Hothouse Orchid

12

Lauren Cade got out of Hurd Wallace’s car at the Indian River Marina and followed him across the parking lot.

“Here we go,” Hurd said, pointing at two Dumpsters. “You take the one on the right; I’ll take the left.”

They both donned lightweight plastic jumpsuits and latex gloves.

Lauren opened the lid of the Dumpster and peered inside. It was nearly full, and to judge from the smell, it hadn’t been emptied for a few days. She took a deep breath, grabbed the edge of the Dumpster and vaulted inside, landing on her feet, but immediately losing her footing and falling backward into the steel side. She struggled to her feet, glad of the plastic jumpsuit, then looked over at Hurd, who was having the same problem.

“We might get lucky and find some loose clothing,” Hurd said, “but they could be in a bag, so let’s toss everything out and work from the tarmac.”

Lauren began picking up plastic garbage bags and tossing them out of the Dumpster. During the process, she found one loose towel but no clothing. When the Dumpster was empty, she crawled out and stood on the tarmac, surveying her work. Most of it was small, kitchen-sized bags, which is what she would have expected from boats. “Are we just going to dump everything out of the bags?” she asked.

“Yes,” Hurd said. “I’ve already called for a garbage pickup from the county, so they’ll do the cleanup.”

“I’ve got one loose item,” Lauren said, holding up the towel.

“Bag it, and set it aside.”

She did so, then took a knife from her pocket and began opening bags, shaking the contents onto the bare tarmac and poking carefully through them before going on to the next bag.

“Look for anything like a wallet or purse, too,” Hurd said.

Lauren looked at every single item in every bag: tin cans, paper plates, condoms, tampons-everything. An hour later she stepped out of the refuse and onto clean tarmac, just as a garbage truck drove up and two sanitation workers got out.

“What a mess!” one of them said. “You had to open every bag?”

“Every one,” Hurd replied.

“We’re gonna have to bag all this again,” the man said.

“Well, you can put it back in the Dumpsters, then use your equipment to dump everything into the truck.”

“I guess that makes more sense. Get some pitchforks and brooms, Eddie,” the man said.

Lauren picked up her bagged towel and took one last look in her Dumpster. “Hang on!” she shouted. She vaulted back into the bin and peered into a corner. “Car keys,” she yelled, and tossed them to Hurd.

She climbed out of the Dumpster and went to take a closer look at them.

“Hertz,” Hurd said. “Ford Focus.” He read out the license plate number. Then they both started walking around the parking lot: not a single Ford Focus.

Lauren walked back to the parking lot entrance and looked up and down the road. “Hurd?” she called. “What color is the Focus?”

“Blue,” he called back.

“I’ve got one,” she said and began trotting down the road. She came up on the car and walked carefully around it, looking inside.

Hurd drove up in their car. “Anything?”

Lauren struggled out of the dirty jumpsuit and pulled on a fresh pair of latex gloves. “Rental folder,” she said, opening the car door and reaching for the folder, which had been tucked into a cup holder. She opened it and read the contract. “Patricia Terwilliger,” she said, “Atlanta address. Rented the car at Melbourne Airport three days ago. Here’s her Georgia driver’s license number,” she said, walking toward the car.

Hurd was already tapping computer keys. In seconds, the driver’s license was displayed on the screen. “Looks like our girl,” he said.

“You saw her?” Lauren asked.

“At the morgue.”

“Can I have the keys, please?” Lauren asked.

Hurd handed them to her.

She walked around to the rear of the car, inserted the key and opened the trunk. “I’ve got a wheelie carry-on and a purse here,” she said. She lifted the carry-on out of the trunk and set it on the ground, then reached for the handbag and stopped. “Hurd, when you saw her corpse, was it missing anything?”

“No,” he replied.

“Then you’d better get out an APB for a female body missing the right hand.”

Holly, naked and sweating, was lying in her bed with Josh next to her. “What time do you have to be at work?” she asked.

“Noon,” he panted.

“Good,” she said.

The phone rang. “Hello?”

“Holly, it’s Hurd.”

“Hey, Hurd.”

“Your idea about checking marina Dumpsters paid off, right out of the box.”

“You found her clothes?”

“First her car keys, then her car-a rental out of Melbourne three days ago. The contract was inside with her license number, and we pulled up her license: Patricia Terwilliger from Atlanta. Then we opened the trunk and found her carry-on, her purse and another woman’s right hand.”

“Oh, shit,” Holly said.

“I’m going back to the office to work this. I just thought you’d like to know.”

“Thanks, Hurd,” she said. “I appreciate the call. Maybe you’ll get a print or two off the car.”

“Lauren’s with me. She’s staying with the car until Forensics gets here.”

“Keep me posted?”

“You bet I will.”

“Will you call Jimmy Weathers? He’s the lead on the case, and I know he’d appreciate it.”

“Sure. I’ll do it right now. I’m going to keep Jim Bruno out of the loop for as long as I can.”

“Good. Oh, Hurd, I had a call from the doctor who treated me the other night. He got the tox screen back. The perp used Rohypnol on me.”

“I’ll let the morgue know.”

“He says it metabolizes quickly, but the girl could have died from it very quickly if the perp hit a vein or artery, so you might get lucky.”

“I’ll take all the luck I can get,” Hurd said. “Bye-bye.”

Holly hung up.

“What?” Josh said.

“They’ve ID’d the woman Daisy and I found on the beach. Sounds like a tourist.” She didn’t mention the hand.

“Will it help you catch the guy?”

“God, I hope so,” Holly said. “He’s not going to stop this now; he’s having too good a time. It’s all working for him.”

“Anything I can do?”

“You can tell your ER to be on the lookout for any other women who come in-women like me, hurt or unconscious.”

“I can do that,” he said, sitting up and reaching for his clothes.