Hothouse Orchid

13

Holly parked a few yards behind the state van and walked up to the blue car.

Lauren Cade was looking into the backseat with a flashlight. She straightened up, then saw Holly. “Hey, there,” she said.

“Hey, Lauren. I see you got your transfer pretty fast.”

“I sure did, and I thank you again for the recommendation to Hurd. He’s a good guy.”

“Yes, he is. Found anything on or in the car yet?”

“There are some prints around the driver’s windowsill and some sand around the pedals. I guess Hurd must have told you about the stuff in the trunk.”

“Yes. Can I see the hand?”

“You mind, Terry?” Lauren said to the guy from Forensics working the car.

“Go ahead. It’s in the van, bagged.”

Lauren went to the open van door, reached into a lab container, lifted out the zippered plastic bag holding the hand and held it up.

Holly took the bag by a corner and rotated it slowly. “This girl is thinner than the one we found,” she said. “Longer fingers and the skin is freckled.”

“I’ll get that to Hurd,” she said. “He’s back at the office.”

“Taller, too, I’d guess; it’s a pretty long hand.”

“Right.”

“And look at this,” Holly said, pointing at where the hand had been severed, a couple of inches above.

“Something cut it clean,” Lauren said. “Maybe an axe?”

Holly rotated the bag a hundred and eighty degrees. “No. Same cut on the bottom. Something cut from both directions at once. Bolt cutter, maybe.”

“The guy carries around bolt cutters?”

“It’s the sort of thing you might find in a police car,” Holly pointed out. “You found the hand in the trunk?”

“Yes. It was under the carry-on, next to the purse.”

“Was there any blood?”

“A drop or two. Terry took a sample of the carpet.”

“Good.” Holly placed the bag with the hand back in the container. “Have you had a look around the marina yet?”

“No. Hurd left immediately after we found the hand, and I haven’t had a chance yet.”

Terry walked up and shucked off his gloves. “I’m done here,” he said. “You can have the car towed now.” He began to put his equipment back into the van.

Holly looked around to see a flatbed truck coming down the road. “Make sure the driver is gloved,” she said.

Lauren went to speak with the man, and Holly walked around the rental car. She didn’t see anything new.

Lauren came back. “You want to work the marina with me?” she asked.

“Sure,” Holly replied. “Let’s see if we can find the boat.” They walked across the parking lot and down the dock, then down the hinged ramp to the pontoons. “Let’s look for a small boat with one or more outboards. You take the south end; I’ll start from the north, and we can work our way back here.”

The women separated and began to examine the small boats moored there. Holly was nearly back to the ramp when Lauren called out.

“Come take a look at this,” she yelled.

Holly trotted down the dock to where Lauren stood, looking into a Boston Whaler, a flat-bottomed runabout of about eighteen feet, with a 75-hp Japanese outboard engine. She walked along the dock for the length of the boat, then back. “Looks pretty ordinary,” she said. “What caught your eye?”

“The keys are in it,” Lauren said, pointing to the ignition under the wheel.

“I missed that,” Holly said. “Good going.”

“If the owner habitually leaves the key in the ignition, then anybody could have taken it.”

“You’d better get that Forensics guy back here,” Holly said. “This boat is going to need a good going over.”

Lauren got on her cell phone just as a young man in shorts, a polo shirt and a baseball cap walked up.

“Can I help you ladies?” he asked politely.

Lauren held up her badge as she talked.

“What’s your name?” Holly asked.

“Tim Pooley,” he replied. “I’m the day manager here.”

“Can you tell me who owns this boat?” Holly asked.

“It belongs to the marina,” he said. “We use it for towing or whatever.”

“Are the keys always in it?”

“Pretty much,” Tim said. “I mean, the night guy may lock them up; I don’t know.”

“Is there somebody here all night?”

“No. He shuts the gate at midnight and goes home. There’s a combination lock, so customers can get in if they’ve been out late.”

“What are your working hours?”

“Eight to six.”

“How many of the boats in the marina are based here?”

“Well, we’ve got eighty berths, and sixty-six are rented by the month or the season. We get a few transients just about every night; they’re mostly alongside the outer, long pontoon. Once in a while, if we know a local is away for a few days-out to the Bahamas or something-we’ll rent his berth by the night.”

“How many live-aboards among the locals?” Holly asked.

“Maybe a couple of dozen.”

“Are they grouped together?”

“No. They’re just wherever.”

“Can you give me a list of the names of the boats and owners? Addresses and phone numbers, too.”

“Well, I guess the addresses are right here,” Tim said. “Everybody’s got a cell phone number these days. I’ll go get the list.” He ambled off toward the little house at the head of the dock.

Lauren snapped her cell phone shut. “He’s on the way back,” she said.

“Do you have some crime-scene tape?”

“No, Hurd took the car; he was going to send somebody back for me.”

“When that guy shows up, you should tape off this boat until Terry is done.”

“Sure.”

“Tim, the day manager, is getting us a list of the live-aboards in the marina,” Holly said.

Tim was ambling back toward them now. He approached and handed them several sheets of paper. “The first page is the live-aboards,” he said. “The rest are just monthly or seasonal renters.”

“We’re going to need the night man’s name and phone number, too,” Holly said.

Tim scribbled the information on one of the sheets.

“Thanks for your help, Tim,” Holly said.

“Let me know if there’s anything else you need.”

“There’s a van coming in a few minutes. The driver works for the state, and he’s going to take some fingerprints from the boat.”

“I guess my fingerprints are all over it,” Tim said.

“He’ll take yours, too, so we’ll know which ones they are.”

“I’ll be in the office,” he said and walked back up the ramp.

Holly handed the sheets to Lauren. “Now the police work starts,” she said, “so I’m going to leave you and Hurd to it.”

“Thanks for your help, Holly.”

“Take care,” Holly replied. She walked back up the ramp and to her car, thinking hard.