Orchid Beach

CHAPTER

55

Holly went into the office like a good girl, but her heart wasn’t in it. She was sad and angry and having a hard time with both emotions. Finally, for something to keep her busy, she picked up the personnel files and began to plow through them, concentrating as hard as she could.

There was a rap at the door, and she looked up. Bob Hurst, the homicide detective, was standing in her doorway. “Morning, Bob,” she said.

Hurst looked red-faced, angry. “Why didn’t you call me on the homicide last night?” he demanded.

“Sorry, Bob,” she said. “I had it covered.”

“Don’t you think that when an FBI agent gets killed in this jurisdiction that I ought to be in on it?” he demanded.

“As a matter of fact,” she said, “nobody from this department is in on it. It’s a federal matter, and the FBI are handling it.”

“Even when it’s on our turf?”

“The United States of America is their turf, Bob, and when an FBI agent gets killed, the FBI investigates.”

“What was the FBI doing up here, anyway?”

“They wouldn’t tell me—some sort of investigation, I guess. They asked me to put out an APB for their missing agent yesterday, and I did. Apparently, she was working out at Palmetto Gardens on something. She checked out of there at three yesterday afternoon and disappeared. A fisherman found her car early this morning, and I called the agent in charge and went out there with him, as a courtesy.”

“How was she killed?”

“The FBI handled the autopsy; they didn’t share the results with me.”

Hurst looked at the floor.

“Bob, if it had been my call, I would have involved you, but it wasn’t.”

“Yeah, well, I’m sorry if I got huffy. You think this has anything to do with Marley and Doherty?”

Holly wrinkled her brow. “That hadn’t occurred to me. Why do you connect the two incidents?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. You think anybody at Palmetto Gardens had anything to do with the woman?”

He’s fishing, Holly thought. “I talked to Barney Noble. He checked his lists and said she left work around three P.M. with all the other domestic help. I’ve no reason to doubt him. If you want my take on this, she went for a drink somewhere after work and met the wrong guy.”

“You don’t think it was connected with what she was investigating?”

“I don’t know what she was investigating, so I can’t make that judgment.”

“Thanks, Chief,” he said, and went back to his desk.

Holly sat, wondering why Hurst had done that. He’d surely heard from the two patrolmen last night that the corpse was that of an FBI agent, and he’d known that another agent had been present and had ordered the autopsy. She dug Hurst’s personnel file out of the pile and opened it. She’d been through it a few days before, but she wanted a closer look now.

There was a new document in the file, one that hadn’t been there the last time Holly had seen it. Bob Hurst had gotten married, and he had filled out a form requesting that his new wife be added to his health insurance. The box requiring her name before the marriage read LINDA TOMKINS WALLACE and her address before the marriage had been on Egret Island, where Hurst also lived. Nobody had mentioned it to Holly, but Bob Hurst had married Hurd Wallace’s ex-wife. She thought about that for a moment. Something was gnawing at her memory, but she was tired, and she couldn’t bring it into her frontal lobe. Never mind, it would come to her.

She put down the file, picked up the next one and began reading. Then she stopped. There, staring at her from the file, was something so obvious that she was dazed. She went to the ladies’ room and splashed cold water on her face, staring at herself in the mirror, realizing how naive she had been.

Holly told Jane Grey that she was going to do some patrolling and left the station, taking Daisy with her. The dog sat in the front seat of the Jeep and stuck her nose into the wind through the partly open window. She was so enthusiastic about the experience that Holly was afraid to open the window more than three or four inches for fear Daisy would lean out too far and fall out of the car. Holly drove north aimlessly, thinking about what she had discovered and what it could mean and wondering why she hadn’t read those personnel files sooner. At the north end of the island, wanting to remain alone with her thoughts, she turned onto Jungle Trail and drove slowly along its deserted length, coming to a halt a few yards from the back gate to Palmetto Gardens.

“Stay, Daisy,” she said and got out of the car, leaving the motor running to keep the interior cool. She paced up and down beside the car, taking deep breaths and trying to calm herself, while Daisy poked her nose through the partly opened car window and watched her. This wasn’t what Holly had expected at all. She leaned against a tree. First, Hurd Wallace had seemed like the bad guy, then had turned out not to be—or was he? And now…She jumped as she realized somebody was standing only a few feet away from her.

“Well,” he said, “good afternoon, Chief.”

Holly looked at the gun in Cracker Mosely’s hand; it was pointed at her chest. “Why are you pointing a weapon at me, Mosely?” she asked. Her heart was pounding.

“Why, you’re trespassing, don’t you know that? You’re on Palmetto Gardens property.”

“No, I’m not. Point that gun somewhere else.” Holly realized that she was alone in a secluded spot with Mosely, and that Daisy couldn’t get to her. A trickle of cold fear ran down her bowels.

Mosely walked quickly toward her and pressed his pistol up under her chin. He removed her own weapon from its holster and threw it away. Behind him, Daisy was going crazy, trying to get out of the car. “Shut the dog up,” Mosely said.

“Daisy! Quiet!” she said. Daisy stopped growling, but she was jumping back and forth from the front seat to the rear, trying to find a way out of the closed car.

“Good,” Mosely said. He drew back his empty hand and backhanded her, knocking her to the ground, then he put his knee in her back and cuffed her hands behind her with her own handcuffs. He turned her over and sat astride her. “Well, now, it’s just you and me, isn’t it?” he said, grinning. “I’ve been waiting for the chance to be alone with you, baby.”

“Cracker, do you want to go back to prison?” she asked, trying to control her fear. “I can arrange that, you know.”

“You’re all through arranging things for me,” Mosely said, starting to unbutton her uniform shirt.

“Don’t do this, Cracker. You can still stay a free man.”

“You bet your ass I can,” he said, yanking her shirt open. He moved down, unbuckling her gun belt and unzipping her pants. Soon he had them off. Holly was now exposed, except for her underwear. He stood up and started taking off his own clothes. He holstered his gun and tossed the gun belt a few feet away. “I’m going to give you some of what I gave little Rita,” he said. “She loved every minute of it, believe me. She enjoyed Barney, too. We gave her a real ride.”

Holly started trying to get to her feet, but Mosely kicked her in the chest with his bare foot, and she went down. Daisy went nuts again, but this time Mosely didn’t seem to notice. He was fondling his penis, which was responding. He came back toward Holly.

Holly waited until he was at the right distance and kicked at his genitals, but instead, her heel caught him on his muscular thigh.

He jumped on top of her, pinning her bare legs under his body, then sat astride of her again. “You’re going to pay for that one,” he said, beginning to fondle his penis again. He reached down with his other hand, took hold of her bra and yanked it off her, then he did the same with her panties.

Holly was now wearing nothing but her open shirt and the handcuffs. She struggled, but now he was rubbing his penis around her face, trying to force open her mouth. Holly looked over his shoulder at Daisy. Something had happened. She still had her head out the window, struggling to get her body through the narrow gap. But the window had gone down maybe an inch. In her frenzy, Daisy had somehow put a paw on the electric window switch. Do it again, Daisy, Holly prayed to the dog.

“You don’t want it in the mouth, huh?” Mosely said. “Well, we can save that for later, when you don’t have so much fight in you.” He rolled her over onto her stomach, staying astride of her.

Now she was completely helpless. His weight on her legs kept her from moving them, and she couldn’t get any leverage to attack him with her cuffed hands. Mosely was rubbing his penis up and down her buttocks. He parted them with his hands and was now probing for her anus. Holly gritted her teeth and held her breath, helpless. She could stand this, she thought; she could stand this and live to kill this man.

Then, suddenly, Mosely screamed and was off her, rolling in the dirt.

Holly tried to get to her feet. She could see that the car window was open, and Daisy was out. She moved forward on her knees, pressed her forehead against the car door, stood up and turned around. Daisy was on Mosely’s back, and her teeth were buried in the nape of his neck. The dog held on gamely while Mosely tried to get his hands on her throat and hit at her with his fists. He was on his feet, now, trying to swing Daisy against a tree. Holly moved. She ran up to him from behind and, aiming well, kicked him in the balls as hard as she possibly could, throwing herself to the ground in the process.

Mosely fell down and continued to struggle with Daisy. He tried to get to his feet again, but this time, Holly was in front of him and swung a kick into his solar plexus, sending him down again. Still, he struggled.

He was going to be too strong for both of them, Holly thought. She looked around for her gun, but he had thrown it away. His gun, still in its holster, was on the ground behind him. She aimed a swift kick at his nose, splattering blood everywhere, then ran around his writhing body and found the holster. There was no way she could get at it while on her feet. She knelt, but that wasn’t working, either. She lay down on the ground beside the holster and groped for the weapon.

Mosely stood up and swung around, bashing Daisy against a tree trunk. This time, the dog let go of him and fell on the ground, stunned. Mosely looked surprised to be free, then he looked at Holly and saw what she was trying to do. He came at her, naked and awesome, blood streaming from his nose down his body.

Holly rolled across the holster, finding the butt of the pistol with her left hand on the way. She would have one shot, nearly blind, and then he would be on her. She rolled over again to increase the distance between them, then, half guessing where he was, she pointed the gun away from her body and pulled the trigger. It was a double-action pistol; it did not need to be cocked. The gun roared, and over her shoulder, she saw the bullet strike him in the right shoulder, spinning him around and sending him to the ground. She got her head against a tree and struggled to her feet.

Mosely was on one knee now, trying to get up, making animal noises.

Holly ran around him and, standing close to him, watching his face over her shoulder, pulled the trigger again. The bullet entered Mosely’s forehead, and the back of his head exploded. He fell backwards and lay, inert, on the ground.

Afraid to let herself relax, afraid that others from Palmetto Gardens would hear the shots and come running, Holly ran to her empty trousers, sat on the ground next to them and began rummaging for her spare handcuff key. It took her a moment to root it out and another moment to get free, then she went to Daisy.

The dog got unsteadily to her feet. Holly held her head in her hands and talked to her. “You’re fine, girl, and he’s dead; he can’t hurt us any more.” Then she became conscious that she was still very vulnerable, naked and without Daisy to protect her. She got into her pants and shoes, buttoned her shirt and got her gun belt on again. With Mosely’s pistol in her hand, she searched the woods for her own gun, found it, holstered it, then tossed Mosely’s weapon into the car. She opened the door, and Daisy jumped into the car.

Holly got into the still-running vehicle, yanked it into reverse and raced backward until she found a spot to turn around. Finally headed back down Jungle Trail toward A1A, she used the speed dialer on her car phone to call the station and ask for Hurd Wallace.

“Deputy Chief Wallace,” he said.

“Hurd, it’s Holly.”

“You sound winded. Are you all right?”

“I’m all right. Listen to me: out on Jungle Trail, near the north gate to Palmetto Gardens, Cracker Mosely attacked me, but I managed to shoot him. He’s dead. Get out there and work the scene. Photograph everything, then call an ambulance and get the body out of here. Clean up the scene. Do it all as quietly as you can, and don’t say anything to anybody about it. You got that?”

“Holly, we can’t just let a shooting go,” Wallace said.

“We’re not letting it go. I’m reporting it to the police, right?”

“Right, I guess so.”

“Register the body at the hospital as a John Doe. I don’t want anybody to know he’s dead.”

“All right.”

“Do you know where the community college gymnasium is?”

“Yes.”

“Meet me there at sundown, but don’t try to enter the gym or even the parking lot; just wait for me on the road. I’ll fill you in then.”

“Are you all right, Holly?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Okay, I’ll get out to Jungle Trail right now.”

“And, for God’s sake, don’t let anybody, and I mean anybody, know where you’re going. And when you get out here, watch out for Mosely’s people. There may be more of them around.”

“I’m on my way.”

Holly drove toward Riverside Park and her trailer. She had to get cleaned up. She didn’t want anybody to know what had happened to her. She thought about Rita Morales and realized how lucky she had been.

“Daisy,” she said, rubbing the dog’s head, “you are a wonderful human being.”