be willing to bet the rest have records, too, records that have been scrubbed.”
“I wouldn’t take that bet,” Jackson said. He handed Holly back the lists. “You should take this to the state attorney general’s office tomorrow. Blow it wide open.”
Holly shook her head. “Not yet. There’s a reason that people like this are carrying guns around that place, and I’m going to find out what it is. I’ll bet it’s bigger than falsifying state records; otherwise, why wouldn’t Barney just hire guys who were clean? Why go to all the trouble and risk of altering records?”
“Let’s look at the menus,” Jackson said. “Here comes our waitress.”
They sat drinking coffee over the remains of their dessert.
“All right, let’s go through what we know so far about Palmetto Gardens,” Holly said. “One, the place is sealed off. They don’t want the locals taking Sunday drives through the place. Two, at least half the security force are convicted felons, and there must be a reason. Three, the club members are solicited privately, not by the usual advertising that sells lots and houses in ritzy developments. What are the membership requirements, besides great wealth? And four, if they don’t want anybody visiting the place, what are they hiding? Is there something there that, if seen by outsiders, would tip them to something unusual going on?”
“Well, on our brief overflight, we did see that building with all the antennas. They must have some extraordinary communications equipment. I mean, they’re not just trying to get good TV reception with that really big dish.”
“You know, I’d really like to fly over there again,” Holly said.
“I’ve got a better idea,” Jackson said. “I know a guy who does aerial mapping. He’s got a big, slow airplane with a camera in the belly that takes overlapping landscape photographs. You must have seen that one at the municipal building of the whole island?”
“I thought that was taken by satellite,” Holly said.
“No, he took that series, and since he flies low, he can get as much detail as a spy satellite can. Two or three passes over the place, and we’d have some really nice snapshots.”
“Jackson, if you’ll spring for that, I’ll get you reimbursed from departmental funds, if we find something. How much will it cost?”
“I’m not sure, but certainly not more than a couple of grand. I’ll tell him I’ve got a client who’s interested in building a similar development. He’ll buy that.”
“Listen,” Ham said, “I’ll spring for the money. I’m flush.”
“You’re on, Ham,” Holly said.
“I know a guy at the FBI office in Miami,” Jackson said. “He’s in charge of the organized-crime division in the city. You want to get him involved?”
“Let’s wait until we know more. I don’t want him to think I’m crazy.”
“Okay, let me know when.”
“What we really need is somebody on the inside at Palmetto Gardens,” Holly said. “Somebody who’s in and out of there all the time, who could look around without calling attention to himself.”
Jackson thought about that. “I don’t know anybody,” he said.
“There must be at least some locals who deal with those people. They can’t completely cut themselves off from the outside.”
“You wouldn’t think so, would you?”
Ham spoke up. “I got an idea,” he said. “Why don’t I call Barney and tell him I’m looking for a job, that I’m bored with retirement.”
“Yeah, sure,” Holly said. “He’s going to hire the father of the chief of police? If there’
s something illegal going on there, you’d be the last person he’d hire.”
“Well, maybe that would tell us something—if he wouldn’t hire me, I mean.”
“Ham, I appreciate the thought, but let’s just assume that he wouldn’t hire you, all right? If you called him, he’d just think I’d put you up to it. It’s important that Barney doesn’t think we’re too interested in the place.”
“I see your point,” Ham said. “I wish there was something I could do to help.”
“If I can think of anything, I’ll let you know,” Holly said. “Really, I will.” Like hell I will, she thought.
“Like hell you will,” Ham said.
CHAPTER
37
H olly stood in the entrance hall of the municipal building, just outside the doors of her department, and looked at the large aerial photograph of Orchid Beach. She reckoned it must be many years old, because Palmetto Gardens simply did not exist. Prominent properties and developments were labeled, but the only thing named on what was now the development was a road that ran from the northern end of the island to just where Palmetto Gardens now stood. The road was called Jungle Trail.
Holly went upstairs to the county planning commission and introduced herself to the director, a woman named Jean Silver. “What I’m looking for,” she said, “is a map that shows the current state of development on the north end of the barrier island.”
“That’s easy,” the woman said, going to a wide drawer and extracting a map.
“Can I borrow this?” Holly asked, looking at the large sheet of paper.
“You can have that copy,” Silver replied. “Interdepartmental courtesy.”
“Thank you very much.” Holly went back to her office, closed the door and spread out the map. Apparently, Palmetto Gardens didn’t exist for the planning commission, either: it was shown as nothing more than an empty parcel of land, whereas other developments had maps of roads and lot divisions. She picked up the phone and called Jean Silver.
“Yes?”
“Jean, it’s Holly Barker.”
