Blood Orchid

by Stuart Woods

“Okay, neither of the Pellegrinos existed six years ago. I’m going to have them picked up and printed.”

  “Harry, don’t do that. Have them photographed and see if you can get a match from your records. You have an optical matching system in Washington, don’t you?”

  “Yeah, I guess that’s a better idea. Now what have you got?”

  “A forty-caliber Heckler and Koch and silencer and a twenty-two Winchester rifle with a scope and a silencer.”

  “Great.”

  “They’ll be messengered down to you tonight.”

  “Don’t do that, just overnight them directly to Washington.” He gave her the address and a case number. “I’ll send the bullet and shell casings we have, and they’ll have everything tomorrow morning. We should have the report by the close of business tomorrow.”

  “That’s good.”

  “Question: who was the connection between Carlos Alvarez and Pio Pellegrino?”

  “Oh, I forgot to give you that. I think it was a guy named Trini Rodriguez; you should run a check on him, too. He was seen in the restaurant on one occasion, and he was one of a group of guys, including Carlos, who met weekly at the firing range.”

  “You think the range is dirty?”

  “No, the owner is ex-army, and he was very helpful. He’s straight.”

  “Okay, if you say so. My check on Carlos turned up a clean sheet, too,” Holly said.

  “Yeah, he was straight, until he got involved in this.”

  “What turned him, money?”

  “Yeah, and a lot of it. He bought his girl an expensive diamond ring, for one thing. I think he thought he’d do these jobs, then get out clean. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have used his own pistol in one of the murders. He thought nobody could ever connect him to any of his victims, and he was probably right, except he didn’t count on getting blown away by the people who hired him.”

  “They never do, do they?” Harry said.

  “Get back to me, Harry.” She hung up as Hurd walked into her office.

  “The rifle had no prints on it,” he said. “I guess they were washed away by being underwater for a few days. But we picked up a pretty good thumbprint on the magazine of the pistol, and it isn’t Carlos’s print. I think the only reason we got it was because the magazine had some oil on it. We’re running it now.”

  “That’s great, Hurd. When you’re done with the weapons, send them to the FBI lab in Washington; here’s the address.” She handed him the paper. “I think we might be getting somewhere.”

  “I’m glad,” Hurd said. “Holly, I think this is going to be my last day on the job.”

  “So soon?” Holly asked. “I’d hoped you’d stay on for at least a couple more weeks, for a smooth transition.”

  “It’s done; I’ve broken up my duties and reassigned them. Here’s a list.” He put a file on her desk. “Everybody’s briefed; I’m now superfluous.”

  Holly stood up. “Thank you, Hurd, for always doing a superb job. I’m going to miss you.” She shook his hand.

  “I’ll miss you, too, Holly,” he said.

  For a moment, Holly thought she saw a flash of emotion on Hurd’s usually impassive face.

  A few hours later, the phone rang.

  “Hello?” Holly answered.

  “It’s your turn to cook for me,” Grant said.

  She looked at her watch. “I’ll pick up something on the way home. My place at seven-thirty?”

  “You’re on.”

  Holly hung up, glowing with anticipation.

  34

  Holly stopped at the grocery store and picked up the makings for a pasta dish she was particularly good at and a couple of bottles of a Dolcetto, a very nice Italian wine. She got home, fed Daisy and let her out, then started cooking. By the time Grant arrived, the house smelled wonderful.

  She threw her arms around him and gave him a big kiss.

  “Hey, you’re in a good mood!”

  “You bet I am. I’m making real good progress on the floater case, and I’ve even got Harry Crisp onboard.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  She told him everything, about Marina and the shooting range, about Pio Pellegrino and his father, who didn’t exist a few years back. She told him about recovering both weapons and shipping them to Washington.

  “You’ve had a good couple of days, then,” Grant said. “Especially getting Harry onboard. How’d you do that?”

  “By coming up with more evidence than his own people were able to find. He’s not happy about being onboard, believe me, but I think he’s finally learning that he gets further when he trusts me, instead of shouldering me out of the investigation.”

  “I hope he’s that smart,” Grant said. “Harry can revert to type at the drop of a hat. He’s a good guy to work for in a lot of ways, but—remember that someone once said that there’s no limit to how far you can go, if you don’t care who gets the credit? Harry has never figured that out. Every time our office makes a big bust, the report has got Harry’s palm prints all over it, and the guys who really did the work are mentioned somewhere down at the bottom of the page.”

  “Well, I’m not competing with him for the credit; I just want to know what the hell is going on in my town.”

  “Next time I talk to him, I’ll see if I can point that out to him, subtly.”

  “If you’re subtle, Harry won’t get it.”

  “You have a point.” He sniffed the air. “God, that smells good!”

  “Of course it does. You ready to eat?”

  “Try me.”

  They ate.

  An hour later, as Holly was dozing off on Grant’s shoulder, the phone rang.

  “Chief?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s Sally Worth, down at the station. We got a match on the thumbprint that Hurd asked for.”

  “Tell me.”

  “It belongs to a Trini Rodriguez. He has a record of arrests, more than a dozen of them, for arson, robbery, car theft, and attempted murder.”

  “A jack-of-all-trades, huh? Any convictions?”

  “None.”

  “Thanks, Sally.” She hung up and turned back to Grant. “We got a match on the thumbprint; one Trini Rodriguez, whom I recently met.”

  “You ought to call Harry.”

  “Tomorrow morning will be good enough,” she said, kissing him.

  “He’d like it if you called him at home; I’ve got the number.”

  Holly rolled over and called Harry. “Harry? Sorry to disturb you at home, but I thought you ought to know that we pulled a print off the magazine of Carlos’s forty-caliber, and it belongs to Trini Rodriguez, the guy I told you about earlier today.”

  “Good news,” Harry said. “I’m glad you called. I’ll have him picked up.”

  “Not yet, Harry, please,” Holly said. “The people he works for might go to ground, and anyway, the evidence isn’t all that good.”

  “You think we can’t get him for Carlos’s murder with that evidence?”

  “No, I don’t think so. He can claim that he put the print on the gun when Carlos showed it to him at the shooting range. Also, the guy has a long arrest record but no convictions, which means he knows how to keep his mouth shut and lawyer up. Rodriguez is very cool, and I don’t think you’ll be able to get anything out of him that would help us at this stage. Let’s find out more about the Pellegrinos before we grab Trini.”

  “Okay, that makes sense.”

  “When are we going to have something from Washington about Pio and his daddy?”

  “We got photographs of them arriving at the restaurant earlier this evening, and they’ve been transmitted to D.C. Depends on their case load; if it’s light, we’ll hear something soon.”

  “Thank you, Harry.”

  “Say hello to Grant,” Harry said.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Where else would you get my home number? It’s unlisted.”

  “Good night, Harry.” She hung up. “Harry says hello
.”

  “Why does he think I’m here?”

  “He has an unlisted number.”

  “Oops.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, he fixed us up, didn’t he? Maybe Harry has a romantic soul after all.”

  “Maybe,” Holly said, cuddling up to Grant again.

  35

  Holly had been at her desk for only a few minutes the following morning when her telephone rang.

  “Miss Barker.”

  “Miss Barker?” A woman’s voice.

  “Yes.”

  “This is Marina Santos. Do you remember me?”

  “Of course, Marina. I hope you’re well.”

  “I’m all right. You said I should telephone you if I knew anything else.”

  “Yes. Is there something you forgot to tell me?”

  “Yes, but somebody else didn’t forget.”

  “What is it, Marina?”

  “Carlos left something here that he didn’t want anyone to see.”

  “What is it?”

  “A notebook.”

  “What kind of notebook?”

  “Leather, with a ring binder.”

  “What’s in it?”

  “I’ve read it but I don’t understand it. It’s just a lot of numbers and letters.”

  “You said somebody else didn’t forget?”

  “Pedro, Carlos’s cousin. He was here last night asking about the notebook. He couldn’t find it at Carlos’s place.”

  “Did you give it to him?”

  “No.”

  “Do you still have it?”

  “I’ve hidden it.”

  “In your house?”

  “Yes.”

  “Marina, I’m going to drive down there and pick it up.” She looked at her watch. “I’ll be there in a couple of hours.”

  “Thank you. I want to get rid of it.”

  “If anybody else asks about it, you don’t know anything, understand?”

  “I understand.”

  “My cellphone number is on the card, if you need to get in touch with me before I get there.”

  “Thank you.”

  Holly hung up. “Come on, Daisy.” She stopped at the front desk and told them where she was going.

  This time Holly didn’t bother staying anywhere near the speed limit. She turned on the flashing lights behind the grille on the unmarked car, and as soon as she was on I-95, she put her foot down, moderating her speed only when she hit 120 miles per hour. Names, she wanted names, and she didn’t want Harry Crisp to have them, unless he got them from her. She made the trip in record time, slowing down only when she entered Marina’s street.

  She drove slowly down the street, passing a car parked in front of the house, a Hispanic male at the wheel reading something. She parked on the other side of the street, three or four houses down, put Daisy on a leash, and walked back up the street toward the parked car, allowing Daisy to water the grass on the way, just a woman walking her dog. The man in the car seemed engrossed in his reading.

  At Marina’s house she turned up the walk, and as she did, she heard a commotion inside. The front door was wide open, the screen door closed. She put her hand inside her purse, opened the screen with her leash hand, and walked into the house.

  The room was in disarray, and there was a man present, wearing a sport shirt, loose at the waist, revealing a bulge, his back to her, his hand drawn back. Holly let the screen door slam.

  The man spun around to face her. Holly didn’t know him, but Marina Santos was standing behind him, in tears. He said something in Spanish.

  “How’s that again?” Holly asked.

  “Who the fuck are you?” he demanded, taking a step toward her.

  “Daisy,” Holly said quietly, and Daisy bared her teeth and began growling. The man stopped. “Daisy, guard,” Holly said. Then to the man, she said, “I’m a police officer. If you move a muscle, the dog will kill you.” The man didn’t move.

  “Marina,” Holly said, “go into the kitchen and call nine-one-one; tell them there’s an intruder in your home.”

  The man said something sinister-sounding in Spanish, and Marina didn’t move.

  “Don’t worry, Marina,” Holly said, “he won’t hurt you. If he tries, I’ll put the dog on him.”

  Marina backed away from the man, then turned and went into the kitchen.

  “You,” Holly said, “on your knees, hands behind your head.”

  “Fuck that,” the man said, and his hand went behind him.

  Holly shot him through the purse, the bullet striking him in the center of the chest, and he fell backward, a pistol flying from his hand. “Guard, Daisy,” she said, letting go of the leash. Daisy trotted over and stood perhaps five feet from the fallen man, still growling. Holly kicked the gun away from the man, then went and stood beside the door, waiting with her gun drawn for the man’s companion to enter. Instead, she heard the car start and drive away, burning rubber.

  She checked to be sure, then turned back to the shot man. “Quiet, Daisy. Stay.” She knelt beside him, her gun under his chin. “Lie very still,” she said. “Marina,” she called out, “ask for an ambulance as well as for the police.” Holly held the fingers of her free hand to his neck, feeling for a pulse. It was weak and thready.

  The man lay on his back, his breathing shallow and labored, his eyes open but unfocused, looking at the ceiling, his lips moving soundlessly. “Nothing I can do for you,” she said. She stood up and walked to the kitchen door. Marina was hanging up the phone.

  “They’re on their way,” she said. “I asked for an ambulance.”

  Holly heard a siren coming down the block. She put her gun back into her handbag and walked out the front door, stopping on the porch, holding her badge in sight.

  Two officers, one a sergeant, spilled out of the police car, weapons drawn. “Police officer,” Holly said, waving the badge. “You won’t need weapons.”

  The two officers stopped running and walked up the front steps. “I’ve got a perpetrator down in the living room,” she said, “one gunshot to the chest. He doesn’t look good, and there’s an ambulance on its way.”

  The sergeant looked closely at her ID. “Orchid Beach? Where the hell is that?”

  “Out of town,” Holly said.

  He looked at her handbag. “Is there a weapon in there?”

  “Yes,” she replied. “I’ll give it to you.” She reached into the bag, ran a finger through the trigger guard, and held out the weapon to him.

  He took it from her the same way she was holding it and dropped it into an evidence bag. “Is that your only weapon?”

  “Yes. There’s another on the living room floor that belonged to the perp. He was about to shoot me when I shot him.”

  The sergeant started for the screen door. “Not yet,” Holly said. “Daisy,” she called out. “Sit, stay. It’s all right.”

  The sergeant looked at her.

  “Who’s Daisy?”

  “The only witness,” Holly said. “You can go inside now.”

  36

  The sergeant opened the screen door and walked in. “Jesus!” he said. “Nice doggy.”

  “Her name is Daisy. Say ‘Hello, Daisy.’ ”

  “Hello, Daisy,” the sergeant said. “Can I touch the guy without him eating me?”

  “It’s a she, and you’re friends now.”

  The sergeant gingerly patted Daisy on the head. “Nice Daisy.”

  “Yes, she is.”

  He went and felt the wounded man’s throat. “He’s dead,” he said.

  “Let’s wait for the EMTs to determine that,” Holly said, as they heard a siren coming down the street. “Daisy, come here.” The dog padded over, and Holly picked up the leash again. “Good girl, good dog.” Daisy nuzzled her leg.

  “Now,” the sergeant said, “you want to tell me what went down here?”

  “Why don’t we wait for homicide, so I won’t have to do it twice?”

  The sergeant produced a portab
le radio and asked that homicide detectives be sent to the address.

  Holly led Marina out to the front porch to wait. When the sergeant went to look around the house, Holly said, “Where is the notebook?”

  “In the freezer,” Marina replied.

  “Let’s leave it there.”

  The homicide detectives secured the scene and called for a crime-scene tech, then they came back outside. “Can I see your ID?” one of them asked Holly. He examined it carefully. “And where is Orchid Beach?”

  “Up the coast a couple of hours.”

  “And what brings you to our jurisdiction, Chief?”

  “I came to see Ms. Santos. When I arrived, the perp was threatening her.”

  “So you shot him?”

  “Not right away, not until he went to his back for a gun.”

  “And how did you know he had a gun?”

  “I saw the bulge under his shirt when his back was to me,” she said. “I already had my hand on my weapon. I had told him to kneel and put his hands behind his head.”

  “Did you identify yourself as a police officer and show him your badge?”

  “I identified myself as a police officer, but I had my dog in one hand and my weapon in the other, so I couldn’t show him a badge right at that moment.”

  “I see. And you believed it was necessary to use deadly force?”

  “His weapon is lying next to him,” Holly said. “I haven’t touched it.”

  “Why was the perp threatening Ms. Santos?”

  “It appeared to be a robbery,” Holly said. “When I arrived, the living room was in disarray, and his hand was drawn back as if to strike her.”

  “Was he looking for something specific, Ms. Santos?”

  “I don’t know,” she replied innocently. “He was tearing up the living room when I walked in from the kitchen, and then Chief Barker arrived.”

  “Did you know him?”

  “No, I’ve never seen him before.”

  “Was there anyone with the man?”

  “When I arrived, there was a car parked out front with a Latino male at the wheel, reading something. After I fired, I heard the car start and leave in a hurry.”

  “Any further description?”