Orchid Beach (8 page)
“No,” Holly said. “You’re right, we’ve got our perpetrators. Tell Bob Hurst to get the county attorney over here pronto.”
The first thing Holly did after that was to call Ham and tell him the news.
H
olly picked up some groceries on the way home, avoiding an interesting-looking delicatessen that featured prepared dinners. She was determined not to get into the habit of not cooking her own meals. That way led to lazy habits and added pounds.
She fed Daisy, then mixed herself a gin and tonic, got the little satellite dish pointed in the right direction and watched the news. Nothing there to cheer her up. Dealing with Hank Doherty’s daughter had worn on her more than she had expected, although she had the emotional lift of being Daisy’s new owner. After the news she started the grill and made herself a fat bacon cheeseburger. Maybe, she thought as she ate it, she would have been better off bringing something home from the deli. When she had finished she switched off the grill, washed the dishes and made another drink.
Determined to keep work off her mind, she undressed, slipped into a long T-shirt and watched a pay-per-view movie
beamed down to her trailer from a distant satellite, somewhere over the equator. She had another drink. She had noticed that she tended to drink a bit more when she was alone than when she was out with others. She’d have to watch that, she thought as she leaned back in bed, switched off the light, finished her drink and tried to concentrate on the movie.
She was awakened by an unaccustomed noise, the growling of a dog. It took her a sleepy moment to remember that she, in fact, owned a dog, and that it was Daisy who was growling. It was a slight noise, down in the throat, almost as if the dog were whispering to her. Holly sat up, put her feet on the floor and listened. She thought she heard a metallic clank, but if she did, it was very faint. Daisy continued to make the noise.
Holly picked up the remote control and turned down the volume on the TV, which was playing trailers of coming attractions on satellite broadcasting. If there was someone outside the trailer, she didn’t want to alert them by simply switching it off. She heard the clank again.
She leaned over and whispered in Daisy’s ear, “Quiet, Daisy.”
The dog was immediately silent.
“Lie down.”
The dog did.
“Stay.” Holly got up quietly and went to where she had draped her uniform over a chair. She dug under the trousers and came up with her pistol. “Stay,” she whispered again to the dog. She walked toward the trailer door on bare feet. She didn’t want to expose her presence at the door, so she stopped short and stuck her head into the doorway, straining to see through the screen. She could see nothing, but a little breeze
had sprung up and was making a hissing noise in the trees.
Holly worked the action of the pistol, opened the screen door as quietly as she could and stepped out into the night, the gun at her side, her thumb on the safety. She didn’t really want to shoot anybody, especially for simply trespassing, but she was worried enough to be ready to defend herself. She stepped away from the trailer, feeling the breeze around her bare legs, and walked around the perimeter of the little clearing, peering into the dark woods. She saw nothing and heard nothing.
Relieved, she started back toward the trailer, and, nearly simultaneously, two things happened. She heard a faint
whump
from somewhere nearby, and she smelled gas. Hadn’t she turned off the grill? She looked over to where it should have been, but it wasn’t there. A second later she saw it, standing hard against one end of the trailer. That was very peculiar, she thought, then the night sky lit up.
She looked up and saw a ball of bright red fire descending slowly from a good hundred feet in the air. She watched it, mesmerized, as it floated toward her. She was beginning to get the feeling that she might have to dodge it. A parachute flare, she said to herself. Some boater on the river in difficulties. Then she smelled the gas again. “Holy shit,” she said aloud, and ran toward the trailer.
She dropped the gun and fell to her knees before the grill, as if it were some pagan altar. She twisted the knobs, but they were all in the off position. She dove behind the grill, feeling her way down the rubber hose toward the tank, and she found that she had the loose end of the hose in her fingers. She looked up; the flare was no more than fifty feet above her, seeming to home in on where she knelt. Panicked, she groped for the valve, to close the tank, but there
was no valve, simply the opening through which gas was pouring, freezing her fingers.
Then she felt the gas stop coming. She leapt to her feet, grabbed a lawn chair and batted at the flare, sending it toward the perimeter of the clearing, where it hit the ground and lay there, sizzling, in the dirt. She watched, mesmerized, as it burned itself out, and she was surprised to learn that she had the pistol again, and that she was pointing it at the dying flare.
She took a deep breath and discovered that she couldn’t smell gas anymore. She stepped inside the trailer and got a flashlight. Daisy was lying there, watching her intently. “Good girl,” she said. “Stay.” She went to the grill and switched on the flashlight. The valve from the top of the tank lay on the ground, a dent in one side of it.
It was clear to her that she was looking at a case of sabotage. Someone had removed the hose from the tank, opened it, then knocked the valve handle off so it couldn’t be closed. She remembered that when she had cooked her burger, the tank had seemed nearly empty. Thank God for that, she thought. The combination of gas in the air, the parachute flare and the shrapnel from the exploding tank would have reduced her trailer to a smoking ruin, after she had burned to death in the explosion.
Her first impulse was to call the station and report the incident, but she held herself back. She sat down on the trailer’s doorstep and thought about it. She would keep it to herself for the time being.
Daisy made a small noise. “Okay, Daisy, come to me,” Holly said, opening the screen door.
Daisy came and leaned against her, sniffing the night air.
H
olly was finishing a sandwich at her desk the following noon when the county attorney arrived, accompanied by a tall, slender, dark-haired man in a rumpled suit who needed a haircut. Jane made the introductions.
“Chief, this is Marty Skene, the county attorney, and the tall one is Jackson Oxenhandler, a public defender.”
“Did they ask for a lawyer?” Holly asked, shaking hands with both men.
“No,” Skene said, “but it seemed like a good time to do it. I want everything on the up-and-up.”
“Sure,” Holly said. “Mr. Oxhander…”
“It’s Oxenhandler,” the tall man said. “There was apparently some livestock in the family history.”
“Oxenhandler, sorry. Have you met your clients?”
“Not yet.”
“They’re with Bob Hurst, right now, being questioned on another matter.”
“Another matter?” Oxenhandler asked, furrowing his brow.
“The murder of Hank Doherty.”
“You didn’t tell me this was a double shooting,” the lawyer said to the prosecutor.
“I didn’t know myself until this minute.”
“I want questioning ended
now
,” the lawyer said, “until I’ve had a chance to consult with my clients.”
Holly motioned toward the interrogation room. “Jane, ask Bob to come out here right now.”
“What’s the evidence against my clients?” Oxenhandler asked.
“Their tire tracks at the scene of the crime, possession of the victim’s weapon and a positive ballistics match between the bullet taken from the chief’s head and a thirty-two Smith and Wesson revolver found in the glove compartment of the accused’s van.”
“You go talk to your clients,” Skene said, “and then maybe you’ll want to discuss a plea. I’d like to wrap this up as soon as possible.”
Jackson Oxenhandler nodded and walked toward the interrogation room, passing Bob Hurst along the way. He stopped at the door of the adjoining room, looked in, then went on to the door of the interrogation room. He turned back and called out, “I’d like that room kept empty while we talk.” He disappeared into the interrogation room.
Holly turned to Hurst. “How’d you do with the Doherty murder?”
“They denied everything,” Hurst said.
“Come into my office for a minute,” Holly said, ushering him in and closing the door behind him.
Hurst took a seat. “What’s up?”
“I didn’t want to bring this up until now, but I’m extremely annoyed with you.”
Hurst look surprised. “Why? We just broke our biggest case in years.”
“When I left you, I told you to call me if there were any developments in the case. Would you call an arrest a development?”
Hurst shrugged. “Well, I was anxious to get on it when they were brought in.”
“I don’t give a damn how anxious you were,” she said. “I come from the army, and when I give an order I expect it to be obeyed.”
Hurst’s ears were turning red, but he said nothing.
“
I
am the responsible officer on this case,” Holly said, “not you, and if this thing should somehow blow up in our faces, I’m the one who’ll have to answer for it. I’m new around here, and until I have a complete grasp of every facet of this department, I will make
every
important decision that’s made in
every
case. When I’ve had time to learn who’s an excellent officer and who’s not, then maybe I’ll delegate some authority, but not until then. Do you read me?”
Hurst looked down at her desktop; he was very red in the face now. “Yeah.”
“
What
?”
“Yes, Chief,” he said reluctantly.
“You bypass me again, and you’ll be doing bicycle patrol up and down the beach. You read me
loud and clear
?”
“Yes, Chief.”
“Good. Now get out of here.” She watched his back as
he left. She hadn’t intended to get as angry as she had done, but his attitude had infuriated her. She went out into the hall, saw Hurd Wallace passing and called him in.
“Why didn’t you call me when these arrests were made?” Holly asked.
“I did call you. I didn’t learn about the arrests myself until I arrived here, half an hour before you did. I called you then, but I guess you had already left for work.”
“Okay. Who did the search of the suspects’ van?”
“I did.”
“Did you get a warrant?”
“No, Bob got the suspects’ written permission for the search.”
“Thank God for that,” Holly said. “I’d hate to have that weapon thrown out because of a bad search.”
“So would I, but it won’t happen. It was a good search, believe me.”
“I believe you. Was the thirty-two dusted for prints?”
“Yes. There were none.”
That brought Holly up short. “This guy shoots the chief, then wipes the gun clean and puts it back into his glove compartment for us to find?”
“I expect he planned to ditch the weapon,” Hurd said.
“Then why didn’t he? He had a good twenty-four hours to do it. Why would he leave incriminating evidence in the van for us to find?”
“Because he was stupid. Remember, we found the cocaine and the chief’s gun, too. He didn’t even bother to ditch that.”
“That was certainly stupid,” Holly admitted. “Okay, that’s all. You did your job, Hurd. It’s not your fault Hurst didn’t call me when the arrest was made.”
“Chief, I can’t vouch for the arrest or anything that went on in that interrogation room that I didn’t see, but I promise you, it was a good search. You don’t need to worry about that.”
“Thanks, Hurd.” She walked out of her office with him to find the prosecutor still waiting in the hall. “Is Oxenhandler still with them?”
“Yes. I’m hoping we can close the books on this one immediately. I want the community to know that we’re on it.”
“Me, too.” She saw Oxenhandler leave the interrogation room and come toward them.
“All right, Jackson,” Skene said. “Let’s make this short and sweet: they plead to assault with intent to kill and take twenty-five to life. If Chief Marley dies before the judge approves the plea bargain, and I hear he might, it’ll be murder, and I’ll go for the death penalty. I may yet charge them in the matter of the Doherty murder.”
“Sam Sweeney says his thirty-two revolver is a Colt. The gun found in his van was a Smith and Wesson.”
“Well, he would say that, wouldn’t he?” Skene said.
“I’ll talk to them,” Oxenhandler said. He walked back down the hallway and into the interrogation room.
“You think they’ll plead?” Holly asked Skene.
“If they’re smart. We’ve got them cold, and I’d like to save the county the cost of a trial.”
“That would be good,” Holly said. She’d be happy to see the two in jail forever.
A few minutes later Oxenhandler came out of the interrogation room. “No deal, Marty. They maintain their innocence.”
“You’re a fool, Jackson.”
“It’s not the first time I’ve been told that.”
“I’ll ask for a preliminary hearing tomorrow morning,” Skene said.
“I’d like another day, Marty.”
“What for?”
“Don’t you think it’s important for the county to show at least the appearance of fairness in a case this important?”
Skene looked like exploding but held himself in check. “All right, the day after tomorrow at ten
A.M.
I’ll call you if that’s not all right with the judge.”
“Thanks, Marty,” Oxenhandler said.
Skene shook Holly’s hand, then Oxenhandler’s, and walked out.
“He’s in a big hurry, isn’t he?” Oxenhandler said.
“Can you blame him?”
“Yes, but it wouldn’t do any good. When did you start work here?”
“Couple of days ago. Chief Marley hired me from the military last month.”
“You done a lot of criminal investigation?” the lawyer asked.
