Blood Orchid (12 page)

“Yeah, I can’t see a thing from down here except you, and I like the view from this angle.”

“You’re sweet, for a G-Man,” she said, leaning down and biting a nipple.

“And you have marvelous breasts, for a cop,” he replied, holding them in his hands and massaging.

“I have marvelous breasts for a female human being,” she said, slapping him lightly across the chops. “Another compliment like that and I’ll stop.”

She woke first, showered, dressed, and went down to the kitchen. She was turning two omelets when he staggered in. “You’re walking funny,” she said.

“I’m lucky I can walk at all,” he replied, sinking into a chair at the table.

“You FBI guys aren’t in very good shape, are you? Maybe you should undertake a program of fitness training.”

“I’m of the view that exercise should be activity-specific.”

“What?”

“If you want to get in shape for sex, you should have more sex. Maybe you could be my personal trainer.”

“I’m sure we could whip you into shape in no time at all,” she said, sliding the omelets onto plates and sitting down. She sipped her orange juice. “So, I guess all you think about is sex, huh?”

“Well, I mean…”

“I had hoped we could have an actual conversation before this date ends.”

“Sure, I…”

“But the moment I walk into the house, it’s nothing but sex, sex, sex. Is that all you ever think about?”

“Sometimes I think about work.”

“So, how’s work?”

“So-so. How about yours?”

“You remember the guy who broke into my house?”

“Yep.”

“He turned up in the Indian River yesterday, with a bullet through his head.”

“Did you do it? I mean, I know you were pretty pissed off about the intruder, but…”

“I might have, if I’d had the chance.”

“How do you know it was the guy? Wasn’t he masked?”

“Yeah, but I fetched him a pretty good kick in the knee, and the floater had a badly bruised knee. He fit the general description, too.”

“You run his prints?”

“The FBI computer was running very slowly yesterday; we should know something this morning, if your people can get their act together.”

“Did you get anything else from the corpse? I mean, our people usually do.”

“Oh, we struggle along, in our own small-town way. He’s Cuban—we know that from his dental work—and he had a girlfriend. I found a locket with a picture of a girl.”

“That’s sweet.”

“I thought so.”

“You want me to delve into this?”

“I think I can handle it, thanks. Don’t you have better things to do?”

“Sometimes it is the duty of an undercover agent to simply sit and wait. I’m looking at some property, though.”

“Where, and what for?”

“At a new development called Blood Orchid, and because it’s the kind of thing the character I’m playing would do.”

“That’s Ed Shine’s place.”

“Who?”

“Didn’t Harry Crisp tell you about Ed?”

“Nope.”

“You remember the case of the two property developers in Miami who were recently shot dead on the same day?”

“I saw something in the papers.”

“Apparently, they were both bidding on the Palmetto Gardens property.”

“Where’s that?”

“It’s now called Blood Orchid. Ed Shine, who ended up buying it, had a shot taken at him around the same time. I happened to be there when it happened.”

“So you solved the case instantly?”

“Not exactly. By the time I had finished crawling
around on my belly through broken glass, the shooter had dematerialized.”

“They’ll do that.”

“I’d be interested in your impressions of Blood Orchid,” she said.

“What’s Shine like?”

“Nice guy; you’ll like him.” She finished her omelet and stood up. “I gotta go to work.”

Without rising, he pulled her to him and kissed her navel, running his tongue around it.

“Or I could stay for a couple of days,” she said.

He spun her around and pushed her toward the beach door. “Go, while I still have the strength to send you,” he said plaintively.

She gave him a quick kiss, then ran out onto the deck and down to the beach. She ran all the way home, happy.

23

H
olly arrived at her office whistling, turning heads as she walked by, Daisy at her side. She had hardly sat down when Hurd turned up at her door.

“Good morning. You seem to be in a good mood.”

“I’m always in a good mood,” she said.

“If you say so. We’ve got an ID on your floater.” He handed her a file folder.

She handed it back. “Tell me about him.”

Hurd sat down and opened the folder. “Name: Carlos Alvarez, born Havana, thirty-two years ago. Arrived Miami twelve years ago on a small fishing boat with nineteen others. He was printed by Immigration at the time. He’s a partner in a locksmith’s shop in Fort Lauderdale; unmarried; has no arrest record—he wouldn’t have gotten a locksmith’s license if he had. He drives a two-year-old Chrysler Concorde.”

“Is that it?”

“His partner’s name is here, if you want it.” Hurd handed her the folder.

“Thanks, Hurd.”

“I’m organizing my workload now, preparing
memos to the people who’re going to take over my duties. You want a list of my recommendations?”

She was thinking about the locksmith. “Whoever you want is fine with me, Hurd.” This was the sort of detail for which she relied on him.

“I’ll let you know if we find anything else,” he said. “We’re still dealing with Daimler-Chrysler about the car key.”

“Notify all the patrol cars to look for an abandoned Concorde,” she said. “You got a color?”

“Registration just says green.”

“Okay. If we can find the car, then we can dust it for prints, and we might get lucky and come up with the shooter.”

“I’m on it.” He went back to his office.

Holly read the file folder, then turned to Daisy. “You up for a trip to Lauderdale?”

Daisy was on her feet, wagging everything.

Holly closed her office door and changed into civilian clothes. “You can reach me on my cell if you need me,” she said to her secretary on her way out. “Try not to need me.”

She drove south on 95, enjoying the seventy-mile-per-hour speed limit at eighty-five. Her car had no markings, but there was the big antenna on the back. Once, a state trooper pulled up next to her and gave her a look; she held up her shield for him to see, and he dropped back. There were some perks connected to being in law enforcement.

Using a map of the city, she found C&P Locksmiths fairly easily. It was in a small strip mall in a good part of town. She parked the car and, putting Daisy on a leash for appearances’ sake, entered the shop. A Latino
in his mid-thirties was making a key on a duplicating machine. He looked up and smiled, turning off the machine. “Hello, can I help you?” he asked, in slightly accented English.

Holly looked at the file folder. “Are you Pedro Alvarez?” she asked.

“That’s right.”

She showed him her badge. “My name is Holly Barker. I’d like to talk to you for a minute.”

“That’s not a Lauderdale badge,” he said.

“No, I’m from Orchid Beach, up the coast.”

“What can I do for you?” He had become a little wary, she noticed, but some people did at the sight of a badge, even when they had nothing to hide.

“Do you have some place we can sit down?” she asked.

He went to the door, locked it, and hung up a sign saying he’d be back in ten minutes. “Back here,” he said, leading the way to the rear of the shop. It was a room just large enough to hold two desks and a couple of filing cabinets. He indicated where she should sit, then sat behind his desk.

“You’re Carlos Alvarez’s partner, is that right?”

“Yes.”

“Brothers?”

“First cousins. We grew up together in Havana and came to the U.S. at the same time.”

“Same fishing boat?”

He nodded.

“Do you know where Carlos is now?”

“He’s taking some time off,” Pedro said. “A few days.”

“Do you know why?”

“He said he had some personal business to take care of.”

“Do you know where he’s taking care of it?”

“He didn’t say.”

Holly didn’t believe that. She took the locket photo, blown up, from the folder and handed it to him. “I expect you know this girl.”

Pedro looked at the photo but said nothing.

“What’s her name?”

“What is this about, exactly?”

Holly took a deep breath. She hated saying this to people because she never knew what their reaction would be, and it tended to vary widely. “I’m afraid I have some bad news,” she said.

Pedro sat up. “Has Carlos been arrested?”

“Was he doing something that he might be arrested for?”

“I don’t know. Tell me what’s going on, please.”

“Carlos is dead.”

Pedro’s face became expressionless. “How?”

“Someone shot him in the head and threw his body into the Indian River, in my jurisdiction.”

To Holly’s astonishment, Pedro began to cry. She said nothing, just waited for him to get control of himself.

Finally, he did. “Who did this?” Pedro asked, wiping his face with a handkerchief.

“I was hoping you might be able to help me find out. What was Carlos into?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Pedro replied.

“Did Carlos have knowledge of burglar-alarm systems?”

“It’s a good part of what we do here,” Pedro said. “Carlos was a lot better at it than I am. I tend to stay in the shop.”

Holly nodded. “I have reason to believe that Carlos broke into a house in my jurisdiction. Repeatedly.”

“Carlos was no burglar.”

“Then what was he, Pedro? You must have known him as well as anybody. What was he into?”

Pedro stared at her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, then stood up. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore. I’d appreciate it if you’d go, now. I have to open the shop.”

“Your cousin and partner is dead, and you’re going to reopen the shop?”

“I have to make a living,” he said. “How do I claim Carlos’s body?”

Holly gave him her card and wrote the ME’s number on the back. “Have your funeral parlor call this number. I’ll see that the body is released tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” he said, leading the way to the front door. He opened it for her and stood aside to let her leave.

Holly held up the photograph again. “I’m going to have to tell her about Carlos,” she said.

“I’ll take care of that,” Pedro replied.

“I’m going to have to talk to her,” Holly said firmly.

Pedro was just as firm. “I’ll give her your number,” he said. “She can call you in a few days, when we’re past this a little.”

“Something else, Pedro,” she said. “Where were you the night before last?”

“I closed the shop at six o’clock, then I picked up my wife and kids and we went to a wedding. There were more than a hundred people there.”

Holly nodded. “Pedro, there’s going to come a moment when you realize that if you want to find out who murdered Carlos, you’ll need to talk to me. When that happens, call me.”

He said nothing, just closed the door behind her.

Holly left, but she wasn’t through with Pedro Alvarez.

24

H
olly got back onto the interstate and headed north. At seventy miles per hour she put the car on cruise control and called Harry Crisp.

“Hey there, Holly, how are you?”

“I’m real good, Harry, and I could use your help.”

“Shoot.”

“You’ll remember that my house was broken into and my phone tapped?”

“Yes.”

“Well, we found the guy who did it.”

“Good for you.”

“Not so good: We found him in the Indian River with a bullet through the head.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. We IDed him as Carlos Alvarez, a locksmith from Fort Lauderdale.”

“Doesn’t ring a bell.”

“No reason why it should; he has a clean sheet.”

“That’s interesting.”

“Why?”

“Well, you’d normally expect somebody with the
proficiency to do your burglary and wiretapping to have some sort of record, at least an arrest or two.”

“I thought proficient people were the least likely to get caught.”

“Yeah, but they don’t start out proficient, and they usually screw up early in their careers.”

“If you say so. Anyway, I went down to his shop today and talked with his partner and cousin, Pedro Alvarez, broke the news to him. He was shocked, said he didn’t know what Carlos was into, but I don’t believe him.”

“So what do you want from me?”

“Wiretapping’s a federal crime, so I thought maybe you might be able to investigate this for me. I don’t have the resources to send people all over the state to conduct interviews, and I don’t want to go through the red tape with the state.”

“I don’t know, Holly. What with our push on terrorism, I don’t have a lot of agents to put on stuff with a low priority. I mean, some tech gets himself wasted, that’s not really our problem.”

“You’ve got enough people to send a guy to my jurisdiction, haven’t you?”

“That’s different.”

“How?”

“You know I can’t tell you that.”

“Suppose this is connected to what your man is working on?”

“How would you know that? You don’t know what he’s working on.”

“No, I don’t, but you do, and if there’s a connection to be made, you can make it.”

Harry was silent.

“I hope you’re thinking.”

“I’m thinking.” He went silent again.

“Just tell me when you’re finished, Harry.”

“All right, I’ll send somebody over to talk to Pedro.”

“Carlos also had a girlfriend, but Pedro wouldn’t give me her name.”

“We’ll talk to her, too. We can probably find a way to worm the name out of Pedro. Is he a U.S. citizen?”

“I don’t know. Both cousins were born in Havana and came over on the same fishing boat twelve years ago.”

“I’ll check him out; he’ll be easier to handle if all he has is a green card. Easier still if he’s an illegal.”

“Thanks, Harry, I appreciate it.”