by Stuart Woods
“They haven’t left a print anywhere else; I doubt they’ll start with this.” She handed it to him. “I guess you’d better send it to your client, if you ever hear from him again.”
“You don’t have any further need of it in your investigation?”
“Nope. It’s not material.”
Jackson walked out into the backyard and threw the pistol as far out into the river as he could, then he came back. “That’s the last of that,” he said. “Well, looks like we’ve gotten just about everything unpacked. Ham, you want to go out for some dinner with us?”
“Thanks, Jackson, but I think I’ll pick up some groceries and just be by myself tonight; get used to the place.”
“Okay, Ham,” Holly said, and kissed him on the cheek. “Have a good evening in your new place, and we’ll talk tomorrow.”
They got into Jackon’s car and drove away. “I hope he’s going to be okay out here by himself,” she said.
“He looks pretty self-sufficient to me,” Jackson replied.
“Yes, he is that.”
The following morning she sat down in Jane Grey’s office. “Jane, I’ve got some good news for you: Chet had some insurance, and he left half of it to you. It’s fifty thousand dollars.”
Tears welled up in Jane’s eyes, and she seemed unable to speak.
Holly patted her on the shoulder, then went back to her office to collect her thoughts. Ten minutes later she walked into the squad room and yelled for everybody’s attention. The room was packed with officers and clerical workers, and as she began to speak, she saw John Westover walk in.
“I guess you’ve all heard by now that Chief Marley died yesterday,” she said. “I’ve learned that he requested that his body be cremated and his ashes scattered on the river next to his house. That’s being taken care of today. He also had requested that there be no funeral or service, so I guess this meeting will be the closest thing to a memorial service that he’ll have. Anybody have any questions or want to say anything?”
A young officer at the back of the room spoke up. “Did the chief die without ever waking up?”
“He woke up for a short while a couple of weeks ago, then slipped back into the coma. I talked with him briefly, and he wasn’t able to remember anything about the shooting or anything else that would help the investigation.”
A young female officer raised her hand. “I think we ought to have some sort of memorial for the chief around here,” she said.
“Stacy,” Holly replied, “that’s an excellent idea. Why don’t you take charge of that? Ask around and see if anybody has a good idea of what sort of memorial it should be, and then you can take up a collection. I’ll start it with a hundred dollars, and the rest of you can give whatever you feel you can manage.”
John Westover spoke up. “I think I can persuade the council to contribute a thousand dollars to such a memorial.”
“Then we’re off to a good start,” Holly said. “Jimmy,” she called to Weathers, “will you go stand guard at the door while you listen? I don’t want anybody coming in here while I’m talking about this.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I’m going to bring you all up to date on our investigation so far, because I think that’s the best way to get every man’s and woman’s maximum contribution to solving these two murders. I don’t want you to discuss any of this with anybody who’s not in this room right now—not your wives, girlfriends, or boyfriends, not anybody. Here’s what I’ve surmised from what we’ve learned: it appears the chief met with someone who was supposed to give him some information on an investigation he was conducting himself. We don’t know what the investigation was about. There was a fight, some blows were exchanged, and the chief was shot. He may have tried to draw his weapon, because one of his murderers—we think there were two—threw his pistol over a fence into the brush, where it was recovered the next day.
“The chief was shot with a thirty-two Smith and Wesson that had been stolen from the house of Lieutenant Wallace’s ex-wife some time before and probably sold on the street, maybe more than once. The murderers then took the chief’s notebook and the shotgun from his car, went to Hank Doherty’s house, somehow got his dog, Daisy, locked in the kitchen, then shot Hank with the shotgun. They searched the place, then they went to the chief’s house and searched that.
“The murderer was clearly not the man we first arrested for the crime. He owned a thirty-two of a different make.” She turned to Bob Hurst. “Bob, you have anything to add to that?”
“No, chief,” Hurst said. “That about sums it up.”
“Any questions?”
Jimmy Weathers raised his hand. “What were they searching for at the two houses?”
“I think they believed that the chief had made some notes on the investigation he was conducting. They were looking for the notes, and that’s why they took his notebook. Any other questions?”
Nobody spoke.
“All right, now you all know as much as anybody about what’s happened. I want each of you to talk to every snitch, every source, everybody you can think of, and pick up as much information as you can. This is going to be a tough one to crack, and you just might be able to supply us with the break we need to make arrests.
“Chet Marley was a fine police chief. He has left us a well-organized and well-trained department to work with. Let’s use it to find his killers. That’s all.”
The meeting broke up, the shift changed, and John Westover came to Holly’s office, closed the door and sat down.
“Holly, you’re still acting chief for the time being, but we have to go through a formal process in order to replace Chet.”
“I’d imagined you would have to,” Holly said.
“The city charter requires us to advertise the position for a month and to receive and consider applications from qualified applicants. I expect you want the job.”
“Yes, I do.”
“I imagine Hurd Wallace will apply, too, and I’m sure we’ll have some out-of-town applicants, but you and Hurd, with your experience of the department, are probably going to be the front runners. Chet’s confidence in you will be taken into account, as well. I’ll send down an application form, and I’d like to get it back as soon as you can complete it.”
“Of course, John. There’s something I should tell you. Jackson Oxenhandler, who is Chet’s lawyer and the executor of his estate, told me yesterday about Chet’s will. He left some insurance money to Jane Grey and everything else to Hank Doherty. In the event of Hank’s predeceasing him, which of course happened, Hank’s share was to go to my father, Hamilton Barker, who was in the army with Chet and Hank. My father has just retired from the military, and he arrived in Orchid on Saturday night. He has, at Mr. Oxenhandler’s suggestion, moved into Chet’s house. I wanted you to hear about this from me.”
“Thank you for telling me, Holly. I’ll go see Hurd now and let you get on with your work.”
“I’ll see you later.”
Westover left, and Holly sat, thinking about the hiring process ahead. She knew it had to be done, but she wasn’t looking forward to having it hanging over her head.
Daisy came and put her head in Holly’s lap.
“Good girl,” Holly said. “Nice to have your support.”
CHAPTER
30
P almetto Gardens had only one listed phone number; apparently all calls went through a switchboard. Holly asked for security, then asked for Barney Noble.
“Who’s calling?” a young male voice asked.
“Chief Holly Barker, of the Orchid Beach PD.”
“I’ll patch you through to his house.”
There was a click and one ring.
“Barney Noble.”
“Hey, Barney, it’s Holly Barker. How you doing?”
“Good, Holly, and you?”
“Can’t complain.”
“When’s Ham coming down?”
“That’s why I called you. He’s here for the duration,
retired last week.”
“No kidding? About time. When’s he going to play some golf with me?”
“The sooner, the better, he says.”
“How about this afternoon?”
“Perfect. Mind if I tag along?”
“You play?”
“I’m my father’s daughter.”
“Sure, you come along. Two o’clock?”
“Sounds good.”
“I’ll meet you at the front gate. Park where you did last time.”
“See you at two.” She hung up and turned to her father. They were in Jackson’s living room. “We’re on for two. Better wear your best golf duds, it’s a fancy place.”
Ham frowned. “Shit, you mean I can’t wear my combat fatigues?”
“You’d be shot on sight. Don’t wear those awful plaid Bermuda shorts, either.”
“You’re limiting my options.”
“That’s the idea.”
Jackson spoke up. “Why wasn’t I invited?”
“You want Barney Noble to know where you are? He might call Cracker Mosely and tell him.”
“You’ve got a point,” Jackson said.
“You can baby-sit Daisy.”
“Or her me.”
“That’s more like it, come to think.”
Holly pulled into the parking space at two sharp. Barney Noble was already there, waiting for them in his white Range Rover with the little green palmetto on the door. He got out to greet them.
“Hello, Holly. Jesus, Ham, it’s been a while, hasn’t it?”
Ham shook his hand and grinned. “Must’ve been, what, ’73?”
“I reckon. Come on, let’s get your clubs in my car.”
Holly and Ham transferred their clubs to the Range Rover, then got in. The security gate opened, and the tire-buster spikes retracted.
“That’s some arrangement there,” Ham said. “You expecting armored personnel carriers?”
“Nah,” Barney replied. “Our board of directors is fond of overkill. Makes the members feel safe. It’s not like anybody ever tried to bust in here. Holly, did you know your old man was the toughest, meanest noncom in ’Nam?”
“That’s what he keeps telling me,” Holly replied.
“You’re both full of shit,” Ham said pleasantly.
“You ever miss ’Nam, Ham?”
“Not for a minute.”
“I do, sometimes. You know what I miss?” They hit a large pothole. Barney swore. “That was supposed to have been fixed yesterday,” he said. He picked up a handheld radio and said, “Base.”
“Base,” a tinny voice said.
“This is Noble. Call maintenance and tell them to put down their comic books and get down to Gull Drive at Live Oak and fix that pothole. If a member’s car hits that I’ll never hear the end of it.”
“Roger, Chief,” the voice said.
Noble put down the radio. “Sorry about that. Where was I?”
“I forget,” Ham said, looking out the window at the golf course.
“Well, never mind, here we are.” He pulled into the drive of the country club building and parked. Immediately a man in a large golf cart drove up, took their clubs out of the Range Rover and stowed them in the cart. He drove them to the first tee, where two carts were waiting.
“You two ride together,” Holly said. “You’ve got a lot of catching up to do.” She told the man to put her clubs in the other cart.
“What are you playing with, Ham?” Noble asked, peering at Ham’s clubs.
“Callaways.”
“The stainless steel ones?”
“Yep.”
“Tell you what: I’ll play your clubs, and you play mine. They’re the new Callaway irons, the tungsten-titanium ones.” He gave Ham a brief lecture on the clubs.
Holly teed off first, sending a long straight drive down the middle of the fairway. The two men drove next, landing within ten yards ahead of her ball. Holly got into her cart and followed Noble down the fairway. They were all on the green in two, and all three parred the hole.
As they played along, Holly realized that, for the first time, she could see many of the houses, which backed up onto the course. They were grandiose in scale, but seemed well designed, and the properties were beautifully landscaped.
Just beyond the ninth green was a little outdoor bar, and they sat down for a few minutes and had a beer. Holly thought it was a nice convenience, even if she had never had a beer in the middle of a golf game. What caught her attention was that the barman had a pronounced bulge under the left arm of his tight, white jacket.
“This is some place, Barney,” Ham said, looking around. “How long you been here?”
“Since shortly before the place opened. I’m a partner in a security service in Miami, and we were approached about providing services up here. In the end, they hired me to put together their own force, and I liked it up here, so I stayed. I’ve still got my share of the Miami outfit, though, and it does real well. You ready to play on?”
They drove from the tenth tee and continued their game. By the time they had finished the three of them were in a dead heat, when the handicaps were figured in. Barney drove them up to the clubhouse and led them into the pro shop. The place was large and had many displays of equipment.
“We stock only the finest stuff,” Barney said. “What did you think of the new Callaways?”
“I thought they were sensational,” Ham replied. “I played over my head today.”
“You want a set? Everything here is half price.”
“You sure? Wouldn’t that get you in trouble with your board?”
“Not a bit. It’s a funny thing: very rich people don’t like to pay retail for anything, so we make it cheap for them in the pro shop and the restaurant, while charging them an arm and a leg for just about everything else. Come on, let’s pick you out a set. How about you, Holly?”
“No, thanks, Barney. I’m well fixed for clubs.” Holly tagged along while Ham chose his irons and a set of the titanium woods, plus a new bag and a couple of dozen balls. He paid with a credit card, and Barney instructed the shop manager to have the new clubs put into Holly’s car at the front gate, along with his old ones.
Barney took Ham and Holly upstairs to the grill room, where they feasted on cheeseburgers. It was Holly’s first glimpse of some of the members, though there were no more than a couple of dozen of them in the large room. She thought they looked foreign, even the ones who weren’t Hispanic or Asian. She thought she heard two men speaking Arabic, but she wasn’t sure.
“Is it always this crowded, Barney?” she asked.
He laughed. “This is pretty typical. We never have a strain on the facilities.”
“Barney,” she said, “so far, I’ve seen three armed men—the guy who drove us in the cart, the bartender at the ninth hole and the golf shop manager. Is that usual?”
“You have a sharp eye,” Barney said. “A lot of our employees are trained and licensed to carry firearms. Makes for a nice extension to our security force, and the members like it that way.”
“Whatever you say.” Holly dug into her cheeseburger, which was as good as she’d ever had.
Driving home, Ham said, “I saw at least three more armed men around that place, and I don’t buy Barney’s explanation. What’s the point?”
“I don’t know,” Holly said, “but when I get time I’m going to look into it.”
“Something I didn’t tell you about Barney Noble,” Ham said.
“What’s that?”
“Lieutenants didn’t live long in Barney’s platoon. He lost three while I was in the company, and there were rumors that they’d been fragged. Barney never denied it.”
Holly knew that fragged meant killed by their own men.
“Barney didn’t like taking orders from shavetails just out of OCS,” Ham said. “None of them was a West Pointer; something would have been done about that.”
“Nothing was ever done, then?”
“Barney w
as transferred to headquarters and given a desk job halfway through his tour. When he was up for promotion to master sergeant, he was passed over.”
“Weren’t there any witnesses to all this?”
“If there were, they kept their mouths shut. None of them was going to cross Barney.”
“I can see why.”
“Did you notice, when we said good-bye, he didn’t ask us to play again?”
“Yeah, I did.”
“Why do you think he asked us in the first place? He could have made an excuse when you called him.”
“I think he wanted us to see what a nice, quiet, unthreatening place Palmetto Gardens is.”
“He didn’t like it much when you brought up the people who were packing.”
“No, he didn’t, did he?” Holly grinned.
“You be careful with him, honey,” Ham said.
“I will.”
CHAPTER
31
O n Sunday afternoon Holly, Jackson and Ham took Chet Marley’s whaler out into the river. Ham unscrewed the top on the urn that contained Chet’s remains and, as Holly drove slowly south from the dock, scattered the ashes on the river. Nobody said anything for a while, and Ham sat with his face in his hands for a couple of minutes. Finally he looked up.
“Well, that’s done,” Ham said, taking the wheel from Holly. “Let’s do some sightseeing.” He put the throttle forward and they sped down the river, making almost no wake, past sailboats and motor yachts—every kind of pleasure craft.
Holly looked up and was alarmed to see a business jet descending at a sharp angle, flying unbelievably low. It disappeared behind a stand of tall pines, and she tensed, waiting for the explosion and fireball. She had seen a jet fighter crash once, and she didn’t want to repeat the experience. To her surprise, nothing happened.
“That was pretty scary,” Ham said, reducing speed.
“It’s the Palmetto Gardens airfield,” Holly said. “I had forgotten about it. I was waiting for the crash.”
“Me, too,” Ham said. “That was a pretty good-sized jet.”
“They can apparently take anything short of a 747.”