Blood Orchid

30

Holly, unable to think of anything else to do, took in a movie at the mall, then after getting the address from the telephone information operator, drove to North Miami and Miami Bullseye. She figured Carlos’s shooting group would arrive early evening, after work and supper, so she had a burger at a fast-food joint across the street. When she felt the time was right, she retrieved Carlos’s Beretta from her car, shouldered her handbag, and walked into the shooting range.

It was pretty much what she had expected-a long, low building made of concrete blocks, divided into narrow alleys and shooting booths. She stopped at a window and told the woman behind the glass that she’d like to fire for an hour. The woman took her money and signed her in. “Can I buy some cartridges?” she asked.

“What do you need?”

“A box each of nine-millimeter and seven sixty-fives.”

The woman went to a steel cabinet behind her, unlocked it, took out two boxes, relocked the cabinet, and returned to the window. Holly paid her, and she took down the serial numbers of both weapons.

“Take position ten,” the woman said, pointing.

There were twenty positions, putting Holly right in the middle. She set down her bag, unzipped the pistol pouch, and removed the Beretta. Then she had a thought and returned to the window. “Do you have a tank?” she asked. “I’d like to get a sample.”

“Just a minute.” The woman picked up a telephone, dialed a three-digit extension, and spoke into the phone. A moment later a man entered the booth and motioned Holly toward a door next to it. He met her and let her in.

“Hi, I’m Jimmy,” he said. “This is my place.”

“Hi, I’m Helen.” They shook hands.

“You want to fire it yourself, or you want me to do it?”

“I’ll fire.”

Jimmy led her across what appeared to be a storeroom and pointed at the tank, a container a few feet long filled with water.

Holly shoved the magazine into the Beretta, worked the action, flipped off the safety, and fired two rounds into the tank.

“Just a minute,” Jimmy said. He went to the other end, opened a flap and, using a flashlight and a pair of tongs, retrieved the two slugs. “Here you go,” he said, handing them to her.

“Thanks,” she said, dropping them into her purse.

He nodded and let her out of the room.

She went back to her station and flipped a switch that moved her target back to fifty feet. She put on ear protectors, took up a combat stance-knees bent, pistol held out before her with two hands-and emptied the magazine into the target. Then she removed her Walther from her handbag and emptied another magazine into the target. She flipped the switch and brought the target back to her.

“Nice grouping,” a voice said from behind her.

She turned to find Jimmy standing there. “Thanks.”

“That’s a really good grouping with the Walther.”

She examined the target. The 9mm shots formed a tight group at the bull’s-eye, while the.765 shots were a little more dispersed. “I haven’t shot for a while,” she said. “At that range, I ought to be able to fire just as tight with the Walther as with the Beretta.”

He put another target up for her, and she moved it to 100 feet and fired both pistols. When the target came back, the groupings were looser, but still good.

“Where’d you learn to shoot?” Jimmy asked.

“My father taught me when I was a kid-he’s a lot better shot than I am-then I was in the military. I did the twenty.”

“Me too,” he said.

“Nice little business you’ve got here.”

“Thanks.” He put another target up for her, and she moved it to 150 feet. The groupings were wider, but the man-shaped target had taken all the slugs in the chest.

“I’m impressed,” Jimmy said.

“Think I’ll take a break, then see if I can improve my groupings,” she said. “Can I buy you a beer?”

“We don’t sell it here, but I’ll buy you a cup of coffee.” He indicated for her to follow him. A moment later, she was seated in his office and he was pouring her a cup of coffee.

“Thanks,” she said, accepting the cup.

“You live around here?”

“No, up the coast.”

“What brings you to my place?”

Holly decided to play it straight with him; she figured she had a chance of learning more. “I’m chief of police in a little town called Orchid Beach,” she said, laying her ID on his desk.

He picked it up and examined it. “Holly, not Helen.”

“Sorry, I was being too careful.”

He tossed back her wallet. “So, like I said, what brings you to my place?”

“A customer of yours took one in the back of the head up in my jurisdiction.”

“That would be Carlos Alvarez, unless I’ve lost another customer I don’t know about.”

“That would be Carlos. I’m working the murder.”

“There’s a guy named Barker up there. Know him?”

“Ham? That would be my old man.”

Jimmy smiled. “I was at Bragg with him a few years back. I didn’t know him, really, but I saw him shoot a couple of times. It was really boring, looking at those targets; he’d blow out the middle every time.”

“He still does.”

“I’d say tell him hello, but he wouldn’t know the name. Tell him a fan said hello.”

“I’ll do that; it’ll please him.”

“So, Holly, how can I help you?”

“Carlos shot in here once a week.”

“Yeah, he did. He was a good shot, too; not as good as your old man, but good.”

“Who did he shoot with?”

“Bunch of Cuban guys.”

“You think they’d talk to me?”

Jimmy laughed. “An Anglo female cop? Yeah, sure. That would violate four or five different kinds of macho.”

“That’s what I figured, but maybe you can tell me what I need to know.”

“If I can.”

“What did Carlos fire when he came?”

“He usually brought a forty millimeter and a Beretta.”

“I’m firing the Beretta tonight.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. The forty is missing; I think it might have been used to kill him.”

“A shame about that. He had a really pretty girlfriend he brought in here once.”

“Yeah. Did Carlos ever fire a rifle here?”

“Sometimes he’d swap pieces with somebody. Once, he brought a twenty-two Winchester with a scope in here.”

“How long ago?”

“I don’t know, three, four weeks, I guess.”

“How’d he shoot with it?”

“Sweet, just like with everything else.”

“Jimmy, let me ask you something entirely off the record.”

Jimmy’s expression didn’t change, and he said nothing.

“If Carlos wanted a silencer made for the rifle, who would he go to?”

Jimmy didn’t move, didn’t say a word.