Orchid Beach

CHAPTER

5

Holly stopped by the station and took the trash bag inside. She walked into Jane Grey’s office and closed the door behind her.

Jane looked up from her work. “How’s the chief?” she asked, looking fearful of the answer.

“In a coma,” Holly replied. “The prognosis is not good; he may never regain consciousness.”

Jane’s shoulders slumped. “I was afraid of that.”

“How long have you worked for the chief, Jane?”

“Since he came here, eight years ago.”

“You were pretty close, then.”

“Yes, we were.”

“Is the chief married?”

“Divorced, before he came here. The ex-wife has remarried and lives in Germany.”

“Any family or close friends in Orchid Beach? Anybody who should be notified?”

“Nobody,” Jane replied. “His closest friend is Hank Doherty. They were drinking buddies.”

“I know about him from my father. Where does he live?”

“South on A1A, not far from your trailer park. Jimmy can show you.”

Holly put the trash bag on Jane’s desk. “These are the chief’s clothes. Will you send somebody with them to the state crime lab?”

“Sure.”

Holly produced the zippered plastic bag containing the bullet. “This, too. Please ask them to treat the ballistics as very urgent.” Holly took a deep breath. “You said that everybody on the force has to submit personal weapons for ballistics?”

“That’s right.”

“I want this bullet checked against every one of them—official weapons, too.”

Jane’s eyes widened. “Do you think…?”

“I don’t think anything, Jane; I just want to eliminate our people as suspects.”

“I know somebody in the lab. I’ll get him right on it today,” she replied.

“Thanks.”

“Has Bob Hurst come in yet?”

“No, it’ll probably be this afternoon.”

“Do you know if he took charge of the chief’s gun?”

“I don’t know.”

“When he comes in, if he has the gun, I want that to go to the lab, too. I want to know if it’s been fired and if so, how many times. I want to know if anyone’s prints besides the chief’s are on it.”

“I’ll call his house and see if he has it,” Jane replied.

There was a knock on the office door, and Holly opened it. A short, bald man in a short-sleeved shirt and a necktie stood there.

“Oh, Holly, this is Charlie Peterson, the chairman of the city council. Charlie, this is Deputy Chief Holly Barker.”

Holly stuck out her hand. “Good to meet you, Mr. Peterson.”

“Call me Charlie,” the man said, shaking her hand. “Jane, when did we get a deputy chief?”

“This morning, Charlie. The chief hired her several weeks ago, but he didn’t want an announcement until she got here.”

“Unfortunate timing,” Peterson said. “How’s the chief?”

“Not good. In a coma, may not come out of it, and if he does, well, there’s brain damage.”

Peterson winced. “I think you and I need to sit down and talk about things,” he said to Holly.

“We certainly do,” Holly replied, “but right now I’ve got to get on top of this shooting. Will tomorrow morning be okay?”

“Sure, you do what you have to do.”

“Thanks, Charlie, I’d better get going.” They shook hands again and Holly left.

At Jimmy’s direction, Holly pulled off A1A and onto the broad, grassy shoulder. When she set foot on the ground it was soft. “There wasn’t any rain yesterday, was there?” she asked the patrolman.

“Yesterday morning, early, we had a line of thunderstorms go through. Guess we had an inch in two hours. Cleared up after that.”

“Show me exactly where the car was,” she said.

“Right there,” Jimmy replied, pointing ahead of them. “Right in front of that real estate sign.”

Holly stepped onto the pavement and walked slowly down the road, looking carefully at the wet ground. There were the tracks of two cars, one in front of the other. Beside the front set of tracks, there were bits of plaster. “Looks like Bob Hurst took a tire impression,” she said, half to herself. “That’s good.”

She backtracked to the chief’s car tracks and inspected the ground in front of where the car had rested. There were indentations, no doubt where the chief had lain after being shot. She didn’t see any blood. She walked slowly around the area where the two cars had stopped but saw nothing of note. She assumed that any other evidence on the scene had already been collected by Hurst.

“Okay, Jimmy, I think that about does it,” she said, getting into the car. “Jane said you could show me where Hank Doherty lives.”

“Sure. Straight ahead about a mile.”

Holly got the car going. “Do you know Hank Doherty?”

“Sure, everybody knows him.”

“Tell me about him.”

“He and the chief did a lot of drinking together.”

“Where? Did they have a regular place?”

“There’s a bar up the road. They were in there a lot.”

“Doherty raises dogs?”

“That’s right, only I don’t think he does it much any more. It’s a shame, too. He was a kind of wizard with dogs.”

“Retired?”

“Well, chief, Hank does a lot of drinking, even when he’s not with the chief. I’ve heard rumors he was real sick. I think he’s in a lot of pain, you know? He’s in a wheelchair. He doesn’t have any legs. Vietnam.”

“Oh.” She wondered why her father had never mentioned Doherty’s lack of legs.

“It’s right up ahead, here,” Jimmy said, pointing at a small house set only a little back from the road.

Holly pulled into the short driveway and stopped the car. A sign on the front-yard fence read DOHERTY’S DOGS. SECURITY AND OBEDIENCE TRAINING. She got out of the car and walked through the gate into an ill-tended front yard. She walked up the steps to the front porch and rang the bell. Jimmy stood next to her. Nobody came to the door. She rang the bell again, with the same result.

“He seems to be out,” Holly said.

“He doesn’t go out, except with the chief. The chief would come by here after work, get Hank into his car and drive down the road to the Tavern, where they did their drinking. A black lady did his grocery shopping and cleaned house for him.”

Holly went back to the driveway and walked toward the rear of the house. A dirty white van was parked in an alcove. A ramp led from the back door of the house to where the van was parked. She looked into the vehicle: it was fitted with hand controls for the brake and accelerator. She walked up the ramp and tried the door. It was unlocked.

“Let’s take a look inside,” she said. “Maybe he’s passed out or something.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Jimmy said.

Holly walked through the door and found herself in a kitchen. The remains of breakfast were on a table in the center of the room. “Mr. Doherty?” she called out. “Hank?”

She started for the door on the other side of the kitchen, then stopped. As if by magic, a dog had materialized in the doorway—a Doberman pinscher, strongly muscled.

The dog emitted a low growl and its lips curled back, revealing large white fangs.

Holly stopped. “Hello, puppy,” she said. She had had a dog as a little girl, but when it was hit by a car, her father had talked her out of getting another one. An army life was nomadic, and a dog was a lot of baggage.

The dog growled more loudly.

“Jimmy, back out of here,” she said. “And don’t run.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jimmy replied.

Holly stood her ground. “Hello, puppy,” she repeated.

The dog repeated its previous statement.

They seemed to be at an impasse.