Hothouse Orchid

14

Holly drove out to Ham’s place, and as she approached the turnoff to his little island, just short of the bridge, she abruptly pulled off the pavement and stopped. Something she had forgotten on the night she was attacked had just popped into her mind. “Stay, Daisy,” she said.

She got out of the car and walked slowly toward the turnoff, a hundred yards ahead. When she had left Ham’s that night, she had stopped for traffic before turning onto the bridge, and there had been a car parked, maybe ten yards before the turnoff-a plain Detroit model, one that might be an unmarked police car. She began walking more slowly, examining the ground. It hadn’t rained since then; there might be something here.

There was. Less than a foot from the pavement, in the dirt, was a little scattering of cigarette butts: somebody had emptied his car’s ashtray here. She went back to her own car, found an old evidence bag in the glove compartment, went back to the pile and, using a piece of nearby palm frond, raked the butts into the bag and zipped it shut.

She looked at them closely. Marlboros, all of them, smoked nearly down to the filter: probably a man, probably a chain smoker.

She looked around for other leavings and found none, so she went back to her car, put the evidence bag in the glove compartment and drove out to Ham’s island.

Daisy jumped out the window before the car had stopped and ran through the open front door. Holly followed her and walked through the house to the back porch, where Ham was sitting in the swing with the New York Times and a glass of iced tea.

“You still reading that liberal rag?” Holly asked.

“Liberal it may be, a rag it may be, but it’s still the best damned newspaper in the whole world,” Ham said. “You want some tea? You know where it is.”

“I want some lunch,” Holly said. “Why else do you think I would drive all the way out here?”

“Ginny’s gone to the store. She’ll be back in a little while.”

Holly went into the kitchen, got some ice and poured a glass of sweet tea from the jug in the fridge. Something in the oven smelled good. She gave Daisy a cookie from her own special jar, then walked back outside and joined Ham on the swing. “I remembered something,” she said.

“Yeah? Seems like I’m remembering less and less these days.”

“I mean from the night I had to go to the hospital.”

Ham put down his paper and looked at her. “What do you remember?”

“When I left your house, there was a car parked by the side of the road, just before you turn onto the bridge.”

“Was it like an unmarked police car? Maybe a Crown Vic or something?”

“Yes, it was.”

“I saw it there,” Ham said. “In the late evening, when we were coming back from the movies.”

“Did you get a look at the driver?”

“No, I couldn’t see inside. The car might have had dark-tinted windows.”

“The driver emptied his ashtray there, I think,” Holly said. “I collected the butts. Marlboros, sucked dry. Hurd might get some DNA from them.”

“You think he might be the guy?”

“Maybe. He’s still out there.”

“Yeah, I heard about the one on the beach, up from your house.”

“They found her car this morning. There was a severed hand in the trunk.”

“He cut off her hand?”

“Not the body Daisy found; she still had both hands. This is a new one-taller, slimmer.”

“Spooky,” Ham drawled.

“Yeah.”

“This guy has graduated from assault and rape to murder and now to dismemberment in hardly any time at all.”

“You’re the cop; tell me what it means.”

“It means he’s liking it more and more. No telling what he’ll do to the next one.”

“Was the hand cut off before or after the girl died?”

“I don’t know, but the ME will. God, I hope it was after.”

They heard a car pull up, and a moment later, Ginny’s voice. “I could use some help with these groceries!” she called.

Ham and Holly got up, emptied her car and put everything in the kitchen.

“Tuna casserole in ten minutes,” Ginny said.

They had a leisurely lunch with a bottle of white wine. Holly helped Ginny clear the dishes, then they sat on the back porch for a while and talked.

Holly’s cell phone rang, and she answered it. “Hello?”

“Hey, it’s Hurd. Thanks for helping Lauren this morning,” he said.

“She’s smart; she would have covered it without my help. Has the ME had a look at that hand yet?”

“Yep. You were right: she’s taller and slimmer than the last one; older, too-probably late thirties.”

“Did he offer an opinion on whether the hand was severed before or after death?”

“After, he says. He agrees with you about the bolt cutters, too.”

“Hurd, I remembered something about the night this guy went after me.” She told him about seeing the car parked near Ham’s turnoff. “Ham saw it there once, too.” She told him about the cigarette butts.

“You preserved them?”

“Yes, they’re in my glove compartment.”

“Where are you now?”

“At Ham’s, but I’m going home in a minute.”

“I’ll stop by your place later this afternoon and pick up the evidence, if that’s all right.”

“Sure. If I don’t answer the bell, I’m on the beach. You can get the bag from my glove compartment.”

“See you later.” He hung up.

“Is Hurd excited about your cigarette butts?” Ham asked.

“What’s this about cigarette butts?” Ginny asked.

Holly got to her feet. “Ham will explain it to you. I’m going to head home; drinking wine at lunch always makes me want a nap.”

“We still going flying?” Ginny asked.

“How about tomorrow afternoon, say four o’clock?”

“I’m good then. See ya.”

Holly kissed them both and drove toward home. Once, she looked into the glove compartment just to be sure the bag was still there.