Orchid Beach (12 page)
“That’s right, Chet, and I came to work a few days ago. You were hurt before we could talk.”
He pushed the soup away. “Boy, I’m tired,” he said. “None of this makes any sense.”
Dr. Green spoke up. “We’d better let him get some sleep. You can talk more tomorrow.”
“Yeah,” Chet said, closing his eyes. The nurse lowered the bed, and he seemed to drift off.
Holly left the ward with the doctor. “Is he going to be all right?”
“Except for his memory loss, he seems to be recovering.”
“Is he going to get any of his memory back?”
“Hard to say. He seems perfectly aware of everything up until a few weeks ago, but as you saw, he remembers nothing about the shooting. That could come back to him, if the relevant brain tissue hasn’t been destroyed, but I can’t promise you it will. Come back tomorrow morning, and let’s see how he’s doing then.”
“All right. Thank you for calling me, Doctor, and let’s keep this quiet.”
“Of course. I’ll see that contact with him is limited. The nurses already know they’re not supposed to talk about him.”
“See you tomorrow,” Holly said, shaking his hand. She took the elevator downstairs and walked out to the car. Daisy was in the front seat now, her head in Jackson’s lap.
“I see you two are getting along,” Holly said. “Backseat, Daisy.” Daisy jumped into the backseat.
“We did fine,” Jackson replied. “She’s very nice when she’s not threatening to tear my throat out. I hope she doesn’t sleep with you.”
“She does,” Holly lied.
“Oh. How’s Chet?”
“Can you keep your mouth shut?”
“It’s one of the things lawyers do best. If we talked, the world would tremble.” He started the car and headed for the airport.
“He’s awake and talking.”
“That’s great! Who shot him?”
“He doesn’t remember that part—nothing, in fact, since our last meeting, when he hired me.”
“That’s bad news,” Jackson said. “Is his memory going to improve?”
“Nobody knows. I’ll come back to see him tomorrow and see how he’s doing.”
“Do you really think they might try again?”
“If they thought he could identify them, they’d have to.”
“Has it ever occurred to you,” Jackson said, “that they might find it convenient for you to be dead?”
“Yes,” she said. “Somebody had a go at me very recently.” She told him about the incident with the gas bottle and the parachute flare. “But I can take care of myself,” she said finally.
“I hope you won’t mind if I help,” he said.
“And how would you do that?”
“I’ll just keep an eye on you, mostly in the evenings.”
She was surprised at how much the offer pleased her. “I think I could get used to that,” she said.
“Who do you suspect in the department?” he asked, changing the subject.
“I don’t know who to suspect. When you told me about the gun in the van, I thought I had Hurd Wallace cold, but it turns out that his ex-wife’s place was burgled three months ago. She reported the gun stolen at that time. The most plausible scenario I have right now is that your client bought the gun from whoever stole it.”
“You know that’s not the case,” he said.
“How do I know that?”
“Because whoever shot Chet killed Hank Doherty. Sammy didn’t even know who Doherty was, let alone have a motive for killing him.”
“Why do you think the same people killed Hank?”
“I hear things. I heard he was killed with the chief’s shotgun.”
“You heard right.”
“Well, we know Chet didn’t kill him, don’t we?”
“That’s what I think.”
“So Sam Sweeney is out of it.”
“Yes, he is. Frankly, I was afraid somebody might kill him, once he was identified as a suspect. That’s why I ran him out of town; it would be easy to hang it on a dead guy.”
“Good move.”
“I wonder where Sam’s Colt thirty-two is?” she said.
“In a killer’s pocket, probably.” He drove up to the airport terminal and stopped. “I’ll follow you home,” he said.
“Don’t bother, I’ll be all right.”
“Are you armed?”
“No.”
“I’ll follow you.” He bent down and kissed her.
She kissed him back, and she liked it. “Whatever you say, counselor,” she whispered.
H
olly slept alone, though Jackson Oxenhandler had made it clear he would have preferred it otherwise, and she wasn’t so sure that she wouldn’t have preferred it, too. It had been a long time, she reflected. As soon as word had gotten out on the base about her intention to charge Colonel James Bruno, half the men on the base had stopped speaking to her, except when absolutely necessary, and those she found attractive among the other half had stopped asking her out.
She had just woken up when the phone rang. “Hello?”
“It’s Dr. Green. I’m sorry to call you so early, but I thought you’d want to know right away.”
“Know what?”
“The supervisor in intensive care called me a minute ago. Chester Marley is back in a coma.”
“But I thought he was doing so well.”
“So did I, but they were unable to wake him this morn
ing. I can’t offer you any sort of prognosis; we’ll just have to wait and see what happens.”
“Thank you for letting me know, Doctor,” she said, then hung up. This was depressing news. Even if Chet had been unable to remember the shooting, he could have filled her in on his earlier suspicions. The phone rang again. “Hello?”
“It’s Jackson. Did you sleep well?”
“Like a stone.”
“I’m sorry to hear it.”
She laughed. “Bad news,” she said. “The doctor just called, and Chet is back in a coma.”
“I hear that happens sometimes.”
“It’s depressing.”
“I can see how it might be. Dinner tonight?”
“Can I call you later? I don’t know what the day holds.”
“Sure.” He gave her his office and home numbers.
“Talk to you later.” She hung up and started her day.
She was in the office by eight-thirty, and at nine Charlie Peterson, of the City Council, knocked on her door. “Good morning.”
“Good morning,” she said, remembering that she had been supposed to call him. “I’m sorry I haven’t gotten back to you, but it’s been extremely busy around here.”
“Yeah, I heard. We’ve got a council meeting at ten; I think you should come up and meet everybody.”
“Sure, I’ll be glad to.”
“It’s room 404.”
“See you at ten.” She walked next door to Jane Grey’s office. “Jane, will you make a copy of my contract, please? I think the city council might like to see it.”
“I expect they already have,” she said. “The council chairman, John Westover, asked for a copy yesterday. I couldn’t think of any reason not to give it to him.”
“You did the right thing,” Holly said. She sat down. “Tell me about this Westover.”
“He’s a power, locally—owns a car dealership, a printing company, a fast-food franchise and a funeral home, among other things.”
“What’s he like?”
“Professionally jovial,” Jane said. “He’s a car salesman at heart, I think. Wants everybody to like him. Takes the council seriously, though. He’s said to have a real good grasp of the city’s finances, and he manages them well. The city is well run, and property taxes are under control, so he keeps getting elected.”
“Who’s the mayor?”
“John is, for all practical purposes. There’s no mayor, just a city manager, Ted Michaels, and he jumps when John Westover hollers.”
“What about the rest of the council?”
“There’s only five, and they’re elected at large, not from districts. Charlie Peterson is the only one with any gumption. The others vote yes when John Westover clears his throat.”
“I think I get the picture,” Holly said. She went back to her office.
At ten o’clock, she went up to the city council chambers and was asked by a receptionist to take a seat in a waiting room. She leafed through a magazine for a few minutes, then the door to the chambers opened and a large, pink-
faced man with a crew cut smiled at her and shook her hand.
“I’m John Westover,” he said. “Sorry to keep you waiting. We had some business to get out of the way. Come on in.”
Everybody stood up.
“I guess you already know Charlie Peterson. The others are, left to right, Frank Hessian, Howard Goldman, and Irma Taggert.”
Holly shook all their hands and took an offered seat at their conference table.
“First, let me welcome you to Orchid Beach,” Westover said.
“Thank you,” Holly replied.
“We’re a little in the dark about your hiring, so I wonder if you’d just tell us how it came about?”
“I’d be glad to,” Holly said. She explained her military background briefly. “Chief Marley and my father, Hamilton Barker, are old friends from the army. The chief came up to see us and offered me the deputy chief’s job.”
“What did he know about your background?” Westover asked.
“Everything there was to know,” Holly replied. “The chief is a careful man; he did his homework.”
“I’m sure he did. Now, I’ve read your contract, and I’d like to know how much negotiation was involved.”
“There was none,” Holly said.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Chief Marley made me an offer and I accepted it. He sent me a contract, I read it and signed it without any changes.”
“You’re a very trusting person, Miss Barker,” the woman councillor, Irma Taggert, said.
“It was a good offer and a well-drawn contract,” Holly replied. “From what I’ve learned about Chief Marley’s work habits, it was typical of the way he does things.”
“God knows, the chief does things his own way,” Frank Goldman said.
“I think the organization and training of his department speak for themselves,” Holly said.
“Perhaps you could tell us something about your background in the military and law enforcement.”
“I’d be glad to. I joined the army out of high school and after basic training was assigned to the military police. I earned a degree in criminology from the University of Maryland, was accepted into Officer Candidate School, commissioned and assigned as a platoon leader in an MP company. Over the years I was promoted regularly and rose to the rank of major, in command of an MP company with a complement of a hundred or so men and women, a job that I held at retirement.”
“Did you have any civilian law-enforcement training?”
“I attended four courses at the FBI Academy at Quantico Marine Base, where I trained in criminal investigation and law-enforcement management. The other, nonmilitary trainees were officers and chiefs of police from cities all over the country.”
“I see. And why did you choose to retire from the military?”
Holly took a deep breath: best to be frank about it. “I and another female officer charged the provost marshal on our base with sexual harassment and attempted rape. Although we both testified against him, a court-martial failed to convict him. I believed that his acquittal might damage my chances for promotion, and it was at that
time—on the same day, actually—that I met Chet Marley, and he offered me the job in Orchid Beach. It seemed a fine opportunity, and I took it.”
“Holly,” John Westbrook said, “may I call you Holly?”
“Of course. I’d like it if you all would.”
“Holly, we’ve had some discussion this morning, and I believe it’s fair to say that it was the sense of our meeting that we appoint an acting chief while Chet Marley is incapacitated.”
Holly said nothing.
“What I mean is, we feel that a person who is more familiar with the way the department is organized, and more familiar with the territory in Orchid Beach, would be a better choice for this position. We’d like you to stay on, of course, but we feel that Lieutenant Hurd Wallace is the natural choice for the position.”
Charlie Peterson spoke up. “Not all of us feel that way, John,” he said, and Frank Goldman nodded vigorously in agreement.
“All right, then,” Westover said, reddening, “a majority of us feel that way.”
“Mr. Westover…”
“John, please.”
“Of course, John. I believe you’ve had an opportunity to read my contract.”
“Well, I did take a quick look at it.”
“Then I’m sure you know that it specifies that, in any circumstance when Chief Marley is unable to perform his duties, I automatically become acting chief.”
“Well, now, I don’t know about that,” Westover said.
“Holly,” Irma Taggert said, leaning forward, “we don’t want to be sticklers over legal matters here, we’re just
doing what we believe is best for our little city.”
“Of course you are, Irma,” Holly said, “and I feel I have that same obligation.”
“I’m so glad,” Taggert said, looking relieved.
“I believe that I have an obligation to live up to the terms of my contract, and that the city has the same obligation. It’s my understanding that the city charter gives Chet Marley the authority to hire and fire in his department and to appoint his own choices in supervisory and executive positions. Chief Marley told me that he considered Hurd Wallace for the position and decided against him. Now he has made his choice, and my intention is to carry out his wishes to the best of my ability.”
“Young lady,” Irma Taggert spat, “do you realize that we could fire you out of hand this minute and appoint whoever we want to your job?”
Holly felt her hackles rising, and she couldn’t resist the impulse to fire back. Charlie Peterson saved her from herself.
“Irma, I’m the lawyer here, so let me give you the city’s legal position in a nutshell. Deputy Chief Barker has a five-year contract properly approved and executed by the relevant authority, Chief Marley. If we were to fire her, she would be entitled, at the very least, to every penny specified in her contract, plus health insurance and pension contributions. It’s my considered opinion that, if we fired her, she could also bring an action against the city for unlawful dismissal and sex discrimination and that she would probably get both compensatory and punitive damages.”
“Just tell me this, Charlie Peterson,” Taggert shot back. “Why hasn’t she arrested the person who shot Chet Marley?”