Orchid Beach (11 page)
“Not really. Anyway, you don’t have to guess. It had to be that Smith and Wesson thirty-two.”
He was right about that. “Did you hear a car drive away?”
“Yeah, I heard the doors slam…”
“How many doors?”
“Two. I guess that means there was two of them.”
“I guess so. What did the car sound like?”
“Like a car—not a truck. Like a regular car. Kind of sporty, maybe. You know how some of them sporty cars sound?”
“Like a Ferrari or something?”
“Nah, I’d know that sound. Like something that wanted to be a Ferrari, you know? Something cheaper.”
“Which way did it go?”
“I reckon it made a U-turn and went north.”
“What are your plans, Sam?”
“Plans? I ain’t got no plans. I’m just hangin’.”
Holly shook her head. “No. I want you out of here.”
“Out of the campsite?”
“Not just that. Out of Orchid, out of the county.”
“How come?”
“You want to be busted on the cocaine charge? Nobody planted that.”
“I, uh, see your point,” he said.
“I want you gone before dark,” she said.
“Yes, ma’am, and thank you for not busting me on the drugs. They was just recreational, only for my own use, you know; I wasn’t dealing nothing.”
“Fine, just pack it up and go,” she said.
“Can I check back with you to see if you find my Colt thirty-two?”
“Sam, you’re pressing your luck.”
He held up his hands in front of him. “Yes, ma’am, I get the picture. We’ll be on our way just as soon as we can get our stuff in the van.”
“That’s the idea,” Holly said. “Good luck.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
Holly walked back to the car, where Daisy was looking anxiously out the window. “I’m back,” she said to the dog. “No need to worry. We’ll go home and get you some dinner.”
The mention of dinner got a favorable reaction.
When Holly got back to her trailer, there was a car in her parking spot. Daisy made a low noise in her throat. Holly drew her gun.
T
he car was a Toyota Camry, late eighties, before the new design came along. She was impressed by its condition—no dents or rust, clean, polished. Daisy was still making the noise; she preceded Holly around the corner of the trailer.
“Easy there,” Jackson Oxenhandler was saying, holding out his hands toward the dog, as if to fend her off.
“Daisy, stop,” Holly said. Daisy stopped, but she continued to growl.
“I’m not a burglar,” the lawyer said to the dog. “Look,” he said, holding up a large paper bag, “I brought dinner.”
“Daisy, he’s all right. Good dog,” Holly said. Daisy stopped growling, walked over to Oxenhandler and sniffed the bag.
“Good dog,” Oxenhandler said. He offered her the back of his hand to sniff. “Doesn’t smell as good as the bag, does it?”
“Who invited you to dinner?” Holly asked.
“Nobody. I’m inviting you.” He held up the bag again. “You like barbecue?”
Holly’s stomach woke up and growled, as if on cue. “I like
good
barbecue,” she said.
“This is the best,” Oxenhandler said, pointing at the bag. “Pit-roasted, hand-basted, from an extremely attractive pig.”
“How come you’re so anxious to go out with me?” she asked.
“Because I find you overwhelmingly attractive,” he replied.
“That’s hard to argue with, I guess.”
He held up the bag again. “It’s
really
good barbecue.”
Holly’s mouth watered. “I accept,” she said, then smiled.
“That took a long time,” he said.
“What?”
“That smile. First one I’ve seen on you.”
“First one I’ve worn since I came to this town,” she said. “You want a beer?”
“Sure.”
She motioned him off her doorstep, unlocked the trailer door and motioned Daisy inside. “Daisy, bring the gentleman a beer,” she said. Daisy disappeared and came back half a minute later with a Heineken in her jaws, surrendering it to Oxenhandler.
“That,” he said, “is a
very
valuable dog.”
“I’d like a beer, too, Daisy,” Holly said, and the dog brought her one.
“Did she close the refrigerator door?” he asked.
“You bet.” Holly reached inside the trailer, got an
opener and cracked both bottles. She dragged up a couple of folding chairs and they sat and watched the Indian River.
“Hope this isn’t too much of a shock,” he said. “I mean, I hope I’m not being too persistent.”
“I like persistence in a man,” she replied. Involuntarily, she thought of Colonel James Bruno, then dismissed him from her mind. “Up to a point.”
“Point taken. You hungry yet?”
“Let’s finish our beer.”
“Good idea. I hear you’re an army brat.”
“Brat, filly and…older filly. Grew up in it, joined it, stayed twenty years.”
“You don’t look old enough to have done anything for twenty years.”
“I’m thirty-eight and a half, if you’re fishing. How old are you?”
“Forty-one.”
“How long you been practicing law?”
“Six years.”
She frowned. “You have trouble getting out of law school?”
“I had trouble getting in,” he replied. “Once in, I did okay.”
“What did you do before?”
“I was a cop in Miami.”
“What kind of cop?”
“Street, uniformed. I wasn’t suited to it.”
“How long did it take you to figure that out?”
“Oh, about eight years. They finally made it clear to me.”
“Who did?”
“All the other cops, especially my superiors.”
“What were your shortcomings as a police officer?”
“Do I have to?”
“Yes.”
“I was too sensitive. I tended to feel for the people I arrested. I tended not to feel for most of the cops I knew.”
“How so?”
“Too many of them were unnecessarily violent, on the take. I saw them hurt people, lie to their superiors, perjure themselves in court.”
“What percentage of all cops were like that?”
“I don’t know, maybe fifteen, twenty percent of the ones I knew. Trouble was, those were the ones I seemed to get partnered with or put to work for.”
“So you left and went to law school?”
“First I testified against my partner; after that it was easy to leave.”
“I’ll bet. What did your partner do?”
“He beat a man to death with a baton.”
“And you saw it happen?”
“I was driving. He told me to stop alongside a guy walking along the street. I stopped. My partner got out and started hitting the guy in the head. By the time I got there, the guy’s brains were on the sidewalk. I asked my partner why he’d done it, and he said the guy hadn’t paid off. He’d apparently been taking a cut of the guy’s drug sales.”
“What did you do? Immediately, I mean.”
“I arrested him, cuffed him, threw him in the back of the patrol car, took him down to the station and booked him. A crowd gathered at the booking desk—a crowd of cops. The shift was changing.”
“What did they do?”
“They locked
me
up.”
“On what charge?”
“Murder, of course; my partner fingered me for the killing.”
“Jesus.”
“Yeah, it wasn’t much fun.”
“And how did you get out of that mess?”
“Fortunately, a lawyer—a public defender—saw them lock me up and called Internal Affairs. I’ve had a soft spot for public defenders ever since. IA got there before somebody killed me. Fortunately, also, there was a witness to the event on the street—a teenaged Cuban girl. She backed me up, and eventually, after nearly a year on administrative leave, I testified, and my partner got a life sentence.”
“What kind of life sentence?”
“The kind that makes parole possible after ten years.”
“And how long ago was this?”
“Twelve years ago. He’s out.”
“Any idea where he is?”
“He’s in Miami, working for a security company run by an ex-cop. Cops take care of their own, you know.”
“They didn’t take care of you.”
“I wasn’t one of their own, and they knew it.”
They were quiet for a little while.
“I’m hungry,” Holly said. “You want another beer?”
“Yeah, thanks.”
She gave him some dishes and napkins, then got them both another beer.
“How come you left the army after twenty? Why didn’t you stay for the whole thirty?”
“I decided my career was pretty much at an end.”
“How come?”
“I accused my commanding officer of attempted rape
and sexual harrassment. He was acquitted at the court-martial.”
“He really tried to rape you?”
“He tried real hard. It all started with his asking me out. When I wouldn’t go, the…remarks began, and that degenerated into grabbing. I asked him to stop; he wouldn’t. Finally, one day, he grabbed me and I hit him. I hit pretty good. That’s when he started tearing my clothes off.”
“You fought him off?”
“I got a knee into his crotch, and he seemed to lose interest.”
“So you turned him in?”
“Not until I found out he’d been giving a young lieutenant in the outfit a hard time. I figured, with the two of us to testify, we’d have a case. I was wrong.”
“He got off scot-free.”
“He did.”
“Looks like you and I are sort of black sheep, doesn’t it?” he said.
“You could say that.” They plunged into the barbecue. It was sensational. “This is sensational barbecue,” she said. “Best I’ve ever had.”
“I know a guy,” he replied.
“So tell me about law school.”
“I applied at a dozen places, all out of state. They all liked my academic record—I had a degree from Florida State—but they didn’t like the idea of a thirty-two-year-old first-year law student. I finally got into the University of Georgia Law School, after I hinted that I might sue for age discrimination if I didn’t get in.”
“How’d you do?”
“Third in my class; edited the law review.”
“So how come you’re not practicing corporate law in some glass tower somewhere?”
He smiled sadly. “I like criminals. I mean, I understand them, somehow—what makes them do what they do. It makes it easier to defend them. You know, I don’t think I’ve ever defended an innocent man until today. And, of course, ol’ Sam possessed an unlicensed weapon and some drugs, so I guess he wasn’t innocent, after all.”
“I just said good-bye to Sam,” she said. “Right before I got home.”
“He’s going somewhere?”
“At my suggestion. We don’t need him around here.”
“I can see it’s going to be tough to make a living in Orchid with you around.”
She laughed. The phone rang. She got up and went into the trailer. “Hello?”
“Ms…. Chief Barker?”
“Yes.”
“It’s Dr. Green, at the hospital.”
“Yes, Dr. Green?” She had the awful feeling that Chet Marley was dead.
“Chester Marley is awake,” he said.
“I’m on my way,” she replied, then hung up.
H
olly started to change out of her uniform. “I’ve got to go to the hospital,” she called through the open door. “Can you give me a lift to the airport? My car’s there.”
“Sure, glad to. Something to do with Chet Marley?”
She came out of the trailer, buttoning her blouse. “Sort of.”
“Okay,” he said. They got into his car and drove off. Daisy sat in the backseat.
Holly was quiet, wondering what was going to happen next. Probably, Chet wouldn’t be able to talk. Never mind, at least she could let him know she was on the job.
“I hope Chet hasn’t died?” Oxenhandler said.
“No.”
“Why are you being so closemouthed about his condition?”
“Somebody tried to kill him,” she said. “They could try again.”
“They? There was more than one?”
“Didn’t Sam Sweeney tell you that?”
“No, he didn’t. He told me he knew nothing about it. Did he tell you different?”
“He said he heard the shot but didn’t see anything. He thought there were two people.”
Oxenhandler drove along quietly for a while. “Something stinks in your police department,” he said.
“How long have you thought that?”
“A while. Chet said something to me once.”
“I didn’t even know you knew him. What did he say?”
“It’s a small town; everybody knows everybody. I had a few beers with him once, about three weeks ago. We were talking about the town. I said it was a nice town. He said it was going to be nicer before he was through being a cop. I asked how it could be any nicer, and he said it could have a better police department, and he was working on that.”
“He was,” Holly said. “That’s what got him shot.”
“You know who did it?”
“No, but I’m going to find out.”
“Good,” he said. He drove to the main entrance to the hospital and stopped.
“I’ve got to pick up my car at the airport,” she said.
“You go on in and see Chet. I’ll stay here with Daisy, and we’ll pick up your car later.”
“Okay. Daisy, stay here with Jackson and be a good girl.” She got out of the car and ran up the steps to the hospital, then took the elevator to the surgical floor and went to intensive care. Dr. Green was waiting for her. “How is he?” she asked.
“Come take a look,” the doctor said. He led her into the ward. Chet Marley’s bed had been cranked into a sitting position, and he was taking soup from a nurse. He turned and looked her way.
“Holly!” he said, and he sounded weak.
“Hey, Chet,” she said, taking his hand. “How you feeling?”
“Kind of tired. Am I in the base hospital?”
“No, Chet, you’re back in Orchid Beach.”
Chet thought about that for a moment. “You got here kind of quick, didn’t you?” he asked.
“No, some time has passed since we last met. You’ve been hurt.”
He put his hand to the bandage on his head. “What happened?”
“Somebody shot you.”
“Who?”
“I was hoping you could tell me.”
Chet shook his head. “Last thing I remember, you and Ham and I were having dinner. I hired you, didn’t I?”