Blood Orchid (3 page)
“There’s no beachfront property attached; it’s all west of A1A; that holds down the value. Fact is, Orchid Beach isn’t the sort of town to support the kind of
big-time development that this property would require if someone is going to turn a profit. It’s over the top, and by a long way.”
“Well, two of these bids are not credible, as far as I’m concerned. Did you read the backup paperwork?”
“Yes, and I agree. There’s only one bid that we could properly accept, I think, and it’s this BOP, Blood Orchid Properties.”
“Weren’t we expecting bids from a couple of big Miami developers?”
“Sure, but don’t you read the papers?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that Manny and Steven Steinberg are both dead. We’ve had serious interest from both of them, and I was anticipating bids.”
“What, they just dropped dead? Both these guys were in their forties, weren’t they?”
“They dropped dead from bullets,” the man replied. “And on the same day. Less than a week before the bidding closed.”
“And what does that tell you?”
“Well, it’s suspicious, I’ll grant you that, but we’re not going to get those bids now. We’ve advertised this thing, received sealed bids from three parties, and one of them is higher than the reserve, so what can we do but accept it? We’re on a deadline here.”
Singleton stacked the papers and returned them to his subordinate. “All right, issue the acceptance to this BOP outfit.” Singleton watched Willard Smith leave, closing the door behind him, then he called the FBI.
Harry Crisp, the agent in charge of the FBI’s Miami office, answered a buzz from his secretary.
“Yes?”
“A Howard Singleton from the GSA is on the phone.”
“Is this about my request for additional office space?”
“He didn’t say.”
Crisp punched the flashing button. “Mr. Singleton, this is Harry Crisp.”
“Good morning.”
“I hope this is about getting us more office space.”
“That request is being processed, Mr. Crisp, but this is about something else.”
“What’s up?”
“You remember a couple of years back you folks confiscated a piece of property up in Orchid Beach?”
“Yeah, sure; Palmetto Gardens. There was a huge drug-based money-laundering operation being run from there.”
“Right. Well, we got authority a few weeks ago to sell the development.”
“Yeah, that figures. Did you sell it yet?”
“Yes, but there’s something fishy about the bidding.”
“Tell me about it.”
“We got only three bids, all of them low, only one of them acceptable.”
“Listen, Howard, I’m not in the real estate business.”
“That’s not what I’m calling about. We anticipated bids from two large Miami property developers, and they were both murdered less than a week before bidding closed.”
“Murder happens.”
“Sure, but why these two guys?”
“Who were they?”
“Manuel Jimenez and Steven Steinberg. According to the papers, they had no connection, except that my
office had talked with both of them several times about a bid on Palmetto Gardens. Then they get killed right before it’s time to submit sealed bids, way too late for anybody else to get involved who hadn’t already prepared a bid. What does that suggest to you?”
“You said you accepted a bid?”
“Yes, from a company called Blood Orchid Properties.”
Crisp made a note of that.
“They’re a Panamanian company, registered to do business in the U.S.”
Crisp kept writing as Singleton gave him what he had on BOP.
Holly’s secretary buzzed her. “Harry Crisp on line one.”
She picked up the phone. “Harry, how are you?”
“I’m good, Holly, you?”
“Good.”
“How’s Ham? He all healed up?”
“Sure, a long time ago.” Ham had been shot while playing a key role in an FBI investigation.
“We’ve always been grateful for his help on that thing, you know.”
“Then you might tell him so.”
“I had the attorney general write him a letter,” Crisp said. “What does he want, a handwritten note from the president?”
“Forget it, Harry. What’s up?”
“Remember Palmetto Gardens?”
“How could I forget?” She had put the FBI onto what was happening there and had been very important in cracking the case.
“It sold the other day.”
“I saw something in the local paper about it. Whoever bought it got a real deal.”
“Yeah. Problem is, two Miami developers who were supposed to bid got themselves murdered before they could submit something.”
“Oh, yeah. I read about that in the
New York Times.
I even talked to the investigating officer about it.”
“Why?”
“We had an attempt on a developer’s life up here a couple of weeks back—a retired developer from New York.”
“Tell me about it.”
“A single rifle shot, missed him by inches, went in one side of the man’s greenhouse, came out the other. Assassin’s weapon.”
“You investigated this?”
“I was standing next to the man when it happened.”
“Who is he?”
“Name is Ed Shine.” She spelled it for him.
“I’ll run it, see if we come up with something.”
“Okay.”
“Do you know if he bid on the property?”
“I have no idea.”
“Can you find out?”
“I can call and ask him. Why? You think that whoever bought the property wanted Shine out of the way, too?”
“Could be. Is he still healthy?”
“Far as I know.”
“Let me hear from you. Best to Ham.” He hung up.
Holly’s secretary buzzed again. “A Mr. Ed Shine, on one.”
There was a convenient coincidence. Holly punched the button. “Ed?”
“How are you, Holly?”
“Just fine; you?”
“Couldn’t be better. You and Ham up for some golf?”
“Sure, when?”
“How about tomorrow at ten
A.M.
?”
“Can you get a tee time at that hour this late?”
“Don’t worry about it; I just bought the golf course—three of them, in fact.”
“Palmetto Gardens?”
“How’d you know that?”
“I’m the chief of police; I know everything.”
“Meet me at the front gate at ten sharp tomorrow.”
“I’ll call Ham; we’ll be there.” She hung up and called her father.
“Yep?”
“You free for golf at ten
A.M.
tomorrow?”
“Yep.”
“Meet me at Palmetto Gardens.”
“I thought the place was closed by the Feds.”
“Not anymore; somebody bought it.”
“Who?”
“I’ll tell you about it tomorrow.” Holly hung up. She wouldn’t call Harry Crisp back until she knew more. Once Harry got ahold of something, he tended to keep it to himself, and Holly wanted to play out her own string before she turned it over to the FBI.
She got up and walked around to the office of her deputy chief, Hurd Wallace. “Morning. Who did you assign to the Ed Shine thing?”
“I’m doing it myself; it’s pretty much a dead end.”
“Did you get any prints from the shell casing?”
“Nope. I’m surprised a pro would leave one on the scene.”
“A pro in Miami did the same thing,” she replied. She handed him the Miami detective’s address. “If you’re through with it, send the shell casing to this guy, registered mail. Get a receipt.”
“Okay.”
“You say the Shine thing is a dead end?”
Hurd shrugged. “Somebody took a shot at him and missed, left no trace of himself except the shell casing. There’s been no other attempt. I don’t know how to make any more out of it.”
“Neither do I,” Holly said.
H
olly arrived at Palmetto Gardens to find Ham and Ed Shine waiting for her at the main gate. Two workmen were there, too, hoisting into place a large sign reading
BLOOD ORCHID ESTATES
,
A new golf community, home sites from $1
,
000
,
000, completed homes from $2
,
500
,
000
. There was a phone number at the bottom. Holly rolled down her window.
“Follow me,” Ed Shine said, getting into his car.
Holly followed Ed and Ham to the clubhouse, where they got out of their cars. Holly and Ham had played there once before, when the place was a criminal enterprise. “So you bought yourself some property, Ed?”
“Yeah, I did,” Ed replied. “I didn’t tell you about it the other evening because I hadn’t bid yet and I didn’t want to jinx it.”
“The papers said the price was sixty million dollars, but they didn’t mention your name.”
“The price was correct, and I consider it a steal,” Ed replied. “I like to keep a fairly low profile; I formed a company for the purchase, Blood Orchid Properties.”
“Those are pretty hefty prices you’re advertising,” Ham said.
“Right,” Holly added. “I’ve never heard of prices like that in Orchid Beach.”
“A sign like that keeps out the riffraff,” Shine replied. “Anyway, when I’m done with this place, people will be lining up to pay those prices,” Ed said. “You wait and see. Come on, let’s get our clubs.”
They retrieved their clubs from their cars and walked out onto the first tee.
“Wow,” Holly said, “the course is in beautiful shape.”
“The Feds kept on the grounds crew when they confiscated the property,” Ed replied. “They knew they’d get more money if the courses were kept in shape, and they maintained the rest of the property, too. Ham, you tee off first, then me, then we’ll take Holly down to the ladies’ tees.”
“Holly drives from the men’s tees,” Ham said.
“Then Holly, you go first, by all means.”
Holly teed up, did some stretching, then drove the ball two hundred and thirty yards down the right side of the fairway.
Ham drove next, outdriving her by ten yards.
Ed drove next. Holly thought he was amazingly flexible for his age; she’d expected a short backswing and a bent left arm, but Ed drove like a pro, even with Holly’s drive, but in the center of the fairway.
“I don’t drive it as far as I used to,” Ed said as he climbed into a cart with Holly. Ham followed them in a second cart. “I used to be a scratch golfer in my youth. Now I play to an eleven handicap. What’s yours?”
“Probably around a fourteen; I used to have a twelve, but I’ve been too busy to play.” She turned
and looked at him. “I’ve got some news for you,” she said. “Maybe a reason why somebody took a shot at you.”
Ed stopped the cart and looked at her. “Tell me about it.”
“This is only a theory,” she said, “and I won’t know more about it for a few days, but on the day of the evening you were shot at, two Miami property developers were murdered.”
“I read about that in the papers,” Ed said. “Why does that have anything to do with me?”
“The FBI tells me both those guys were going to bid on Palmetto Gardens.”
“Blood Orchid, please,” Ed said, holding up a hand.
“Okay, Blood Orchid. Tell me, Ed, who knew you were going to bid on the property?”
“Wait a minute.” Ed shook his head. “When you bid on a property the General Services Administration is selling, nobody knows who’s bidding or how much they’re bidding; that’s all very secret. You make your judgment of the value of the property, enter your bid, and hope for the best. Property development is a pretty cutthroat business,” he said. “I could tell you some stories. But two murders?”
“Three,” Holly said, “but for the grace of God.”
Ed laughed and shook his head again. “Nah, couldn’t happen. No piece of property is worth that, especially this piece.”
“This piece of property looks pretty good to me,” Holly said.
“Not from a developer’s point of view. Orchid Beach is out of the way, not like Boca or Palm Beach—not even like Vero. This land in Boca or Palm Beach, with three golf courses already constructed and fifty houses
built, would cost, what, two hundred million? Maybe more.”
“If it’s not so hot, why are you so hot on it?”
Ed held up some fingers: “One, because I live here; two, because the price was right; and three, because I had the money from the sale of my business. With me, it’s almost a hobby; I don’t have any overhead to speak of, though I’ve opened an office and am hiring a couple of salesmen. Also, since the place already has the important elements in place, it won’t take me twenty years to develop it.” He smiled. “At my age, twenty years would be too long. Nope, in five years, I’ll have this place roaring, and I’ll have my own little kingdom to rule. That’s how I’ll spend the rest of my life.”
“Hey!” Ham called from his cart across the course. “Golf, anyone?”
Back at her office, Holly couldn’t stand it anymore. She called the Miami detective.
“Hi, this is Chief Holly Barker, in Orchid Beach.”
“Afternoon, Chief.”
“Did you get my cartridge casing?”
“Yep.”
“Was it a match for yours?”
“Yep.”
Her theory suddenly held a lot of water. “What’s your next step?”
“I don’t have one,” Connor said.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, I’m off the case, as of half an hour ago.”
“Why?”
“Because the FBI went to the chief of detectives and took it away from me. You want any more, call Harry Crisp, over at their Miami office.”
“I’ll do that, Jim,” Holly said, and hung up. She immediately called Harry.
“Hello, Holly,” Harry Crisp said. “I was expecting to hear from you.”
“I guess Connor told you about my matching cartridge case, before you snatched the file from him.”
“Yes, he did, and I had every right to do that. The case now has federal ramifications, since it was the federal government that was selling Palmetto Gardens.”
“Blood Orchid,” Holly said.
“What?”
“That’s what it’s called now. I just played golf out there with the new owner, Ed Shine.”
“Oh, yeah. We ran a check on him, came up with no arrests, no convictions. He’s clean.”
“I’m glad to hear it because he’s a nice guy.”
“He’s a
lucky
guy, is what he is. Clearly, whoever was behind this meant to take him out as well as Jimenez and Steinberg.”