Blood Orchid

42

Holly was in her office reading about the death of Howard Singleton when Harry called.

“I want to bring you up to date,” he said.

“You still sound terrible, Harry. Are you at work?”

“Yes, but soon I’m going home and to bed.”

“Okay, bring me up to date.”

“Nobody has found Trini Rodriguez so far, but there’s a statewide APB out for him; sooner or later he’ll turn up.”

“I hope he doesn’t turn up on my doorstep again,” Holly said.

“Grant gave me an account of the evening. Sounds like you saved his neck.”

“I’m always happy to pull the FBI out of it. By the way, have you seen this morning’s Miami papers?”

“No.”

“The head guy at the GSA, Singleton, got hit yesterday.”

“I know about that.”

“It’s got to be related to the Palmetto Gardens thing.”

“It’s not. I spoke to Singleton’s deputy yesterday, a guy named Willard Smith. He says they weren’t working on anything similar. My guess is a jealous husband.”

“Yeah? Well, my guess is Trini Rodriguez.”

“Why would Trini and his people want Singleton dead?”

“I think that would be a real good thing for the FBI to figure out, Harry. A federal employee is dead, and that puts it right in your lap, doesn’t it?”

“I prefer to let the local cops lead on things like this, unless there’s a pressing reason for it to go federal.”

“Call Singleton’s replacement and ask him if he wants to be next; that might get him thinking about why the man was killed.”

“I told you, I’ve already talked to him, and they aren’t working on anything remotely related to this other stuff.”

“Harry, can I remind you that we don’t know what the hell this other stuff is about?”

“Not yet.”

“If we don’t know what it’s about, how do we know that Singleton’s killing wasn’t related? I think his death ought to be on the federal front burner.”

“You’ll have to let me make that judgment, Holly; it’s what I do.”

“You are the most exasperating man,” she said.

“You sound like my wife.”

“Listen to her, Harry.” Holly hung up. She thought for a minute, then called information and got the number for the Miami office of the General Services Administration and dialed it. Shortly, she had Willard Smith on the line.

“My name is Holly Barker, Mr. Smith. I’m chief of police in Orchid Beach, Florida, up the coast.”

“What can I do for you, Chief?” He sounded in a hurry.

“It appears that the death of Howard Singleton might be related to a case I’m working on up here.”

“And what case would that be?”

“Perhaps you’ll recall that there were two murders and another attempt that were related to your office’s auction of the Palmetto Gardens property?”

“I know about that. Listen, I’ve already talked to the FBI about that.”

“I know; I’ve just talked to Harry Crisp.”

“Then your question must be the same as his?”

“Yes. Is there anything at all you’re working on that sounds like the Palmetto Gardens deal?”

“Nothing.”

“You mean you have no confiscated properties for sale?”

“All the time, Chief, but not like that one. In that case, we appeared to have lowball bidders who had been killing off the competition, but when they failed to kill Mr. Shine and the sale to him went through, they had no further reason to kill people.”

“But what I’m asking is, is there another sale pending which might attract the same sorts of bidders?”

“You mean a criminal element?”

“Yes.”

“Absolutely not. I’ve been through every sale on Howard’s desk-and incidentally, I was the one who put those sales on his desk-and neither Howard nor I has spotted anything remotely similar to the Palmetto Gardens case. I’ve been reviewing the files again this morning, just to be sure, and there’s nothing. Now, if you’ll forgive me, I have a great deal of work to do today.”

“Will you call me if something similar comes up?”

“I will certainly do that, Chief,” he said, then hung up.

And he didn’t even take my number, Holly thought.

Her phone rang; it was the medical examiner.

“Morning,” she said. “I hope you’ve done the autopsy on our shooter of last evening.”

“I have, and he died of two gunshot wounds to the chest, both from your weapon.”

“Anything else?”

“He had amalgam dental fillings, just like the other one.”

“So he’s Cuban?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Why not, if the fillings are the same?”

“Well, he’s blond and blue-eyed, for one thing.”

“Aren’t there any blond and blue-eyed Cubans?”

“I’ve never encountered one. And there’s something else.”

“What?”

“He had a tattoo on his left bicep that looks military to me.”

“American military? Like a regimental symbol?”

“Like that, but not American. There was a legend underneath that was in letters of the Cyrillic alphabet.”

“You mean, like Russian?”

“Yes.”

“There were a lot of Russians in Cuba at one time, weren’t there?”

“Yes, military advisors. I believe they were advising on how to assemble medium-range ballistic missiles. But that was back in the sixties, and this guy is in his early to mid thirties.”

“Could it be a Cuban outfit?”

“Then the legend would be in Spanish, wouldn’t it?”

“You have a point,” she admitted.

“The tattoo is of crossed daggers, and I had the legend translated. It says, ‘Blood and Loyalty.’ ”

“Send me a photo of the tattoo, will you?”

“It’s already on the way.”

“Anything else about the guy that was unusual?”

“I think he might have been a boxer-or at least someone who has taken a beating on more than one occasion. He had a broken nose-twice, according to the X-rays-and some broken ribs that had healed, too. I’ve sent his prints along with the photo.”

“Thanks, Doc.” She hung up and tried to figure out why a Russian might be involved in this.